"I come to offer you freedom, M. de la Tour," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "and on terms which the most prejudiced could not but consider lenient."

"Freedom from life, then!" La Tour scornfully replied; "I can expect no other liberty, while it is in your power to hold me in bondage."

"Beware how you defy my power!" replied D'Aulney; "or provoke the wrath which may burst in vengeance on your head. You are my prisoner, De la Tour; and, as the representative of royalty here, the command of life or death is entrusted to my discretion."

"I deny that command," said La Tour, "and bid you exercise it at your peril. Prove to me the authority which const.i.tutes you my judge; which gives you a right to scrutinize the actions of a compeer; to hold in duresse the person of a free and loyal subject of our king;--prove this, and I may submit to your judgment, I may crave the clemency, which I now despise--nay, which I would not stoop to receive from your hands."

"You speak boldly, for a rebel and a traitor!" said D'Aulney, contemptuously; "for one whose office is annulled, and whose name is branded with infamy!"

"Come you hither to insult me, false-hearted villain?" exclaimed La Tour, pa.s.sionately; "prisoner and defenceless, though I now am, you may yet have cause to repent the rashness which brings you to my presence!"

"Your threats are idle," returned D'Aulney; "I never feared you, even in your greatest strength; and think you, that I can _now_ be intimidated by your words?"

"What is the purport of this interview?" asked La Tour, impatiently; "and why am I compelled to endure your presence? speak, and briefly, if you have aught to ask of me; or go, and leave me to the solitude, which you have so rudely disturbed."

"I spoke to you of freedom," replied D'Aulney; "but since you persist in believing my intentions evil, it would be useless to name the terms on which I offer it."

"You can offer no terms," said La Tour, "which comport with the honor of a gentleman and a soldier to accept."

"Are you ignorant," asked D'Aulney, "that you are proscribed, that an order is issued for your arrest, and that a traitor's doom awaits you, in your native land?"

"It is a calumny, vile as your own base heart," exclaimed La Tour; "and so help me, heaven, as I shall one day prove its falsehood."

"You have been denounced at a more impartial tribunal than mine," said D'Aulney, deliberately unrolling a parchment which he carried, and pointing to the seal of France; "these characters," he added, "are traced by high authority; and need you any farther proof, that your honors are wrested from you, and your name consigned to infamy?"

"Your malice has invented this," said La Tour, glancing his eye indignantly over the contents of the scroll; "but even this shall not avail you; and, cunningly as you have woven your treacherous web around me, I shall yet escape the snare, and triumph over all your machinations!"

"It is vain to boast of deeds, which you may never be at liberty to perform," replied D'Aulney; "your escape from this prison is impossible, and, of course, your fate is entirely at my disposal. But, grossly as you have injured me, I am willing to reconcile past differences; not from any hope of personal advantage, but to preserve the peace of the colony, and sustain the honor of the government."

"That mask of disinterestedness and patriotism," said La Tour, scornfully, "is well a.s.sumed; but, beshrew me! if it does not hide some dark and selfish purpose. Reconcile!" he added, in a tone of bitterness; "that word can never pa.s.s current with us; my hatred to you is so strong, so deeply-rooted, that nothing could ever compel me to serve you, even if, by so doing, I might advance my own fortunes to the height of princely grandeur."

"Your choice is too limited to admit of dainty scruples," said D'Aulney, tauntingly; "but, you may be induced to grant from necessity, what you would refuse as a favor. You must be convinced, that your t.i.tle and authority in Acadia are now abolished, and you have every reason to apprehend the severity of the law, if you are returned a prisoner to France. I offer you immediate liberty, with sufficient privileges to render you independent, on condition that you will make a legal transfer of your late government to me, and thus amicably reunite the colony, which was so unhappily divided on the death of Razilly. Put your signature to this paper, and you are that moment free."

"Now, by the holy rood!" said La Tour, bursting into a laugh of scorn; "but that I think you are jesting with me, I would trample you beneath my feet, as I do this;" and s.n.a.t.c.hing the offered paper from his hand, he tore it in pieces, and stamped violently on the scattered fragments.

"You reject my proposals, then?" asked D'Aulney, pale with angry emotions.

"Dare you ask me, again, to accept them?" returned La Tour; "think you, I would sanction the slanders you have fabricated, by such a surrender of my rights? that I would thus bring reproach upon my name, and bequeath poverty and disgrace to my children?"

"It is well," replied D'Aulney; "and the consequences of your folly must fall on your own head; but, when too late, you may repent the perverseness which is driving you to destruction."

"Were the worst fate which your malevolence could devise, at this moment before me," said La Tour, "my resolution would remain unalterable. I am not so poor in spirit, as to shrink before the blast of adversity; nor am I yet dest.i.tute of followers, who will fight for my rescue, or bravely avenge my fall."

"We shall soon find other employment for them," D'Aulney coolly replied; "this fortunate expedition of yours has scattered your vaunted force, and left your fort exposed to a.s.saults, which it is too defenceless to repel."

"Make the experiment," said La Tour, proudly; "and again you may return, vanquished by a woman's prowess. Try the valor of men, who burn to redress their master's wrongs; and, if you dare, once more encounter the dauntless courage of a wife, anxious for her husband's safety, and tenacious of her husband's honor."

"You are fortunate," said D'Aulney, sarcastically, "to possess so brave a representative; I trust, it has long since reconciled you to the chance, which prevented your alliance with one less valiant,--one, too gentle to share the fortunes of such a bold adventurer."

"Touch not upon that theme," said La Tour, starting with almost frenzied violence; "time may wear away every other remembrance, but the treachery of a friend must remain indelible and unforgiven."

"Solitude, perchance, may calm your moody feelings, and I will leave you to its soothing influence;" said D'Aulney, in a tone of a.s.sumed indifference, which was contradicted by the angry flash that darted from his eye. He laid his hand on the door, while he spoke; La Tour returned no answer, and the next moment he was left to his own reflections; and, bitter as they were, he felt that to be again alone, was a state of comparative happiness. But, whatever he endured, not a shadow of fear or apprehension obtruded on his mind. The shame of defeat, perhaps, most deeply goaded him; and his interview with D'Aulney had awakened every dark and stormy pa.s.sion in his breast. Confinement was, indeed, irksome to his active spirit; but he would not admit the possibility of its long continuance; and he had no doubt, that the exertions of De Valette would soon restore him to freedom. He rightly believed, that both the pride and affection of his nephew would stimulate him to attempt it, and he hoped his efforts would be aided by Stanhope, if he had been so fortunate as to escape the storm.

Stanhope, however, was, as yet, ignorant of these events; and the morning light, which stole so heavily through the grated window of La Tour's prison-room, shone brightly on the waters of the Bay, where his vessel had anch.o.r.ed through the night. He was in motion at an early hour, anxious to obtain information of La Tour, though totally at a loss in what direction to seek for him. In the midst of this perplexity, he observed a boat, at some distance, slowly approaching the eastern extremity of Mount Desert island. Stanhope waited impatiently to hail the person who occupied it, believing he might receive some intelligence from him respecting La Tour. But, instead of making the nearest point of land, he suddenly tacked his boat, and bore off from the sh.o.r.e, apparently intending to double a narrow headland, which projected into the bay.

The little skiff moved slowly on its course, as if guided by an idle or unskilful hand, and the oars were dipped so lightly and leisurely, that they scarce dimpled the waves, or moved the boat beyond the natural motion of the tide. The earliest blush of morn was spreading along the eastern sky, and faintly tinged the surface of the deep; and, as Arthur watched the progress of the boat, his attention was arrested by the peculiar appearance of the occupant, who, on drawing near the headland, raised himself from a reclining posture, and stood erect, leaning, with one hand, on an upright oar, while he employed the other in lightly steering the boat. His tall figure, habited in the dark garments of a Romish priest, which floated loosely on the air, gave him, as he moved alone upon the solitary deep, a wild, and almost supernatural appearance. His face was continually turned towards the sh.o.r.e, and at times he bowed his head, and folded his hands across his breast, as if absorbed by mental devotion, or engaged in some outward service of his religion.

Arthur could not mistake the person of father Gilbert; nor was he greatly surprised at seeing him there, as he had heard much of his wandering course of life, and knew that he was in the habit of extending his pastoral visits to the remotest cabins of his flock. Stanhope thought it possible he might direct him to La Tour; and he ordered a boat to be got ready immediately, in the hope of overtaking him. But by that time, the priest had disappeared behind the projecting land, and probably proceeded on his voyage with more expedition; for when Stanhope doubled the point, he was no longer visible. Unwilling to give up the pursuit, Arthur continued on, pa.s.sing through the channel between Craneberry Islands and Mount Desert, and entered a gulf which ran in on the south side of the latter. Almost at the entrance, he discovered a small boat, like the one in question, and from which he had no doubt father Gilbert had just landed.

Leaving the boatmen to wait his return, Stanhope sprang on sh.o.r.e without hesitation, and rapidly followed the windings of a narrow path, though ignorant where it led, and doubtful if it were trodden by wild animals, or by the foot of man. Shortly, the wood, which he traversed, terminated in an open plain, slightly elevated above the waters of the bay, that still murmured on his ear, and glanced brightly through the foliage of some trees which fringed the sh.o.r.e. The spot was rich in verdure, retaining marks of former cultivation, and the trees, which rose to a n.o.ble height, were evidently a succession from the earlier monarchs of the forest. Some Jesuit missionaries had taken possession of the place at an early period, planted a cross there, and called it by the name of St. Saviour. But their settlement was soon broken up by a party of English from Virginia, who claimed it for their own king, on the plea of first discovery. It was long after neglected by both nations, and the improvements, which had been commenced, were entirely neglected.

Stanhope's attention was soon arrested by the object of his search. In the midst of the plain still lay the cross, which the English had overthrown; and, close beside it, father Gilbert was kneeling, as motionless, as if life had ceased to animate him. His eyes were fastened on a crucifix, and his pale and haggard countenance wore the traces of that mental anguish, which seemed forever to pursue him. His lips were firmly closed, and every limb and feature appeared so rigid, that Arthur could scarcely repel the dreadful apprehension, that death had seized his victim alone in that solitary spot. He approached him, and was inexpressibly relieved to perceive him start at the sound of his steps, and look round, though with a vacant air, like one suddenly roused from deep and heavy sleep.

"Pardon me, if I intrude, father," said Stanhope; "but I feared you were ill, and came to ask if I could serve you."

"Who are you?" demanded the priest, wildly, and springing from his knees; "who are you, that seek me here,--here, in this spot, consecrated to remorse and sorrow?"

"It is but a few hours since I parted from you," returned Stanhope; "and had I known you purposed coming hither, I would not willingly have left you to cross the waves alone, in that frail boat."

"I know you now, young man," replied the priest, the unnatural excitement of his countenance yielding to its usual calm; "and I thank you for your care; but solitude and gloom are most congenial to me, and I endure the fellowship of men, only in compliance with the duties of my holy office. Leave me," he added; "here, at least, I would be alone."

"This is a dreary place, father"--

"Dreary!" interrupted the priest; "and it is therefore that I seek it; twenty years have pa.s.sed away, since I first found refuge in its shades, from the vanities of a world which I had too long trusted; and yearly on this day, the solitary waste is witness to my remorse and penance. Be warned by this, my son; and, in thy youth, avoid the crimes and follies which lead to an old age of sorrow."

"True repentance may obliterate every sin," said Stanhope; "and why should you despair of mercy, or even of earthly happiness?"

"Happiness!" repeated the priest; "name it not to one whose headstrong pa.s.sions blasted every cherished joy, and threw their withering influence on all who loved and trusted in him; mock me not with that delusive hope, which only lives in the imagination of youth and inexperience. Again I bid you leave me; this day is consecrated to active duty, and I would fortify my mind to meet its difficulties."

"Pardon me, that I trouble you with one inquiry," said Stanhope; "have you heard aught of De la Tour?"

"He is a prisoner," returned the priest; "and if you would learn more concerning him, repair, without delay, to Pemaquid, where his lieutenant waits your arrival."

Father Gilbert turned away, as he finished speaking; and Stanhope retraced his steps to the boat, musing with deep interest on the intelligence he had received. He rowed rapidly back to his vessel; and, weighing anchor, sailed for the bay of Pemaquid, impatient to rejoin De Valette, and learn the particulars of La Tour's capture.

CHAPTER XIV.

The midnight pa.s.s'd--and to the ma.s.sy door, A light step came--it paused--it moved once more; Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key.

LORD BYRON.

La Tour endured the first days of confinement with more patience than could have been expected from his irascible disposition; his mind was continually excited by hopes of speedy release, and plans of future vengeance. D'Aulney's visit to him was not repeated, and his solitude remained unbroken, except by the person who brought him food, and who generally performed his office in perfect silence. But the third day pa.s.sed more heavily away; he listened to every sound from without his prison, and as none reached him, which announced approaching succor, he could not repress an audible expression of anger and disappointment, at his nephew's tardiness. A thousand plans of escape were formed, and instantly rejected, as visionary and impracticable. He too well knew the severe and cautious temper of D'Aulney, to suppose he would leave any avenue unguarded; and, of course, an attempt of the kind could only end in defeat, and perhaps a restriction of the few privileges he then enjoyed. A sentinel watched continually at the outside of his door; others were stationed near enough to lend a.s.sistance on a word of alarm; and his window, even if the bars could be forced, was rendered secure by the vigilance of a soldier placed beneath to protect it. His own strength and address were therefore unavailing; the conviction vexed and mortified him, and he paced his apartment with rapid steps, till his hara.s.sed feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of irritability.

Daylight disappeared, and the evening advanced in gloom and darkness; not a star shone in the heavens, and the moon vainly struggled with the clouds which overshadowed her. A hollow blast, at intervals, swept across the grated window, then murmured into total silence; the waves rolled sullenly below, and occasionally the measured dash of oars from some pa.s.sing boat was mingled with their melancholy cadence. La Tour's meditations were broken by the sentinel entering with a light; and as he placed it on a wooden stand, he lingered a moment, and regarded the prisoner with peculiar attention. He, however, took no notice of it, except to avert his face more entirely from, what he considered, a gaze of impertinent curiosity. The soldier, as he re-opened the door, again turned, and seemed on the point of speaking; but La Tour could endure no intrusion, and a glance of angry reproof from his eye, induced a precipitate retreat. He almost instantly repented this vehemence; for that parting look was familiar to him, and possibly he might have received some desirable information.