"What have you done, Eustace?" asked Lucie, hastily, and glad to break the awkward silence; "you have spoiled my favorite rose-bush, which I would not have given for all the flowers of the garden."

"It is a poor little thing," said De Valette, turning it carelessly in his hand; "I could gather you a dozen far more beautiful, and quite as fragrant."

"Not one that I value half as much," she answered, taking it from him, and breathing on the crushed leaves, to restore their freshness; "I have reared it with much care, from a stock which I brought from Northumberland; and it has now blossomed for the first time--a memento of many happy days."

Her words were addressed to Stanhope, and he was receiving the rose from her hand, when her countenance suddenly changed, and, closing her eyes, as if to exclude some unwelcome object, she clung to his offered arm for support. He was too much absorbed by her, to seek the cause of her alarm; but De Valette observed father Gilbert, standing at a little distance, his eyes intently fixed on Lucie, while his features betrayed the conflict of powerful emotions.

"Why are you thus agitated, Lucie?" asked De Valette, in surprise; "surely you recognize the priest; you do not fear him?"

"He _makes_ me fear him, Eustace; he always looks at me so fixedly, so wildly, that I cannot--dare not meet his gaze."

"This is mere fancy, Lucie," he answered, lightly; "is it strange that even the holy father should gaze on you with earnestness?"

"It is no time to jest, Eustace," she answered, with a trembling voice; "speak to him,--he is coming hither,--I will not stay."

While she spoke, the priest drew near her,--paused a moment,--and, murmuring a few words in a low voice, turned again, and, with a thoughtful and abstracted air, walked slowly from them. De Valette followed him; and Lucie, glad to escape, returned, with Stanhope, to the house.

CHAPTER IX.

Untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late!

Yet I am chang'd; though still enough the same In strength, to bear what time cannot abate, And feed on bitter fruits, without accusing fate.

LORD BYRON.

Father Gilbert stopped a few paces from the spot which Lucie had just quitted, and, leaning against a tree, appeared so entirely absorbed by his own reflections, that De Valette for some moments hesitated to address him. The rapid mutations of his countenance still betrayed a powerful mental struggle; and De Valette felt his curiosity and interest strongly awakened, by the sudden and uncontrollable excitement of one, whose usually cold and abstracted air, shewed little sympathy with the concerns of humanity. Gradually, however, his features resumed their accustomed calmness; but, on raising his eyes, and meeting the inquiring gaze of De Valette, he drooped his head, as if ashamed to have betrayed emotions, so inconsistent with the vow which professed to raise him above the influence of all worldly pa.s.sions.

"I fear you are ill, father," said De Valette, approaching him with kindness; "can I do anything to a.s.sist or relieve you?"

"I _was_ ill, my son," he replied; "but it is over now--pa.s.sed away like a troubled phantasy, which visits the weary and restless slumberer, and flies at the approach of returning reason."

"Your language is figurative," returned De Valette, "and implies the sufferance of mental, rather than bodily pain. If such is your unhappy state, I know full well that human skill is unavailing."

"What know _you_ of pain?" asked the priest, with startling energy; "_you_, who bask in the sunshine of fortune's smile,--whose days are one ceaseless round of careless gaiety,--whose repose is yet unbroken by the gnawing worm of never-dying repentance! Such, too, I was, in the spring-time of my life; I drained the cup of pleasure,--but misery and disappointment were in its dregs; I yielded to the follies and pa.s.sions of my youthful heart,--and the sting of remorse and ceaseless regret have entered my inmost soul!"

"Pardon me, father," said De Valette, "if I have unconsciously awakened thoughts which time, perchance, had well nigh soothed into forgetfulness!"

"Awakened thoughts!" the priest repeated, in a melancholy voice; "they can never, never sleep! repentance cannot obliterate them,--years of penance--fastings, and vigils, and wanderings, cannot wear them from my remembrance! Look at me, my son, and may this decaying frame, which time might yet have spared, teach thee the vanity of human hopes, and lead thee to resist the impulses of pa.s.sion, and to mistrust and regulate, even the virtuous inclinations of thy heart!"

"Your words will be long remembered, father!" said De Valette, touched by the sorrow of the venerable man; "and may the good saints restore peace and hope to your wounded spirit!"

"And may heaven bless you, my son, and preserve you from those fatal errors which have wrecked my peace, and withered the fairest hopes that ever blossomed on the tree of earthly happiness! Go now," he added, in a firmer tone, "forget this interview, if possible, and when we meet again, think not of what you have now heard and witnessed, but see in me only the humble missionary of the church, who, till this day"--his voice again trembled, "till _she_ crossed my path"--

"_She_!" interrupted De Valette; "do you mean Mademoiselle de Courcy?"

"De Courcy!" repeated the priest, grasping the arm of Eustace, while the paleness of death overspread his features; "who bears that most unhappy name?"

"The niece of Mad. de la Tour," returned De Valette; "and, however unfortunate the name, it has, as yet, entailed no evil on its present possessor."

"Was it she, whom I just now saw with you?" asked the priest, with increasing agitation.

"It was; and pardon me, father, your vehemence has already greatly alarmed her."

"I meant it not," he replied; "but I will not meet her again--no, I dare not look again upon that face. Has she parents, young man?" he continued, after a brief pause.

"She has been an orphan from infancy," replied De Valette; "and Mad. de la Tour is almost the only relative whom she claims on earth."

"She is a protestant?" said father Gilbert, inquiringly.

"She is," said De Valette; "though her parents, I have heard, were Catholics, and Lucie has herself told me, that in her early childhood she was instructed in that faith."

"Lucie!" muttered the priest, to himself, as if unconscious of another's presence; "and _that_ name too! but no,--_she_ was not left among the enemies of our faith,--it is a strange--an idle dream."

He covered his face with his hands, and remained several moments, apparently in deep musing; and when he again looked up, every trace of emotion was gone, though a shade of melancholy, deeper even than usual, had settled on his features.

"Go!" he said to De Valette, "and betray not the weakness you have witnessed; go in peace, and forget, even to pity me!"

Father Gilbert's manner was too imposing to be disputed, and De Valette left him with silent reverence,--perplexed by the mystery of his words, and the singularity of his conduct. Before he reached the house, however, he had convinced himself, that the priest was not perfectly sane, and that some fancied resemblance had touched the chords of memory, and revived the fading images of early, and perhaps unhappy days. This appeared to him, the only rational way to account for his eccentricity; and under this impression, as well as from the priest's injunction, he resolved not to mention the interview and conversation to any person. He was particularly anxious to conceal it from Lucie, whose apprehensions might be increased by the account; and, in a short time, indeed,--with the lightness of an unreflecting disposition,--a circ.u.mstance which had, at the moment, so strongly impressed him, was nearly effaced from his remembrance. Father Gilbert left the fort, and its vicinity, in the course of that day; but as the priests were continually called to visit the scattered and distant settlements, his absence, though prolonged beyond the usual time, was scarcely heeded.

In the mean while, La Tour was informed that M. D'Aulney continued to embrace every opportunity to display his hostility towards him.

Disappointed in the result of his meditated attack on fort St. John's, he had recourse to various petty means of injury and annoyance. The English colony, at Pemaquid, were friendly to La Tour, and their vessels frequently visited his fort to trade in the commodities of the country.

A shallop from thence had put in at Pen.o.bscot, relying on the good faith of D'Aulney; but, on some slight pretence, he detained it several days, and though, at length permitted to proceed on its voyage to St.

John's, the delay produced much loss and embarra.s.sment. La Tour resolved to avenge these repeated insults; and, hearing that the fort at Pen.o.bscot was at that time weakly defended, he made immediate preparations to commence an attack on it.

Arthur Stanhope still lingered at St. John's, and every day increased his reluctance to depart from it. Happy in the society of Lucie, he could not resolve to quit her till the hopes, which her smiles again encouraged, had received her explicit sanction or rebuke. He felt too, that honor required of him an avowal of the sentiments which he had not attempted to disguise; he, therefore, sought the earliest opportunity to reveal them, and with grateful pleasure he received from her, a blushing confession, that his affection had been long reciprocated. His happiness, however, was slightly diminished by an injunction of secresy which she imposed on him; though he found it difficult to object against the motives which induced her to urge the request. Lucie believed their attachment was already discovered; but she had no doubt that an open disclosure would occasion a prohibition from her guardian, who, during her minority, had a right to restrain her choice. She was reluctant to act in open defiance to his commands; and she also resolved never to sacrifice her happiness to his ambitious schemes. It had long been a favorite object with La Tour, to unite her to his nephew, De Valette, whose rank and expectations would have rendered an alliance equal, and, in many respects, advantageous. Mad. de la Tour also, favored the connexion; and, though Lucie had invariably discouraged their wishes, her aversion was considered as mere girlish caprice or coquetry, which would eventually yield to their solicitations and advice. De Valette's religion was the only obstacle which Mad. la Tour was willing to admit, and he possessed so many desirable qualifications, she was ready to pa.s.s that over, as a matter of minor importance. Both, she alleged, might enjoy their own opinions; and, even in so close a connexion, perfect union of religious sentiment was not essential to happiness. Lucie thought otherwise; she had been educated a protestant, and, with many of the prejudices which the persecuted Hugonots of that period could scarcely fail of cherishing towards a church which had sought to crush them by its perfidy and oppression. These feelings, alone, would have induced her to persist in a refusal; but, independently of them, she was convinced that it would never be in her power to return the affection of De Valette, with that fervor and exclusiveness which so sacred a bond demanded.

From her first acquaintance with Arthur Stanhope, Lucie had placed, perhaps, an imprudent value on his society and attentions; and when compelled during his absence to quit the scenes of their daily and happy intercourse, in haste and affliction, and without even a parting expression of kindness and regret, she felt, for a time, that her sun of happiness was shrouded in perpetual clouds. Romantic as this attachment seemed, it stood the test of time and absence, lingered in the recesses of her heart through every change of scene, and brightened the darkest shades of doubt, and difficulty, and disappointment. Hitherto, her firmness of mind and principle had enabled her to resist the wishes of her aunt, and the remonstrances of La Tour; but their importunity had, of late, increased, and evidently from an apprehension, that the undisguised partiality of Stanhope might obtain an influence over her, detrimental to their favorite and long cherished plans. Lucie sincerely regretted that her choice was so unfortunately opposed to the wishes of her aunt; and she feared to encounter the anger of La Tour, whose stern and irritable spirit, when once aroused, was uncontrollable as the stormy ocean. But time, she sanguinely believed, would remove every obstacle. Stanhope was soon to leave her, and, in his absence, she might gradually change the sentiments of Mad. la Tour; and she hoped the pride and generosity of De Valette would prompt him voluntarily to withdraw a suit, which was so unfavourably received. Even if these expectations were disappointed, she would attain her majority in the ensuing spring, when her hand would be at her own disposal, and she should no longer hesitate to bestow it, according to the dictates of her heart.

Stanhope had offered his a.s.sistance to La Tour, in the projected expedition to Pen.o.bscot; and, as the necessary arrangements were nearly completed, a few days only remained for his continuance at St. John's.

To all, except Lucie, it was evident his absence would be unregretted; for he could not but remark the cold and altered manner of Mad. de la Tour, which she vainly endeavored to disguise, by an air of studied politeness; nor the reserve and petulance of De Valette, which he did not attempt to conceal. La Tour was too politic to display his dislike towards one, whose services were so useful to him; though his prejudices were, in reality, the most inveterate.

Father Gilbert returned to the fort, after an absence of three weeks, and he brought intelligence which deeply concerned La Tour. D'Aulney had entered into a negociation with the magistrates of Boston, by which he sought to engage them in his interest, to the exclusion, and evident disadvantage of La Tour. He had sent commissioners, duly authorised to conclude a treaty of peace and commerce with them, and also a letter, signed by the vice admiral of France, which confirmed his right to the government. To this was added a copy, or pretended copy, of certain proceedings, which proscribed La Tour as a rebel and a traitor. Governor Winthrop had, in vain, endeavored to heal the differences, which subsisted between the French commanders in Acadia; D'Aulney refused to accede to any conciliatory measures. Till then, the Ma.s.sachusetts colony had favored La Tour, on account of his religious principles; but the authority of M. d'Aulney now seemed so well established, and his power to injure them was so extensive, that they consented to sign the articles in question. They, however, entered into no combination against La Tour, nor debarred themselves from their usual friendly intercourse with him.

M. de la Tour listened to these details with extreme indignation, and felt an increased anxiety to depart without delay. The preparations were, therefore, soon concluded, and they waited only for a favorable wind, to convey them from the fort of St. John's.

CHAPTER X.

My fear hath catch'd your fondness--

Speak, is't so?