Chapter VII

I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same

LORD BYRON.

"Then you do not think Mademoiselle de Courcy very beautiful?" asked De Valette, detaining Stanhope a moment after the family had retired.

"Not exactly beautiful," replied Stanhope; "though she has,--what is in my opinion far more captivating,--grace, spirit, and intelligence, with beauty enough, I allow, to render her--"

"Quite irresistible, you would say!" interrupted De Valette; "but, in good truth, I care not to hear you finish the sentence, with such a lover-like panegyric!"

"Your admiration of her is very exclusive," said Stanhope, smiling; "but you should not ask an opinion, which you are not willing to hear candidly expressed."

"I have no fear of the truth," answered De Valette; "and, after a voluntary absence of two years, on your part, I can scarcely suspect you of feeling a very tender interest in the lady."

"Your inference is not conclusive," returned Stanhope; "and I should much doubt the truth of that love, or friendship, which could not withstand the trial of even a more prolonged absence."

"I suspect there are few who would bear that test," said De Valette, who evidently wished to penetrate the real sentiments of Stanhope; "and one must have perseverance, indeed, who can remain constant to Luciè, through all her whims and disguises."

"Her gaiety springs from a light and innocent heart," replied Stanhope; "and only renders her more piquant and interesting;--but, speaking of disguises,--how long, may I ask, has she played the pretty page, and for what purpose was the character assumed?"

"It was at the suggestion of Mad. de la Tour, I believe, and Luciè's love of frolic induced her readily to adopt it. You know the fort was seriously threatened before our return; and Mad. de la Tour, who had few around her in whom she could confide, found her little page extremely useful, in executing divers commissions, which, in her feminine attire, could not have been achieved with equal propriety."

"I do not think a fondness for disguise is natural to her," said Stanhope; "though she seems to have supported her borrowed character with considerable address."

"Yes, she completely deceived me at first; and this evening, I again lost the use of my senses, and mistook her for the sauciest knave of a priest, that ever muttered an ave-marie."

"Long as it is, since I have seen her," said Stanhope, "I think I could have sworn to that face and voice, under any disguise."

"You obtained a full view of her features, at once," said De Valette; "when I first met her, they were carefully shaded by a tartan bonnet, and she entirely altered the tones of her voice; and this evening, again, she would scarcely have been recognized in the imperfect light, had she not suffered her vexation to betray her. But the night wanes, and it is time for us to separate; I must go abroad, and see that all things are quiet and in order, after this unusual revelling."

De Valette then quitted the house, and Stanhope gladly sought the solitude of his own apartment, where he could reflect, at leisure, on the agitating events of the few last hours. He walked to and fro, with rapid steps, till, exhausted by his excitement, he threw himself beside an open window, and endeavoured to collect the confused ideas, which crowded on his mind and memory. The noise of mirth and music had long since passed away, and the weary guard, who walked his dull round of duty in solitude and silence, was the only living object which met his eye. No sound was abroad, but the voice of the restless stream, which glittered beneath the rising moon;--the breath of midnight fanned him with its refreshing coolness, and the calm beauty of that lonely hour gradually soothed his restless spirits.

He had encountered the object of a fond and cherished attachment, but under circumstances of perplexity and doubt, which marred the pleasure of that unexpected meeting. More than two years had elapsed since he first saw Luciè de Courcy, then residing in the north of England, whither she had accompanied a maternal aunt, the widow of an Englishman of rank and fortune. Madame Rossville, who was in a declining state of health, had yielded to the importunity of her husband's connexions, and left her native land for the summer months, hoping to receive benefit from change of scene and climate. She had no children, and Luciè, whom she adopted in infancy, was dear to her, as a daughter could have been. They resided at a short distance from the elder Mr. Stanhope; and the strict Hugonot principles of the French invalid interested the rigid puritan, and led to a friendly intimacy between the families.

Arthur Stanhope had then just retired from his profession, and the chagrin and disappointment, which at first depressed his spirits, gradually yielded to the charm which led him daily to the house of Mad. Rossville. Constant intercourse and familiar acquaintance strengthened the influence, which Luciè's sweetness and vivacity had created, and he soon loved her with the fervor and purity of a young and unsophisticated heart. Yet he loved in silence,--for his future plans were frustrated, his ambitious hopes were blighted; a writ of banishment and proscription hung over his father's house, and what had he to offer to one endowed by nature and fortune with gifts, which ranked her with the proudest and noblest in the land! But love needs not the aid of words; and the sentiments of the heart, beaming in an ingenuous countenance, are more forcible than any language which the lips can utter. Luciè was too artless to disguise the feelings which she was, as yet, scarce conscious of cherishing; but Arthur read in the smile and blush which ever welcomed his approach, the sigh which seemed to regret his departure, and the eloquent expression of an eye, which varied with every emotion of her soul, a tale of tenderness as ardent and confiding as his own. The future was unheeded in the dream of present enjoyment; for who, that loves, can doubt of happiness, or bear to look forward to the melancholy train of dark and disappointed hours which time may unfold!

In the midst of these dawning hopes, Arthur Stanhope was called to a distant part of the kingdom on business, which nearly concerned his father's private interest. Luciè wept at his departure; and, for the first time, his brow was clouded in her presence, and his heart chilled by the bodings of approaching evil. Several weeks passed away, and he was still detained from home; to add to his uneasiness, no tidings from thence had reached him, since the early period of his absence. Public rumor, indeed, told him that new persecutions had gone forth against the puritans; and the inflexible temper of his father, who had long been peculiarly obnoxious to the church party, excited the utmost anxiety, and determined him, at all events, to hasten his return.

After travelling nearly through the night, Arthur ascended one of the loftiest hills in Northumberland, just as the sun was shedding his earliest radiance on a beautiful valley, which lay before him. It was his native valley, and the mansion of his father's looked cheerful amidst the group of venerable trees which surrounded it. Time, since he last quitted it, had seared the freshness of their foliage, and the golden tints of autumn had succeeded the verdure of summer. A little farther on, the house of Mad. Rossville was just discernible; and Arthur's heart bounded with transport, as he thought how soon he should again embrace those whom he most loved on earth! But a different fate awaited him, and tidings, which withered every hope he had so long and fondly cherished. The ecclesiastical tyranny, which had exiled so many of the non-conformists from their friends and country, was, at last, extended to the elder Mr. Stanhope. His estates were confiscated, and a warrant was issued for his imprisonment; but, with extreme difficulty, he succeeded in effecting an escape to the sea-coast. He was there joined by his wife; and, through the kind assistance of friends, they collected the remains of a once ample fortune, and only waited the arrival of their son, to quit their country forever, and embark for New-England.

There was yet another blow, for which Arthur was wholly unprepared. Mad. Rossville, whose health rapidly failed on the approach of cooler weather, had died a short time previous to his return, leaving her orphan niece under the protection of her only sister, who hastened to England on hearing of her danger, and arrived but a few hours before her decease. Her late cheerful abode was deserted; and Arthur could obtain no information respecting Luciè, except that she had gone back to France with her relative, immediately after the melancholy event.

"Gone, without one kind farewell, one word of remembrance!" was the first bitter reflection of Arthur, on receiving this intelligence. "She, who might have been all the world to him, whose sunny smiles could have cheered the darkest hour of affliction,--she was gone! and, amidst the attractions of wealth, and the charms of society and friends, how soon might he fade from her remembrance!"

But that was not a time to indulge the regrets of a romantic passion; the situation of his parents required the support and consolations of filial tenderness; and no selfish indulgence could, for a moment, detain him from them. He hastily abandoned the home of his childhood--the scenes of maturer happiness; and, re-passing the barrier of his native hills, in a few days rejoined his parents at the sea-port, where they waited his arrival. They had made arrangements to take passage in the first vessel which sailed for Boston, and Arthur did not hesitate a moment to attend them in their arduous undertaking. For a time, indeed, his active spirit bent beneath the pressure of disappointment, and all places were alike indifferent to him. But the excitement of new scenes and pursuits at length roused his interest, and incited him to mental exertion. With the return of spring also, hopes, which he believed forever crushed, began to regain their influence in his mind. He was about to revisit England, on some affairs of consequence; and he resolved to improve the opportunity to satisfy his anxiety respecting Luciè, and learn, if possible, what he had still left to hope or fear. But an alarming illness, which attacked his mother, and left her long in a dangerous state, obliged him to defer his design; and another winter passed away, and various circumstances still rendered the voyage impracticable. Time gradually softened, but it could not destroy, the impression of his ill-fated attachment; and, though the image of Luciè was still cherished in his remembrance, he began to regard the days of their happy intercourse as a pleasant dream which had passed away,--a delightful vision of the fancy, which he loved to contemplate, but could never hope to realise.

It was, indeed, with emotions too powerful for disguise, that he found himself again, and so unexpectedly, in the presence of his beloved Luciè. He was ignorant of the name, even, of the relative to whom Mad. Rossville had entrusted her,--he had not the most distant idea, that she was connected with the lady of La Tour; and, in approaching the fort of St. John's, he little thought, that he was so near the goal of his wishes. But the first joyful sensations were not unmingled with doubt and alarm. He found her lovely and attractive, as when he had last seen her; but, since that time, what changes had taken place, and how might her heart have altered! De Valette, young, handsome, and agreeable, confessed himself her lover; he was the favorite of her guardians, and what influence had he, or might he not obtain, over her affections!

Such reflections of mingled pain and pleasure occupied the mind of Stanhope, and alternate hopes and fears beguiled the midnight hour, and banished every idea of repose.