“Rather say, Lucie, it was concealed to suit the wishes of your lover; but is it honorable in him to seek your affections clandestinely? to bind you by promises, which are unsanctioned by your friends?”

“You are unjust to him,” said Lucie, eagerly; “you suspect him of a meanness, which he could never practice.  I only am to blame for whatever is wrong and secret.  He has never wished to disguise his attachment, and you were not slow to detect and regret it; he was encouraged by my dear aunt Rossville, but circumstances separated us, and I scarcely dared hope that we should ever meet again”—­

“But you did meet,” interrupted Mad. de la Tour, “and why all this mystery and reserve?”

“I dreaded my uncle’s anger,” said Lucie:  “and persuaded Stanhope, against his inclination, to leave me without any explanation to my guardian, till the time arrives when I shall be at liberty to choose for myself; and till then, I have refused to enter into any engagements,—­except those which my heart has long since made, and which nothing ever can dissolve.”

“To me, at least, Lucie, you might have confided this; you would not have found me arbitrary or tyrannical, and methinks, the advice of an experienced friend would not have been amiss on a subject of such importance.”

“I well know your lenity and affection, dear aunt,” returned Lucie; “but I was most unwilling to involve you in my difficulties, and expose you to my uncle’s displeasure; in time, all would have been known to you; I should have taken no important step without your advice; and why should I perplex you, with what could now be of no avail?”

“I am willing to believe you intended to do right, Lucie, though I am not yet convinced that you have done so; but we are near the gate, and will dismiss the subject till another opportunity.”

Lucie gladly assented, and their walk was pursued in silence.

CHAPTER XI.

                              Bedimm’d
    The noontide sun, called forth the mutinous winds,
    And ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault
    Set roaring war.

        SHAKSPEARE.

At day-break, the vessels of La Tour and Stanhope spread their sails to a light wind, which bore them slowly from the harbor of St. John’s.  The fort long lingered in their view, and the richly wooded shores and fertile fields gradually receded, as the rising sun began to shed its radiance on the luxuriant landscape.  But the morning, which had burst forth in brightness, was soon overcast with clouds; and the light, which had shone so cheeringly on hill and valley, like the last gleams of departing hope, became shrouded in gloom and darkness.  Still, however, they kept on their course; and by degrees the wind grew stronger, and the dead calm of the sea was agitated by its increasing violence.