“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 assaults, 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 assumed 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 passion 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 anchored 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 shore, apparently intending to double a narrow headland, which projected into the bay.