“You will not leave me so soon, my dearest girl?” he asked, again drawing her arm through his; “indeed, it is useless; father Gilbert has by this time reached the fort, and imparted all that you could, and much more, with which you are yet unacquainted.”

“But my aunt is not there, Stanhope; I left her at Annette’s cottage; and, I doubt not, she already thinks it strange that I have not returned:  if she knew that I was loitering here with you”—­

“She would not think it very strange,” interrupted Stanhope, smiling, and still detaining her; “and, in the happy tidings of her husband’s safety, even you, Lucie, may be for a time forgotten.  If the priest is mortal, as I must believe he is, though you seem to doubt it, he will probably feel some pleasure in communicating good news, and I owe him this slight satisfaction, for the favor he conferred in bringing me hither.”

“I do not yet understand,” said Lucie, “why you are here alone, or where you have left the companions of your luckless expedition?  I hope you have not entered into a league with the priest, or acquired any of his supernatural powers?”

“No, Lucie,” he replied; “I shall long remain contented with the humbler attributes of mortality, rather than acquire any powers which can make you flee from me.  The mystery is very easily solved, as I doubt not, all which pertains to the holy father might be.  Released from all our difficulties, I left Penobscot Bay, in company with La Tour; we were vexed with head winds, for a day or two, against which my vessel, being small, was enabled to make greater progress, and leaving him behind, I just now anchored yonder, waiting for the tide to proceed up to the fort.  But I was too impatient to see you, to remain at that short distance another moment; and as father Gilbert chanced to make his appearance just then, I availed myself of his boat to convey me here; for he chose to land at this place instead of going on to the fort.  I could not pass this spot without pausing an instant, to recall the moment when I last saw you.  I knew this was your favorite hour for walking; and, smile if you will, something whispered me, that I might again meet you here.”

“My solitary rambles are not always directed to this spot,” she answered, with a conscious blush; “and it was mere chance that brought me here this evening.  But, perhaps,” she archly added, “absence has seemed so brief to you, that you expected to find me lingering where you left me!”

“Absence from you seem brief!” he said; “I would that you could read my heart, Lucie; you would there find how dark is every hope, how cheerless every scene, how lengthened every moment, which is not shared with you!  Deem me not presumptuous,” he added, “when I ask, why we should part again? why delay the fulfilment of those hopes, which you have permitted me to cherish, and doom me to the misery of another separation!”

“Do not urge me on this subject, Arthur,” she replied; “the reasons which I once gave you, still exist; nor can any arguments diminish their force, nor any motives induce me to reject their influence.  Nay, your brow is clouded now,” she added, smiling; “as if you thought caprice or coldness moved me to refuse your wishes; and yet your heart must tell you, I am right, and that it is not kind in you to seek to draw me from my duty.”