With apparent indifference, she also asked several questions of Lucie, respecting her accidental interviews with the priest; thus betraying a new and uncommon interest, which strengthened the suspicions of her niece.  These suspicions were soon after confirmed, by casually learning that La Tour had himself made strict inquiries concerning father Gilbert; but he had withdrawn himself, no person knew whither; though it was supposed to some of the solitary haunts he was in the habit of frequenting.

Day after day passed away, the subject was not renewed, and other thoughts gradually resumed their ascendancy in Lucie’s mind.  Stanhope had returned to Boston, and previous to his departure he sought an interview with La Tour, and formally requested the hand of Lucie.  His suit was, of course, rejected, though with unexpected courtesy; her guardian alleged, that he had other views for her, which he considered more advantageous; but expressed the highest personal regard for him, and the utmost gratitude for the services he had so freely rendered.  When La Tour, however, found that Lucie was really fixed in her attachment to Stanhope, and resolved against a marriage with De Valette, he could not suppress his angry disappointment; and his manner towards her became habitually cold, and often severe.  Lucie deeply felt this ungenerous change, but without noticing it in the slightest degree; and, indeed, it was partly compensated by the kind attentions, and even increased affection, of her aunt, who, though not perfectly reconciled to her choice, no longer sought to oppose it.

Madame de la Tour recovered but slowly from her unfortunate relapse; and De Valette, endeavoring to hide his mortification and chagrin, under an assumed reserve, was no longer the gay and constant companion of Lucie’s amusements and pursuits.  She was thus left much alone; but, fortunately for her, she possessed abundant springs of happiness in the resources of her own mind, and the unclouded gaiety of her spirits; and every lonely hour, and each solitary spot, glowed with the bright creations of hope, or responded to the thrilling chords of memory.  All her favorite walks had been shared with Stanhope; there was scarcely a tree which had not sheltered them; and every gushing stream, and forest dell, even the simplest flower which spread its petals to the sun, breathed in mute eloquence some tale of innocent enjoyment.  These scenes, which his presence had consecrated, where, in the freshness of dewy morn, at noontide’s sultry hour, and beneath the still and moonlight heavens, she had admired, with him, the loveliness of nature, were now retraced, with the enthusiasm of a fond and devoted heart.