e
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. Lucie 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. Lucie 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 tr