completely banished slumber from his eyes.

When Stanhope looked out, on the following morning, he saw Lucie, alone
in a small garden, adjoining the house, busily employed in training some
flowers; and the painful impression of the last night was almost
forgotten, in the impulse which he felt to join her. He was chagrined to
meet De Valette, as he crossed a passage, but repressing a repugnance,
which he felt might be unjustly excited, he addressed him with his usual
cordiality, and they entered the garden together. Lucie's face was
turned from them, and she did not seem aware of their approach, till
startled by the voice of De Valette.

"You do not seem very industriously inclined," he said; "or are you
resting, to indulge the luxury of a morning reverie?"

"I _was_ in a most profound reverie," she replied, turning quickly
round; "and you have destroyed as fair a vision, as ever dawned on the
waking fancy."

"Was your vision of the past or future?" asked De Valette.

"Only of the past; I care not for the future, which is too uncertain to
be trusted, and which may have nothing but misfortunes in reserve for
me."

"You are in a pensive mood, just now," said De Valette; "when I last saw
you, I could scarce have believed a cloud would ever cross the sunshine
of your face."

"Experience might have rendered you more discerning," she answered, with
a smile; "but you, who love variety so well, should not complain of the
changes of my mood."

"Change, as often as you will," said De Valette; "and, in every
variation, you cannot fail to please."

"And you," said Lucie, "cannot fail of seeming very foolish, till you
leave off this annoying habit of turning every word into a
compliment:--nay, do not look displeased," she added, gaily; "you know
that you deserve reproof, occasionally, and there is no one who will
administer it to you, but myself."

"But what _you_ define a compliment," said Stanhope, "would probably
appear, to any other person, the simple language of sincerity."

"I cannot contend against two opponents," returned Lucie; "so I may as
well give up my argument, though I still maintain its validity."

"We will call it a drawn game, then," said De Valette, laughing; "so
now, Lucie, candidly confess that you were disposed to find fault with
me, without sufficient cause."

"There is certainly no flattery in this," replied Lucie; "but I will
confess nothing,--except that I danced away my spirits last evenin