ave
fancied it the tremulous echo of his own voice, but for the startling
sigh which accompanied it, and struck him with almost superstitious awe.
He turned to see if any one was near, and met the eyes of father
Gilbert, fixed on him with a gaze of earnest, yet melancholy, enquiry.
The cowl, which generally shaded his brow, was thrown back, and his
cheeks, furrowed by early and habitual grief, were blanched to even
unusual paleness. He grasped a crucifix in his folded hands, and his
cold, stern features, were softened by an expression of deep sorrow,
which touched the heart of Stanhope. He bent respectfully before the
holy man, but remained silent, and uncertain how to address him.

"You have been unfortunate, young man," said the priest, after a
moment's pause; "but, remember that the evils of life are not inflicted
without design; and happy are they, who early profit by the lessons of
adversity!"

"I have escaped unharmed, and with the lives of all my companions,"
returned Stanhope; "I should, therefore, be ungrateful to repine at the
slight evil which has befallen me; but you were more highly favored, to
reach a safe harbor, before the tempest began to rage!"

"Storms and sunshine are alike to me," he answered; "for twenty years I
have braved the wintry tempests, and endured the summer heats, often
unsheltered in the savage desert; and still I follow, wherever the
duties of my holy calling lead, imparting to others that consolation,
which can never again cheer my wearied spirit. Leave me, now, young
man," he added, after a brief silence; "your duty calls you hence; and
why linger you here, and dream away those fleeting moments, which can
never be recalled?"

"Perhaps I merit that reproof," said Stanhope, coloring highly; "but I
have not been inattentive to my duty, and I am, even now, in readiness
to depart."

"Pardon me, my son, if I have spoken harshly," returned the priest; "but
I would urge you to hasten your departure. La Tour, ere this, has
reached Penobscot; he is too rash and impetuous to delay his purpose,
and one hour may turn the scale to victory or defeat."

Stanhope answered only by a gesture of respect, as he turned away from
him; and he proceeded directly to the beach, where his vessel lay,
reflecting, as he went along, on the singularity of father Gilbert's
sudden appearance, and wondering why he should have repeated the name of
Lucie, and with such evident emotion. The agitation he had betraye