her Gilbert hastily retired, and was soon hid in the deep shadows of
the forest.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Oh Jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship,
Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms;
How does thy rancor poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness."

A few hours of repose restored Lucie's exhausted strength; though the
appalling danger from which she had been so providentially rescued, left
a far more enduring impression on her mind. The evening of that day was
serene and cloudless, and the breeze which floated from the river had
nothing of the chilliness so usual at that season. Lucie sat at an open
window, her eyes fixed on the curling waves, which glanced brightly
beneath the moon, whose silver beams were blended with the lingering
rays of twilight. An expression of deep and quiet thought marked her
countenance, though the mental suffering she had so recently endured
might still be traced in her pale cheek, which was half shaded by the
ringlets of jetty hair, that fell profusely around it. Her forehead was
reclined on one hand, the other rested on the head of Hero, who sat
erect beside her, as if conscious that his late intrepid conduct
entitled him to peculiar privileges.

Madame de la Tour was seated at a little distance, removed from the
current of evening air which her delicate health would not permit her to
inhale, and evidently suffering that extreme lassitude, which usually
follows any strong excitement. Both remained silent: each apparently
engrossed by thoughts which she cared not to communicate to the other.
The silence was at length abruptly broken, by an exclamation from Lucie,
of "Father Gilbert!" uttered in an accent so quick and startling, that
Mad. de la Tour sprang involuntarily from her musing posture, and even
the dog leaped on his feet, and looked inquiringly in her face.

"Poor Hero! I did not mean to disturb you," said Lucie, patting her dumb
favorite, and rather embarrassed, that she had unwarily produced so much
excitement.

"Father Gilbert!" repeated Mad. de la Tour; "and is he coming hither
again?"

"No, I saw him but an instant," said Lucie; "and he has now disappeared
behind the wall."

She hesitated, and still kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as if
wishing to ask some question, which she yet feared might not be well
received.

"What would you say, Lucie?" asked Mad. de la Tour, with a faint smile;
"I perceive there is s