uld permit.

The storm continued through that day;--the evening, also, proved dark
and tempestuous; but Stanhope, exhausted by fatigue, slept soundly on a
rude couch, and beneath a shelter that admitted both wind and rain. He
was awake, however, by the earliest dawn, and actively directing the
necessary arrangements for his departure. The storm had passed away; not
a cloud lingered in the azure sky, and the first tinge of orient light
was calmly reflected from the waves, which curled and murmured around
the beautiful island they embraced. The herbage had put on a deeper
verdure, and the wild flowers of summer sent forth a richer fragrance on
the fresh and balmy air. The moistened foliage of the trees displayed a
thousand varying hues; and, among their branches, innumerable birds
sported their brilliant plumage, and warbled their melodious notes, as
if rejoicing in the restored serenity of nature.

Arthur had wandered from the scene of busy preparation; he was alone
amidst this paradise of sweets, but his heart held intercourse with the
loved and distant object of his hopes, whose image was ever present to
his fancy. He stood against the ruins of a fort, which had been built
almost forty years before, by the Sieur de Monts, who, on that spot,
first planted the standard of the king of France, in Acadia.
Circumstances soon after induced him to remove the settlement he had
commenced there, across the bay to Port-Royal; the island was neglected
by succeeding adventurers, and his labors were suffered to fall into
ruin. Time had already laid his withering finger upon the walls, and
left his mouldering image amid the fair creations of the youthful world.
Fragments, overgrown with moss and lichen, strewed the ground; the
creeping ivy wreathed its garlands around the broken walls, and lofty
trees had struck their roots deep into the foundations, and threw the
shadow of their branches across the crumbling pile.

The lonely and picturesque beauty of the scene, and the associations
connected with it, at first diverted the current of Arthur's thoughts;
but Lucie soon resumed her influence over his imagination. Yet a
painful impression, that he had wasted some moments in this dream of
fancy, which should have been spent in action, shortly aroused him from
his musing; and, as he felt the airy vision dissolve, he almost
unconsciously pronounced the name most dear to him.

That name was instantly repeated,--but so low, that he might h