d, on
meeting her in the garden at St. John's, was not forgotten; and Arthur
had longed, yet dared not, to ask some questions which might lead to an
elucidation of the seeming mystery.

The sun had scarcely risen, when Stanhope left the island of St. Croix;
the wind was fair and steady, and the sea retained no traces of its
recent turbulence, except some fragments of the wreck, which floated
around. Their vessel was but a poor substitute for the one which they
had lost, but it sailed well, and answered the purpose of their short
voyage; and the crew were stout in heart and spirits, notwithstanding
their late disasters. Stanhope particularly regretted the loss of their
fire-arms and ammunition, though he had fortunately obtained a small
supply from the people at the island. Early in the afternoon they
entered the bay of Penobscot, and Stanhope directed his course
immediately towards the fort; he ventured, at no great distance, to
reconnoitre, and was surprised that he had, as yet, seen nothing of La
Tour. The sun at length declined behind the western hills, leaving a
flood of golden light upon the waveless deep. The extensive line of
coast, indented by numerous bays, adorned with a thousand isles of every
form and size, presented a rich and boundless prospect; and, graced with
the charms of summer, and reposing in the calm of that glowing twilight,
it seemed almost like a region of enchantment.

The serenity and beauty of such a scene was more deeply enjoyed, from
the contrast which it presented to the turbulence of the preceding day;
and Stanhope lingered around the coast, till warned by the gathering
gloom that it was time to seek a harbor, where they might repose in
security through the night. Trusting to the experience of his pilot, he
entered what is called Frenchman's Bay, and anchored to the eastward of
Mount Desert island. Night seemed to approach reluctantly, and gemmed
with her starry train, she threw a softer veil around the lovely scenes,
which had shone so brightly beneath the light of day. The wild solitudes
of nature uttered no sound; the breeze had ceased its sighing, and the
waves broke gently on the grassy shore. The moon rode high in the
heavens, pouring her young light on sea and land; and the summit of the
Blue Hills was radiant with her silver beams.

CHAPTER XII.

_Mar._ I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.
_Auf._ We