mself into a small boat, proceeded alone to a
well-remembered landing-place. He steered his bark cautiously along the
shores of the bay, which were already darkened by the evening shadows;
and, rowing with all his strength, soon reached the destined spot, and
sprang eagerly upon the strand. Ascending an eminence, the country
opened widely around him; the smoke curled quietly from the scattered
cottages, and the scene was unchanged since he last saw it, except from
the variation of the seasons. The fields, which were then crowned with
the riches of autumn, had since been seared by wintry frosts, which now
slowly relaxed their rigid grasp. Faint streaks of verdure began to
tinge the sunny valleys, though patches of snow still lingered within
their cold recesses. A thousand silver rills burst from the moistened
earth, and leaped down the sloping banks, chiming, in soft concert, with
the evening breeze. Every swelling bud exhaled the perfumed breath of
spring; and all nature seemed awake to welcome her bland approach.

The peasantry of the country were evidently unmolested, and probably
cared little for the change of masters. Arthur had, as yet, seen no
living being; and he hastened to Annette's cottage, which stood at a
short distance, half hid by the matted foliage of some sheltering pines.
It no longer wore the air of open hospitality, which once distinguished
it; the gay voice of its mistress ever carolling at her labour, was
silent, and the closed door and casements seemed to portend some sad
reverse. Stanhope paused an instant; and as he leaned against a rude
fence which enclosed the garden plat, his eye rested on a slender mound
of earth, covered with fresh sods, and surrounded by saplings of willow,
newly planted. It was evidently a grave; and, with a chilled heart, and
excited feelings, he leaped the slight enclosure, fearing, he knew not,
dared not ask himself, what unknown evil.

At that moment, he heard light approaching footsteps; he turned and saw
a female advancing slowly, and too much engrossed by her own thoughts to
have yet observed him. He could not be deceived; he sprang to meet her,
repeating the name of "Lucie;" and an eager exclamation of "Stanhope, is
it possible!" expressed her joyful recognition.

"Why are you so pale and pensive, dear Lucie," asked Stanhope, regarding
her with solicitude, when the first rapturous emotions had subsided;
"and what brings you to this melancholy spot at such a lonely