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 Luciè, and with such evident emotion. The agitation he had betrayed, 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 hate alike; |
| Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor | |
| More than thy fame and envy. | |
| Shakspeare. |
La Tour, in the darkness of the night succeeding his departure from St. John's, had found it impossible to communicate with Stanhope; and, prudently consulting his own safety in view of the approaching storm, he crowded sail, hoping to reach some haven, before the elements commenced their fearful conflict. In his zeal for personal security, he persuaded himself, that Arthur's nautical skill would extricate him from danger; but he forgot the peculiar difficulties to which he was exposed by his ignorance of the coast, and also, that he was embarked in a vessel far less prepared than his own, to encounter the heavy gale which seemed mustering from every quarter of the heavens. Perfectly familiar, himself, with a course which he frequently traversed,—in an excellent ship, and assisted by experienced seamen,—he was enabled to steer, with comparative safety, through the almost tangible darkness; and, early on the following morning, he entered the smoother waters of Penobscot Bay, and anchored securely in one of the numerous harbors which it embraces.
The day passed away, and brought no tidings from Stanhope; and De Valette, though their friendship had of late been interrupted by coldness and distrust, had too much generosity to feel insensible to his probable danger. But La Tour expressed the utmost confidence that he had found some sheltering port,—as the whole extent of coast abounds with harbors, which may be entered with perfect security,—and the night proving too tempestuous to venture abroad for intelligence, De Valette was obliged to rest contented with hoping for the best.