I cannot love him;
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble.
* * * —— —— but yet I cannot love him,
He might have took his answer long ago.
Shakspeare.
Rumors of M. de la Tour's defeat and capture, attended with the usual exaggerations, were not slow in reaching fort St. John's; and they could not fail of producing a strong excitement in the garrison, and of rendering those more closely connected with him, deeply anxious respecting the result. Madame de la Tour had been attacked by a severe illness, from which she was slowly recovering; and Luciè dreaded to impart to her the tidings, which from her own feelings, she was assured would excite the most painful solicitude. But her aunt's penetrating eye soon detected the concealment, and she could no longer withhold a minute detail of the reports which had reached her ears. They were, however, received by Mad. la Tour with unexpected firmness. She could not, indeed, suppress her uneasiness, but she felt that exertion was necessary, and, from that moment, the languor of disease yielded to the energy of her mental courage.
Madame de la Tour had experienced many vicissitudes, and, as the wife of a soldier of fortune, she had learned to bear success with moderation, and to meet reverses with fortitude. She loved her husband, and with a spirit as high and undaunted as his own, and a mind far more noble and generous, she cherished his honor, as the only treasure which violence or injustice could never wrest from him. Affection is always credulous, and fortunately for her happiness she gave no belief to the high charges which were publicly alleged against him; but placed the most undoubting trust in his assurance, that they were the baseless calumnies of an enemy. Even the many dark shades in his character, which could not escape her discernment, she was ever ready to palliate; and her bland influence often restrained the violence of his stern and vindictive temper.
La Tour, with all his faults, was never unjust to her merits; and, though he had married her without affection, her exemplary conduct gradually removed his indifference, and gained an ascendancy over him, which his pride would never have brooked from a less superior mind. The misfortune which had now befallen him, Mad. de la Tour had reason to apprehend, would lead to still more serious consequences. His imprisonment might prove long and perilous; and it was probable that D'Aulney would take advantage of so good an opportunity to renew his attempt upon the fort. La Tour had drawn his best men from the garrison, in the sanguine hope that he was leading them to victory; and now that defeat and capture had befallen them, those who remained behind were dispirited by the apprehension of an attack, for which they were entirely unprepared. Madame de la Tour again appeared amongst them; and, though pale and debilitated by recent illness, her presence inspired them with renewed hope and resolution. Her directions were obeyed with an alacrity, which shewed their confidence and affection; and she had soon the satisfaction of finding every duty promptly fulfilled, and every precaution taken, which the most vigilant prudence could suggest. These arrangements, and their attendant cares, necessarily engrossed much of her time and thoughts; and diverted her mind from the contemplation of her husband's dreary situation.
Several days passed away, and no intelligence was received, which could tend to relieve her anxiety. A few of the men who escaped from the wreck of Stanhope's vessel had returned to St. John's, and confirmed the report of that disaster; but they were ignorant of any events which afterwards took place, either with regard to him, or La Tour. Luciè endeavoured to support the irksome suspense, with something of that equanimity which her aunt invariably exhibited. But she was less practised in this species of self-control; and the silence, which Madame de la Tour preserved respecting Stanhope, increased her uneasiness and depression. She had never alluded to him, except in some casual remark, since the evening of his departure; and Luciè had no reason to believe her sentiments respecting his attachment were at all changed. Pride and delicacy restrained her from entering on a theme, which was so pointedly shunned; but she felt wounded by a reserve that she had never before experienced; and the silence imposed on her, only gave more activity to her thoughts, which were perpetually engrossed by a subject, so closely connected with her happiness. Mad. de la Tour's conduct towards her was in every other respect unchanged; her affection and confidence undiminished; and Luciè fancied she could discern, in this, the influence of her guardian's prejudices, or, perhaps, a prohibition which her aunt would not venture to disregard.
Two or three days of gloomy weather had confined Madame de la Tour almost entirely to her own apartment; tidings long expected were still delayed; and, in spite of every effort, the disappointment and anxiety evidently depressed her spirits. On the first return of sunshine, she proposed a walk with Luciè, to the cottage of Jacques and Annette, which stood at a little distance without the fort, and had been presented to them, on their marriage, by La Tour, as a reward of their fidelity. It was at the close of a balmy day, in the early part of autumn; and, for a time, they walked on in silence, each one engrossed by her own reflections. Madame de la Tour at length abruptly said,
"This soft and fragrant air brings healing on its wings! my strength and spirits are already renovated by its soothing influence, and even inanimate nature seems rejoicing in this brilliant sunshine, so doubly welcome, after the damp and heavy fogs, which have so long hung round us!"
"It is almost like the mild, transparent evenings of our own bright clime," said Luciè; "but there we can enjoy, without the fear of perpetual change, while in this land of vapors, the sun which sets with most resplendency often rises shrouded in clouds."
"It is this contrast, which gives a piquancy to all our pleasures," said Mad. de la Tour; "no sky is so serene, as that which succeeds a tempest; and a slight alloy of sorrow or disappointment gives a zest to subsequent enjoyment."
"No one can love variety better than I," said Luciè, smiling; "provided its shades are all reflected from glowing colors; but I would prefer a calm and settled enjoyment, however monotonous it may seem, to those sudden bursts which borrow half their brightness from the contrasted gloom of a reverse!"