"Soon after this, Grégoire arrived, and informed us that the men who first stopped us, prepared to pursue me; but were remanded by the valet, on the supposition that the Count was dead.—After some time, however, he showed signs of returning life and sense, and whilst they were replacing him in his carriage, to re-convey him to a seat he possessed near the spot, (whither he had proposed to carry me), the sailor, who had at first been secured, made his escape again into the thicket. As for Grégoire, he was no longer regarded either in a hostile or amicable manner, and accordingly remounted his horse, and followed us to L'Orient.
"The next day we returned to the Chateau, at which place the Marchioness proposed remaining, till the vessel preparing to take the family, should be ready to sail. A month of tranquillity ensued, when we were surprised by a visit from the Count. The obstacles he had met with, it appeared, so far from abating, had added to his desire of obtaining me; but, convinced of the impracticability of either seducing, or forcing me from the protection of the Marchioness, and being, he said, unable to exist without me, he again demanded my hand in marriage. The Marchioness would have urged my accedence to an establishment so brilliant; but, on declaring my utter dislike to him, she yielded, and again gave him a positive refusal.
"The Count, mortified and enraged at my repeated rejections, vowed never to quit the pursuit, till he had, either by honourable or other means, subdued my obduracy. Secure, however, in the friendship of the Marchioness, I equally disregarded his entreaties and threats; and the vessel appointed for us, being fully prepared, and the fleet ready to sail, we bade adieu to France; and I was thus happily freed from the importunities of a troublesome lover."
"Thanks, my dear Louise," said Harland, "for your interesting tale; which, though unmarked with any extraordinary occurrences, proves you to have been truly the child of Providence."
"The child of Providence indeed," repeated Sir Henry, "nor can I sufficiently admire the wisdom of that Power, who directs the most trivial of our actions. Little did I think, when I hastened to your rescue, it was to that of the sister, of whom I was then in search. Your fainting, and the confusion arising from the unlucky blow I gave the Count, prevented me from observing you; and on that nobleman's partial recovery, I was glad to elude the vigilance of his servants, and seek the shelter the luxurious foliage of the thicket afforded."
"And was it you, my brother," said Louise, in a voice of grateful mildness, "who then preserved me from the Count? But what accident conducted you to so solitary a spot? and why in a garb so unsuitable to your station and character?"
"Mrs. Harland has anticipated the question, I was in part going to ask Sir Henry," said the Captain; "and as you have raised my curiosity, if you will acquaint us with the particulars of your peregrination in France, which you mentioned when at St. Helena, it will add to the pleasure I have received in hearing the relation of your sister?"
Sir Henry readily complied—"although I have little to recite," he said, "except an action I must ever remember with regret, as a weakness for which one so long inured to sorrow as myself, can offer no excuse."