"Not one that I value half as much," she answered, taking it from him,
and breathing on the crushed leaves, to restore their freshness; "I have
reared it with much care, from a stock which I brought from
Northumberland; and it has now blossomed for the first time--a memento
of many happy days."

Her words were addressed to Stanhope, and he was receiving the rose from
her hand, when her countenance suddenly changed, and, closing her eyes,
as if to exclude some unwelcome object, she clung to his offered arm for
support. He was too much absorbed by her, to seek the cause of her
alarm; but De Valette observed father Gilbert, standing at a little
distance, his eyes intently fixed on Luciè, while his features betrayed
the conflict of powerful emotions.

"Why are you thus agitated, Luciè?" asked De Valette, in surprise;
"surely you recognize the priest; you do not fear him?"

"He _makes_ me fear him, Eustace; he always looks at me so fixedly, so
wildly, that I cannot--dare not meet his gaze."

"This is mere fancy, Luciè," he answered, lightly; "is it strange that
even the holy father should gaze on you with earnestness?"

"It is no time to jest, Eustace," she answered, with a trembling voice;
"speak to him,--he is coming hither,--I will not stay."

While she spoke, the priest drew near her,--paused a moment,--and,
murmuring a few words in a low voice, turned again, and, with a
thoughtful and abstracted air, walked slowly from them. De Valette
followed him; and Luciè, glad to escape, returned, with Stanhope, to the