house.




CHAPTER IX.

Untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late!
Yet I am chang'd; though still enough the same
In strength, to bear what time cannot abate,
And feed on bitter fruits, without accusing fate.

LORD BYRON.


Father Gilbert stopped a few paces from the spot which Luciè had just
quitted, and, leaning against a tree, appeared so entirely absorbed by
his own reflections, that De Valette for some moments hesitated to
address him. The rapid mutations of his countenance still betrayed a
powerful mental struggle; and De Valette felt his curiosity and interest
strongly awakened, by the sudden and uncontrollable excitement of one,
whose usually cold and abstracted air, shewed little sympathy with the
concerns of humanity. Gradually, however, his features resumed their
accustomed calmness; but, on raising his eyes, and meeting the inquiring
gaze of De Valette, he drooped his head, as if ashamed to have betrayed
emotions, so inconsistent with the vow which professed to raise him
above the influence of all worldly passions.

"I fear you are ill, father," said De Valette, approaching him with