Chapter 25 - Page 2

the officer of
the Queen had his orders, and he could not shut his eyes to the general
obligations of duty. The brigantine was known to inflict so much loss on
the revenue of the crown, more particularly in the other hemisphere, that
an especial order had been issued by the Admiral of the station, for her
capture. Here then was an opportunity of depriving the vessel of that
master-spirit which, notwithstanding the excellence of its construction,
had alone so long enabled it to run the gauntlet of a hundred cruisers
with impunity. Agitated by these contending feelings and reflections, the
young sailor left the door of the villa, and came upon its little lawn, in
order to reflect with less interruption, and, indeed, to breathe more
freely.

The night had advanced into the first watch of the seaman. The shadow of
the mountain, however, still covered the grounds of the villa, the river,
and the shores of the Atlantic, with a darkness that was deeper than the
obscurity which dimmed the surface of the rolling ocean beyond. Objects
were so indistinct as to require close and steady looks to ascertain their
character, while the setting of the scene might be faintly traced by its
hazy and indistinct outlines. The curtains of la Cour des Fées had been
drawn, and, though the lights were still shining within, the eye could not
penetrate the pavilion. Ludlow gazed about him, and then held his way
reluctantly towards the water.

In endeavoring to conceal the interior of her apartment from the eyes of
those without, Alida had suffered a corner of the drapery to remain open.
When Ludlow reached the gate that led to the landing, he turned to take a
last look at the villa; and, favored by his new position, he caught a
glimpse, through the opening, of the person of her who was still uppermost
in his thoughts.

La belle Barbérie was seated at the little table, by whose side she had
been found, earlier in the evening. An elbow rested on the precious wood,
and one fair hand supported a brow that was thoughtful far beyond the
usual character of its expression, if not melancholy. The commander of the
Coquette felt the blood rushing to his heart, for he fancied that the
beautiful and pensive countenance was that of a penitent. It is probable
that the idea quickened his drooping hopes; for Ludlow believed it might
not yet be too late to rescue the woman, he so sincerely loved, from the
precipice over which she was suspended. The seemingly irretrievable step,
already taken, was forgotten; and the generous young sailor was about to
rush back to la Cour des Fées, to implore its mistress to be just to
herself, when the hand fell from her polished brow, and Alida raised her
face, with a look which denoted