Concealment! Charles assured her that he never proposed such a thing. No, let their affection be as open as day. If her father himself perceived it, it was at once avowed; but if he did not, it would be better to wait till his authorized him to demand her hand. He added several reasons, to which Julie replied nothing. She was not used to contend with any one, much less with one she loved; but her heart was not at ease. It was the first cloud which had obscured the morning of her life, and it cast a deeper shadow than she had fancied any thing could throw over her mind! They walked up the hill to the ruined arch of triumph, and gazed for a moment on the plain below; but Julie's heart did not expand to the scene. They turned again and wandered down to the brook, but the valley hid lost a portion of its peace. Charles expressed a wish to rest there ere they returned. Julie seated herself in silence where she had been placed when first they met, and Charles, casting himself down by her side, tried to convince her that he was right, for he saw that she was not yet satisfied. "I suppose," said she, turning to him with a smile, though it was rather a melancholy one--"I suppose I ought to be convinced, for I have nothing to say in reply. But, at all events, be it as you think fit. Of course I shall say nothing to my father until you approve of it. I have never yet wanted confidence in any one." If the last sentence implied any thing reproachful, Charles did not or would not perceive it. He took Julie's hand and pressed it to his lips, while the colour mounted more deeply in her cheek, and her dark eyes were bent down upon the ground. What she had said, however, was overheard by another, whose presence neither Julie nor Charles had observed. Her father, by some chance, had that night, turned his steps in the same direction that they had, and he now stood before them. Charles was the first who raised his eyes, and they instantly encountered the fixed stern glance of Villars. "Well, young man," said he, in a deep, bitter tone of voice, "you have rested with me long enough. You have accepted of my care, you have betrayed my hospitality, you have recovered from your illness, and now begone." Charles exculpated himself boldly, but to one that did not attend. He declared again and again that his every intention was most pure and honourable. "Honourable!" repeated Villars, with a scoff. "Whatever were your intentions, he who could teach a child to deceive her father is unworthy of my daughter. Begone, sir! I hear no more; never let me see your face again. Come, weak girl," he added, turning to Julie, down whose cheeks the tears were rolling in silent bitterness, "wipe away those tears, and do not let me think you unworthy of your race;" and he led her back to the château; passing on straight to his own library.