Night soon concealed them from farther danger, and the hapless Harland retook possession of their imaginations. The timid Louise, with tearful eyes, endeavoured to pierce through the gloom, or entreated Sir Henry to stop and listen if perchance his distant footfall, or voice, could be heard. But all was silent--and busy fancy quickly portrayed him as sinking beneath the vengeance of his furious rival. Sir Henry's thoughts did not present a more cheerful picture; he entertained not a doubt but Ferrand had overpowered the Lieutenant; and an idea of assassination presented itself to his imagination, which the ferocious character of the East-Indian but too justly authorised. Could he have left Louise, he would instantly have retraced his way to the cottage, but no friendly roof presented itself which might have afforded shelter for the lovely maid; he had therefore no alternative but to proceed, though every nerve trembling with anxiety to return and aid the unfortunate Lieutenant. It was nearly the hour of midnight when they arrived at the Marchioness's, where Louise had again the satisfaction of being folded to the bosom of her generous benefactress. An inquiry after Harland followed the embrace. The tears of Louise informed her some accident had happened; and, on her applying to Sir Henry for an explanation, he gave a concise relation of the evening's adventures; at the same time declaring his intention of instantly returning. The Marchioness could not oppose his determination, but applied herself to console Louise, who appeared nearly overpowered by her emotions. Sir Henry advanced to her, and tenderly taking her hand--"Indulge not this immoderate grief, my dear girl, which can only add to our present distress. Summon your fortitude. George may be wounded--he may be overpowered; or, which is most probable, he may have missed his way in the plantations. I yesterday, my dear girl, despaired of ever beholding you again; yet, when least expected, Providence conducted us to you. Hope, then, for the best. I will proceed, with the utmost expedition, to his assistance, if he need it: and if our fears are prophetic--but you must not indulge the idea.--Harland shall live, and live to bless my Louise!" The enthusiasm with which Sir Henry pronounced the last sentence, imparted a hope to the heart of Louise, he dared not himself indulge. She faintly smiled through her tears: Sir Henry again repeated--"Hope for the best!" and was hastening out of the room, when a loud peal at the outward door arrested his steps, and, the minute after, Harland, with breathless impatience, rushed into the room, followed by the old Negro. "My dearest, loveliest girl!" he exclaimed, clasping the delighted Louise to his bosom; "am I again so blessed as to behold you?--Nor will I part from you again, my Louise, till the Church's sanction has placed it beyond the power of aught but death to separate us!"