Alida laughed downright. But, immediately recovering her self-command, she replied— “Not so fancifully. My knowledge of the beauties of the house of Mr. Van Staats, is confined to very unpoetical glimpses from the river, in passing and repassing. The chimneys are twisted in the most approved style of the Dutch Brabant, and, although wanting the stork’s nests on their summits, it seems as if there might be that woman’s tempter, comfort, around the hearths beneath. The offices, too, have an enticing air, for a thrifty housewife!” “Which office, in compliment to the worthy Patroon, you intend shall not long be vacant?” Alida was playing with a spoon, curiously wrought to represent the stem and leaves of a tea-plant. She started, dropped the implement, and raised her eyes to the face of her companion. The look was steady, and not without an interest in the evident concern betrayed by the young man. “It will never be filled by me, Ludlow;” was the answer, uttered solemnly, and with a decision that denoted a resolution fixed. “That declaration removes a mountain!—Oh! Alida, if you could as easily———” “Hush!” whispered the other, rising and standing for a moment in an attitude of intense expectation. Her eye became brighter, and the bloom on her cheek even deeper than before, while pleasure and hope were both strongly depicted on her beautiful face—“Hush!” she continued, motioning to Ludlow to repress his feelings. “Did you hear nothing?” The disappointed and yet admiring young man was silent, though he watched her singularly interesting air, and lovely features, with all the intenseness that seemed to characterize her own deportment. As no sound followed that which Alida had heard or fancied she had heard, she resumed her seat, and appeared to lend her attention once more to her companion. “You were speaking of mountains?” she said, scarce knowing what she uttered. “The passage between the bays of Newburgh and Tappan, has scarce a rival, as I have heard from travelled men.” “I was indeed speaking of a mountain, but it was of one that weighs me to the earth. Your inexplicable conduct and cruel indifference have heaped it on my feelings, Alida. You have said that there is no hope for Oloff Van Staats; and one syllable, spoken with your native ingenuousness and sincerity, has had the effect to blow all my apprehensions from that quarter to the winds. There remains only to account for your absence, to resume the whole of your power over one who is but too readily disposed to confide in all you say or do.” La belle Barbérie seemed touched. Her glance at the young sailor was kinder, and her voice wanted some of its ordinary steadiness, in the reply. “That power has then been weakened?” “You will despise me, if I say no;—you will distrust me, if I say yes.” “Then silence seems the course best adapted to maintain our present amity.—Surely I heard a blow struck, lightly, on the shutter of that window?”