“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. He is Jacques. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. But to choose this of all moments. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. As he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark.
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