"I cannot but opine, Miss Lucy," he said, "that your worshipful lady
mother hath in this matter an eagerness whilk, although it ariseth
doubtless from love to your best interests here and hereafter, for the
man is of persecuting blood, and himself a persecutor, a Cavalier
or Malignant, and a scoffer, who hath no inheritance in Jesse;
nevertheless, we are commanded to do justice unto all, and to fulfil
our bond and covenant, as well to the stranger as to him who is in
brotherhood with us. Wherefore myself, even I myself, will be aiding
unto the delivery of your letter to the man Edgar Ravenswood, trusting
that the issue therof may be your deliverance from the nets in which he
hath sinfully engaged you. And that I may do in this neither more nor
less than hath been warranted by your honourable parents, I pray you
to transcribe, without increment or subtraction, the letter formerly
expeded under the dictation of your right honourable mother; and I shall
put it into such sure course of being delivered, that if, honourable
young madam, you shall receive no answer, it will be necessary that
you conclude that the man meaneth in silence to abandon that naughty
contract, which, peradventure, he may be unwilling directly to restore."

Lucy eagerly embraced the expedient of the worthy divine. A new letter
was written in the precise terms of the former, and consigned by Mr.
Bide-the-Bent to the charge of Saunders Moonshine, a zealous elder of
the church when on shore, and when on board his brig as bold a smuggler
as ever ran out a sliding bowsprit to the winds that blow betwixt
Campvere and the east coast of Scotland. At the recommendation of his
pastor, Saunders readily undertook that the letter should be securely
conveyed to the Master of Ravenswood at the court where he now resided.

This retrospect became necessary to explain the conference betwixt Miss
Ashton, her mother, and Bucklaw which we have detailed in a preceding
chapter.

Lucy was now like the sailor who, while drifting through a tempestuous
ocean, clings for safety to a single plank, his powers of grasping it
becoming every moment more feeble, and the deep darkness of the night
only checkered by the flashes of lightning, hissing as they show the
white tops of the billows, in which he is soon to be engulfed.

Week crept away after week, and day after day. St. Jude's day arrived,
the last and protracted term to which Lucy had limited herself, and
there was neither letter nor news of Ravenswood.




CHAPTER XXXII.

     How fair these names, how much unlike they look
     To all the blurr'd subscriptions in my book!
     The bridegroom's letters stand in row above,
     Tapering, yet straight, like pine-trees in his grove;
     While free and fine the bride's appear below,
     As light and slender as her jessamines grow.

     CRABBE.

ST. JUDE's day came, the term assigned by Lucy herself as the furthest
date of expectation, and, as we have already said, there were neither
letters from nor news of Ravenswood. But there were news of Bucklaw, and
of his trusty associate Craigengelt, who arrived early in the morning
for the completion of the proposed espousals, and for signing the
necessary deeds.

These had been carefully prepared under the revisal of Sir William
Ashton himself, it having been resolved, on account of the state of Miss
Ashton's health, as it was said, that none save the parties immediately
interested should be present when the parchments were subscribed. It
was further determined that the marriage should be solemnised upon the
fourth day after signing the articles, a measure adopted by Lady Ashton,
in order that Lucy might have as little time as possible to recede or
relapse into intractability. There was no appearance, however, of
her doing either. She heard the proposed arrangement with the calm
indifference of despair, or rather with an apathy arising from the
oppressed and stupified state of her feelings. To an eye so unobserving
as that of Bucklaw, her demeanour had little more of reluctance than
might suit the character of a bashful young lady, who, however, he could
not disguise from himself, was complying with the choice of her friends
rather than exercising any personal predilection in his favour.

When the morning compliment of the bridegroom had been paid, Miss Ashton
was left for some time to herself; her mother remarking, that the deeds
must be signed before the hour of noon, in order that the marriage might
be happy. Lucy suffered herself to be attired for the occasion as the
taste of her attendants suggested, and was of course splendidly arrayed.
Her dress was composed of white satin and Brussels lace, and her
hair arranged with a profusion of jewels, whose lustre made a strange
contrast to the deadly paleness of her complexion, and to the trouble
which dwelt in her unsettled eye.

Her toilette was hardly finished ere Henry appeared, to conduct the
passive bride to the state apartment, where all was prepared for signing
the contract. "Do you know, sister," he said, "I am glad you are to
have Bucklaw after all, instead of Ravenswood, who looked like a Spanish
grandee come to cute our throats and trample our bodies under foot.
And I am glad the broad seas are between us this day, for I shall never
forget how frightened I was when I took him for the picture of old Sir
Malise walked out of the canvas. Tell me true, are you not glad to be
fairly shot of him?"

"Ask me no questions, dear Henry," said his unfortunate sister; "there
is little more can happen to make me either glad or sorry in this
world."

"And that's what all young brides say," said Henry; "and so do not be
cast down, Lucy, for you'll tell another tale a twelvemonth hence; and I
am to be bride's-man, and ride before you to the kirk; and all our kith,
kin, and allies, and all Bucklaw's, are to be mounted and in order; and
I am to have a scarlet laced coat, and a feathered hat, and a swordbelt,
double bordered with gold, and point d'Espagne, and a dagger instead of
a sword; and I should like a sword much better, but my father won't
hear of it. All my things, and a hundred besides, are to come out from
Edinburgh to-night with old Gilbert and the sumpter mules; and I will
bring them and show them to you the instant they come."

The boy's chatter was here interrupted by the arrival of Lady Ashton,
somewhat alarmed at her daughter's stay. With one of her sweetest
smiles, she took Lucy's arm under her own.

There were only present, Sir William Ashton and Colonel Douglas Ashton,
the last in full regimentals; Bucklaw, in bridegroom trim; Craigengelt,
freshly equipt from top to toe by the bounty of his patron, and
bedizened with as much lace as might have become the dress of the Copper
Captain; together with the Rev. Mr. Bide-the-Bent; the presence of
a minister being, in strict Presbyterian families, an indispensable
requisite upon all occasions of unusual solemnity.

Wines and refreshments were placed on a table, on which the writings
were displayed, ready for signature.

But before proceeding either to business or refreshment, Mr.
Bide-the-Bent, at a signal from Sir William Ashton, invited the company
to join him in a short extemporary prayer, in which he implored a
blessing upon the contract now to be solemnised between the honourable
parties then present. With the simplicity of his times and profession,
which permitted strong personal allusions, he petitioned that the
wounded mind of one of these noble parties might be healed, in reward
of her compliance with the advice of her right honourable parents; and
that, as she had proved herself a child after God's commandment, by
honouring her father and mother, she and hers might enjoy the promised
blessing--length of days in the land here, and a happy portion hereafter
in a better country. He prayed farther, that the bridegroom might
be weaned from those follies which seduced youth from the path of
knowledge; that he might cease to take delight in vain and unprofitable
company, scoffers, rioters, and those who sit late at the wine (here
Bucklaw winked at Craigengelt), and cease from the society that causeth
to err. A suitable supplication in behalf of Sir William and Lady Ashton
and their family concluded this religious address, which thus embraced
every individual present excepting Craigengelt, whom the worthy divine
probably considered as past all hopes of grace.

The business of the day now went forward: Sir William Ashton signed
the contract with legal solemnity and precision; his son, with military
nonchalance; and Bucklaw, having subscribed as rapidly as Craigengelt
could manage to turn the leaves, concluded by wiping his pen on that
worthy's new laced cravat. It was now Miss Ashton's turn to sign the
writings, and she was guided by her watchful mother to the table for
that purpose. At her first attempt, she began to write with a dry pen,
and when the circumstance was pointed out, seemed unable, after several
attempts, to dip it in the massive silver ink-standish, which stood full
before her. Lady Ashton's vigilance hastened to supply the deficiency. I
have myself seen the fatal deed, and in the distinct characters in which
the name of Lucy Ashton is traced on each page there is only a very
slight tremulous irregularity, indicative of her state of mind at the
time of the subscription. But the last signature is incomplete, defaced,
and blotted; for, while her hand was employed in tracing it, the hasty
tramp of a horse was heard at the gate, succeeded by a step in the
outer gallery, and a voice which, in a commanding tone, bore down the
opposition of the menials. The pen dropped from Lucy's fingers, as she
exclaimed with a faint shriek: "He is come--he is come!"




CHAPTER XXXIII.

     This by his tongue should be a Montague!
     Fetch me my rapier, boy;
     Now, by the faith and honour of my kin,
     To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

     Romeo and Juliet.

HARDLY had Miss Ashton dropped the pen, when the door of the apartment
flew open, and the Master of Ravenswood entered the apartment.

Lockhard and another domestic, who had in vain attempted to oppose his
passage through the gallery or antechamber, were seen standing on the
threshold transfixed with surprise, which was instantly communicated to
the whole party in the state-room. That of Colonel Douglas Ashton was
mingled with resentment; that of Bucklaw with haughty and affected
indifference; the rest, even Lady Ashton herself, showed signs of
fear; and Lucy seemed stiffened to stone by this unexpected apparition.
Apparition it might well be termed, for Ravenswood had more the
appearance of one returned from the dead than of a living visitor.

He planted himself full in the middle of the apartment, opposite to the
table at which Lucy was seated, on whom, as if she had been alone in the
chamber, he bent his eyes with a mingled expression of deep grief and
deliberate indignation. His dark-coloured riding cloak, displaced from
one shoulder, hung around one side of his person in the ample folds of
the Spanish mantle. The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled, and
deranged by hard riding. He had a sword by his side, and pistols in his
belt. His slouched hat, which he had not removed at entrance, gave
an additional gloom to his dark features, which, wasted by sorrow and
marked by the ghastly look communicated by long illness, added to a
countenance naturally somewhat stern and wild a fierce and even savage
expression. The matted and dishevelled locks of hair which escaped from
under his hat, together with his fixed and unmoved posture, made his
head more resemble that of a marble bust than that of a living man. He
said not a single word, and there was a deep silence in the company for
more than two minutes.

It was broken by Lady Ashton, who in that space partly recovered her
natural audacity. She demanded to know the cause of this unauthorised
intrusion.

"That is a question, madam," said her son, "which I have the best right
to ask; and I must request of the Master of Ravenswood to follow me
where he can answer it at leisure."

Bucklaw interposed, saying, "No man on earth should usurp his previous
right in demanding an explanation from the Master. Craigengelt," he
added, in an undertone, "d--n ye, why do you stand staring as if you saw
a ghost? fetch me my sword from the gallery."

"I will relinquish to none," said Colonel Ashton, "my right of calling
to account the man who has offered this unparalleled affront to my
family." "Be patient, gentlemen," said Ravenswood, turning sternly
towards them, and waving his hand as if to impose silence on their
altercation. "If you are as weary of your lives as I am, I will find
time and place to pledge mine against one or both; at present, I have no
leisure for the disputes of triflers."

"Triflers!" echoed Colonel Ashton, half unsheathing his sword, while
Bucklaw laid his hand on the hilt of that which Craigengelt had just
reached him.

Sir William Ashton, alarmed for his son's safety, rushed between the
young men and Ravenswood, exclaiming: "My son, I command you--Bucklaw, I
entreat you--keep the peace, in the name of the Queen and of the law!"

"In the name of the law of God," said Bide-the-Bent, advancing also with
uplifted hands between Bucklaw, the Colonel, and the object of their
resentment--"in the name of Him who brought peace on earth and good-will
to mankind, I implore--I beseech--I command you to forbear violence
towards each other! God hateth the bloodthirsty man; he who striketh
with the sword shall perish with the sword."

"Do you take me for a dog, sir" said Colonel Ashton, turning fiercely
upon him, "or something more brutally stupid, to endure this insult in
my father's house? Let me go, Bucklaw! He shall account to me, or, by
Heavens, I will stab him where he stands!"

"You shall not touch him here," said Bucklaw; "he once gave me my
life, and were he the devil come to fly away with the whole house and
generation, he shall have nothing but fair play."

The passions of the two young men thus counteracting each other
gave Ravenswood leisure to exclaim, in a stern and steady voice:
"Silence!--let him who really seeks danger take the fitting time when
it is to be found; my mission here will be shortly accomplished. Is THAT
your handwriting, madam?" he added in a softer tone, extending towards
Miss Ashton her last letter.

A faltering "Yes" seemed rather to escape from her lips than to be
uttered as a voluntary answer.

"And is THIS also your handwriting?" extending towards her the mutual
engagement.

Lucy remained silent. Terror, and a yet stronger and more confused
feeling, so utterly disturbed her understanding that she probably
scarcely comprehended the question that was put to her.

"If you design," said Sir William Ashton, "to found any legal claim on
that paper, sir, do not expect to receive any answer to an extrajudicial
question."

"Sir William Ashton," said Ravenswood, "I pray you, and all who hear
me, that you will not mistake my purpose. If this young lady, of her own
free will, desires the restoration of this contract, as her letter
would seem to imply, there is not a withered leaf which this autumn wind
strews on the heath that is more valueless in my eyes. But I must and
will hear the truth from her own mouth; without this satisfaction I will
not leave this spot. Murder me by numbers you possibly may; but I am
an armed man--I am a desperate man, and I will nto die without ample
vengeance. This is my resolution, take it as you may. I WILL hear her
determination from her own mouth; from her own mouth, alone, and without
witnesses, will I hear it. Now, choose," he said, drawing his sword with
the right hand, and, with the left, by the same motion taking a pistol
from his belt and cocking it, but turning the point of one weapon and
the muzzle of the other to the ground--"choose if you will have this
hall floated with blood, or if you will grant me the decisive interview
with my affianced bride which the laws of God and the country alike
entitle me to demand."

All recoiled at the sound of his voice and the determined action by
which it was accompanied; for the ecstasy of real desperation seldom
fails to overpower the less energetic passions by which it may be
opposed. The clergyman was the first to speak. "In the name of God," he
said, "receive an overture of peace from the meanest of His servants.
What this honourable person demands, albeit it is urged with over
violence, hath yet in it something of reason. Let him hear from Miss
Lucy's own lips that she hath dutifully acceded to the will of her
parents, and repenteth her of her covenant with him; and when he is
assured of this he will depart in peace unto his own dwelling, and
cumber us no more. Alas! the workings of the ancient Adam are strong
even in the regenerate; surely we should have long-suffering with those
who, being yet in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity, are swept
forward by the uncontrollable current of worldly passion. Let then, the
Master of Ravenswood have the interview on which he insisteth; it can
but be as a passing pang to this honourable maiden, since her faith is
now irrevocably pledged to the choice of her parents. Let it, I say, be
this: it belongeth to my functions to entreat your honours' compliance
with this headling overture."

"Never!" answered Lady Ashton, whose rage had now overcome her first
surprise and terror--"never shall this man speak in private with my
daughter, the affianced bride of another! pass from this room who will,
I remain here. I fear neither his violence nor his weapons, though some,"
she said, glancing a look towards Colonel Ashton, "who bear my name
appear more moved by them."

"For God's sake, madam," answered the worthy divine, "add not fuel to
firebrands. The Master of Ravenswood cannot, I am sure, object to your
presence, the young lady's state of health being considered, and your
maternal duty. I myself will also tarry; peradventure my grey hairs may
turn away wrath."

"You are welcome to do so, sir," said Ravenswood; "and Lady Ashton is
also welcome to remain, if she shall think proper; but let all others
depart."

"Ravenswood," said Colonel Ashton, crossing him as he went out, "you
shall account for this ere long."

"When you please," replied Ravenswood.

"But I," said Bucklaw, with a half smile, "have a prior demand on your
leisure, a claim of some standing."

"Arrange it as you will," said Ravenswood; "leave me but this day in
peace, and I will have no dearer employment on earth to-morrow than to
give you all the satisfaction you can desire."

The other gentlemen left the apartment; but Sir William Ashton lingered.

"Master of Ravenswood," he said, in a conciliating tone, "I think I have
not deserved that you should make this scandal and outrage in my family.
If you will sheathe your sword, and retire with me into my study, I will
prove to you, by the most satisfactory arguments, the inutility of your
present irregular procedure----"

"To-morrow, sir--to-morrow--to-morrow, I will hear you at length,"
reiterated Ravenswood, interrupting him; "this day hath its own sacred
and indispensable business."

He pointed to the door, and Sir William left the apartment.

Ravenswood sheathed his sword, uncocked and returned his pistol to his
belt; walked deliberately to the door of the apartment, which he bolted;
returned, raised his hat from his forehead, and gazing upon Lucy with
eyes in which an expression of sorrow overcame their late fierceness,
spread his dishevelled locks back from his face, and said, "Do you know
me, Miss Ashton? I am still Edgar Ravenswood." She was silent, and he
went on with increasing vehemence: "I am still that Edgar Ravenswood
who, for your affection, renounced the dear ties by which injured honour
bound him to seek vengeance. I am that Ravenswood who, for your sake,
forgave, nay, clasped hands in friendship with, the oppressor and
pillager of his house, the traducer and murderer of his father."

"My daughter," answered Lady Ashton, interrupting him, "has no occasion
to dispute the identity of your person; the venom of your present
language is sufficient to remind her that she speaks with the moral
enemy of her father."

"I pray you to be patient, madam," answered Ravenswood; "my answer
must come from her own lips. Once more, Miss Lucy Ashton, I am that
Ravenswood to whom you granted the solemn engagement which you now
desire to retract and cancel."

Lucy's bloodless lips could only falter out the words, "It was my
mother."

"She speaks truly," said Lady Ashton, "it WAS I who, authorised alike
by the laws of God and man, advised her, and concurred with her, to
set aside an unhappy and precipitate engagement, and to annul it by the
authority of Scripture itself."

"Scripture!" said Ravenswood, scornfully.

"Let him hear the text," said Lady Ashton, appealing to the divine, "on
which you yourself, with cautious reluctance, declared the nullity of
the pretended engagement insisted upon by this violent man."

The clergyman took his clasped Bible from his pocket, and read the
following words: "If a woman vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself
by a bond, being in her father's house in her youth, and her father hear
her vow, and her bond wherewith she hath bound her soul, and her father
shall hold his peace at her; then all her vows shall stand, and every
vow wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand."

"And was it not even so with us?" interrrupted Ravenswood.

"Control thy impatience, young man," answered the divine, "and hear what
follows in the sacred text: 'But if her father disallow her in the day
that he heareth, not any of her vows, or of her bonds wherewith she hath
bound her soul, shall stand; and the Lord shall forgive her, because her
father disallowed her."

"And was not," said Lady Ashton, fiercely and triumphantly breaking
in--"was not ours the case stated in the Holy Writ? Will this person
deny, that the instant her parents heard of the vow, or bond, by which
our daughter had bound her soul, we disallowed the same in the most
express terms, and informed him by writing of our determination?"

"And is this all?" said Ravenswood, looking at Lucy. "Are you willing
to barter sworn faith, the exercise of free will, and the feelings of
mutual affection to this wretched hypocritical sophistry?"

"Hear him!" said Lady Ashton, looking to the clergyman--"hear the
blasphemer!"

"May God forgive him," said Bide-the-Bent, "and enlighten his
ignorance!"

"Hear what I have sacrificed for you," said Ravenswood, still addressing
Lucy, "ere you sanction what has been done in your name. The honour of
an ancient family, the urgent advice of my best friends, have been in
vain used to sway my resolution; neither the arguments of reason nor
the portents of superstition have shaken my fidelity. The very dead have
arisen to warn me, and their warning has been despised. Are you prepared
to pierce my heart for its fidelity with the very weapon which my rash
confidence entrusted to your grasp?"

"Master of Ravenswood," said Lady Ashton, "you have asked what questions
you thought fit. You see the total incapacity of my daughter to answer
you. But I will reply for her, and in a manner which you cannot dispute.
You desire to know whether Lucy Ashton, of her own free will, desires
to annual the engagement into which she has been trepanned. You have her
letter under her own hand, demanding the surrender of it; and, in yet
more full evidence of her purpose, here is the contract which she has
this morning subscribed, in presence of this reverence gentleman, with
Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw."

Ravenswood gazed upon the deed as if petrified. "And it was without
fraud or compulsion," said he, looking towards the clergyman, "that Miss
Ashton subscribed this parchment?"

"I couch it upon my sacred character."

"This is indeed, madam, an undeniable piece of evidence," said
Ravenswood, sternly; "and it will be equally unnecessary and
dishonourable to waste another word in useless remonstrance or reproach.
There, madam," he said, laying down before Lucy the signed paper and the
broken piece of gold--"there are the evidences of your first engagement;
may you be more faithful to that which you have just formed. I will
trouble you to return the corresponding tokens of my ill-placed
confidence; I ought rather to say, of my egregious folly."

Lucy returned the scornful glance of her lover with a gaze from which
perception seemed to have been banished; yet she seemed partly to have
understood his meaning, for she raised her hands as if to undo a blue
ribbon which she wore around her neck. She was unable to accomplish her
purpose, but Lady Ashton cut the ribbon asunder, and detached the broken
piece of gold, which Miss Ashton had till then worn concealed in her
bosom; the written counterpart of the lovers' engagement she for
some time had had in her own possession. With a haughty courtesy, she
delivered both to Ravenswood, who was much softened when he took the
piece of gold.

"And she could wear it thus," he said, speaking to himself--"could wear
it in her very bosom--could wear it next to her heart--even when---- But
complain avails not," he said, dashing from his eye the tear which
had gathered in it, and resuming the stern composure of his manner. He
strode to the chimney, and threw into the fire the paper and piece of
gold, stamping upon the coals with the heel of his boot, as if to ensure
their destruction. "I will be no longer," he then said, "an intruder
here. Your evil wishes, and your worse offices, Lady Ashton, I will
only return by hoping these will be your last machinations against your
daughter's honour and happiness. And to you, madam," he said, addressing
Lucy, "I have nothing farther to say, except to pray to God that you
may not become a world's wonder for this act of wilful and deliberate
perjury." Having uttered these words, he turned on his heel and left the
apartment.

Sir William Ashton, by entreaty and authority, had detained his son and
Bucklaw in a distant part of the castle, in order to prevent their
again meeting with Ravenswood; but as the Master descended the great
staircase, Lockhard delivered him a billet, signed "Sholto Douglas
Ashton," requesting to know where the Master of Ravenswood would be
heard of four or five days from hence, as the writer had business of
weight to settle with him, so soon as an important family event had
taken place.

"Tell Colonel Ashton," said Ravenswood, composedly, "I shall be found at
Wolf's Crag when his leisure serves him."

As he descended the outward stair which led from the terrace, he was
a second time interrupted by Craigengelt, who, on the part of his
principal, the Laird of Bucklaw, expressed a hope that Ravenswood would
not leave Scotland within ten days at least, as he had both former and
recent civilities for which to express his gratitude.

"Tell your master," said Ravenswood, fiercely, "to choose his own time.
He will find me at Wolf's Crag, if his purpose is not forestalled."

"MY master!" replied Craigengelt, encouraged by seeing Colonel Ashton
and Bucklaw at the bottom of the terrace. "Give me leave to say I know
of no such person upon earth, nor will I permit such language to be used
to me!"

"Seek your master, then, in hell!" exclaimed Ravenswood, giving way to
the passion he had hitherto restrained, and throwing Craigengelt from
him with such violence that he rolled down the steps and lay senseless
at the foot of them. "I am a fool," he instantly added, "to vent my
passion upon a caitiff so worthless."

He then mounted his horse, which at his arrival he had secured to a
balustrade in front of the castle, rode very slowly past Bucklaw and
Colonel Ashton, raising his hat as he passed each, and looking in their
faces steadily while he offered this mute salutation, which was returned
by both with the same stern gravity. Ravenswood walked on with equal
deliberation until he reached the head of the avenue, as if to show
that he rather courted than avoided interruption. When he had passed the
upper gate, he turned his horse, and looked at the castle with a fixed
eye; then set spurs to his good steed, and departed with the speed of a
demon dismissed by the exorcist.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

     Who comes from the bridal chamber?
     It is Azrael, the angel of death.

     Thalaba.

AFTER the dreadful scene that had taken place at the castle, Lucy was
transported to her own chamber, where she remained for some time in a
state of absolute stupor. Yet afterwards, in the course of the
ensuing day, she seemed to have recovered, not merely her spirits
and resolution, but a sort of flighty levity, that was foreign to her
character and situation, and which was at times chequered by fits of
deep silence and melancholy and of capricious pettishness. Lady Ashton
became much alarmed and consulted the family physicians. But as her
pulse indicated no change, they could only say that the disease was on
the spirits, and recommended gentle exercise and amusement. Miss Ashton
never alluded to what had passed in the state-room. It seemed doubtful
even if she was conscious of it, for she was often observed to raise
her hands to her neck, as if in search of the ribbon that had been taken
from it, and mutter, in surprise and discontent, when she could not find
it, "It was the link that bound me to life."

Notwithstanding all these remarkable symptoms, Lady Ashton was too
deeply pledged to delay her daughter's marriage even in her present
state of health. It cost her much trouble to keep up the fair side of
appearances towards Bucklaw. She was well aware, that if he once saw any
reluctance on her daughter's part, he would break off the treaty, to her
great personal shame and dishonour. She therefore resolved that, if Lucy
continued passive, the marriage should take place upon the day that had
been previously fixed, trusting that a change of place, of situation,
and of character would operate a more speedy and effectual cure upon
the unsettled spirits of her daughter than could be attained by the slow
measures which the medical men recommended. Sir William Ashton's views
of family aggrandisement, and his desire to strengthen himself against
the measures of the Marquis of A----, readily induced him to acquiesce
in what he could not have perhaps resisted if willing to do so. As for
the young men, Bucklaw and Colonel Ashton, they protested that, after
what had happened, it would be most dishonourable to postpone for
a single hour the time appointed for the marriage, as it would be
generally ascribed to their being intimidated by the intrusive visit and
threats of Ravenswood.

Bucklaw would indeed have been incapable of such precipitation, had he
been aware of the state of Miss Ashton's health, or rather of her mind.
But custom, upon these occasions, permitted only brief and sparing
intercourse between the bridegroom and the betrothed; a circumstance so
well improved by Lady Ashton, that Bucklaw neither saw nor suspected the
real state of the health and feelings of his unhappy bride.

On the eve of the bridal day, Lucy appeared to have one of her fits
of levity, and surveyed with a degree of girlish interest the various
preparations of dress, etc., etc., which the different members of the
family had prepared for the occasion.

The morning dawned bright and cheerily. The bridal guests assembled
in gallant troops from distant quarters. Not only the relations of Sir
William Ashton, and the still more dignified connexions of his lady,
together with the numerous kinsmen and allies of the bridegroom, were
present upon this joyful ceremony, gallantly mounted, arrayed, and
caparisoned, but almost every Presbyterian family of distinction within
fifty miles made a point of attendance upon an occasion which was
considered as giving a sort of triumph over the Marquis of A----, in the
person of his kinsman. Splendid refreshments awaited the guests on their
arrival, and after these were finished, the cray was "To horse." The
bride was led forth betwixt her brother Henry and her mother. Her
gaiety of the preceding day had given rise [place] to a deep shade of
melancholy, which, however, did not misbecome an occasion so momentous.
There was a light in her eyes and a colour in her cheek which had not
been kindled for many a day, and which, joined to her great beauty, and
the splendour of her dress, occasioned her entrance to be greeted with
an universal murmur of applause, in which even the ladies could not
refrain from joining. While the cavalcade were getting to horse, Sir
William Ashton, a man of peace and of form, censured his son Henry for
having begirt himself with a military sword of preposterous length,
belonging to his brother, Colonel Ashton.

"If you must have a weapon," he said, "upon such a peaceful occasion,
why did you not use the short poniard sent from Edinburgh on purpose?"

The boy vindicated himself by saying it was lost.

"You put it out of the way yourself, I suppose," said his father, "out
of ambition to wear that preposterous thing, which might have served Sir
William Wallace. But never mind, get to horse now, and take care of your
sister."

The boy did so, and was placed in the centre of the gallant train. At
the time, he was too full of his own appearance, his sword, his laced
cloak, his feathered hat, and his managed horse, to pay much regard to
anything else; but he afterwards remembered to the hour of his death,
that when the hand of his sister, by which she supported hersel on
the pillion behind him, touched his own, it felt as wet and cold as
sepulchral marble.

Glancing wide over hill and dale, the fair bridal procession at last
reached the parish church, which they nearly filled; for, besides
domestics, above a hundred gentlemen and ladies were present upon the
occasion. The marriage ceremony was performed according to the rites
of the Presbyterian persuasion, to which Bucklaw of late had judged it
proper to conform.

On the outside of the church, a liberal dole was distributed to the poor
of the neighbouring parishes, under the direction of Johnie Mortheuch
[Mortsheugh], who had lately been promoted from his desolate quarters
at the Hermitage to fill the more eligible situation of sexton at
the parish church of Ravenswood. Dame Gourlay, with two of her
contemporaries, the same who assisted at Alice's late-wake, seated apart
upon a flat monument, or "through-stane," sate enviously comparing the
shares which had been allotted to them in dividing the dole.

"Johnie Mortheuch," said Annie Winnie, "might hae minded auld lang syne,
and thought of his auld kimmers, for as braw as he is with his new black
coat. I hae gotten but five herring instead o' sax, and this disna look
like a gude saxpennys, and I dare say this bit morsel o' beef is an unce
lighter than ony that's been dealt round; and it's a bit o' the tenony
hough, mair by token that yours, Maggie, is out o' the back-sey."

"Mine, quo' she!" mumbled the paralytic hag--"mine is half banes,
I trow. If grit folk gie poor bodies ony thing for coming to their
weddings and burials, it suld be something that wad do them gude, I
think."

"Their gifts," said Ailsie Gourlay, "are dealt for nae love of us, nor
out of respect for whether we feed or starve. They wad gie us whinstanes
for loaves, if it would serve their ain vanity, and yet they expect us
to be as gratefu', as they ca' it, as if they served us for true love
and liking."

"And that's truly said," answered her companion.

"But, Aislie Gourlay, ye're the auldest o' us three--did ye ever see a
mair grand bridal?"

"I winna say that I have," answered the hag; "but I think soon to see as
braw a burial."

"And that wad please me as weel," said Annie Winnie; "for there's
as large a dole, and folk are no obliged to girn and laugh, and mak
murgeons, and wish joy to these hellicat quality, that lord it ower us
like brute beasts. I like to pack the dead-dole in my lap and rin ower
my auld rhyme--

     My loaf in my lap, my penny in my purse,
     Thou art ne'er the better, and
     I'm ne'er the worse."

"That's right, Annie," said the paralytic woman; "God send us a green
Yule and a fat kirkyard!"

"But I wad like to ken, Luckie Gourlay, for ye're the auldest and wisest
amang us, whilk o' these revellers' turn it will be to be streikit
first?"

"D'ye see yon dandilly maiden," said Dame Gourlay, "a' glistenin' wi'
gowd and jewels, that they are lifting up on the white horse behind that
hare-brained callant in scarlet, wi' the lang sword at his side?"

"But that's the bride!" said her companion, her cold heart touched with
some sort of compassion--"that's the very bride hersell! Eh, whow! sae
young, sae braw, and sae bonny--and is her time sae short?"

"I tell ye," said the sibyl, "her winding sheet is up as high as her
throat already, believe it wha list. Her sand has but few grains to rin
out; and nae wonder--they've been weel shaken. The leaves are withering
fast on the trees, but she'll never see the Martinmas wind gar them
dance in swirls like the fairy rings." "Ye waited on her for a
quarter," said the paralytic woman, "and got twa red pieces, or I am far
beguiled?"

"Ay, ay," answered Ailsie, with a bitter grin; "and Sir William Ashton
promised me a bonny red gown to the boot o' that--a stake, and a chain,
and a tar-barrel, lass! what think ye o' that for a propine?--for being
up early and doun late for fourscore nights and mair wi' his dwining
daughter. But he may keep it for his ain leddy, cummers."

"I hae heard a sough," said Annie Winnie, "as if Leddy Ashton was nae
canny body."

"D'ye see her yonder," said Dame Gourlay, "as she prances on her grey
gelding out at the kirkyard? There's mair o' utter deevilry in that
woman, as brave and fair-fashioned as she rides yonder, than in a' the
Scotch withces that ever flew by moonlight ower North Berwick Law."

"What's that ye say about witches, ye damned hags?" said Johnie
Mortheuch [Mortsheugh]; "are ye casting yer cantrips in the very
kirkyard, to mischieve the bride and bridegroom? Get awa' hame, for if I
tak my souple t'ye, I'll gar ye find the road faster than ye wad like."

"Hegh, sirs!" answered Ailsie Gourlay; "how bra' are we wi' our new
black coat and our weel-pouthered head, as if we had never kenn'd hunger
nor thirst oursells! and we'll be screwing up our bit fiddle, doubtless,
in the ha' the night, amang a' the other elbo'-jiggers for miles round.
Let's see if the pins haud, Johnie--that's a', lad."

"I take ye a' to witness, gude people," said Morheuch, "that she
threatens me wi' mischief, and forespeaks me. If ony thing but gude
happens to me or my fiddle this night, I'll make it the blackest night's
job she ever stirred in. I'll hae her before presbytery and synod: I'm
half a minister mysell, now that I'm a bedral in an inhabited parish."

Although the mutual hatred betwixt these hags and the rest of mankind
had steeled their hearts against all impressions of festivity, this was
by no means the case with the multitude at large. The splendour of the
bridal retinue, the gay dresses, the spirited horses, the blythesome
appearance of the handsome women and gallant gentlemen assembled upon
the occasion, had the usual effect upon the minds of the populace.
The repeated shouts of "Ashton and Bucklaw for ever!" the discharge of
pistols, guns, and musketoons, to give what was called the bridal shot,
evinced the interest the people took in the occasion of the cavalcade,
as they accompanied it upon their return to the castle. If there was
here and there an elder peasant or his wife who sneered at the pomp
of the upstart family, and remembered the days of the long-descended
Ravenswoods, even they, attracted by the plentiful cheer which the
castle that day afforded to rich and poor, held their way thither,
and acknowledged, notwithstanding their prejudices, the influence of
l'Amphitrion ou l'on dine.

Thus accompanied with the attendance both of rich and poor, Lucy
returned to her father's house. Bucklaw used his privilege of riding
next to the bride, but, new to such a situation, rather endeavoured to
attract attention by the display of his person and horsemanship, than
by any attempt to address her in private. They reached the castle in
safety, amid a thousand joyous acclamations.

It is well known that the weddings of ancient days were celebrated
with a festive publicity rejected by the delicacy of modern times. The
marriage guests, on the present occasion, were regaled with a banquet
of unbounded profusion, the relics of which, after the domestics had
feasted in their turn, were distributed among the shouting crowd, with
as many barrels of ale as made the hilarity without correspond to that
within the castle. The gentlemen, according to the fashion of the times,
indulged, for the most part, in deep draughts of the richest wines,
while the ladies, prepared for the ball which always closed a bridal
entertainment, impatiently expected their arrival in the state gallery.
At length the social party broke up at a late hour, and the gentlemen
crowded into the saloon, where, enlivened by wine and the joyful
occasion, they laid aside their swords and handed their impatient
partners to the floor. The music already rung from the gallery, along
the fretted roof of the ancient state apartment. According to strict
etiquette, the bride ought to have opened the ball; but Lady Ashton,
making an apology on account of her daughter's health, offered her own
hand to Bucklaw as substitute for her daughter's. But as Lady Ashton
raised her head gracefully, expecting the strain at which she was to
begin the dance, she was so much struck by an unexpected alteration
in the ornaments of the apartment that she was surprised into an
exclamation, "Who has dared to change the pictures?"

All looked up, and those who knew the usual state of the apartment
observed, with surprise, that the picture of Sir William Ashton's father
was removed from its place, and in its stead that of old Sir Malise
Ravenswood seemed to frown wrath and vengeance upon the party assembled
below. The exchange must have been made while the apartments were empty,
but had not been observed until the torches and lights in the sconces
were kindled for the ball. The haughty and heated spirits of the
gentlemen led them to demand an immediate inquiry into the cause of what
they deemed an affront to their host and to themselves; but Lady Ashton,
recovering herself, passed it over as the freak of a crazy wench who was
maintained about the castle, and whose susceptible imagination had been
observed to be much affected by the stories which Dame Gourlay delighted
to tell concerning "the former family," so Lady Ashton named the
Ravenswoods. The obnoxious picture was immediately removed, and the ball
was opened by Lady Ashton, with a grace and dignity which supplied the
charms of youth, and almost verified the extravagant encomiums of the
elder part of the company, who extolled her performance as far exceeding
the dancing of the rising generation.

When Lady Ashton sat down, she was not surprised to find that her
daughter had left the apartment, and she herself followed, eager to
obviate any impression which might have been made upon her nerves by an
incident so likely to affect them as the mysterious transposition of the
portraits. Apparently she found her apprehensions groundless, for she
returned in about an hour, and whispered the bridegroom, who extricated
himself from the dancers, and vanished from the apartment. The
instruments now played their loudest strains; the dancers pursued their
exercise with all the enthusiasm inspired by youth, mirth, and high
spirits, when a cry was heard so shrill and piercing as at once to
arrest the dance and the music. All stood motionless; but when the yell
was again repeated, Colonel Ashton snatched a torch from the sconce,
and demanding the key of the bridal-chamber from Henry, to whom, as
bride's-man, it had been entrusted, rushed thither, followed by Sir
William Ashton and Lady Ashton, and one or two others, near relations
of the family. The bridal guests waited their return in stupified
amazement.

Arrived at the door of the apartment, Colonel Ashton knocked and called,
but received no answer except stifled groans. He hesitated no longer
to open the door of the apartment, in which he found opposition from
something which lay against it. When he had succeeded in opening it, the
body of the bridegroom was found lying on the threshold of the bridal
chamber, and all around was flooded with blood. A cry of surprise and
horror was raised by all present; and the company, excited by this
new alarm, began to rush tumultuously towards the sleeping apartment.
Colonel Ashton, first whispering to his mother, "Search for her; she
has murdered him!" drew his sword, planted himself in the passage, and
declared he would suffer no man to pass excepting the clergyman and
a medical person present. By their assistance, Bucklaw, who still
breathed, was raised from the ground, and transported to another
apartment, where his friends, full of suspicion and murmuring, assembled
round him to learn the opinion of the surgeon.

In the mean while, Lady Ashton, her husband, and their assistants in
vain sought Lucy in the bridal bed and in the chamber. There was no
private passage from the room, and they began to think that she must
have thrown herself from the window, when one of the company, holding
his torch lower than the rest, discovered something white in the corner
of the great old-fashioned chimney of the apartment. Here they found
the unfortunate girl seated, or rather couched like a hare upon its
form--her head-gear dishevelled, her night-clothes torn and dabbled with
blood, her eyes glazed, and her features convulsed into a wild paroxysm
of insanity. When she saw herself discovered, she gibbered, made mouths,
and pointed at them with her bloody fingers, with the frantic gestures
of an exulting demoniac.

Female assistance was now hastily summoned; the unhappy bride was
overpowered, not without the use of some force. As they carried her over
the threshold, she looked down, and uttered the only articulate words
that she had yet spoken, saying, with a sort of grinning exultation,
"So, you have ta'en up your bonny bridegroom?" She was, by the
shuddering assistants, conveyed to another and more retired apartment,
where she was secured as her situation required, and closely watched.
The unutterable agony of the parents, the horror and confusion of all
who were in the castle, the fury of contending passions between the
friends of the different parties--passions augmented by previous
intemperance--surpass description.

The surgeon was the first who obtained something like a patient hearing;
he pronounced that the wound of Bucklaw, though severe and dangerous,
was by no means fatal, but might readily be rendered so by disturbance
and hasty removal. This silenced the numerous party of Bucklaw's
friends, who had previously insisted that he should, at all rates, be
transported from the castle to the nearest of their houses. They still
demanded, however, that, in consideration of what had happened, four of
their number should remain to watch over the sick-bed of their friend,
and that a suitable number of their domestics, well armed, should also
remain in the castle. This condition being acceded to on the part of
Colonel Ashton and his father, the rest of the bridegroom's friends left
the castle, notwithstanding the hour and the darkness of the night. The
cares of the medical man were next employed in behalf of Miss Ashton,
whom he pronounced to be in a very dangerous state. Farther medical
assistance was immediately summoned. All night she remained delirious.
On the morning, she fell into a state of absolute insensibility. The
next evening, the physicians said, would be the crisis of her malady. It
proved so; for although she awoke from her trance with some appearance
of calmness, and suffered her night-clothes to be changed, or put in
order, yet so soon as she put her hand to her neck, as if to search for
the for the fatal flue ribbon, a tide of recollections seemed to rush
upon her, which her mind and body were alike incapable of bearing.
Convulsion followed convulsion, till they closed in death, without her
being able to utter a word explanatory of the fatal scene.

The provincial judge of the district arrived the day after the young
lady had expired, and executed, though with all possible delicacy to
the afflicted family, the painful duty of inquiring into this fatal
transaction. But there occurred nothing to explain the general
hypothesis that the bride, in a sudden fit of insanity, had stabbed the
bridegroom at the threshold of the apartment. The fatal weapon was found
in the chamber smeared with blood. It was the same poniard which Henry
should have worn on the wedding-day, and the unhappy sister had probably
contrived to secrete on the preceding evening, when it had been shown to
her among other articles of preparation for the wedding.

The friends of Bucklaw expected that on his recovery he would throw
some light upon this dark story, and eagerly pressed him with inquiries,
which for some time he evaded under pretext of weakness. When, however,
he had been transported to his own house, and was considered in a state
of convalescence, he assembled those persons, both male and female, who
had considered themselves as entitled to press him on this subject, and
returned them thanks for the interest they had exhibited in his behalf,
and their offers of adherence and support. "I wish you all," he said,
"my friends, to understand, however, that I have neither story to tell
nor injuries to avenge. If a lady shall question me henceforward upon
the incident of that unhappy night, I shall remain silent, and in future
consider her as one who has shown herself desirous to break of her
friendship with me; in a word, I will never speak to her again. But if a
gentleman shall ask me the same question, I shall regard the incivility
as equivalent to an invitation to meet him in the Duke's Walk, and I
expect that he will rule himself accordingly."