"And speaking of red-game," said the young scapegrace, interrupting his
father without scruple or hesitation, "Norman has shot a buck, and I
showed the branches to Lucy, and she says they have but eight tynes; and
she says that you killed a deer with Lord Bittlebrains's hounds, when
you were west away, and, do you know, she says it had ten tynes; is it
true?"

"It may have had twenty, Henry, for what I know; but if you go to that
gentleman, he can tell you all about it. Go speak to him, Henry; it is
the Master of Ravenswood."

While they conversed thus, the father and son were standing by the fire;
and the Master, having walked towards the upper end of the apartment,
stood with his back towards them, apparently engaged in examining one of
the paintings. The boy ran up to him, and pulled him by the skirt of
the coat with the freedom of a spoilt child, saying, "I say, sir, if you
please to tell me----" but when the Master turned round, and Henry saw
his face, he became suddenly and totally disconcerted; walked two or
three steps backward, and still gazed on Ravenswood with an air of fear
and wonder, which had totally banished from his features their usual
expression of pert vivacity.

"Come to me, young gentleman," said the Master, "and I will tell you all
I know about the hunt."

"Go to the gentleman, Henry," said his father; "you are not used to be
so shy."

But neither invitation nor exhortation had any effect on the boy. On the
contrary, he turned round as soon as he had completed his survey of the
Master, and walking as cautiously as if he had been treading upon eggs,
he glided back to his father, and pressed as close to him as possible.
Ravenswood, to avoid hearing the dispute betwixt the father and the
overindulged boy, thought it most polite to turn his face once more
towards the pictures, and pay no attention to what they said.

"Why do you not speak to the Master, you little fool?" said the Lord
Keeper.

"I am afraid," said Henry, in a very low tone of voice.

"Afraid, you goose!" said his father, giving him a slight shake by the
collar. "What makes you afraid?"

"What makes him to like the picture of Sir Malise Ravenswood then?" said
the boy, whispering.

"What picture, you natural?" said his father. "I used to think you only
a scapegrace, but I believe you will turn out a born idiot."

"I tell you, it is the picture of old Malise of Ravenswood, and he is as
like it as if he had loupen out of the canvas; and it is up in the old
baron's hall that the maids launder the clothes in; and it has armour,
and not a coat like the gentleman; and he has not a beard and whiskers
like the picture; and it has another kind of thing about the throat, and
no band-strings as he has; and----"

"And why should not the gentleman be like his ancestor, you silly boy?"
said the Lord Keeper.

"Ay; but if he is come to chase us all out of the castle," said the boy,
"and has twenty men at his back in disguise; and is come to say, with
a hollow voice, 'I bide my time'; and is to kill you on the hearth as
Malise did the other man, and whose blood is still to be seen!"

"Hush! nonsense!" said the Lord Keeper, not himself much pleased to hear
these disagreeable coincidences forced on his notice. "Master, here comes
Lockhard to say supper is served."

And, at the same instant, Lucy entered at another door, having changed
her dress since her return. The exquisite feminine beauty of her
countenance, now shaded only by a profusion of sunny tresses; the
sylph-like form, disencumbered of her heavy riding-skirt and mantled in
azure silk; the grace of her manner and of her smile, cleared, with
a celerity which surprised the Master himself, all the gloomy and
unfavourable thoughts which had for some time overclouded his fancy.
In those features, so simply sweet, he could trace no alliance with
the pinched visage of the peak-bearded, black-capped Puritan, or his
starched, withered spouse, with the craft expressed in the Lord Keeper's
countenance, or the haughtiness which predominated in that of his lady;
and, while he gazed on Lucy Ashton, she seemed to be an angel descended
on earth, unallied to the coarses mortals among whom she deigned to
dwell for a season. Such is the power of beauty over a youthful and
enthusiastic fancy.




CHAPTER XIX.

     I do too ill in this,
     And must not think but that a parent's plaint
     Will move the heavens to pour forth misery
     Upon the head of disobediency.
     Yet reason tells us, parents are o'erseen,
     When with too strict a rein they do hold in
     Their child's affection, and control that love,
     Which the high powers divine inspire them with.

     The Hog hath lost his Pearl.


THE feast of Ravenswood Castle was as remarkable for its profusion as
that of Wolf's Crag had been for its ill-veiled penury. The Lord Keeper
might feel internal pride at the contrast, but he had too much tact
to suffer it to appear. On the contrary, he seemed to remember with
pleasure what he called Mr. Balderstone's bachelor's meal, and to be
rather disgusted than pleaseed with the display upon his own groaning
board.

"We do these things," he said, "because others do them; but I was bred
a plain man at my father's frugal table, and I should like well would
my wife and family permit me to return to my sowens and my
poor-man-of-mutton."

This was a little overstretched. The Master only answered, "That
different ranks--I mean," said he, correcting himself, "different
degrees of wealth require a different style of housekeeping."

This dry remark put a stop to further conversation on the subject, nor
is it necessary to record that which was substituted in its place. The
evening was spent with freedom, and even cordiality; and Henry had so
far overcome his first apprehensions, that he had settled a party for
coursing a stag with the representative and living resemblance of grim
Sir Malise of Ravenswood, called the Revenger. The next morning was the
appointed time. It rose upon active sportsmen and successful sport. The
banquet came in course; and a pressing invitation to tarry yet another
day was given and accepted. This Ravenswood had resolved should be the
last of his stay; but he recollected he had not yet visited the ancient
and devoted servant of his house, Old Alice, and it was but kind to
dedicate one morning to the gratification of so ancient an adherent.

To visit Alice, therefore, a day was devoted, and Lucy was the Master's
guide upon the way. Henry, it is true, accompanied them, and took from
their walk the air of a tete-a-tete, while, in reality, it was little
else, considering the variety of circumstances which occurred to prevent
the boy from giving the least attention to what passed between his
companions. Now a rook settled on a branch within shot; anon a hare
crossed their path, and Henry and his greyhound went astray in pursuit
of it; then he had to hold a long conversation with the forester, which
detained him a while behind his companions; and again he went to examine
the earth of a badger, which carried him on a good way before them.

The conversation betwixt the Master and his sister, meanwhile, took
an interesting, and almost a confidential, turn. She could not help
mentioning her sense of the pain he must feel in visiting scenes so well
known to him, bearing now an aspect so different; and so gently was
her sympathy expressed, that Ravenswood felt it for a moment as a full
requital of all his misfortunes. Some such sentiment escaped him, which
Lucy heard with more of confusion than displeasure; and she may be
forgiven the imprudence of listening to such language, considering that
the situation in which she was placed by her father seemed to authorise
Ravenswood to use it. Yet she made an effort to turn the conversation,
and she succeeded; for the Master also had advanced farther than he
intended, and his conscience had instantly checked him when he found
himself on the verge of speaking of love to the daughter of Sir William
Ashton.

They now approached the hut of Old Alice, which had of late been
rendered more comfortable, and presented an appearance less picturesque,
perhaps, but far neater than before. The old woman was on her accustomed
seat beneath the weeping birch, basking, with the listless enjoyment of
age and infirmity, in the beams of the autumn sun. At the arrival of
her visitors she turned her head towards them. "I hear your step, Miss
Ashton," she said, "but the gentleman who attends you is not my lord,
your father."

"And why should you think so, Alice?" said Lucy; "or how is it possible
for you to judge so accurately by the sound of a step, on this firm
earth, and in the open air?"

"My hearing, my child, has been sharpened by my blindness, and I can now
draw conclusions from the slightest sounds, which formerly reached my
ears as unheeded as they now approach yours. Necessity is a stern but an
excellent schoolmistress, and she that has lost her sight must collect
her information from other sources."

"Well, you hear a man's step, I grant it," said Lucy; "but why, Alice,
may it not be my father's?"

"The pace of age, my love, is timid and cautious: the foot takes leave
of the earth slowly, and is planted down upon it with hesitation; it
is the hasty and determined step of youth that I now hear, and--could I
give credit to so strange a thought--I should say is was the step of a
Ravenswood."

"This is indeed," said Ravenswood, "an acuteness of organ which I could
not have credited had I not witnessed it. I am indeed the Master of
Ravenswood, Alice,--the son of your old master."

"You!" said the old woman, with almost a scream of surprise--"you the
Master of Ravenswood--here--in this place, and thus accompanied! I
cannot believe it. Let me pass my old hand over your face, that my touch
may bear witness to my ears."

The Master sate down beside her on the earthen bank, and permitted her
to touch his features with her trembling hand.

"It is indeed!" she said--"it is the features as well as the voice of
Ravenswood--the high lines of pride, as well as the bold and haughty
tone. But what do you here, Master of Ravenswood?--what do you in your
enemy's domain, and in company with his child?" As Old Alice spoke, her
face kindled, as probably that of an ancient feudal vassal might have
done in whose presence his youthful liege-lord had showed some symptom
of degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors.

"The Master of Ravenswood," said Lucy, who liked not the tone of this
expostulation, and was desirous to abridge it, "is upon a visit to my
father."

"Indeed!" said the old blind woman, in an accent of surprise.

"I knew," continued Lucy, "I should do him a pleasure by conducting him
to your cottage."

"Where, to say the truth, Alice," said Ravenswood, "I expected a more
cordial reception."

"It is most wonderful!" said the old woman, muttering to herself; "but
the ways of Heaven are not like our ways, and its judgments are brought
about by means far beyond our fathoming. Hearken, young man," she said;
"your fathers were implacable, but they were honourable, foes; they
sought not to ruin their enemies under the mask of hospitality. What
have you to do with Lucy Ashton? why should your steps move in the same
footpath with hers? why should your voice sound in the same chord and
time with those of Sir William Ashton's daughter? Young man, he who aims
at revenge by dishonourable means----"

"Be silent, woman!" said Ravenswood, sternly; "it is the devil that
prompts your voice? Know that this young lady has not on earth a friend
who would venture farther to save her from injury or from insult."

"And is it even so?" said the old woman, in an altered but melancholy
tone, "then God help you both!"

"Amen! Alice," said Lucy, who had not comprehended the import of what
the blind woman had hinted, "and send you your senses, Alice, and your
good humour. If you hold this mysterious language, instead of welcoming
your friends, they will think of you as other people do."

"And how do other people think?" said Ravenswood, for he also began to
believe the old woman spoke with incoherence.

"They think," said Henry Ashton, who came up at that moment, and
whispered into Ravenswood's ear, "that she is a witch, that should have
been burned with them that suffered at Haddington."

"What is it you say?" said Alice, turning towards the boy, her sightless
visage inflamed with passion; "that I am a witch, and ought to
have suffered with the helpless old wretches who were murdered at
Haddington?"

"Hear to that now," again whispered Henry, "and me whispering lower than
a wren cheeps!"

"If the usurer, and the oppressor, and the grinder of the poor man's
face, and the remover of ancient landmarks, and the subverter of ancient
houses, were at the same stake with me, I could say, 'Light the fire, in
God's name!'"

"This is dreadful," said Lucy; "I have never seen the poor deserted
woman in this state of mind; but age and poverty can ill bear reproach.
Come, Henry, we will leave her for the present; she wishes to speak
with the Master alone. We will walk homeward, and rest us," she added,
looking at Ravenswood, "by the Mermaiden's Well." "And Alice," said the
boy, "if you know of any hare that comes through among the deer, and
makes them drop their calves out of season, you may tell her, with my
compliments to command, that if Norman has not got a silver bullet ready
for her, I'll lend him one of my doublet-buttons on purpose."

Alice made no answer till she was aware that the sister and brother were
out of hearing. She then said to Ravenswood: "And you, too, are angry
with me for my love? It is just that strangers should be offended, but
you, too, are angry!"

"I am not angry, Alice," said the Master, "only surprised that you,
whose good sense I have heard so often praised, should give way to
offensive and unfounded suspicions."

"Offensive!" said Alice. "Ay, trust is ever offensive; but, surely, not
unfounded."

"I tell you, dame, most groundless," replied Ravenswood.

"Then the world has changed its wont, and the Ravenswoods their
hereditary temper, and the eyes of Old Alice's understanding are yet
more blind than those of her countenance. When did a Ravenswood seek the
house of his enemy but with the purpose of revenge? and hither are you
come, Edgar Ravenswood, either in fatal anger or in still more fatal
love."

"In neither," said Ravenswood, "I give you mine honour--I mean, I assure
you."

Alice could not see his blushing cheek, but she noticed his hesitation,
and that he retracted the pledge which he seemed at first disposed to
attach to his denial.

"It is so, then," she said, "and therefore she is to tarry by the
Mermaiden's Well! Often has it been called a place fatal to the race of
Ravenswood--often has it proved so; but never was it likely to verify
old sayings as much as on this day."

"You drive me to madness, Alice," said Ravenswood; "you are more silly
and more superstitious than old Balderstone. Are you such a wretched
Christian as to suppose I would in the present day levy war against the
Ashton family, as was the sanguinary custom in elder times? or do you
suppose me so foolish, that I cannot walk by a young lady's side without
plunging headlong in love with her?"

"My thoughts," replied Alice, "are my own; and if my mortal sight
is closed to objects present with me, it may be I can look with more
steadiness into future events. Are you prepared to sit lowest at the
board which was once your father's own, unwillingly, as a connexion and
ally of his proud successor? Are you ready to live on his bounty; to
follow him in the bye-paths of intrigue and chicane, which none can
better point out to you; to gnaw the bones of his prey when he has
devoured the substance? Can you say as Sir William Ashton says, think
as he thinks, vote as he votes, and call your father's murderer your
worshipful father-in-law and revered patron? Master of Ravenswood, I am
the eldest servant of your house, and I would rather see you shrouded
and coffined!"

The tumult in Ravenswood's mind was uncommonly great; she struck upon
and awakened a chord which he had for some time successfully silenced.
He strode backwards and forwards through the little garden with a hasty
pace; and at length checking himself, and stopping right opposite to
Alice, he exclaimed: "Woman! on the verge of the grave, dare you urge
the son of your master to blood and to revenge?"

"God forbid!" said Alice, solemnly; "and therefore I would have you
depart these fatal bounds, where your love, as well as your hatred,
threatens sure mischief, or at least disgrace, both to yourself and
others. I would shield, were it in the power of this withered hand, the
Ashtons from you, and you from them, and both from their own passions.
You can have nothing--ought to have nothing, in common with them. Begone
from among them; and if God has destined vengeance on the oppressor's
house, do not you be the instrument."

"I will think on what you have said, Alice," said Ravenswood, more
composedly. "I believe you mean truly and faithfully by me, but you urge
the freedom of an ancient domestic somewhat too far. But farewell; and
if Heaven afford me better means, I will not fail to contribute to your
comfort."

He attempted to put a piece of gold into her hand, which she refused to
receive; and, in the slight struggle attending his wish to force it upon
her, it dropped to the earth.

"Let it remain an instant on the ground," said Alice, as the Master
stooped to raise it; "and believe me, that piece of gold is an emblem of
her whom you love; she is as precious, I grant, but you must stoop even
to abasement before you can win her. For me, I have as little to do with
gold as with earthly passions; and the best news that the world has in
store for me is, that Edgar Ravenswood is an hundred miles distant from
the seat of his ancestors, with the determination never again to behold
it."

"Alice," said the Master, who began to think this earnestness had some
more secret cause than arose from anything that the blind woman could
have gathered from this casual visit, "I have heard you praised by my
mother for your sense, acuteness, and fidelity; you are no fool to start
at shadows, or to dread old superstitious saws, like Caleb Balderstone;
tell me distinctly where my danger lies, if you are aware of any which
is tending towards me. If I know myself, I am free from all such views
respecting Miss Ashton as you impute to me. I have necessary business
to settle with Sir William; that arranged, I shall depart, and with as
little wish, as you may easily believe, to return to a place full of
melancholy subjects of reflection, as you have to see me here." Alice
bent her sightless eyes on the ground, and was for some time plunged in
deep meditation. "I will speak the truth," she said at length, raising
up her head--"I will tell you the source of my apprehensions, whether
my candour be for good or for evil. Lucy Ashton loves you, Lord of
Ravenswood!"

"It is impossible," said the Master.

"A thousand circumstances have proved it to me," replied the blind
woman. "Her thoughts have turned on no one else since you saved her
from death, and that my experienced judgment has won from her own
conversation. Having told you this--if you are indeed a gentleman
and your father's son--you will make it a motive for flying from her
presence. Her passion will die like a lamp for want of that the flame
should feed upon; but, if you remain here, her destruction, or yours,
or that of both, will be the inevitable consequence of her misplaced
attachment. I tell you this secret unwillingly, but it could not have
been hid long from your own observation, and it is better you learn
it from mine. Depart, Master of Ravenswood; you have my secret. If you
remain an hour under Sir William Ashton's roof without the resolution
to marry his daughter, you are a villain; if with the purpose of allying
yourself with kin, you are an infatuated and predestined fool."

So saying, the old blind woman arose, assumed her staff, and, tottering
to her hut, entered it and closed the door, leaving Ravenswood to his
own reflections.




CHAPTER XX.

     Lovelier in her own retired abode
     ....than Naiad by the side
     Of Grecian brook--or Lady of the Mere
     Lone sitting by the shores of old romance.

     WORDSWORTH.

THE meditations of Ravenswood were of a very mixed complexion. He saw
himself at once in the very dilemma which he had for some time felt
apprehensive he might be placed in. The pleasure he felt in Lucy's
company had indeed approached to fascination, yet it had never
altogether surmounted his internal reluctance to wed with the daughter
of his father's foe; and even in forgiving Sir William Ashton the
injuries which his family had received, and giving him credit for the
kind intentions he professed to entertain, he could not bring himself to
contemplate as possible an alliance betwixt their houses. Still, he felt
that Alice poke truth, and that his honour now required he should
take an instant leave of Ravenswood Castle, or become a suitor of Lucy
Ashton. The possibility of being rejected, too, should he make advances
to her wealthy and powerful father--to sue for the hand of an Ashton and
be refused--this were a consummation too disgraceful. "I wish her well,"
he said to himself, "and for her sake I forgive the injuries her father
has done to my house; but I will never--no, never see her more!"

With one bitter pang he adopted this resolution, just as he came to
where two paths parted: the one to the Mermaiden's Fountain, where he
knew Lucy waited him, the other leading to the castle by another and
more circuitous road. He paused an instant when about to take the latter
path, thinking what apology he should make for conduct which must needs
seem extraordinary, and had just muttered to himself, "Sudden news from
Edinburgh--any pretext will serve; only let me dally no longer here,"
when young Henry came flying up to him, half out of breath: "Master,
Master you must give Lucy your arm back to the castle, for I cannot give
her mine; for Norman is waiting for me, and I am to go with him to make
his ring-walk, and I would not stay away for a gold Jacobus; and Lucy is
afraid to walk home alone, though all the wild nowt have been shot, and
so you must come away directly."

Betwixt two scales equally loaded, a feather's weight will turn the
scale. "It is impossible for me to leave the young lady in the wood
alone," said Ravenswood; "to see her once more can be of little
consequence, after the frequent meetings we have had. I ought, too, in
courtesy, to apprise her of my intention to quit the castle."

And having thus satisfied himself that he was taking not only a wise,
but an absolutely necessary, step, he took the path to the fatal
fountain. Henry no sooner saw him on the way to join his sister than he
was off like lightning in another direction, to enjoy the society of the
forester in their congenial pursuits. Ravenswood, not allowing himself
to give a second thought to the propriety of his own conduct, walked
with a quick step towards the stream, where he found Lucy seated alone
by the ruin.

She sate upon one of the disjointed stones of the ancient fountain,
and seemed to watch the progress of its current, as it bubbled forth to
daylight, in gay and sparkling profusion, from under the shadow of the
ribbed and darksome vault, with which veneration, or perhaps remorse,
had canopied its source. To a superstitious eye, Lucy Ashton, folded in
her plaided mantle, with her long hair, escaping partly from the snood
and falling upon her silver neck, might have suggested the idea of
the murdered Nymph of the fountain. But Ravenswood only saw a female
exquisitely beautiful, and rendered yet more so in his eyes--how
could it be otherwise?--by the consciousness that she had placed her
affections on him. As he gazed on her, he felt his fixed resolution
melting like wax in the sun, and hastened, therefore, from his
concealment in the neighbouring thicket. She saluted him, but did not
arise from the stone on which she was seated.

"My madcap brother," she said, "has left me, but I expect him back in
a few minutes; for, fortunately, as anything pleases him for a minute,
nothing has charms for him much longer."

Ravenswood did not feel the power of informing Lucy that her brother
meditated a distant excursion, and would not return in haste. He sate
himself down on the grass, at some little distance from Miss Ashton, and
both were silent for a short space.

"I like this spot," said Lucy at length, as if she found the silence
embarrassing; "the bubbling murmur of the clear fountain, the waving of
the trees, the profusion of grass and wild-flowers that rise among the
ruins, make it like a scene in romance. I think, too, I have heard it is
a spot connected with the legendary lore which I love so well."

"It has been thought," answered Ravenswood, "a fatal spot to my family;
and I have some reason to term it so, for it was here I first saw Miss
Ashton; and it is here I must take my leave of her for ever."

The blood, which the first part of this speech called into Lucy's
cheeks, was speedily expelled by its conclusion.

"To take leave of us, Master!" she exclaimed; "what can have happened
to hurry you away? I know Alice hates--I mean dislikes my father; and
I hardly understood her humour to-day, it was so mysterious. But I
am certain my father is sincerely grateful for the high service you
rendered us. Let me hope that, having won your friendship hardly, we
shall not lose it lightly."

"Lose it, Miss Ashton!" said the Master of Ravenswood. "No; wherever my
fortune calls me--whatever she inflicts upon me--it is your friend--your
sincere friend, who acts or suffers. But there is a fate on me, and I
must go, or I shall add the ruin of others to my own."

"Yet do not go from us, Master," said Lucy; and she laid her hand,
in all simplicity and kindness, upon the skirt of his cloak, as if to
detain him. "You shall not part from us. My father is powerful, he has
friends that are more so than himself; do not go till you see what his
gratitude will do for you. Believe me, he is already labouring in your
behalf with the council."

"It may be so," said the Master, proudly; "yet it is not to your father,
Miss Ashton, but to my own exertions, that I ought to owe success in the
career on which I am about to enter. My preparations are already made--a
sword and a cloak, and a bold heart and a determined hand."

Lucy covered her face her hands, and the tears, in spite of her, forced
their way between her fingers.

"Forgive me," said Ravenswood, taking her right hand, which, after
slight resistance, she yielded to him, still continuing to shade her
face with the left--"I am too rude--too rough--too intractable to deal
with any being so soft and gentle as you are. Forget that so stern a
vision has crossed your path of life; and let me pursue mine, sure that
I can meet with no worse misfortune after the moment it divides me from
your side."

Lucy wept on, but her tears were less bitter. Each attempt which the
Master made to explain his purpose of departure only proved a new
evidence of his desire to stay; until, at length, instead of bidding her
farewell, he gave his faith to her for ever, and received her troth
in return. The whole passed so suddenly, and arose so much out of the
immediate impulse of the moment, that ere the Master of Ravenswood could
reflect upon the consequences of the step which he had taken, their
lips, as well as their hands, had pledged the sincerity of their
affection.

"And now," he said, after a moment's consideration, "it is fit I should
speak to Sir William Ashton; he must know of our engagement. Ravenswood
must not seem to dwell under his roof to solicit clandestinely the
affections of his daughter."

"You would not speak to my father on the subject?" said Lucy,
doubtingly; and then added more warmly: "Oh do not--do not! Let your lot
in life be determined--your station and purpose ascertained, before you
address my father. I am sure he loves you--I think he will consent; but
then my mother----!"

She paused, ashamed to express the doubt she felt how far her father
dared to form any positive resolution on this most important subject
without the consent of his lady.

"Your mother, my Lucy!" replied Ravenswood. "She is of the house of
Douglas, a house that has intermarried with mine even when its glory
and power were at the highest; what could your mother object to my
alliance?"

"I did not say object," said Lucy; "but she is jealous of her rights,
and may claim a mother's title to be consulted in the first instance."

"Be it so," replied Ravenswood. "London is distant, but a letter will
reach it and receive an answer within a fortnight; I will not press on
the Lord Keeper for an instant reply to my proposal."

"But," hesitated Lucy, "were it not better to wait--to wait a few weeks?
Were my mother to see you--to know you, I am sure she would approve;
but you are unacquainted personally, and the ancient feud between the
families----"

Ravenswood fixed upon her his keen dark eyes, as if he was desirous of
penetrating into her very soul.

"Lucy," he said, "I have sacrificed to you projects of vengeance long
nursed, and sworn to with ceremonies little better than heathen--I
sacrificed them to your image, ere I knew the worth which it
represented. In the evening which succeeded my poor father's funeral, I
cut a lock from my hair, and, as it consumed in the fire, I swore that
my rage and revenge should pursue his enemies, until they shrivelled
before me like that scorched-up symbol of annihilation."

"It was a deadly sin," said Lucy, turning pale, "to make a vow so
fatal."

"I acknowledge it," said Ravenswood, "and it had been a worse crime
to keep it. It was for your sake that I abjured these purposes of
vengeance, though I scarce knew that such was the argument by which I
was conquered, until I saw you once more, and became conscious of the
influence you possessed over me."

"And why do you now," said Lucy, "recall sentiments so
terrible--sentiments so inconsistent with those you profess for me--with
those your importunity has prevailed on me to acknowledge?"

"Because," said her lover, "I would impress on you the price at which I
have bought your love--the right I have to expect your constancy. I
say not that I have bartered for it the honour of my house, its last
remaining possession; but though I say it not, and think it not, I
cannot conceal from myself that the world may do both."

"If such are your sentiments," said Lucy, "you have played a cruel game
with me. But it is not too late to give it over: take back the faith and
troth which you could not plight to me without suffering abatement of
honour--let what is passed be as if it had not been--forget me; I will
endeavour to forget myself."

"You do me injustice," said the Master of Ravenswood--"by all I
hold true and honourable, you do me the extremity of injustice; if I
mentioned the price at which I have bought your love, it is only to show
how much I prize it, to bind our engagement by a still firmer tie, and
to show, by what I have done to attain this station in your regard, how
much I must suffer should you ever break your faith."

"And why, Ravenswood," answered Lucy, "should you think that possible?
Why should you urge me with even the mention of infidelity? Is it
because I ask you to delay applying to my father for a little space of
time? Bind me by what vows you please; if vows are unnecessary to
secure constancy, they may yet prevent suspicion." Ravenswood pleaded,
apologised, and even kneeled, to appease her displeasure; and Lucy, as
placable as she was single-hearted, readily forgave the offence which
his doubts had implied. The dispute thus agitated, however, ended by the
lovers going through an emblematic ceremony of their troth-plight, of
which the vulgar still preserve some traces. They broke betwixt them
the thin broad-piece of gold which Alice had refused to receive from
Ravenswood.

"And never shall this leave my bosom," said Lucy, as she hung the piece
of gold round her neck, and concealed it with her handkerchief, "until
you, Edgar Ravenswood, ask me to resign it to you; and, while I wear it,
never shall that heart acknowledge another love than yours."

With like protestations, Ravenswood placed his portion of the coin
opposite to his heart. And now, at length, it struck them that time had
hurried fast on during this interview, and their absence at the castle
would be subject of remark, if not of alarm. As they arose to leave the
fountain which had been witness of their mutual engagement, an arrow
whistled through the air, and struck a raven perched on the sere branch
of an old oak, near to where they had been seated. The bird fluttered a
few yards and dropped at the feet of Lucy, whose dress was stained with
some spots of its blood.

Miss Ashton was much alarmed, and Ravenswood, surprised and angry,
looked everywhere for the marksman, who had given them a proof of his
skill as little expected as desired. He was not long of discovering
himself, being no other than Henry Ashton, who came running up with a
crossbow in his hand.

"I knew I should startle you," he said; "and do you know, you looked so
busy that I hoped it would have fallen souse on your heads before you
were aware of it. What was the Master saying to you, Lucy?"

"I was telling your sister what an idle lad you were, keeping us waiting
here for you so long," said Ravenswood, to save Lucy's confusion.

"Waiting for me! Why, I told you to see Lucy home, and that I was to go
to make the ring-walk with old Norman in the Hayberry thicket, and you
may be sure that would take a good hour, and we have all the deer's
marks and furnishes got, while you were sitting here with Lucy, like a
lazy loon."

"Well, well, Mr. Henry," said Ravenswood; "but let us see how you will
answer to me for killing the raven. Do you know, the ravens are all
under the protection of the Lords of Ravenswood, and to kill one in
their presence is such bad luck that it deserves the stab?"

"And that's what Norman said," replied the boy; "he came as far with
me as within a flight-shot of you, and he said he never saw a raven sit
still so near living folk, and he wished it might be for good luck, for
the raven is one of the wildest birds that flies, unless it be a tame
one; and so I crept on and on, till I was within threescore yards of
him, and then whiz went the bolt, and there he lies, faith! Was it not
well shot? and, I dare say, I have not shot in a crossbow!--not ten
times, maybe."

"Admirably shot, indeed," said Ravenswood; "and you will be a fine
marksman if you practise hard."

"And that's what Norman says," answered the boy; "but I am sure it is
not my fault if I do not practise enough; for, of free will, I would do
little else, only my father and tutor are angry sometimes, and only Miss
Lucy there gives herself airs about my being busy, for all she can
sit idle by a well-side the whole day, when she has a handsome young
gentleman to prate with. I have known her do so twenty times, if you
will believe me."

The boy looked at his sister as he spoke, and, in the midst of his
mischievous chatter, had the sense to see that he was really inflicting
pain upon her, though without being able to comprehend the cause or the
amount.

"Come now, Lucy," he said, "don't greet; and if I have said anything
beside the mark, I'll deny it again; and what does the Master of
Ravenswood care if you had a hundred sweethearts? so ne'er put finger in
your eye about it."

The Master of Ravenswood was, for the moment, scarce satisfied with what
he heard; yet his good sense naturally regarded it as the chatter of a
spoilt boy, who strove to mortify his sister in the point which seemed
most accessible for the time. But, although of a temper equally slow in
receiving impressions and obstinate in retaining them, the prattle
of Henry served to nourish in his mind some vague suspicion that his
present engagement might only end in his being exposed, like a conquered
enemy in a Roman triumph, a captive attendant on the car of a victor who
meditated only the satiating his pride at the expense of the
vanquished. There was, we repeat it, no real ground whatever for such
an apprehension, nor could he be said seriously to entertain such for a
moment. Indeed, it was impossible to look at the clear blue eye of
Lucy Ashton, and entertain the slightest permanent doubt concerning
the sincerity of her disposition. Still, however, conscious pride and
conscious poverty combined to render a mind suspicious which in more
fortunate circumstances would have been a stranger to that as well as to
every other meanness.

They reached the castle, where Sir William Ashton, who had been alarmed
by the length of their stay, met them in the hall.

"Had Lucy," he said, "been in any other company than that of one who had
shown he had so complete power of protecting her, he confessed he should
have been very uneasy, and would have despatched persons in quest of
them. But, in the company of the Master of Ravenswood, he knew his
daughter had nothing to dread." Lucy commenced some apology for their
long delay, but, conscience-struck, becames confused as she proceeded;
and when Ravenswood, coming to her assistance, endeavoured to render the
explanation complete and satisfactory, he only involved himself in the
same disorder, like one who, endeavouring to extricate his companion
from a slough, entangles himself in the same tenacious swamp. It cannot
be supposed that the confusion of the two youthful lovers escaped the
observation of the subtle lawyer, accustomed, by habit and profession,
to trace human nature through all her windings. But it was not his
present policy to take any notice of what he observed. He desired to
hold the Master of Ravenswood bound, but wished that he himself should
remain free; and it did not occur to him that his plan might be defeated
by Lucy's returning the passion which he hoped she might inspire. If
she should adopt some romantic feelings towards Ravenswood, in which
circumstances, or the positive and absolute opposition of Lady Ashton,
might render it unadvisable to indulge her, the Lord Keeper conceived
they might be easily superseded and annulled by a journey to Edinburgh,
or even to London, a new set of Brussels lace, and the soft whispers of
half a dozen lovers, anxious to replace him whom it was convenient she
should renounce. This was his provision for the worst view of the case.
But, according to its more probable issue, any passing favours she
might entertain for the Master of Ravenswood might require encouragement
rather than repression.

This seemed the more likely, as he had that very morning, since their
departure from the castle, received a letter, the contents of which he
hastened to communicate to Ravenswood. A foot-post had arrived with
a packet to the Lord Keeper from that friend whom we have already
mentioned, who was labouring hard underhand to consolidate a band of
patriots, at the head of whom stood Sir William's greatest terror, the
active and ambitious Marquis of A----. The success of this convenient
friend had been such, that he had obtained from Sir William, not indeed
a directly favourable answer, but certainly a most patient hearing. This
he had reported to his principal, who had replied by the ancient French
adage, "Chateau qui parle, et femme qui ecoute, l'un et l'autre va se
rendre." A statesman who hears you propose a change of measures without
reply was, according to the Marquis's opinion, in the situation of the
fortress which parleys and the lady who listens, and he resolved to
press the siege of the Lord Keeper.

The packet, therefore, contained a letter from his friend and ally,
and another from himself, to the Lord Keeper, frankly offering an
unceremonious visit. They were crossing the country to go to the
southward; the roads were indifferent; the accommodation of the inns
as execrable as possible; the Lord Keeper had been long acquainted
intimately with one of his correspondents, and, though more slightly
known to the Marquis, had yet enough of his lordship's acquaintance to
render the visit sufficiently natural, and to shut the mouths of those
who might be disposed to impute it to a political intrigue. He instantly
accepted the offered visit, determined, however, that he would not
pledge himself an inch farther for the furtherance of their views than
REASON (by which he meant his own self-interest) should plainly point
out to him as proper.

Two circumstances particularly delighted him--the presence of
Ravenswood, and the absence of his own lady. By having the former under
his roof, he conceived he might be able to quash all such hazardous and
hostile proceedings as he might otherwise have been engaged in, under
the patronage of the Marquis; and Lucy, he foresaw, would make, for his
immediate purpose of delay and procrastination, a much better mistress
of his family than her mother, who would, he was sure, in some shape
or other, contrive to disconcert his political schemes by her proud and
implacable temper.

His anxious solicitations that the Master would stay to receive
his kinsman, were, of course, readily complied with, since the
eclaircissement which had taken place at the Mermaiden's Fountain
had removed all wish for sudden departure. Lucy and Lockhard, had,
therefore, orders to provide all things necessary in their different
departments, for receiving the expected guests with a pomp and display
of luxury very uncommon in Scotland at that remote period.




CHAPTER XXI.

     Marall:  Sir, the man of honour's come,
     Newly alighted----Overreach:  In without reply,
     And do as I command....
     Is the loud music I gave order for
     Ready to receive him?

     New Way to pay Old Debts.

SIR WILLIAM ASHTON, although a man of sense, legal information, and
great practical knowledge of the world, had yet some points of character
which corresponded better with the timidity of his disposition and the
supple arts by which he had risen in the world, than to the degree
of eminence which he had attained; as they tended to show an original
mediocrity of understanding, however highly it had been cultivated, and
a native meanness of disposition, however carefully veiled. He loved the
ostentatious display of his wealth, less as a man to whom habit has
made it necessary, than as one to whom it is still delightful from its
novelty. The most trivial details did not escape him; and Lucy soon
learned to watch the flush of scorn which crossed Ravenswood's cheek,
when he heard her father gravely arguing with Lockhard, nay, even with
the old housekeeper, upon circumstances which, in families of rank,
are left uncared for, because it is supposed impossible they can be
neglected.

"I could pardon Sir William," said Ravenswood, one evening after he
had left the room, "some general anxiety upon this occasion, for the
Marquis's visit is an honour, and should be received as such; but I am
worn out by these miserable minutiae of the buttery, and the larder,
and the very hencoop--they drive me beyond my patience; I would rather
endure the poverty of Wolf's Crag than be pestered with the wealth of
Ravenswood Castle."

"And yet," said Lucy, "it was by attention to these minutiae that my
father acquired the property----"

"Which my ancestors sold for lack of it," replied Ravenswood. "Be it so;
a porter still bears but a burden, though the burden be of gold."

Lucy sighed; she perceived too plainly that her lover held in scorn the
manners and habits of a father to whom she had long looked up as her
best and most partial friend, whose fondness had often consoled her for
her mother's contemptuous harshness.

The lovers soon discovered that they differed upon other and no less
important topics. Religion, the mother of peace, was, in those days of
discord, so much misconstrued and mistaken, that her rules and forms
were the subject of the most opposite opinions and the most hostile
animosities. The Lord Keeper, being a Whig, was, of course, a
Presbyterian, and had found it convenient, at different periods, to
express greater zeal for the kirk than perhaps he really felt. His
family, equally of course, were trained under the same institution.
Ravenswood, as we know, was a High Churchman, or Episcopalian, and
frequently objected to Lucy the fanaticism of some of her own
communion, while she intimated, rather than expressed, horror at the
latitudinarian principles which she had been taught to think connected
with the prelatical form of church government.

Thus, although their mutual affection seemed to increase rather than to
be diminished as their characters opened more fully on each other, the
feelings of each were mingled with some less agreeable ingredients. Lucy
felt a secret awe, amid all her affection for Ravenswood. His soul was
of an higher, prouder character than those with thom she had hitherto
mixed in intercourse; his ideas were more fierce and free; and he
contemned many of the opinions which had been inculcated upon her as
chiefly demanding her veneration. On the other hand, Ravenswood saw in
Lucy a soft and flexible character, which, in his eyes at least, seemed
too susceptible of being moulded to any form by those with whom
she lived. He felt that his own temper required a partner of a more
independent spirit, who could set sail with him on his course of life,
resolved as himself to dare indifferently the storm and the favouring
breeze. But Lucy was so beautiful, so devoutly attached to him, of a
temper so exquisitely soft and kind, that, while he could have wished
it were possible to inspire her with a greater degree of firmness and
resolution, and while he sometimes became impatient of the extreme fear
which she expressed of their attachment being prematurely discovered,
he felt that the softness of a mind, amounting almost to feebleness,
rendered her even dearer to him, as a being who had voluntarily clung
to him for protection, and made him the arbiter of her fate for weal or
woe. His feelings towards her at such moments were those which have been
since so beautifully expressed by our immortal Joanna Baillie:

     Thou sweetest thing,
     That e'er did fix its lightly-fibred sprays
     To the rude rock, ah! wouldst thou cling to me?
     Rough and storm-worn I am; yet love me as
     Thou truly dost, I will love thee again
     With true and honest heart, though all unmeet
     To be the mate of such sweet gentleness.

Thus the very points in which they differed seemed, in some measure, to
ensure the continuance of their mutual affection. If, indeed, they had
so fully appreciated each other's character before the burst of passion
in which they hastily pledged their faith to each other, Lucy might have
feared Ravenswood too much ever to have loved him, and he might have
construed her softness and docile temper as imbecility, rendering her
unworthy of his regard. But they stood pledged to each other; and Lucy
only feared that her lover's pride might one day teach him to regret
his attachment; Ravenswood, that a mind so ductile as Lucy's might, in
absence or difficulties, be induced, by the entreaties or influence of
those around her, to renounce the engagement she had formed.

"Do not fear it," said Lucy, when upon one occasion a hint of such
suspicion escaped her lover; "the mirrors which receive the reflection
of all successive objects are framed of hard materials like glass or
steel; the softer substances, when they receive an impression, retain it
undefaced."

"This is poetry, Lucy," said Ravenswood; "and in poetry there is always
fallacy, and sometimes fiction."

"Believe me, then, once more, in honest prose," said Lucy, "that, though
I will never wed man without the consent of my parents, yet neither
force nor persuasion shall dispose of my hand till you renounce the
right I have given you to it."

The lovers had ample time for such explanations. Henry was now more
seldom their companion, being either a most unwilling attendant upon the
lessons of his tutor, or a forward volunteer under the instructions of
the foresters or grooms. As for the Keeper, his mornings were spent in
his study, maintaining correspondences of all kinds, and balancing in
his anxious mind the various intelligence which he collected from every
quarter concerning the expected change of Scottish politics, and the
probable strength of the parties who were about to struggle for power.
At other times he busied himself about arranging, and countermanding, and
then again arranging, the preparations which he judged necessary for the
reception of the Marquis of A----, whose arrival had been twice delayed
by some necessary cause of detention.

In the midst of all these various avocations, political and domestic,
he seemed not to observe how much his daughter and his guest were thrown
into each other's society, and was censured by many of his neighbours,
according to the fashion of neighbours in all countries, for suffering
such an intimate connexion to take place betwixt two young persons.
The only natural explanation was, that he designed them for each other;
while, in truth, his only motive was to temporise and procrastinate
until he should discover the real extent of the interest which the
Marquis took in Ravenswood's affairs, and the power which he was likely
to possess of advancing them. Until these points should be made both
clear and manifest, the Lord Keeper resolved that he would do nothing
to commit himself, either in one shape or other; and, like many cunning
persons, he overreached himself deplorably.

Amongst those who had been disposed to censure, with the greatest
severity, the conduct of Sir William Ashton, in permitting the prolonged
residence of Ravenswood under his roof, and his constant attendance on
Miss Ashton, was the new Laird of Girnington, and his faithful squire
and bottleholder, personages formerly well known to us by the names of
Hayston and Bucklaw, and his companion Captain Craigengelt. The former
had at length succeeded to the extensive property of his long-lived
grand-aunt, and to considerable wealth besides, which he had employed
in redeeming his paternal acres (by the title appertaining to which he
still chose to be designated), notwithstanding Captain Craigengelt had
proposed to him a most advantageous mode of vesting the money in Law's
scheme, which was just then broached, and offered his services to travel
express to Paris for the purpose. But Bucklaw had so far derived wisdom
from adversity, that he would listen to no proposal which Craigengelt
could invent, which had the slightest tendency to risk his
newly-acquired independence. He that had once eat pease-bannocks, drank
sour wine, and slept in the secret chamber at Wolf's Crag, would, he
said, prize good cheer and a soft bed as long as he lived, and take
special care never to need such hospitality again.