<h2><SPAN name="chap19"></SPAN>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
<p class="poem">
I do too ill in this,<br/>
And must not think but that a parent’s plaint<br/>
Will move the heavens to pour forth misery<br/>
Upon the head of disobediency.<br/>
Yet reason tells us, parents are o’erseen,<br/>
When with too strict a rein they do hold in<br/>
Their child’s affection, and control that love,<br/>
Which the high powers divine inspire them with.<br/>
<br/>
The Hog hath lost his Pearl.</p>
<p>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
pleased with the display upon his own groaning board.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 <i>tête-à-tête</i>, 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Well, you hear a man’s step, I grant it,” said Lucy;
“but why, Alice, may it not be my father’s?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The Master sate down beside her on the earthen bank, and permitted her to touch
his features with her trembling hand.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Indeed!” said the old blind woman, in an accent of surprise.</p>
<p>“I knew,” continued Lucy, “I should do him a pleasure by
conducting him to your cottage.”</p>
<p>“Where, to say the truth, Alice,” said Ravenswood, “I
expected a more cordial reception.”</p>
<p>“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——”</p>
<p>“Be silent, woman!” said Ravenswood, sternly; “is it 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.”</p>
<p>“And is it even so?” said the old woman, in an altered but
melancholy tone, “then God help you both!”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“And how do other people think?” said Ravenswood, for he also began
to believe the old woman spoke with incoherence.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“Hear to that now,” again whispered Henry, “and me whispering
lower than a wren cheeps!”</p>
<p>“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!’”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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!”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Offensive!” said Alice. “Ay, trust is ever offensive; but,
surely, not unfounded.”</p>
<p>“I tell you, dame, most groundless,” replied Ravenswood.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“In neither,” said Ravenswood, “I give you mine
honour—I mean, I assure you.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>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?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p>“It is impossible,” said the Master.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />