The Bride of Lammermoor

Shaw for Mr. Henry. I suppose he is, as usual, tied to Lucy's apron-string; that foolish girl, Master, draws the whole family after her at her pleasure.'

Even this allusion to his daughter, though artfully thrown out, did not recall Ravenswood from his own topic. 'We were obliged to leave,' he said, 'some armour and portraits in this apartment; may I ask where they have been removed to?'

'Why,' answered the Keeper, with some hesitation, 'the room was fitted up in our absence, and cedant arma togae is the maxim of lawyers, you know: I am afraid it has been here somewhat too literally complied with. I hope—I believe they are safe, I am sure I gave orders; may I hope that when they are recovered, and put in proper order, you will do me the honour to accept them at my hand, as an atonement for their accidental derangement?'

The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with folded arms, again resumed his survey of the room.

Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and ran up to his father. 'Think of Lucy, papa; she has come home so cross and so fractious, that she will not go down to the stable to see my new pony, that Bob Wilson brought from the Mull of Galloway.'

'I think you were very unreasonable to ask her,' said the Keeper.

'Then you are as cross as she is,' answered the boy; 'but when mamma comes home, she'll claw up both your mittens.'

'Hush your impertinence, you little forward imp!' said his father; 'where is your tutor?'

'Gone to a wedding at Dunbar; I hope he'll get a haggis to his dinner'; and he began to sing the old Scottish song:

'There was a haggis in Dunbar, Fal de ral, etc. Mony better and few waur, Fal de ral,' etc.

'I am much obliged to Mr. Cordery for his attentions,' said the Lord Keeper; 'and pray who has had the charge of you while I was away, Mr. Henry?'

'Norman and Bob Wilson, forbye my own self.'

'A groom and a gamekeeper, and your own silly self—proper guardians for a young advocate! Why, you will never know any statutes but those against shooting red-deer, killing salmon, and——'

'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.