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 shewed some symptom of degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors.
"The Master of Ravenswood," said Lucy, who liked not the tone of this ex-
