is Raymond, whom he
slew in a fit of jealousy, and whose blood was mingled with the waters
of the locked fountain, as it was commonly called. Others imagined
that the tale had a more remote origin in the ancient heathen mythology.
All, however, agreed that the spot was fatal to the Ravenswood family;
and that to drink of the waters of the well, or even approach its brink,
was as ominous to a descendant of that house as for a Grahame to wear
green, a Bruce to kill a spider, or a St. Clair to cross the Ord on a
Monday.

It was on this ominous spot that Lucy Ashton first drew breath after her
long and almost deadly swoon. Beautiful and pale as the fabulous Naiad
in the last agony of separation from her lover, she was seated so as to
rest with her back against a part of the ruined wall, while her mantle,
dripping with the water which her protector had used profusely to recall
her senses, clung to her slender and beautifully proportioned form.

The first moment of recollection brought to her mind the danger which
had overpowered her senses; the next called to remembrance that of her
father. She looked around; he was nowhere to be seen. "My father, my
father!" was all that she could ejaculate.

"Sir William is safe," answered the voice of a stranger--"perfectly
safe, adn will be with you instantly."

"Are you sure of that?" exclaimed Lucy. "The bull was close by us. Do
not stop me: I must go to seek my father!"

And she rose with that purpose; but her strength was so much exhausted
that, far from possessing the power to execute her purpose, she must
have fallen against the stone on which she had leant, probably not
without sustaining serious injury.

The stranger was so near to her that, without actually suffering her to
fall, he could not avoid catching her in his arms, which, however, he
did with a momentary reluctance, very unusual when youth interposes to
prevent beauty from danger. It seemed as if her weight, slight as it
was, proved too heavy for her young and athletic assistant, for, without
feeling the temptation of detaining her in his arms even for a single
instant, he again placed her on the stone from which she had risen,
and retreating a few steps, repeated hastily "Sir William Ashton is
perfectly safe and will be here instantly. Do not make yourself anxious
on his account: Fate has singularly preserved him. You, madam, are
exhausted, and must not think of rising until you have some assistance
more suitabl