e than mine."

Lucy, whose senses were by this time more effectually collected, was
naturally led to look at the stranger with attention. There was nothing
in his appearance which should have rendered him unwilling to offer his
arm to a young lady who required support, or which could have induced
her to refuse his assistance; and she could not help thinking, even
in that moment, that he seemed cold and reluctant to offer it. A
shooting-dress of dark cloth intimated the rank of the wearer, though
concealed in part by a large and loose cloak of a dark brown colour.
A montero cap and a black feather drooped over the wearer's brow,
and partly concealed his features, which, so far as seen, were dark,
regular, adn full of majestic, though somewhat sullen, expression.
Some secret sorrow, or the brooding spirit of some moody passion, had
quenched the light and ingenuous vivacity of youth in a countenance
singularly fitted to display both, and it was not easy to gaze on the
stranger without a secret impression either of pity or awe, or at least
of doubt and curiosity allied to both.

The impression which we have necessarily been long in describing, Lucy
felt in the glance of a moment, and had no sooner encountered the keen
black eyes of the stranger than her own were bent on the ground with a
mixture of bashful embarrassment and fear. Yet there was a necessity to
speak, or at last she thought so, and in a fluttered accent she began
to mention her wonderful escape, in which she was sure that the stranger
must, under Heaven, have been her father's protector and her own.

He seemed to shrink from her expressions of gratitude, while he replied
abruptly, "I leave you, madam," the deep melody of his voice rendered
powerful, but not harsh, by something like a severity of tone--"I leave
you to the protection of those to whom it is possible you may have this
day been a guardian angel."

Lucy was surprised at the ambiguity of his language, and, with a feeling
of artless and unaffected gratitude, began to deprecate the idea of
having intended to give her deliverer any offence, as if such a thing
had been possible. "I have been unfortunate," she said, "in endeavouring
to express my thanks--I am sure it must be so, though I cannot recollect
what I said; but would you but stay till my father--till the Lord Keeper
comes; would you only permit him to pay you his thanks, and to inquire
your name?"

"My name is unnecessary," answered the str