t that we must parley together. The belted lords of Britain,
her ancient peers, must decide, if it is their will that a house,
not the least noble of their members, shall be stripped of their
possessions, the reward of the patriotism of generations, as the pawn of
a wretched mechanic becomes forfeit to the usurer the instant the hour
of redemption has passed away. If they yield to the grasping severity of
the creditor, and to the gnawing usury that eats into our lands as moths
into a raiment, it will be of more evil consequence to them and their
posterity than to Edgar Ravenswood. I shall still have my sword and my
cloak, and can follow the profession of arms wherever a trumpet shall
sound."

As he pronounced these words, in a firm yet melancholy tone, he raised
his eyes, and suddenly encountered those of Lucy Ashton, who had stolen
unawares on their interview, and observed her looks fastened on them
with an expression of enthusiastic interest and admiration, which had
wrapt her for the moment beyond the fear of discovery. The noble form
and fine features of Ravenswood, fired with the pride of birth and sense
of internal dignity, the mellow and expressive tones of his voice,
the desolate state of his fortunes, and the indifference with which he
seemed to endure and to dare the worst that might befall, rendered him a
dangerous object of contemplation for a maiden already too much
disposed to dwell upon recollections connected with him. When their eyes
encountered each other, both blushed deeply, conscious of some strong
internal emotion, an shunned again to meet each other's looks. Sir
William Ashton had, of course, closely watched the expression of their
countenances. "I need fear," said he internally, "neither Parliament nor
protestation; I have an effectual mode of reconciling myself with this
hot-tempered young fellow, in case he shall become formidable. The
present object is, at all events, to avoid committing ourselves. The
hook is fixed; we will nto strain the line too soon: it is as well to
reserve the privilege of slipping it loose, if we do not find the fish
worth landing."

In this selfish and cruel calculation upon the supposed attachment of
Ravenswood to Lucy, he was so far from considering the pain he might
give to the former, by thus dallying with his affections, that he even
did not think upon the risk of involving his own daughter in the perils
of an unfortunate passion; as if her predilection, which co