te horseman, as appeared from the hoof-tracks, in his
precipitate haste, had not attended to keep on the firm sands on the
foot of the rock, but had taken the shortest and most dangerous course.
One only vestige of his fate appeared. A large sable feather had been
detached from his hat, and the rippling waves of the rising tide wafted
it to Caleb's feet. The old man took it up, dried it, and placed it in
his bosom.

The inhabitants of Wolf's Hope were now alarmed, and crowded to the
place, some on shore, and some in boats, but their search availed
nothing. The tenacious depths of the quicksand, as is usual in such
cases, retained its prey.

Our tale draws to a conclusion. The Marquis of A----, alarmed at the
frightful reports that were current, and anxious for his kinsman's
safety, arrived on the subsequent day to mourn his loss; and, after
renewing in vain a search for the body, returned, to forget what had
happened amid the bustle of politics and state affairs.

Not so Caleb Balderstone. If wordly profit could have consoled the old
man, his age was better provided for than his earlier years had ever
been; but life had lost to him its salt and its savour. His whole course
of ideas, his feelings, whether of pride or of apprehension, of pleasure
or of pain, had all arisen from its close connexion with the family
which was now extinguished. He held up his head no longer, forsook all
his usual haunts and occupations, and seemed only to find pleasure in
moping about those apartments in the old castle which the Master of
Ravenswood had last inhabited. He ate without refreshment, and slumbered
without repose; and, with a fidelity sometimes displayed by the canine
race, but seldom by human beings, he pined and died within a year after
the catastrophe which we have narrated.

The family of Ashton did not long survive that of Ravenswood. Sir
William Ashton outlived his eldest son, the Colonel, who was slain in a
duel in Flanders; and Henry, by whom he was succeeded, died unmarried.
Lady Ashton lived to the verge of extreme old age, the only survivor
of the group of unhappy persons whose misfortunes were owing to her
implacability. That she might internally feel compunction, and reconcile
herself with Heaven, whom she had offended, we will not, and we dare
not, deny; but to those around her she did not evince the slightest
symptom either of repentance or remorse. In all external appearance she
bore the same bold, haughty,