rove
weak.

At an early hour, therefore--these several duties having been
done--Ralph made his appearance at the village-inn, and the summons of
the youth soon brought Lucy from her chamber.

She came freely and without hesitation, though her heart was tremulous
with doubt and sorrow. She had nothing now to learn of her utter
hopelessness, and her strength was gathered from her despair. Ralph was
shocked at the surprising ravages which a few days of indisposition had
made upon that fine and delicate richness of complexion and expression
which had marked her countenance before. He had no notion that she was
unhappy beyond the cure of time. On the contrary, with a modesty almost
akin to dullness--having had no idea of his own influence over the
maiden--he was disposed to regard the recent events--the death of Munro
and the capture of Rivers--as they relieved her from a persecution which
had been cruelly distressing, rather calculated to produce a degree of
relief, to which she had not for a long time been accustomed; and which,
though mingled up with events that prevented it from being considered
matter for rejoicing, was yet not a matter for one in her situation very
greatly to deplore.

Her appearance, however, only made him more assiduously gentle and
affectionate in the duties he had undertaken to perform. He approached
her with the freedom of one warranted by circumstances in recognising in
her person a relation next to the sweetest and the dearest in life. With
the familiar regard of a brother, he took her hand, and, placing her
beside him on the rude sofa of the humble parlor, he proceeded to those
little inquiries after her health, and of those about her, which usually
form the opening topics of all conversation. He proceeded then to remind
her of that trying night, when, in defiance of female fears, and
laudably regardless of those staid checks and restraints by which her
sex would conceal or defend its weaknesses, she had dared to save his
life.

His manner, generally warm and eager, dilated something beyond its wont;
and if ever gratitude had yet its expression from human lips and in
human language, it was poured forth at that moment from his into the
ears of Lucy Munro.

And she felt its truth; she relied upon the uttered words of the
speaker; and her eyes grew bright with a momentary kindling, her check
flushed under his glance, while her heart, losing something of the
chillness which had so recently o