How long Ralph, in his mental wanderings, would have gone on, as we have seen, incoherently developing his heart’s history, may not be said.  Gathering courage at last, with a noble energy, the maiden proceeded to her proposed duty, and his slumbers were broken.  With a half-awakened consciousness he raised himself partially up in his couch, and sought to listen.  He was not deceived; a whispered sentence came to his ears, addressed to himself, and succeeded by a pause of several moments’ continuance.  Again his name was uttered.  Half doubting his senses, he passed his hand repeatedly over his eyes, and again listened for the repetition of that voice, the identity of which he had as yet failed utterly to distinguish.  The sounds were repeated, and the words grew more and more distinct.  He now caught in part the tenor of the sentence, though imperfectly heard.  It seemed to convey some warning of danger, and the person who spoke appeared, from the tremulous accents, to labor under many apprehensions.  The voice proceeded with increased emphasis, advising his instant departure from the house—­speaking of nameless dangers—­of murderous intrigue and conspiracy, and warning against even the delay of a single instant.

The character of Ralph was finely marked, and firmness of purpose and a ready decision were among its most prominent attributes.  Hastily leaping from his couch, therefore, with a single bound he reached the door of his chamber, which, to his astonishment, he found entirely unfastened.  The movement was so sudden and so entirely unlooked-for, that the intruder was taken by surprise; and beheld, while the youth closed securely the entrance, the hope of escape entirely cut off.  Ralph advanced toward his visiter, the dim outline of whose person was visible upon the wall.  Lifting his arm as he approached, what was his astonishment to perceive the object of his assault sink before him upon the floor, while the pleading voice of a woman called upon him for mercy.

“Spare me, Mr. Colleton—­spare me”—­she exclaimed, in undisguised terror.

“You here, Miss Munro, and at this hour of the night!” was the wondering inquiry, as he lifted her from the floor, her limbs, trembling with agitation, scarcely able to support even her slender form.

“Forgive me, sir, forgive me.  Think not ill of me, I pray you.  I come to save you,—­indeed, Mr. Colleton, I do—­and nothing, believe me, would have brought me here but the knowledge of your immediate danger.”

She felt the delicacy of her situation, and recognising her motive readily, we will do him the justice to say, Ralph felt it too in the assurance of her lips.  A respectful delicacy pervaded his manner as he inquired earnestly:—­

“What is this danger, Miss Munro?  I believe you fear for me, but may you not have exaggerated the cause of alarm to yourself?  What have I to fear—­from what would you save me?”

“Nay, ask me not, sir, but fly.  There is but little time for explanation, believe me.  I know and do not imagine the danger.  I can not tell you all, nor can you with safety bestow the time to hear.  Your murderers are awake—­they are in this very house, and nothing but instant flight can save you from their hands.”