of human sympathy and society, which are the inevitable consequences of its indulgence.  These fancies are the sleepless thoughts, the fruit of an active memory, which, at such a time, unrestrained by the waking judgment, mingles up the counsels and the warnings of your brother and the past, with all the images and circumstances of the present time.  But—­go on with your suggestion.  Let me do what I can for the good of those in whom you are interested.”

“You are right:  whatever may be my apprehensions, life is uncertain enough, and needs no dreams to make it more so.  Still, I can not rid myself of this impression, which sticks to me like a shadow.  Night after night I have seen him—­just as I saw him a year before he died.  But his looks were full of meaning; and when his lips opened, though I heard not a word, they seemed to me to say, ‘The hour is at hand!’ I am sure they spoke the truth, and I must prepare for it. If I live, Mr. Colleton, Lucy must marry Rivers:  there’s no hope for her escape.  If I die, there’s no reason for the marriage, for she can then bid him defiance.  She is willing to marry him now merely on my account; for, to say in words, what you no doubt understand, I am at his mercy.  If I perish before the marriage take place, it will not take place; and she will then need a protector—­”

“Say no more,” exclaimed the youth, as the landlord paused for an instant—­“say no more.  It will be as little as I can say, when I assure you, that all that my family can do for her happiness—­all that I can do—­shall be done.  Be at ease on this matter, and believe me that I promise you nothing which my heart would not strenuously insist upon my performing.  She shall be a sister to me.”

As he spoke, the landlord warmly pressed his hand, leaning forward from his saddle as he did so, but without a single accompanying word.  The dialogue was continued, at intervals, in a desultory form, and without sustaining, for any length of time, any single topic.  Munro seemed heavy with gloomy thoughts; and the sky, now becoming lightened with the glories of the ascending moon, seemed to have no manner of influence over his sullen temperament.  Not so with the youth.  He grew elastic and buoyant as they proceeded; and his spirit rose, bright and gentle, as if in accordance with the pure lights which now disposed themselves, like an atmosphere of silver, throughout the forest.  The thin clouds, floating away from the parent-orb, and no longer obscuring her progress, became tributaries, and were clothed in their most dazzling draperies—­clustering around her pathway, and contributing not a little to the loveliness of that serene star from which they received so much.  But the contemplations of the youth were not long permitted to run on in the gladness of his newly-found liberty.  On a sudden, the action of his companion became animated:  he drew up his steed for an instant, then applying the rowel, exclaimed in a deep but suppressed tone—­