“And why should you think so, Alice?” said Lucy; “or how is it possible for you to judge so accurately by the sound of a step, on this firm earth, and in the open air?”

“My hearing, my child, has been sharpened by my blindness, and I can now draw conclusions from the slightest sounds, which formerly reached my ears as unheeded as they now approach yours.  Necessity is a stern but an excellent schoolmistress, and she that has lost her sight must collect her information from other sources.”

“Well, you hear a man’s step, I grant it,” said Lucy; “but why, Alice, may it not be my father’s?”

“The pace of age, my love, is timid and cautious:  the foot takes leave of the earth slowly, and is planted down upon it with hesitation; it is the hasty and determined step of youth that I now hear, and—­could I give credit to so strange a thought—­I should say is was the step of a Ravenswood.”

“This is indeed,” said Ravenswood, “an acuteness of organ which I could not have credited had I not witnessed it.  I am indeed the Master of Ravenswood, Alice,—­the son of your old master.”

“You!” said the old woman, with almost a scream of surprise—­“you the Master of Ravenswood—­here—­in this place, and thus accompanied!  I cannot believe it.  Let me pass my old hand over your face, that my touch may bear witness to my ears.”

The Master sate down beside her on the earthen bank, and permitted her to touch his features with her trembling hand.

“It is indeed!” she said—­“it is the features as well as the voice of Ravenswood—­the high lines of pride, as well as the bold and haughty tone.  But what do you here, Master of Ravenswood?—­what do you in your enemy’s domain, and in company with his child?” As Old Alice spoke, her face kindled, as probably that of an ancient feudal vassal might have done in whose presence his youthful liege-lord had showed some symptom of degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors.

“The Master of Ravenswood,” said Lucy, who liked not the tone of this expostulation, and was desirous to abridge it, “is upon a visit to my father.”

“Indeed!” said the old blind woman, in an accent of surprise.

“I knew,” continued Lucy, “I should do him a pleasure by conducting him to your cottage.”

“Where, to say the truth, Alice,” said Ravenswood, “I expected a more cordial reception.”

“It is most wonderful!” said the old woman, muttering to herself; “but the ways of Heaven are not like our ways, and its judgments are brought about by means far beyond our fathoming.  Hearken, young man,” she said; “your fathers were implacable, but they were honourable, foes; they sought not to ruin their enemies under the mask of hospitality.  What have you to do with Lucy Ashton? why should your steps move in the same footpath with hers? why should your voice sound in the same chord and time with those of Sir William Ashton’s daughter?  Young man, he who aims at revenge by dishonourable means——­”