“Not here,” said he, sternly; “show me the room in which my father died; the room in which she slept the night the were at the castle.”

“Who, sir?” said Caleb, too terrified to preserve his presence of mind.

“She, Lucy Ashton!  Would you kill me, old man, by forcing me to repeat her name?”

Caleb would have said something of the disrepair of the chamber, but was silenced by the irritable impatience which was expressed in his master’s countenance; he lighted the way trembling and in silence, placed the lamp on the table of the deserted room, and was about to attempt some arrangement of the bed, when his master big him begone in a tone that admitted of no delay.  The old man retired, not to rest, but to prayer; and from time to time crept to the door of the apartment, in order to find out whether Ravenswood had gone to repose.  His measured heavy step upon the floor was only interrupted by deep groans; and the repeated stamps of the heel of his heavy boot intimated too clearly that the wretched inmate was abandoning himself at such moments to paroxysms of uncontrolled agony.  The old man thought that the morning, for which he longed, would never have dawned; but time, whose course rolls on with equal current, however it may seem more rapid or more slow to mortal apprehension, brought the dawn at last, and spread a ruddy light on the broad verge of the glistening ocean.  It was early in November, and the weather was serene for the season of the year.  But an easterly wind had prevailed during the night, and the advancing tide rolled nearer than usual to the foot of the crags on which the castle was founded.

With the first peep of light, Caleb Balderstone again resorted to the door of Ravenswood’s sleeping apartment, through a chink of which he observed him engaged in measuring the length of two or three swords which lay in a closet adjoining to the apartment.  He muttered to himself, as he selected one of these weapons:  “It is shorter:  let him have this advantage, as he has every other.”

Caleb Balderstone knew too well, from what he witnessed, upon what enterprise his master was bound, and how vain all interference on his part must necessarily prove.  He had but time to retreat from the door, so nearly was he surprised by his master suddenly coming out and descending to the stables.  The faithful domestic followed; and from the dishevelled appearance of his master’s dress, and his ghastly looks, was confirmed in his conjecture that he had passed the night without sleep or repose.  He found him busily engaged in saddling his horse, a service from which Caleb, though with faltering voice and trembling hands, offered to relieve him.  Ravenswood rejected his assistance by a mute sign, and having led the animal into the court, was just about to mount him, when the old domestic’s fear giving way to the strong attachment which was the principal passion of his mind, he flung himself suddenly at Ravenswood’s feet, and clasped his knees, while he exclaimed:  “Oh, sir! oh, master! kill me if you will, but do not go out on this dreadful errand!  Oh! my dear master, wait but this day; the Marquis of A——­ comes to-morrow, and a’ will be remedied.”