"
The hatred which divided the great families in the feudal times had lost
little of its bitterness, though it no longer expressed itself in
deeds of open violence. Not the feelings which Ravenswood had begun to
entertain towards Lucy Ashton, not the hospitality due to his guests,
were able entirely to subdue, though they warmly combated, the deep
passions which arose within him at beholding his father's foe standing
in the hall of the family of which he had in a great measure accelerated
the ruin. His looks glanced from the father to the daughter with an
irresolution of which Sir William Ashton did not think it proper
to await the conclusion. He had now disembarrassed himself of his
riding-dress, and walking up to his daughter, he undid the fastening of
her mask.
"Lucy, my love," he said, raising her and leading her towards
Ravenswood, "lay aside your mask, and let us express our gratitude to
the Master openly and barefaced."
"If he will condescend to accept it," was all that Lucy uttered; but in
a tone so sweetly modulated, and which seemed to imply at once a feeling
and a forgiving of the cold reception to which they were exposed,
that, coming from a creature so innocent and so beautiful, her words cut
Ravenswood to the very heart for his harshness.
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