"Lucy," he said, "I have sacrificed to you projects of vengeance long
nursed, and sworn to with ceremonies little better than heathen--I
sacrificed them to your image, ere I knew the worth which it
represented. In the evening which succeeded my poor father's funeral, I
cut a lock from my hair, and, as it consumed in the fire, I swore that
my rage and revenge should pursue his enemies, until they shrivelled
before me like that scorched-up symbol of annihilation."
"It was a deadly sin," said Lucy, turning pale, "to make a vow so
fatal."
"I acknowledge it," said Ravenswood, "and it had been a worse crime
to keep it. It was for your sake that I abjured these purposes of
vengeance, though I scarce knew that such was the argument by which I
was conquered, until I saw you once more, and became conscious of the
influence you possessed over me."
"And why do you now," said Lucy, "recall sentiments so
terrible--sentiments so inconsistent with those you profess for me--with
those your importunity has prevailed on me to acknowledge?"
"Because," said her lover, "I would impress on you the price at which I
have bought your love--the right I have to expect your constancy.
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