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"Be it so, my dearest; you shall know no restraint that I can

save you from. Do not think too hardly of Sir Frederick for



this,--it is an excess of passion."

Isabella waved her hand impatiently.



"Forgive me, my child--I go--Heaven bless thee. At eleven--if

you call me not before--at eleven I come to seek you."



"When he left Isabella she dropped upon her knees--"Heaven aid me

to support the resolution I have taken-- Heaven only can--O, poor



Earnscliff! who shall comfort him? and with what contempt will

he pronounce her name, who listened to him to-day and gave



herself to another at night! But let him despise me--better so

than that he should know the truth--let him despise me; if it



will but lessen his grief, I should feel comfort in the loss of

his esteem."



She wept bitterly; attempting in vain, from time to time, to

commence the prayer for which she had sunk on her knees, but



unable to calm her spirits sufficiently for the exercise of

devotion. As she remained in this agony of mind, the door of her



apartment was slowly opened.

CHAPTER XV.



The darksome cave they enter, where they found

The woful man, low sitting on the ground,



Musing full sadly in his sullen mind. FAERY QUEEN.

The intruder on Miss Vere's sorrows was Ratcliffe. Ellieslaw



had, in the agitation of his mind, forgotten to countermand the

order he had given to call him thither, so that he opened the



door with the words, "You sent for me, Mr. Vere." Then looking

around--"Miss Vere, alone! on the ground! and in tears!"



"Leave me--leave me, Mr. Ratcliffe," said the unhappy young lady.

"I must not leave you," said Ratcliffe; "I have been repeatedly



requesting admittance to take my leave of you, and have been

refused, until your father himself sent for me. Blame me not, if



I am bold and intrusive; I have a duty to discharge which makes

me so."



"I cannot listen to you--I cannot speak to you, Mr. Ratcliffe;

take my best wishes, and for God's sake leave me."



"Tell me only," said Ratcliffe, "is it true that this monstrous

match is to go forward, and this very night? I heard the



servants proclaim it as I was on the great staircase--I heard the

directions given to clear out the chapel."



"Spare me, Mr. Ratcliffe," replied the luckless bride; "and from

the state in which you see me, judge of the cruelty of these



questions."

"Married? to Sir Frederick Langley? and this night? It must not



cannot--shall not be."

"It MUST be, Mr. Ratcliff, or my father is ruined."



"Ah! I understand," answered Ratcliffe; "and you have sacrificed

yourself to save him who--But let the virtue of the child atone



for the faults of the father it is no time to rake them up.--What

CAN be done? Time presses--I know but one remedy--with four-and-



twenty hours I might find many--Miss Vere, you must implore the

protection of the only human being who has it in his power to



control the course of events which threatens to hurry you before

it."



"And what human being," answered Miss Vere, "has such power?"

"Start not when I name him," said Ratcliffe, coming near her, and



speaking in a low but distinct voice. "It is he who is called

Elshender the Recluse of Mucklestane-Moor."



"You are mad, Mr. Ratcliffe, or you mean to insult my misery by

an ill-timed jest!"



"I am as much in my senses, young lady," answered her adviser,

"as you are; and I am no idle jester, far less with misery, least



of all with your misery. I swear to you that this being (who is

other far than what he seems) actually possesses the means of



redeeming you from this hateful union."

"And of insuring my father's safety?"



"Yes! even that," said Ratcliffe, "if you plead his cause with

him--yet how to obtain admittance to the Recluse!"






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