d not hear me were I to cry for
assistance."

"Fear nothing," said her guide; "or observe, at least, the utmost
caution in stifling every expression of timidity. Remember that his
predominant and most harassing apprehension arises from a consciousness
of the hideousness of his appearance. Your path lies straight beside
yon half-fallen willow; keep the left side of it; the marsh lies on the
right. Farewell for a time. Remember the evil you are threatened with,
and let it overcome at once your fears and scruples."

"Mr. Ratcliffe," said Isabella, "farewell; if you have deceived one so
unfortunate as myself, you have for ever forfeited the fair character
for probity and honour to which I have trusted."

"On my life--on my soul," continued Ratcliffe, raising his voice as the
distance between them increased, "you are safe--perfectly safe."

CHAPTER XVI.

--'Twas time and griefs
That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer hand,
Offering the fortunes of his former days,
The former man may make him.--Bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.--OLD PLAY.

The sounds of Ratcliffe's voice had died on Isabella's ear; but as she
frequently looked back, it was some encouragement to her to discern his
form now darkening in the gloom. Ere, however, she went much farther,
she lost the object in the increasing shade. The last glimmer of the
twilight placed her before the hut of the Solitary. She twice extended
her hand to the door, and twice she withdrew it; and when she did at
length make the effort, the knock did not equal in violence the throb of
her own bosom. Her next effort was louder; her third was reiterated, for
the fear of not obtaining the protection from which Ratcliffe promised
so much, began to overpower the terrors of his presence from whom she
was to request it. At length, as she still received no answer, she
repeatedly called upon the Dwarf by his assumed name, and requested him
to answer and open to her.

"What miserable being is reduced," said the appalling voice of the
Solitary, "to seek refuge here? Go hence; when the heath-fowl need
shelter, they seek it not in the nest of the night-raven."

"I come to you, father," said Isabella, "in my hour of adversity, even
as you yourself commanded, when you promised your heart and your door
should be open to my distress; but I fear--"

"Ha!" said the Solitary, "then thou art Isabella Vere? Give me a token
that thou art she."

"I have