ently led; deprived almost of natural rest; goaded by remorse, his
frame was almost worn to the bone, while his countenance, once dark and
swarthy, was now blanched and colorless as marble. This pallid and
deathlike hue was, in all probability, owing to the loss of blood he had
sustained from the wound inflicted by Major Mowbray, with the stains of
which his apparel was dyed; for, though staunched, the effusion had been
sufficient to cause great faintness. His dark eyes blazed with their
wonted fire--nay, they looked darker and larger from his exceeding
paleness, and such intense mental and bodily suffering was imprinted
upon his countenance, that, despite its fierceness and desperation, few
could have regarded him without sympathy. Real desperation has so much
of agony in its character, that no one can witness it unmoved. His garb
was not that in which the reader first beheld him, but a rich, dark,
simple suit of velvet, corresponding more with his real rank in life
than his former peasant's attire; but it was disordered by his recent
conflict, and stained with bloody testimonials of the fray; while his
long, sable curls, once his pride and ornament, now hung in intertangled
elf-locks, like a coil of wreathed water-snakes. Even in her terror, as
she dwelt upon his noble features, Eleanor could not help admitting that
she beheld the undoubted descendant, and the living likeness of the
handsomest and most distinguished of her house--the profligate and
criminal Sir Reginald. As her eye, mechanically following this train of
thought, wandered for an instant to the haughty portraiture of Sir
Reginald, which formed part of the family pictures, and thence to those
of his unfortunate lady, she was struck with the fancy that, by some
terrible fatality, the tragic horrors of bygone days were to be again
enacted in their persons, and that they were in some way strangely
identified with their unfortunate progenitors. So forcibly was this idea
impressed upon her features that Luke, who had followed the direction of
her glances, became instantly aware of it. Drawing her nearer to the
portrait of the Lady Eleanor, he traced the resemblance in mute wonder;
thence, turning towards that of Sir Reginald, he proudly exclaimed: "You
doubted once my lineage, maiden--can you gaze on those features, which
would almost seem to be a reflection of mine own, and longer hesitate
whose descendant I am? I glory in my likeness. There is a wild delight
i