Chapter 29

It was the copy of our conference.
In bed she slept not, for my urging it;
At board she fed not, for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
In company I often glanced at it.

Comedy of Errors.

THE next morning saw Bucklaw and his faithful Achates, Craigengelt, at
Ravenswood Castle. They were most courteously received by the knight
and his lady, as well, as by their son and heir, Colonel Ashton. After
a good deal of stammering and blushing--for Bucklaw, notwithstanding his
audacity in other matters, had all the sheepish bashfulness common to
those who have lived little in respectable society--he contrived at
length to explain his wish to be admitted to a conference with Miss
Ashton upon the subject of their approaching union. Sir William and
his son looked at Lady Ashton, who replied with the greatest composure,
"That Lucy would wait upon Mr. Hayston directly. I hope," she added with
a smile, "that as Lucy is very young, and has been lately trepanned into
an engagement of which she is now heartily ashamed, our dear Bucklaw
will excuse her wish that I should be present at their interview?"

"In truth, my dear lady," said Bucklaw, "it is the very thing that
I would have desired on my own account; for I have been so little
accustomed to what is called gallantry, that I shall certainly fall into
some cursed mistake unless I have the advantage of your ladyship as an
interpreter."

It was thus that Bucklaw, in the perturbation of his embarrassment upon
this critical occasion, forgot the just apprehensions he had entertained
of Lady Ashton's overbearing ascendency over her daughter's mind, and
lost an opportunity of ascertaining, by his own investigation, the real
state of Lucy's feelings.

The other gentlemen left the room, and in a shrot time Lady Ashton,
followed by her daughter, entered the apartment. She appeared, as he had
seen her on former occasions, rather composed than agitated; but a nicer
judge than he could scarce have determined whether her calmness was that
of despair or of indifference. Bucklaw was too much agitated by his own
feelings minutely to scrutinise those of the lady. He stammered out an
unconnected address, confounding together the two or three topics to
which it related, and stopt short before he brought it to any regular
conclusion. Miss Ashton listened, or looked as if she listened, but
returned not a single word in answer, continuing to fix her eyes on
a small piece of embroidery on which, as if by instinct or habit, her
fingers were busily employed. Lady Ashton sat at some distance, almost
screened from notice by the deep embrasure of the window in which she
had placed her chair. From this she