Betwixt two scales equally loaded, a feather's weight will turn the
scale. "It is impossible for me to leave the young lady in the wood
alone," said Ravenswood; "to see her once more can be of little
consequence, after the frequent meetings we have had. I ought, too, in
courtesy, to apprise her of my intention to quit the castle."

And having thus satisfied himself that he was taking not only a wise,
but an absolutely necessary, step, he took the path to the fatal
fountain. Henry no sooner saw him on the way to join his sister than he
was off like lightning in another direction, to enjoy the society of the
forester in their congenial pursuits. Ravenswood, not allowing himself
to give a second thought to the propriety of his own conduct, walked
with a quick step towards the stream, where he found Lucy seated alone
by the ruin.

She sate upon one of the disjointed stones of the ancient fountain,
and seemed to watch the progress of its current, as it bubbled forth to
daylight, in gay and sparkling profusion, from under the shadow of the
ribbed and darksome vault, with which veneration, or perhaps remorse,
had canopied its source. To a superstitious eye, Lucy Ashton, folded in
her plaided mantle, with her long hair, escaping partly from the snood
and falling upon her silver neck, might have suggested the idea of
the murdered Nymph of the fountain. But Ravenswood only saw a female
exquisitely beautiful, and rendered yet more so in his eyes--how
could it be otherwise?--by the consciousness that she had placed her
affections on him. As he gazed on her, he felt his fixed resolution
melting like wax in the sun, and hastened, therefore, from his
concealment in the neighbouring thicket. She saluted him, but did not
arise from the stone on which she was seated.