Rivers, immediately after this by-play, left the apartment. The eye of
Ralph changing its direction, beheld that of the young maiden observing
him closely, with an expression of countenance so anxious, that he felt
persuaded she must have beheld the mute intercourse, if so we may call
it, between himself and the person whose conduct had so ruffled him. The
color had fled from her cheek, and there was something of warning in her
gaze. The polish and propriety which had distinguished her manners so
far as he had seen, were so different from anything that he had been led
to expect, and reminded him so strongly of another region, that, rising
from the table, he approached the place where she sat, took a chair
beside her, and with a gentleness and ease, the due result of his own
education and of the world he had lived in, commenced a conversation
with her, and was pleased to find himself encountered by a modest
freedom of opinion, a grace of thought, and a general intelligence,
which promised him better company than he had looked for. The villagers
had now left the apartment, all but Forrester; who, following Ralph's
example, took up a seat beside him, and sat a pleased listener to a
dialogue, in which the intellectual charm was strong enough, except at
very occasional periods, to prevent him from contributing much. The old
lady sat silently by. She was a trembling, timid body, thin, pale, and
emaciated, who appeared to have suffered much, and certainly stood in as
much awe of the man whose name she bore as it was well fitting in such a
relationship to permit. She said as little as Forrester, but seemed
equally well pleased with the attentions and the conversation of the
youth.

"Find you not this place lonesome, Miss Munro? You have been used, or I
mistake much, to a more cheering, a more civilized region."

"I have, sir; and sometimes I repine--not so much at the world I live