"The immortal Ainsworth. " _Thackeray. _

 NOVELS

 BY

 WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH

 _ROOKWOOD_

 "Gives a vivid picture of the times and places with which he dealt. " _The New York Herald. _

 THE RITTENHOUSE PRESS PHILADELPHIA

[Illustration: DICK TURPIN CLEARS HORNSEY TOLL-GATE]

 PRINTED IN U. S. A. BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS

Transcriber's Note:

 Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic and dialect spellings have been retained. Greek text appears as originally printed. 

 A table of contents, though not present in the original publication, has been provided below:

 MEMOIR

 TO MY MOTHER

 PREFACE

 BOOK I. THE WEDDING RING I. The Vault II. The Skeleton Hand III. The Park IV. The Hall V. Sir Reginald Rookwood VI. Sir Piers Rookwood VII. The Return VIII. An Irish Adventurer IX. An English Adventurer X. Ranulph Rookwood XI. Lady Rookwood XII. The Chamber of Death XIII. The Brothers

 BOOK II. THE SEXTON I. The Storm II. The Funeral Oration III. The Churchyard IV. The Funeral V. The Captive VI. The Apparition

 BOOK III. THE GIPSY I. A Morning Ride II. A Gipsy Encampment III. Sybil IV. Barbara Lovel V. The Inauguration VI. Eleanor Mowbray VII. Mrs. Mowbray VIII. The Parting IX. The Philter X. Saint Cyprian's Cell XI. The Bridal XII. Alan Rookwood XIII. Mr. Coates XIV. Dick Turpin

 BOOK IV. THE RIDE TO YORK I. The Rendezvous at Kilburn II. Tom King III. A Surprise IV. The Hue and Cry V. The Short Pipe VI. Black Bess VII. The York Stage VIII. Roadside Inn IX. Excitement X. The Gibbet XI. The Phantom Steed XII. Cawood Ferry

 BOOK V. THE OATH I. The Hut on Thorne Waste II. Major Mowbray III. Handassah IV. The Dower of Sybil V. The Sarcophagus

 L'ENVOY

 NOTES

_MEMOIR_

William Harrison Ainsworth was born in King Street, Manchester, February4, 1805, in a house that has long since been demolished. His father wasa solicitor in good practice, and the son had all the advantages thateducational facilities could afford. He was sent to the Manchestergrammar-school, and in one of his early novels has left an interestingand accurate picture of its then condition, which may be contrasted withthat of an earlier period left by the "English opium-eater. " At sixteen, a brilliant, handsome youth, with more taste for romance and the dramathan for the dry details of the law, he was articled to a leadingsolicitor of Manchester. The closest friend of his youth was a Mr. JamesCrossley, who was some years older, but shared his intellectual tasteand literary enthusiasm. A drama written for private theatricals, in hisfather's house was printed in _Arliss's Magazine_, and he alsocontributed to the _Manchester Iris_, the _Edinburgh Magazine_, and the_London Magazine_. He even started a periodical, which received the nameof _The Bœotian_, and died at the sixth number. Many of the fugitivepieces of these early days were collected in volumes now exceedinglyrare: "December Tales" (London, 1823), which is not wholly from his pen;the "Works of Cheviot Tichburn" (London, 1822; Manchester, 1825), dedicated to Charles Lamb; and "A Summer Evening Tale" (London, 1825). 

"Sir John Chiverton" appeared in 1826, and for forty years was regardedas one of his early works; but Mr. John Partington Aston has alsoclaimed to be its author. In all probability, both of these young menjoined in the production of the novel which attracted the attention ofSir Walter Scott. On the death of his father, in 1824, Ainsworth went toLondon to finish his legal education, but whatever intentions he mayhave formed of humdrum study and determined attention to the details ofa profession in which he had no interest, were dissipated by contactwith the literary world of the metropolis. He made the acquaintance ofMr. John Ebers, who at that time combined the duties of manager of theOpera House with the business of a publisher. He it was who issued "SirJohn Chiverton, " and the verses forming its dedication are understood tohave been addressed to Anne Frances ("Fanny") Ebers, whom Ainsworthmarried October 11, 1826. Ainsworth had then to decide upon a career, and, acting upon the suggestion of Ebers, his father-in-law, he beganbusiness as a publisher; but after an experience of about eighteenmonths he abandoned it. In this brief interval he introduced the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and Ude, the cook, to the discerning though unequaladmiration of the British public. He was introduced to Sir Walter Scott, who wrote the "Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee" for an annual issued by him. Ainsworth gave him twenty guineas for it, which Sir Walter accepted, butlaughingly handed over to the little daughter of Lockhart, in whoseLondon house they had met. Ainsworth's literary aspirations still burnedwith undiminished ardor, and several plans were formed only to beabandoned, and when, in the summer of 1830, he visited Switzerland andItaly, he was as far as ever from the fulfilment of his desires. In 1831he visited Chesterfield and began the novel of "Rookwood, " in which hesuccessfully applied the method of Mrs. Radcliffe to English scenes andcharacters. The finest passage is that relating Turpin's ride to York, which is a marvel of descriptive writing. It was written, apparently ina glow of inspiration, in less than a day and a half. "The feat, " hesays, "for feat it was, being the composition of a hundred novel pagesin less than twenty-four hours, was achieved at 'The Elms, ' a house Ithen occupied at Kilburn. " The success of "Rookwood" was marked andimmediate. Ainsworth at a bound reached popularity. This was in 1834, and in 1837 he published "Crichton, " which is a fine piece of historicalromance. The critics who had objected to the romantic glamor cast overthe career of Dick Turpin were still further horrified at the manner inwhich that vulgar rascal, Jack Sheppard, was elevated into a hero ofromance. The outcry was not entirely without justification, nor was itwithout effect on the novelist, who thenceforward avoided this perilousground. "Jack Sheppard" appeared in _Bentley's Miscellany_, of whichAinsworth became editor in March, 1840, at a monthly salary of £51. Thestory is powerfully written. In 1841 he received £1000 from the _SundayTimes_ for "Old St. Paul's, " and he, in 1848, had from the same sourceanother £1000 for the "Lancashire Witches. " In 1841 he began thepublication of _Ainsworth's Magazine_, which came to an end in 1853, when he acquired the _New Monthly Magazine_, which he edited for manyyears. This was the heyday of Ainsworth's reputation alike inliterature and in society. His home at Kensal Manor House became famousfor its hospitality, and Dickens, Thackeray, Landseer, ClarksonStanfield, Talfourd, Jerrold, and Cruikshank were among his guests. Thelist of his principal historical novels, with their dates of issue, maynow be given: "Rookwood, " 1834; "Crichton, " 1837; "Jack Sheppard, " 1839;"Tower of London, " 1840; "Guy Fawkes, " 1841; "Old St. Paul's, a Tale ofthe Plague and the Fire of London, " 1841; "Windsor Castle, " 1843; "St. James, or the Court of Queene Anne, " 1844; "Star Chamber, " 1854;"Constable of the Tower, " 1861; "The Lord Mayor of London, " 1862;"Cardinal Pole, " 1863; "John Law, the Projector, " 1864; "The Constablede Bourbon, " 1866; "Talbot Harland, " 1870; "Boscobel, " 1872; "TheManchester Rebels, or the Fatal '45, " 1873; and "The Goldsmith's Wife, "1874. These novels all met with a certain amount of success, but thoseof later years did not attain the striking popularity of his earlierefforts. Many have been translated into various modern languages, andthe editions of his various works are so numerous that some twenty-threepages of the British Museum catalogue are devoted to his works. Thescenery and history of his native country had a perennial interest forhim, and a certain group of his novels--that is, the "LancashireWitches, " "Guy Fawkes, " "The Manchester Rebels, " etc. --may almost besaid to form a novelist's history of Lancashire from the pilgrimage ofgrace until the early part of the present century. 

Probably no more vivid account has been written of the great fire andplague of London than that given in "Old St. Paul's. " The charm ofAinsworth's novels is not at all dependent upon the analysis of motivesor subtle description of character. Of this he has little or nothing, but he realizes vividly a scene or an incident, and conveys theimpression with great force and directness to the reader's mind. Ainsworth came upon the reading world at a happy moment. People wereweary of the inanities of the fashionable novel, and were ready tolisten to one who had a power of vivacious narrative. In 1881, when hewas in his seventy-seventh year, a pleasant tribute of respect andadmiration was paid to him in his native town. The Mayor of Manchesterentertained him at a banquet in the town hall September 15, 1881, "as anexpression of the high esteem in which he is held by his fellow-townsmenand of his services to literature. " In proposing Mr. Ainsworth's health, the mayor gave a curious instance of the popularity of his writings. "Inour Manchester public free libraries there are two hundred and fiftyvolumes of Mr. Ainsworth's different works. During the last twelvemonths these volumes have been read seven thousand six hundred and sixtytimes, mostly by the artisan class of readers. And this means thattwenty volumes of his works are being perused in Manchester by readersof the free libraries every day all the year through. " It was well thatthis pleasant recognition was not longer delayed. The contrast waspathetically great between the tall, handsome, dandified figurepresented in the portraits of him by Pickersgill and Maclise, and thebent and feeble old man who stood by and acknowledged the plaudits ofthose who had assembled to honor him. His last published work was"Stanley Brereton, " which he dedicated to his hospitable entertainer. He died at Reigate January 3, 1882, leaving a widow and also threedaughters by his first marriage. He was buried at Kensal Green Cemetery. With the exception of George Gleig, he was the last survivor of thebrilliant group who wrote for the early numbers of _Fraser's Magazine_, and, though he died in harness, had outlived nearly all the associatesof the days when he first achieved fame. 

_TO MY MOTHER_

When I inscribed this Romance to you, my dear Mother, on its firstappearance, I was satisfied that, whatever reception it might meet withelsewhere, at your hands it would be sure of indulgence. Since then, theapprobation your partiality would scarcely have withheld has beenliberally accorded by the public; and I have the satisfaction ofreflecting, that in following the dictates of affection, which promptedme to select the dearest friend I had in the world as the subject of adedication, I have not overstepped the limits of prudence; nor, inconnecting your honored name with this trifling production, involved youin a failure which, had it occurred, would have given you infinitelymore concern than myself. After a lapse of three years, during which mylittle bark, fanned by pleasant and prosperous breezes, has sailed, morethan once, securely into port, I again commit it to the waters, withmore confidence than heretofore, and with a firmer reliance that, if itshould be found "after many days, " it may prove a slight memorial of thewarmest filial regard. 

Exposed to trials of no ordinary difficulty, and visited by domesticaffliction of no common severity, you, my dear Mother, have borne upagainst the ills of life with a fortitude and resignation which thosewho know you best can best appreciate, but which none can so wellunderstand, or so thoroughly appreciate, as myself. Suffering is the lotof all. Submission under the dispensation is permitted to few. And it ismy fervent hope that my own children may emulate your virtues, if theyare happily spared your sorrows. 

_PREFACE_

During a visit to Chesterfield, in the autumn of the year 1831, I firstconceived the notion of writing this story. Wishing to describe, somewhat minutely, the trim gardens, the picturesque domains, therook-haunted groves, the gloomy chambers, and gloomier galleries, of anancient Hall with which I was acquainted, I resolved to attempt a storyin the bygone style of Mrs. Radcliffe, --which had always inexpressiblecharms for me, --substituting an old English squire, an old Englishmanorial residence, and an old English highwayman, for the Italianmarchese, the castle, and the brigand of the great mistress of Romance. 

While revolving this subject, I happened, one evening, to enter thespacious cemetery attached to the church with the queer, twistedsteeple, which, like the uplifted tail of the renowned Dragon ofWantley, to whom "houses and churches were as capons and turkeys, " seemsto menace the good town of Chesterfield with destruction. Here anincident occurred, on the opening of a vault, which it is needless torelate, but which supplied me with a hint for the commencement of myromance, as well as for the ballad entitled "The Coffin. " Upon this hintI immediately acted; and the earlier chapters of the book, together withthe description of the ancestral mansion of the Rookwoods, werecompleted before I quitted Chesterfield. 

Another and much larger portion of the work was written during aresidence at Rottingdean, in Sussex, in the latter part of 1833, andowes its inspiration to many delightful walks over the South Downs. Romance-writing was pleasant occupation then. 

The Ride to York was completed in one day and one night. This feat--fora feat it was, being the composition of a hundred ordinary novel pagesin less than twenty-four hours--was achieved at "The Elms, " a house Ithen occupied at Kilburn. Well do I remember the fever into which I wasthrown during the time of composition. My pen literally scoured over thepages. So thoroughly did I identify myself with the flying highwayman, that, once started, I found it impossible to halt. Animated by kindredenthusiasm, I cleared every obstacle in my path with as much facility asTurpin disposed of the impediments that beset his flight. In hiscompany, I mounted the hill-side, dashed through the bustling village, swept over the desolate heath, threaded the silent street, plunged intothe eddying stream, and kept an onward course, without pause, withouthindrance, without fatigue. With him I shouted, sang, laughed, exulted, wept. Nor did I retire to rest till, in imagination, I heard the bell ofYork Minster toll forth the knell of poor Black Bess. 

The supernatural occurrence, forming the groundwork of one of theballads which I have made the harbinger of doom to the house ofRookwood, is ascribed, by popular superstition, to a family resident inSussex; upon whose estate the fatal tree--a gigantic lime, with mightyarms and huge girth of trunk, as described in the song--is stillcarefully preserved. Cuckfield Place, to which this singular piece oftimber is attached, is, I may state, for the benefit of the curious, thereal Rookwood Hall; for I have not drawn upon imagination, but uponmemory, in describing the seat and domains of that fated family. Thegeneral features of the venerable structure, several of its chambers, the old garden, and, in particular, the noble park, with its spreadingprospects, its picturesque views of the Hall, "like bits of Mrs. Radcliffe, "--as the poet Shelley once observed of the same scene, --itsdeep glades, through which the deer come lightly tripping down, itsuplands, slopes, brooks, brakes, coverts, and groves, are carefullydelineated. 

The superstition of a fallen branch affording a presage of approachingdeath is not peculiar to the family I have mentioned. Many other oldhouses have been equally favored: in fact, there is scarcely an ancientfamily in the kingdom without a boding sign. For instance, the Breretonsof Brereton, in Cheshire, were warned by the appearance of stocks oftrees floating, like the swollen bodies of long-drowned men, upon thesurface of a sombre lake--called Blackmere, from the inky color of itswaters--adjoining their residence; and numerous other examples might begiven. The death-presage of the Breretons is alluded to by Drayton inthe "_Polyolbion_. "

It has been well observed by Barry Cornwall, "that the songs which occurin dramas are more natural than those which proceed from the author inperson. " With equal force does the reasoning apply to the romance, whichmay be termed the drama of the closet. It would seem strange, on a firstview, that an author should be more at home in an assumed character thanhis own. But experience shows the position to be correct. Conscious heis no longer individually associated with his work, the writer proceedswith all the freedom of irresponsibility. His idiosyncrasy is merged inthat of the personages he represents. He thinks with their thoughts, sees with their eyes, speaks with their tongues. His strains are such ashe himself--_per se_--would not, perhaps could not, have originated. Inthis light he may be said to bring to his subject not one mind, butseveral; he becomes not one poet, but many; for each actor in his dramahas a share, and an important share, in the lyrical _estro_ to which hegives birth. This it is which has imparted any verve, variety, ordramatic character they possess, to the ballads contained in thisproduction. Turpin I look upon as the real songster of "Black Bess;" toJerry Juniper I am unquestionably indebted for a flash melody which, without his hint, would never have been written, while to the sexton Iowe the solitary gleam of light I have been enabled to throw upon thehorrors and mystery of the churchyard. 

As I have casually alluded to the flash song of Jerry Juniper, I may, perhaps, be allowed to make a few observations upon this branch ofversification. It is somewhat curious, with a dialect so racy, idiomatic, and plastic as our own cant, that its metrical capabilitiesshould have been so little essayed. The French have numerous _chansonsd'argot_, ranging from the time of Charles Bourdigné and Villon down tothat of Vidocq and Victor Hugo, the last of whom has enlivened thehorrors of his "_Dernier Jour d'un Condamné_" by a festive song of thisclass. The Spaniards possess a large collection of _Romances deGermania_, by various authors, amongst whom Quevedo holds adistinguished place. We, on the contrary, have scarcely any slang songsof merit. With a race of depredators so melodious and convivial as ourhighwaymen, this is the more to be wondered at. Had they no bardsamongst their bands? Was there no minstrel at hand to record theirexploits? I can only call to mind one robber who was a poet, --Delany, and _he_ was an Irishman. This barrenness, I have shown, is notattributable to the poverty of the soil, but to the want of duecultivation. Materials are at hand in abundance, but there have been fewoperators. Dekker, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Ben Jonson have all dealtlargely in this jargon, but not lyrically; and one of the earliest andbest specimens of a canting-song occurs in Brome's "_Jovial Crew_;" andin the "_Adventures of Bamfylde Moore Carew_" there is a solitary ode, addressed by the mendicant fraternity to their newly-elected monarch;but it has little humor, and can scarcely be called a genuinecanting-song. This ode brings us down to our own time; to the effusionsof the illustrious Pierce Egan; to Tom Moore's Flights of "_Fancy_;" toJohn Jackson's famous chant, "_On the High Toby Spice Flash theMuzzle_, " cited by Lord Byron in a note to "_Don Juan_;" and to theglorious Irish ballad, worth them all put together, entitled "_The NightBefore Larry Was Stretched_. " This facetious performance is attributedto the late Dean Burrowes, of Cork. It is worthy of note that almost allmodern aspirants to the graces of the _Musa Pedestris_ are Irishmen. Ofall rhymesters of the "_Road_, " however, Dean Burrowes is, as yet, mostfully entitled to the laurel. Larry is quite "the potato!"

And here, as the candidates are so few, and their pretensions so humble, I can't help putting in my claim for praise. 

I venture to affirm that I have done something more than has beenaccomplished by my predecessors, or contemporaries, with the significantlanguage under consideration. I have written a purely flash song, ofwhich the great and peculiar merit consists in its being utterlyincomprehensible to the uninformed understanding, while its meaning mustbe perfectly clear and perspicuous to the practised _patterer_ of_Romany_, or _Pedlar's French_. I have, moreover, been the first tointroduce and naturalize amongst us a measure which, though commonenough in the Argotic minstrelsy of France, has been hitherto utterlyunknown to our _pedestrian_ poetry. Some years afterwards, the songalluded to, better known under the title of "_Nix My Dolly, Pals, --FakeAway!_" sprang into extraordinary popularity, being set to music byRodwell, and chanted by glorious Paul Bedford and clever little Mrs. Keeley. 

Before quitting the subject of these songs, I may mention that theyprobably would not have been written at all if one of the earliest ofthem--a chance experiment--had not excited the warm approbation of myfriend, Charles Ollier, author of the striking romance of "Ferrers. "This induced me to prosecute the vein accidentally opened. 

Turpin was the hero of my boyhood. I had always a strange passion forhighwaymen, and have listened by the hour to their exploits, as narratedby my father, and especially to those of "Dauntless Dick, " that "chiefminion of the moon. " One of Turpin's adventures in particular, the rideto Hough Green, which took deep hold of my fancy, I have recorded insong. When a boy, I have often lingered by the side of the deep old roadwhere this robbery was committed, to cast wistful glances into itsmysterious windings; and when night deepened the shadows of the trees, have urged my horse on his journey, from a vague apprehension of a visitfrom the ghostly highwayman. And then there was the Bollin, with itsshelvy banks, which Turpin cleared at a bound; the broad meadows overwhich he winged his flight; the pleasant bowling-green of the pleasantold inn at Hough, where he produced his watch to the Cheshire squires, with whom he was upon terms of intimacy; all brought something of thegallant robber to mind. No wonder, in after-years, in selecting ahighwayman for a character in a tale, I should choose my old favorite, Dick Turpin. 

In reference to two of the characters here introduced, and drawn frompersonages living at the time the tale was written, it may be mentionedthat poor Jerry Juniper met his death from an accident at Chichester, while he was proceeding to Goodwood races; and that the knight ofMalta, --Mr. Tom, a brewer of Truro, the self-styled Sir WilliamCourtenay, who played the strange tricks at Canterbury chronicled in asong given in these pages, --after his release from Banning Heath Asylum, was shot through the head while leading on a mob of riotous Kentishyeomen, whom he had persuaded that he was the Messiah!

If the design of Romance be, what it has been held, the exposition of auseful truth by means of an interesting story, I fear I have butimperfectly fulfilled the office imposed upon me; having, as I willfreely confess, had, throughout, an eye rather to the reader'samusement than his edification. One wholesome moral, however, may, Itrust, be gathered from the perusal of this Tale; namely, that, withoutdue governance of the passions, high aspirations and generous emotionswill little avail their possessor. The impersonations of the Tempter, the Tempted, and the Better Influence may be respectively discovered, bythose who care to cull the honey from the flower, in the Sexton, inLuke, and in Sybil. 

The chief object I had in view in making the present essay was to seehow far the infusion of a warmer and more genial current into the veinsof old Romance would succeed in reviving her fluttering and feeblepulses. The attempt has succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectation. Romance, if I am not mistaken, is destined shortly to undergo animportant change. Modified by the German and French writers--by Hoffman, Tieck, Hugo, Dumas, Balzac, and Paul Lecroix (_le BibliophileJacob_)--the structure commenced in our own land by Horace Walpole, MonkLewis, Mrs. Radcliffe, and Maturin, but left imperfect and inharmonious, requires, now that the rubbish which choked up its approach is removed, only the hand of the skilful architect to its entire renovation andperfection. 

And now, having said my say, I must bid you, worthy reader, farewell. Beseeching you, in the words of old Rabelais, "to interpret all mysayings and doings in the perfectest sense. Reverence the cheese-likebrain that feeds you with all these jolly maggots; and do what lies inyou to keep me always merry. Be frolic now, my lads! Cheer up yourhearts, and joyfully read the rest, with all ease of your body, andcomfort of your reins. "

 KENSAL MANOR-HOUSE, _December 15, 1849_. 

ROOKWOOD

_BOOK I_

_THE WEDDING RING_

 It has been observed, and I am apt to believe it is an observation which will generally be found true, that before a terrible truth comes to light, there are certain murmuring whispers fly before it, and prepare the minds of men for the reception of the truth itself. 

 _Gallick Reports: Case of the Count Saint Geran. _

_CHAPTER I_

_THE VAULT_

 Let me know, therefore, fully the intent Of this thy dismal preparation-- This talk fit for a charnel. 

 WEBSTER. 

Within a sepulchral vault, and at midnight, two persons were seated. Thechamber was of singular construction and considerable extent. The roofwas of solid stone masonry, and rose in a wide semicircular arch to theheight of about seventeen feet, measured from the centre of the ceilingto the ground floor, while the sides were divided by slightpartition-walls into ranges of low, narrow catacombs. The entrance toeach cavity was surrounded by an obtusely-pointed arch, resting uponslender granite pillars; and the intervening space was filled up with avariety of tablets, escutcheons, shields, and inscriptions, recordingthe titles and heraldic honors of the departed. There were no doors tothe niches; and within might be seen piles of coffins, packed one uponanother, till the floor groaned with the weight of lead. Against one ofthe pillars, upon a hook, hung a rack of tattered, time-out-of-mindhatchments; and in the centre of the tomb might be seen the effigies ofSir Ranulph de Rokewode, the builder of the mausoleum, and the founderof the race who slept within its walls. This statue, wrought in blackmarble, differed from most monumental carved-work, in that its posturewas erect and lifelike. Sir Ranulph was represented as sheathed in acomplete suit of mail, decorated with his emblazoned and gilded surcoat, his arm leaning upon the pommel of a weighty curtal-axe. The attitudewas that of stern repose. A conically-formed helmet rested upon thebrow; the beaver was raised, and revealed harsh but commanding features. The golden spur of knighthood was fixed upon the heel; and, at the feet, enshrined in a costly sarcophagus of marble, dug from the same quarry asthe statue, rested the mortal remains of one of "the sternest knights tohis mortal foe that ever put speare in the rest. "

Streaming in a wavering line upon the roof, the sickly flame of a candlepartially fell upon the human figures before alluded to, throwing theminto darkest relief, and casting their opaque and fantastical shadowsalong the ground. An old coffin upon a bier, we have said, served themysterious twain for a seat. Between them stood a bottle and a glass, evidences that whatever might be the ulterior object of their stealthycommunion, the immediate comfort of the creature had not been altogetheroverlooked. At the feet of one of the personages were laid a mattock, ahorn lantern--from which the candle had been removed--, a crowbar, and abunch of keys. Near to these implements of a vocation which the readerwill readily surmise, rested a strange superannuated terrier with a wiryback and frosted muzzle; a head minus an ear, and a leg wanting a paw. His master, for such we shall suppose him, was an old man with a loftyforehead, covered with a singularly shaped nightcap, and clothed, as tohis lower limbs, with tight, ribbed, gray worsted hose, ascendingexternally, after a bygone fashion, considerably above the knee. The oldman's elbow rested upon the handle of his spade, his wrist supported hischin, and his gray glassy eyes, glimmering like marsh-meteors in thecandle-light, were fixed upon his companion with a glance of searchingscrutiny. 

The object of his investigation, a much more youthful and interestingperson, seemed lost in reverie, and alike insensible to time, place, andthe object of the meeting. With both hands grasped round the barrel of afowling-piece, and his face leaning upon the same support, the featureswere entirely concealed from view; the light, too, being at the back, and shedding its rays over, rather than upon his person, aided hisdisguise. Yet, even thus imperfectly defined, the outline of the head, and the proportions of the figure, were eminently striking andsymmetrical. Attired in a rough forester's costume, of the mode of 1737, and of the roughest texture and rudest make, his wild garb would havedetermined his rank as sufficiently humble in the scale of society, hadnot a certain loftiness of manner, and bold, though reckless deportment, argued pretensions on the part of the wearer to a more elevated stationin life, and contradicted, in a great measure, the impression producedby the homely appearance of his habiliments. A cap of shaggy brown fur, fancifully, but not ungracefully fashioned, covered his head, frombeneath which, dropping, in natural clusters over his neck andshoulders, a cloud of raven hair escaped. Subsequently, when his facewas more fully revealed, it proved to be that of a young man, of darkaspect, and grave, melancholy expression of countenance, approachingeven to the stern, when at rest; though sufficiently animated andearnest when engaged in conversation, or otherwise excited. His featureswere regular, delicately formed, and might be characterized assingularly handsome, were it not for a want of roundness in the contourof the face which gave the lineaments a thin, worn look, totallydistinct, however, from haggardness or emaciation. The nose was delicateand fine; the nostril especially so; the upper lip was short, curling, graceful, and haughtily expressive. As to complexion, his skin had atruly Spanish warmth and intensity of coloring. His figure, when raised, was tall and masculine, and though slight, exhibited great personalvigor. 

We will now turn to his companion, the old man with the great grayglittering eyes. Peter Bradley, of Rookwood--comitatû Ebor--, where hehad exercised the vocation of sexton for the best part of a life alreadydrawn out to the full span ordinarily allotted to mortality, was an oddcaricature of humanity. His figure was lean, and almost as lank as askeleton. His bald head reminded one of a bleached skull, allowing forthe overhanging and hoary brows. Deep-seated, and sunken within theirsockets, his gray orbs gleamed with intolerable lustre. Few could endurehis gaze; and, aware of his power, Peter seldom failed to exercise it. He had likewise another habit, which, as it savored of insanity, madehim an object of commiseration with some, while it rendered him yet moreobnoxious to others. The habit we allude to, was the indulgence of wildscreaming laughter at times when all merriment should be checked; andwhen the exhibition of levity must proceed from utter disregard of humangrief and suffering, or from mental alienation. 

Wearied with the prolonged silence, Peter at length condescended tospeak. His voice was harsh and grating as a rusty hinge. 

"Another glass?" said he, pouring out a modicum of the pale fluid. 

His companion shook his head. 

"It will keep out the cold, " continued the sexton, pressing the liquidupon him: "and you, who are not so much accustomed as I am to the dampsof a vault, may suffer from them. Besides, " added he, sneeringly, "itwill give you courage. "

His companion answered not. But the flash of his eye resented theimplied reproach. 

"Nay, never stare at me so hard, Luke, " continued the sexton; "I doubtneither your courage nor your firmness. But if you won't drink, I will. Here's to the rest eternal of Sir Piers Rookwood! You'll say amen tothat pledge, or you are neither grandson of mine, nor offspring of hisloins. "

"Why should I reverence his memory, " answered Luke, bitterly, refusingthe proffered potion, "who showed no fatherly love for me? He disowned_me_ in life: in death I disown _him_. Sir Piers Rookwood was no fatherof mine. "

"He was as certainly your father, as Susan Bradley, your mother, was mydaughter, " rejoined the sexton. 

"And, surely, " cried Luke, impetuously, "_you_ need not boast of theconnection! 'Tis not for you, old man, to couple their namestogether--to exult in your daughter's disgrace and your own dishonor. Shame! shame! Speak not of them in the same breath, if you would nothave me invoke curses on the dead! _I_ have no reverence--whatever _you_may have--for the seducer--for the murderer of my mother. "

"You have choice store of epithets, in sooth, good grandson, " rejoinedPeter, with a chuckling laugh. "Sir Piers a murderer!"

"Tush!" exclaimed Luke, indignantly, "affect not ignorance. You havebetter knowledge than I have of the truth or falsehood of the dark talethat has gone abroad respecting my mother's fate; and unless report hasbelied you foully, had substantial reasons for keeping sealed lips onthe occasion. But to change this painful subject, " added he, with asudden alteration of manner, "at what hour did Sir Piers Rookwood die?"

"On Thursday last, in the night-time. The exact hour I know not, "replied the sexton. 

"Of what ailment?"

"Neither do I know that. His end was sudden, yet not without a warningsign. "

"What warning?" inquired Luke. 

"Neither more nor less than the death-omen of the house. You lookastonished. Is it possible you have never heard of the ominousLime-Tree, and the Fatal Bough? Why, 'tis a common tale hereabouts, andhas been for centuries. Any old crone would tell it you. Peradventure, you _have_ seen the old avenue of lime-trees leading to the hall, nearlya quarter of a mile in length, and as noble a row of timber as any inthe West Riding of Yorkshire. Well, there is one tree--the last on theleft hand before you come to the clock-house--larger than all therest--a huge piece of timber, with broad spreading branches, and of Iknow not what girth in the trunk. That tree is, in some mysteriousmanner, connected with the family of Rookwood, and immediately previousto the death of one of that line, a branch is sure to be shed from theparent stem, prognosticating his doom. But you shall hear the legend. "And in a strange sepulchral tone, not inappropriate, however, to hissubject, Peter chanted the following ballad:

 THE LEGEND OF THE LIME-TREE

 Amid the grove o'er-arched above with lime-trees old and tall --The avenue that leads unto the Rookwood's ancient hall--, High o'er the rest its towering crest one tree rears to the sky, And wide out-flings, like mighty wings, its arms umbrageously. 

 Seven yards its base would scarce embrace--a goodly tree I ween, With silver bark, and foliage dark, of melancholy green; And mid its boughs two ravens house, and build from year to year, Their black brood hatch--their black brood watch--then screaming disappear. 

 In that old tree when playfully the summer breezes sigh, Its leaves are stirred, and there is heard a low and plaintive cry; And when in shrieks the storm blast speaks its reverend boughs among, Sad wailing moans, like human groans, the concert harsh prolong. 

 But whether gale or calm prevail, or threatening cloud hath fled, By hand of Fate, predestinate, a limb that tree will shed; A verdant bough--untouched, I trow, by axe or tempest's breath-- To Rookwood's head an omen dread of fast-approaching death. 

 Some think that tree instinct must be with preternatural power. Like 'larum bell Death's note to knell at Fate's appointed hour; While some avow that on its bough are fearful traces seen, Red as the stains from human veins, commingling with the green. 

 Others, again, there are maintain that on the shattered bark A print is made, where fiends have laid their scathing talons dark; That, ere it falls, the raven calls thrice from that wizard bough; And that each cry doth signify what space the Fates allow. 

 In olden days, the legend says, as grim Sir Ranulph view'd A wretched hag her footsteps drag beneath his lordly wood. His bloodhounds twain he called amain, and straightway gave her chase; Was never seen in forest green, so fierce, so fleet a race!

 With eyes of flame to Ranulph came each red and ruthless hound, While mangled, torn--a sight forlorn!--the hag lay on the ground; E'en where she lay was turned the clay, and limb and reeking bone Within the earth, with ribald mirth, by Ranulph grim were thrown. 

 And while as yet the soil was wet with that poor witch's gore, A lime-tree stake did Ranulph take, and pierced her bosom's core; And, strange to tell, what next befell!--that branch at once took root, And richly fed, within its bed, strong suckers forth did shoot. 

 From year to year fresh boughs appear--it waxes huge in size; And, with wild glee, this prodigy Sir Ranulph grim espies. One day, when he, beneath that tree, reclined in joy and pride, A branch was found upon the ground--the next, Sir Ranulph died!

 And from that hour a fatal power has ruled that Wizard Tree, To Ranulph's line a warning sign of doom and destiny: For when a bough is found, I trow, beneath its shade to lie, Ere suns shall rise thrice in the skies a Rookwood sure shall die!

"And such an omen preceded Sir Piers's demise?" said Luke, who hadlistened with some attention to his grandsire's song. 

"Unquestionably, " replied the sexton. "Not longer ago than Tuesdaymorning, I happened to be sauntering down the avenue I have justdescribed. I know not what took me thither at that early hour, but Iwandered leisurely on till I came nigh the Wizard Lime-Tree. GreatHeaven! what a surprise awaited me! a huge branch lay right across thepath. It had evidently just fallen, for the leaves were green andunwithered; the sap still oozed from the splintered wood; and there wasneither trace of knife nor hatchet on the bark. I looked up among theboughs to mark the spot from whence it had been torn by the hand ofFate--for no human hand had done it--and saw the pair of ancestralravens perched amid the foliage, and croaking as those carrion fowl arewont to do when they scent a carcass afar off. Just then a liveliersound saluted my ears. The cheering cry of a pack of hounds resoundedfrom the courts, and the great gates being thrown open, out issued SirPiers, attended by a troop of his roystering companions, all onhorseback, and all making the welkin ring with their vociferations. SirPiers laughed as loudly as the rest, but his mirth was speedily checked. No sooner had his horse--old Rook, his favorite steed, who never swervedat stake or pale before--set eyes upon the accursed branch, than hestarted as if the fiend stood before him, and, rearing backwards, flunghis rider from the saddle. At this moment, with loud screams, the wizardravens took flight. Sir Piers was somewhat hurt by the fall, but he wasmore frightened than hurt; and though he tried to put a bold face on thematter, it was plain that his efforts to recover himself were fruitless. Dr. Titus Tyrconnel and that wild fellow Jack Palmer--who has latelycome to the hall, and of whom you know something--tried to rally him. But it would not do. He broke up the day's sport, and returneddejectedly to the hall. Before departing, however, he addressed a wordto me in private, respecting you; and pointed, with a melancholy shakeof the head, to the fatal branch. '_It is my death-warrant_, ' said he, gloomily. And so it proved; two days afterwards his doom wasaccomplished. "

"And do you place faith in this idle legend?" asked Luke, with affectedindifference, although it was evident, from his manner, that he himselfwas not so entirely free from a superstitious feeling of credulity as hewould have it appear. 

"Certes, " replied the sexton. "I were more difficult to be convincedthan the unbelieving disciple else. Thrice hath it occurred to my ownknowledge, and ever with the same result: first, with Sir Reginald;secondly, with thy own mother; and lastly, as I have just told thee, with Sir Piers. "

"I thought you said, even now, that this death omen, if such it be, wasalways confined to the immediate family of Rookwood, and not to mereinmates of the mansion. "

"To the heads only of that house, be they male or female. "

"Then how could it apply to my mother? Was _she_ of that house? Was_she_ a wife?"

"Who shall say she was _not_?" rejoined the sexton. 

"Who shall say she _was_ so?" cried Luke, repeating the words withindignant emphasis--"who will avouch _that_?"

A smile, cold as a wintry sunbeam, played upon the sexton's rigid lips. 

"I will bear this no longer, " cried Luke; "anger me not, or look toyourself. In a word, have you anything to tell me respecting her? ifnot, let me begone. "

"I have. But I will not be hurried by a boy like you, " replied Peter, doggedly. "Go, if you will, and take the consequences. My lips aresealed forever, and I have much to say--much that it behoves you toknow. "

"Be brief, then. When you sought me out this morning, in my retreat withthe gipsy gang at Davenham Wood, you bade me meet you in the porch ofRookwood Church at midnight. I was true to my appointment. "

"And I will keep my promise, " replied the sexton. "Draw closer, that Imay whisper in thine ear. Of every Rookwood who lies around us--and allthat ever bore the name, except Sir Piers himself--who lies in state atthe hall--, are here--not one--mark what I say--not one male branch ofthe house but has been suspected----"

"Of what?"

"Of murder!" returned the sexton, in a hissing whisper. 

"Murder!" echoed Luke, recoiling. 

"There is one dark stain--one foul blot on all. Blood--blood hath beenspilt. "

"By all?"

"Ay, and _such_ blood! theirs was no common crime. Even murder hath itsdegrees. Theirs was of the first class. "

"Their wives!--you cannot mean that?"

"Ay, their wives!--I do. You have heard it, then? Ha! ha! 'tis a trickthey had. Did you ever hear the old saying?

 _No mate ever brook would A Rook of the Rookwood!_

A merry saying it is, and true. No woman ever stood in a Rookwood's waybut she was speedily removed--that's certain. They had all, save poorSir Piers, the knack of stopping a troublesome woman's tongue, andpractised it to perfection. A rare art, eh?"

"What have the misdeeds of his ancestry to do with Sir Piers, " mutteredLuke, "much less with my mother?"

"Everything. If he could not rid himself of his wife--and she is a matchfor the devil himself--, the _mistress_ might be more readily setaside. "

"Have you absolute knowledge of aught?" asked Luke, his voice tremulouswith emotion. 

"Nay, I but hinted. "

"Such hints are worse than open speech. Let me know the worst. Did hekill her?" And Luke glared at the sexton as if he would have penetratedhis secret soul. 

But Peter was not easily fathomed. His cold, bright eye returned Luke'sgaze steadfastly, as he answered, composedly:

"I have said all I know. "

"But not all you _think_. "

"Thoughts should not always find utterance, else we might often endangerour own safety, and that of others. "

"An idle subterfuge--and, from you, worse than idle. I will have ananswer, yea or nay. Was it poison--was it steel?"

"Enough--she died. "

"No, it is not enough. When? Where?"

"In her sleep--in her bed. "

"Why, that was natural. "

A wrinkling smile crossed the sexton's brow. 

"What means that horrible gleam of laughter?" exclaimed Luke, graspingthe shoulder of the man of graves with such force as nearly toannihilate him. "Speak, or I will strangle you. She died, you say, inher sleep?"

"She did so, " replied the sexton, shaking off Luke's hold. 

"And was it to tell me that I had a mother's murder to avenge, that youbrought me to the tomb of her destroyer--when he is beyond the reach ofmy vengeance?"

Luke exhibited so much frantic violence of manner and gesture, that thesexton entertained some little apprehension that his intellects wereunsettled by the shock of the intelligence. It was, therefore, in whathe intended for a soothing tone that he attempted to solicit hisgrandson's attention. 

"I will hear nothing more, " interrupted Luke, and the vaulted chamberrang with his passionate lamentations. "Am I the sport of this mockingfiend?" cried he, "to whom my agony is derision--my despair a source ofenjoyment--beneath whose withering glance my spirit shrinks--who, withhalf-expressed insinuations, tortures my soul, awakening fancies thatgoad me on to dark and desperate deeds? Dead mother! upon thee I call. If in thy grave thou canst hear the cry of thy most wretched son, yearning to avenge thee--answer me, if thou hast the power. Let me havesome token of the truth or falsity of these wild suppositions, that Imay wrestle against this demon. But no, " added he, in accents ofdespair, "no ear listens to me, save his to whom my wretchedness is foodfor mockery. "

"Could the dead hear thee, thy mother might do so, " returned the sexton. "She lies within this space. "

Luke staggered back, as if struck by a sudden shot. He spoke not, butfell with a violent shock against a pile of coffins, at which he caughtfor support. 

"What have I done?" he exclaimed, recoiling. 

A thundering crash resounded through the vault. One of the coffins, dislodged from its position by his fall, tumbled to the ground, and, alighting upon its side, split asunder. 

"Great Heavens! what is this?" cried Luke, as a dead body, clothed inall the hideous apparel of the tomb, rolled forth to his feet. 

"It is your mother's corpse, " answered the sexton, coldly; "I broughtyou hither to behold it. But you have anticipated my intentions. "

"_This_ my mother?" shrieked Luke, dropping upon his knees by the body, and seizing one of its chilly hands, as it lay upon the floor, with theface upwards. 

The sexton took the candle from the sconce. 

"Can this be death?" shouted Luke. "Impossible! Oh, God! she stirs--shemoves. The light!--quick. I see her stir! This is dreadful!"

"Do not deceive yourself, " said the sexton, in a tone which betrayedmore emotion than was his wont. "'Tis the bewilderment of fancy. Shewill never stir again. "

And he shaded the candle with his hand, so as to throw the light fullupon the face of the corpse. It was motionless, as that of an imagecarved in stone. No trace of corruption was visible upon the rigid, yetexquisite tracery of its features. A profuse cloud of raven hair, escaped from its swathements in the fall, hung like a dark veil over thebosom and person of the dead, and presented a startling contrast to thewaxlike hue of the skin and the pallid cereclothes. Flesh still adheredto the hand, though it mouldered into dust within the gripe of Luke, ashe pressed the fingers to his lips. The shroud was disposed likenight-gear about her person, and from without its folds a few witheredflowers had fallen. A strong aromatic odor, of a pungent nature, wasdiffused around; giving evidence that the art by which the ancientEgyptians endeavored to rescue their kindred from decomposition had beenresorted to, to preserve the fleeting charms of the unfortunate SusanBradley. 

A pause of awful silence succeeded, broken only by the convulsiverespiration of Luke. The sexton stood by, apparently an indifferentspectator of the scene of horror. His eye wandered from the dead to theliving, and gleamed with a peculiar and indefinable expression, halfapathy, half abstraction. For one single instant, as he scrutinized thefeatures of his daughter, his brow, contracted by anger, immediatelyafterwards was elevated in scorn. But otherwise you would have sought invain to read the purport of that cold, insensible glance, which dweltfor a brief space on the face of the mother, and settled eventually uponher son. At length the withered flowers attracted his attention. Hestooped to pick up one of them. 

"Faded as the hand that gathered ye--as the bosom on which ye werestrewn!" he murmured. "No sweet smell left--but--faugh!" Holding the dryleaves to the flame of the candle, they were instantly ignited, and themomentary brilliance played like a smile upon the features of the dead. Peter observed the effect. "Such was thy life, " he exclaimed; "a brief, bright sparkle, followed by dark, utter extinction!"

Saying which, he flung the expiring ashes of the floweret from his hand. 

_CHAPTER II_

_THE SKELETON HAND_

 _Duch. _ You are very cold. I fear you are not well after your travel. Ha! lights. ----Oh horrible!

 _Fer. _ Let her have lights enough. 

 _Duch. _ What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left A dead hand here?

 _Duchess of Malfy. _

The sexton's waning candle now warned him of the progress of time, andhaving completed his arrangements, he addressed himself to Luke, intimating his intention of departing. But receiving no answer, andremarking no signs of life about his grandson, he began to beapprehensive that he had fallen into a swoon. Drawing near to Luke, hetook him gently by the arm. Thus disturbed, Luke groaned aloud. 

"I am glad to find you can breathe, if it be only after that melancholyfashion, " said the sexton; "but come, I have wasted time enough already. You must indulge your grief elsewhere. "

"Leave me, " sighed Luke. 

"What, here? It were as much as my office is worth. You can return someother night. But go you must, now--at least, if you take on thus. Inever calculated upon a scene like this, or it had been long ere Ibrought you hither. So come away; yet, stay;--but first lend me a handto replace the body in the coffin. "

"Touch it not, " exclaimed Luke; "she shall not rest another hour withinthese accursed walls. I will bear her hence myself. " And, sobbinghysterically, he relapsed into his former insensibility. 

"Poh! this is worse than midsummer madness, " said Peter; "the lad iscrazed with grief, and all about a mother who has been four-and-twentyyears in her grave. I will e'en put her out of the way myself. "

Saying which, he proceeded, as noiselessly as possible, to raise thecorpse in his arms, and deposited it softly within its former tenement. Carefully as he executed his task, he could not accomplish it withoutoccasioning a slight accident to the fragile frame. Insensible as hewas, Luke had not relinquished the hold he maintained of his mother'shand. And when Peter lifted the body, the ligaments connecting the handwith the arm were suddenly snapped asunder. It would appear afterwards, that this joint had been tampered with, and partially dislocated. Without, however, entering into further particulars in this place, itmay be sufficient to observe that the hand, detached from the socket atthe wrist, remained within the gripe of Luke; while, ignorant of themischief he had occasioned, the sexton continued his laborsunconsciously, until the noise which he of necessity made in stampingwith his heel upon the plank, recalled his grandson to sensibility. Thefirst thing that the latter perceived, upon collecting his faculties, were the skeleton fingers twined within his own. 

"What have you done with the body? Why have you left this with me?"demanded he. 

"It was not my intention to have done so, " answered the sexton, suspending his occupation. "I have just made fast the lid, but it iseasily undone. You had better restore it. "

"Never, " returned Luke, staring at the bony fragment. 

"Pshaw! of what advantage is a dead hand? 'Tis an unlucky keepsake, andwill lead to mischief. The only use I ever heard of such a thing beingturned to, was in the case of Bow-legged Ben, who was hanged in ironsfor murder, on Hardchase Heath, on the York Road, and whose hand was cutoff at the wrist the first night to make a Hand of Glory, or Dead Man'sCandle. Hast never heard what the old song says?" And without awaitinghis grandson's response, Peter broke into the following wild strain:

 THE HAND OF GLORY[1]

 From the corse that hangs on the roadside tree --A murderer's corse it needs must be--, Sever the right hand carefully:-- Sever the hand that the deed hath done, Ere the flesh that clings to the bones be gone; In its dry veins must blood be none. Those ghastly fingers white and cold, Within a winding-sheet enfold; Count the mystic count of seven: Name the Governors of Heaven. [2] Then in earthen vessel place them, And with dragon-wort encase them, Bleach them in the noonday sun, Till the marrow melt and run, Till the flesh is pale and wan, As a moon-ensilvered cloud, As an unpolluted shroud. Next within their chill embrace The dead man's Awful Candle place; Of murderer's fat must that candle be --You may scoop it beneath the roadside tree--, Of wax, and of Lapland sisame. Its wick must be twisted of hair of the dead, By the crow and her brood on the wild waste shed. Wherever that terrible light shall burn Vainly the sleeper may toss and turn; His leaden lids shall he ne'er unclose So long as that magical taper glows. Life and treasures shall he command Who knoweth the charm of the Glorious Hand! But of black cat's gall let him aye have care, And of screech-owl's venomous blood beware!

"Peace!" thundered Luke, extending his mother's hand towards the sexton. "What seest thou?"

"I see something shine. Hold it nigher the light. Ha! that is strange, truly. How came that ring there?"

"Ask of Sir Piers! ask of her _husband_!" shouted Luke, with a wildburst of exulting laughter. "Ha! ha! ha! 'tis a wedding-ring! And look!the finger is bent. It must have been placed upon it in her lifetime. There is no deception in this--no trickery--ha!"

"It would seem not; the sinew must have been contracted in life. Thetendons are pulled down so tightly, that the ring could not be withdrawnwithout breaking the finger. "

"You are sure that coffin contains her body?"

"As sure as I am that this carcass is my own. "

"The hand--'tis hers. Can any doubt exist?"

"Wherefore should it? It was broken from the arm by accident within thismoment. I noticed not the occurrence, but it must have been so. "

"Then it follows that she was wedded, and I am not----"

"Illegitimate. For your own sake I am glad of it. "

"My heart will burst. Oh! could I but establish the fact of thismarriage, her wrongs would be indeed avenged. "

"Listen to me, Luke, " said the sexton, solemnly. "I told you, when Iappointed this midnight interview, I had a secret to communicate. Thatsecret is now revealed--that secret was your mother's marriage. "

"And it was known to you during her lifetime?"

"It was. But I was sworn to secrecy. "

"You have proofs then?"

"I have nothing beyond Sir Piers's word--and he is silent now. "

"By whom was the ceremony performed?"

"By a Romish priest--a Jesuit--one Father Checkley, at that time aninmate of the hall; for Sir Piers, though he afterwards abjured it, atthat time professed the Catholic faith, and this Checkley officiated ashis confessor and counsellor; as the partner of his pleasures, and theprompter of his iniquities. He was your father's evil genius. "

"Is he still alive?"

"I know not. After your mother's death he left the hall. I have said hewas a Jesuit, and I may add, that he was mixed up in dark politicalintrigues, in which your father was too feeble a character to take muchshare. But though too weak to guide, he was a pliant instrument, andthis Checkley knew. He moulded him according to his wishes. I cannottell you what was the nature of their plots. Suffice it, they were suchas, if discovered, would have involved your father in ruin. He wassaved, however, by his wife. "

"And her reward----" groaned Luke. 

"Was death, " replied Peter, coldly. "What Jesuit ever forgave awrong--real or imaginary? Your mother, I ought to have said, was aProtestant. Hence there was a difference of religious opinion--the worstof differences that can exist between husband and wife--. Checkley vowedher destruction, and he kept his vow. He was enamored of her beauty. But while he burnt with adulterous desire, he was consumed by fiercesthate--contending, and yet strangely-reconcilable passions--as you mayhave reason, hereafter, to discover. "

"Go on, " said Luke, grinding his teeth. 

"I have done, " returned Peter. "From that hour your father's love forhis supposed mistress, and unacknowledged wife, declined; and with hiswaning love declined her health. I will not waste words in describingthe catastrophe that awaited her union. It will be enough to say, shewas found one morning a corpse within her bed. Whatever suspicions wereattached to Sir Piers were quieted by Checkley, who distributed gold, largely and discreetly. The body was embalmed by Barbara Lovel, theGipsy Queen. "

"My foster-mother!" exclaimed Luke, in a tone of extreme astonishment. 

"Ah, " replied Peter, "from her you may learn all particulars. You havenow seen what remains of your mother. You are in possession of thesecret of your birth. The path is before you, and if you would arrive athonor you must pursue it steadily, turning neither to the right nor tothe left. Opposition you will meet at each step. But fresh lights may bethrown upon this difficult case. It is in vain to hope for Checkley'sevidence, even should the caitiff priest be living. He is himself toodeeply implicated--ha!"

Peter stopped, for at this moment the flame of the candle suddenlyexpired, and the speakers were left in total darkness. Something like agroan followed the conclusion of the sexton's discourse. It was evidentthat it proceeded not from his grandson, as an exclamation burst fromhim at the same instant. Luke stretched out his arm. A cold hand seemedto press against his own, communicating a chill like death to his frame. 

"Who is between us?" he ejaculated. 

"The devil!" cried the sexton, leaping from the coffin-lid with anagility that did him honor. "Is aught between us?"

"I will discharge my gun. Its flash will light us. "

"Do so, " hastily rejoined Peter. "But not in this direction. "

"Get behind me, " cried Luke. And he pulled the trigger. 

A blaze of vivid light illumined the darkness. Still nothing wasvisible, save the warrior figure, which was seen for a moment, and thenvanished like a ghost. The buck-shot rattled against the further end ofthe vault. 

"Let us go hence, " ejaculated the sexton, who had rushed to the door, and thrown it wide open. "Mole! Mole!" cried he, and the dog sprangafter him. 

"I could have sworn I felt something, " said Luke; "whence issued thatgroan?"

"Ask not whence, " replied Peter. "Reach me my mattock, and spade, andthe lantern; they are behind you. And stay, it were better to bring awaythe bottle. "

"Take them, and leave me here. "

"Alone in the vault?--no, no, Luke, I have not told you half I knowconcerning that mystic statue. It is said to move--to walk--to raise itsaxe--be warned, I pray. "

"Leave me, or abide, if you will, my coming, in the church. If there isaught that may be revealed to my ear alone, I will not shrink from it, though the dead themselves should arise to proclaim the mystery. It maybe--but--go--there are your tools. " And he shut the door, with a jarthat shook the sexton's frame. 

Peter, after some muttered murmurings at the hardihood and madness, ashe termed it, of his grandson, disposed his lanky limbs to repose upon acushioned bench without the communion railing. As the pale moonlightfell upon his gaunt and cadaverous visage, he looked like some unholything suddenly annihilated by the presiding influence of that sacredspot. Mole crouched himself in a ring at his master's feet. Peter hadnot dozed many minutes, when he was aroused by Luke's return. The latterwas very pale, and the damp stood in big drops upon his brow. 

"Have you made fast the door?" inquired the sexton. 

"Here is the key. "

"What have you seen?" he next demanded. 

Luke made no answer. At that moment, the church clock struck two, breaking the stillness with an iron clang. Luke raised his eyes. A rayof moonlight, streaming obliquely through the painted window, fell uponthe gilt lettering of a black mural entablature. The lower part of theinscription was in the shade, but the emblazonment, and the words--

 Orate pro anima Reginaldi Rookwood equitis aurati, were clear and distinct. Luke trembled, he knew not why, as the sextonpointed to it. 

"You have heard of the handwriting upon the wall, " said Peter. "Lookthere!--'His kingdom hath been taken from him. ' Ha, ha! Listen to me. Ofall thy monster race--of all the race of Rookwood I should say--no demonever stalked the earth more terrible than him whose tablet you nowbehold. By him a brother was betrayed; by him a brother's wife wasdishonored. Love, honor, friendship, were with him as words. He regardedno ties; he defied and set at naught all human laws and obligations--andyet he was religious, or esteemed so--received the _viaticum_, and diedfull of years and honors, hugging salvation to his sinful heart. Andafter death he has yon lying epitaph to record his virtues. _His_virtues! ha, ha! Ask him who preaches to the kneeling throng gatheringwithin this holy place what shall be the murderer's portion--and he willanswer--_Death!_ And yet Sir Reginald was long-lived. The awfulquestion, 'Cain, where is thy brother?' broke not his tranquil slumbers. Luke, I have told you much--but not all. You know not, as yet--nor shallyou know your destiny; but you shall be the avenger of infamy andblood. I have a sacred charge committed to my keeping, which, hereafter, I may delegate to you. You _shall_ be Sir Luke Rookwood, but theconditions must be mine to propose. "

"No more, " said Luke; "my brain reels. I am faint. Let us quit thisplace, and get into the fresh air. " And striding past his grandsire hetraversed the aisles with hasty steps. Peter was not slow to follow. Thekey was applied, and they emerged into the churchyard. The grassy moundswere bathed in the moonbeams, and the two yew-trees, throwing theirblack jagged shadows over the grave hills, looked like evil spiritsbrooding over the repose of the righteous. 

The sexton noticed the deathly paleness of Luke's countenance, but hefancied it might proceed from the tinge of the sallow moonlight. 

"I will be with you at your cottage ere daybreak, " said Luke. Andturning an angle of the church, he disappeared from view. 

"So, " exclaimed Peter, gazing after him, "the train is laid; the sparkhas been applied; the explosion will soon follow. The hour is fastapproaching when I shall behold this accursed house shaken to dust, andwhen my long-delayed vengeance will be gratified. In that hope I amcontent to drag on the brief remnant of my days. Meanwhile, I must notomit the stimulant. In a short time I may not require it. " Draining thebottle to the last drop, he flung it from him, and commenced chanting, in a high key and cracked voice, a wild ditty, the words of which ran asfollow:

 THE CARRION CROW

 The Carrion Crow is a sexton bold. He raketh the dead from out the mould; He delveth the ground like a miser old, Stealthily hiding his store of gold. _Caw! Caw!_

 The Carrion Crow hath a coat of black, Silky and sleek like a priest's to his back; Like a lawyer he grubbeth--no matter what way-- The fouler the offal, the richer his prey. _Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!_ _Dig! Dig! in the ground below!_

 The Carrion Crow hath a dainty maw, With savory pickings he crammeth his craw; Kept meat from the gibbet it pleaseth his whim, It can never _hang_ too long for him! _Caw! Caw!_

 The Carrion Crow smelleth powder, 'tis said, Like a soldier escheweth the taste of cold lead; No jester, or mime, hath more marvellous wit, For, wherever he lighteth, he maketh a hit! _Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!_ _Dig! Dig! in the ground below!_

Shouldering his spade, and whistling to his dog, the sexton quitted thechurchyard. 

Peter had not been gone many seconds, when a dark figure, muffled in awide black mantle, emerged from among the tombs surrounding the church;gazed after him for a few seconds, and then, with a menacing gesture, retreated behind the ivied buttresses of the gray old pile. 

_CHAPTER III_

_THE PARK_

 _Brian. _ Ralph! hearest thou any stirring?

 _Ralph. _ I heard one speak here, hard by, in the hollow. Peace! master, speak low. Nouns! if I do not hear a bow go off, and the buck bray, I never heard deer in my life. 

 _Bri. _ Stand, or I'll shoot. 

 _Sir Arthur. _ Who's there?

 _Bri. _ I am the keeper, and do charge you stand. You have stolen my deer. 

 _Merry Devil of Edmonton. _

Luke's first impulse had been to free himself from the restraint imposedby his grandsire's society. He longed to commune with himself. Leapingthe small boundary-wall, which defended the churchyard from a deep greenlane, he hurried along in a direction contrary to that taken by thesexton, making the best of his way until he arrived at a gap in thehigh-banked hazel hedge which overhung the road. Heedless of theimpediments thrown in his way by the undergrowth of a rough ring fence, he struck through the opening that presented itself, and, climbing overthe moss-grown paling, trod presently upon the elastic sward of RookwoodPark. 

A few minutes' rapid walking brought him to the summit of a risingground crowned with aged oaks and, as he passed beneath their broadshadows, his troubled spirit, soothed by the quietude of the scene, inpart resumed its serenity. 

Luke yielded to the gentle influence of the time and hour. The stillnessof the spot allayed the irritation of his frame, and the dewy chillnesscooled the fever of his brow. Leaning for support against the gnarledtrunk of one of the trees, he gave himself up to contemplation. Theevents of the last hour--of his whole existence--passed in rapid reviewbefore him. The thought of the wayward, vagabond life he had led; of thewild adventures of his youth; of all he had been; of all he had _done_, of all he had endured--crowded his mind; and then, like the passing of acloud flitting across the autumnal moon, and occasionally obscuring thesmiling landscape before him, his soul was shadowed by the remembranceof the awful revelations of the last hour, and the fearful knowledge hehad acquired of his mother's fate--of his father's guilt. 

The eminence on which he stood was one of the highest points of thepark, and commanded a view of the hall, which might be a quarter of amile distant, discernible through a broken vista of trees, its whitenedwalls glimmering in the moonlight, and its tall chimney spiring far fromout the round masses of wood in which it lay embosomed. The groundgradually sloped in that direction, occasionally rising into swells, studded with magnificent timber--dipping into smooth dells, orstretching out into level glades, until it suddenly sank into a deepdeclivity, that formed an effectual division, without the interventionof a haw-haw, or other barrier, between the chase and the home-park. Aslender stream strayed through this ravine, having found its way thitherfrom a small reservoir, hidden in the higher plantations to the left;and further on, in the open ground, and in a line with the hall, though, of course, much below the level of the building, assisted by many localsprings, and restrained by a variety of natural and artificialembankments, this brook spread out into an expansive sheet of water. Crossed by a rustic bridge, the only communication between the parks, the pool found its outlet into the meads below; and even at thatdistance, and in that still hour, you might almost catch the sound ofthe brawling waters, as they dashed down the weir in a foaming cascade;while, far away, in the spreading valley, the serpentine meanderings ofthe slender current might be traced, glittering like silvery threads inthe moonshine. The mild beams of the queen of night, then in hermeridian, trembled upon the topmost branches of the tall timber, quivering like diamond spray upon the outer foliage; and, penetratingthrough the interstices of the trees, fell upon the light wreaths ofvapor then beginning to arise from the surface of the pool, steepingthem in misty splendor, and lending to this part of the picture acharacter of dreamy and unearthly beauty. 

All else was in unison. No sound interrupted the silence of Luke'ssolitude, except the hooting of a large gray owl, that, scared at hisapproach, or in search of prey, winged its spectral flight in continuousand mazy circles round his head, uttering at each wheel its startlingwhoop; or a deep, distant bay, that ever and anon boomed upon the ear, proceeding from a pack of hounds kennelled in a shed adjoining the poolbefore mentioned, but which was shrouded from view by the rising mist. No living objects presented themselves, save a herd of deer, crouched ina covert of brown fern beneath the shadow of a few stunted trees, immediately below the point of land on which Luke stood; and althoughtheir branching antlers could scarcely be detected from theramifications of the wood itself, they escaped not his practised ken. 

"How often, " murmured Luke, "in years gone by, have I traversed thesemoonlit glades, and wandered amidst these woodlands, on nights heavenlyas this--ay, and to some purpose, as yon thinned herd might testify!Every dingle, every dell, every rising brow, every bosky vale andshelving covert, have been as familiar to my track as to that of thefleetest and freest of their number: scarce a tree amidst the thickestof yon outstretching forest with which I cannot claim acquaintance; 'tislong since I have seen them. By Heavens! 'tis beautiful! and it is allmy own! Can I forget that it was here I first emancipated myself fromthraldom? Can I forget the boundless feeling of delight that dancedwithin my veins when I first threw off the yoke of servitude, and rovedunshackled, unrestrained, amidst these woods? The wild intoxicatingbliss still tingles to my heart. And they are all my own--my own!Softly, what have we there?"

Luke's attention was arrested by an object which could not fail tointerest him, sportsman as he was. A snorting bray was heard, and alordly stag stalked slowly and majestically from out the copse. Lukewatched the actions of the noble animal with great interest, drawingback into the shade. A hundred yards, or thereabouts, might be betweenhim and the buck. It was within range of ball. Luke mechanically graspedhis gun; yet his hand had scarcely raised the piece half way to hisshoulder, when he dropped it again to its rest. 

"What am I about to do?" he mentally ejaculated. "Why, for mere pastime, should I take away yon noble creature's life, when his carcass would beutterly useless to me? Yet such is the force of habit, that I can scarceresist the impulse that tempted me to fire; and I have known the time, and that not long since, when I should have shown no such self-control. "

Unconscious of the danger it had escaped, the animal moved forward withthe same stately step. Suddenly it stopped, with ears pricked, as ifsome sound had smote them. At that instant the click of a gun-lock washeard, at a little distance to the right. The piece had missed fire. Aninstantaneous report from another gun succeeded; and, with a bound highin air, the buck fell upon his back, struggling in the agonies of death. Luke had at once divined the cause; he was aware that poachers were athand. He fancied that he knew the parties; nor was he deceived in hisconjecture. Two figures issued instantly from a covert on the right, andmaking to the spot, the first who reached it put an end to the animal'sstruggles by plunging a knife into its throat. The affrighted herd tookto their heels, and were seen darting swiftly down the chase. 

One of the twain, meantime, was occupied in feeling for the deer's fat, when he was approached by the other, who pointed in the direction of thehouse. The former raised himself from his kneeling posture, and bothappeared to listen attentively. Luke fancied he heard a slight sound inthe distance; whatever the noise proceeded from, it was evident thedeer-stealers were alarmed. They laid hold of the buck, and, dragging italong, concealed the carcass among the tall fern; they then retreated, halting for an instant to deliberate, within a few yards of Luke, whowas concealed from their view by the trunk of the tree, behind which hehad ensconced his person. They were so near, that he lost not a word oftheir muttered conference. 

"The game's spoiled this time, Rob Rust, any how, " growled one, in anangry tone; "the hawks are upon us, and we must leave this brave buck totake care of himself. Curse him!--who'd 'a' thought of Hugh Badger'squitting his bed to-night? Respect for his late master might have kepthim quiet the night before the funeral. But look out, lad. Dost see'em?"

"Ay, thanks to old Oliver--yonder they are, " returned the other. "One--two--three--and a muzzled bouser to boot. There's Hugh at the headon 'em. Shall we stand and show fight? I have half a mind for it. "

"No, no, " replied the first speaker; "that will never do, Rob--nofighting. Why run the risk of being grabb'd for a haunch of venison? HadLuke Bradley or Jack Palmer been with us, it might have been anotheraffair. As it is, it won't pay. Besides, we've that to do at the hallto-morrow night that may make men of us for the rest of our nat'rallives. We've pledged ourselves to Jack Palmer, and we can't be off inhonor. It won't do to be snabbled in the nick of it. So let's make forthe prad in the lane. Keep in the shade as much as you can. Come along, my hearty. " And away the two worthies scampered down the hill-side. 

"Shall I follow, " thought Luke, "and run the risk of falling into thekeeper's hand, just at this crisis, too? No, but if I am found here, Ishall be taken for one of the gang. Something must be done--ha!--deviltake them, here they are already. "

Further time was not allowed him for reflection. A hoarse baying washeard, followed by a loud cry from the keepers. The dog had scented outthe game; and, as secrecy was no longer necessary, his muzzle had beenremoved. To rush forth now were certain betrayal; to remain was almostequally assured detection; and, doubting whether he should obtaincredence if he delivered himself over in that garb and armed, Luke atonce rejected the idea. Just then it flashed across his recollectionthat his gun had remained unloaded, and he applied himself eagerly torepair this negligence, when he heard the dog in full cry, makingswiftly in his direction. He threw himself upon the ground, where thefern was thickest; but this seemed insufficient to baffle the sagacityof the hound--the animal had got his scent, and was baying close athand. The keepers were drawing nigh. Luke gave himself up for lost. Thedog, however, stopped where the two poachers had halted, and was therecompletely at fault: snuffing the ground, he bayed, wheeled round, andthen set off with renewed barking upon their track. Hugh Badger and hiscomrades loitered an instant at the same place, looked warily round, andthen, as Luke conjectured, followed the course taken by the hound. 

Swift as thought, Luke arose, and keeping as much as possible undercover of the trees, started in a cross line for the lane. Rapid as washis flight, it was not without a witness: one of the keeper'sassistants, who had lagged behind, gave the view-halloo in a loud voice. Luke pressed forward with redoubled energy, endeavoring to gain theshelter of the plantation, and this he could readily have accomplished, had no impediment been in his way. But his rage and vexation wereboundless, when he heard the keeper's cry echoed by shouts immediatelybelow him, and the tongue of the hound resounding in the hollow. Heturned sharply round, steering a middle course, and still aiming at thefence. It was evident, from the cheers of his pursuers, that he was infull view, and he heard them encouraging and directing the dog. 

Luke had gained the park palings, along which he rushed, in the vainquest of some practicable point of egress, for the fence was higher inthis part of the park than elsewhere, owing to the inequality of theground. He had cast away his gun as useless. But even without thatincumbrance, he dared not hazard the delay of climbing the palings. Atthis juncture a deep breathing was heard close behind him. He threw aglance over his shoulder. Within a few yards was a ferocious bloodhound, with whose savage nature Luke was well acquainted; the breed, some ofwhich he had already seen, having been maintained at the hall ever sincethe days of grim old Sir Ranulph. The eyes of the hound were glaring, blood-red; his tongue was hanging out, and a row of keen white fangs wasdisplayed, like the teeth of a shark. There was a growl--a leap--and thedog was close upon him. 

Luke's courage was undoubted. But his heart failed him as he heard theroar of the remorseless brute, and felt that he could not avoid anencounter with the animal. His resolution was instantly taken: hestopped short with such suddenness, that the dog, when in the act ofspringing, flew past him with great violence, and the time, momentary asit was, occupied by the animal in recovering himself, enabled Luke todrop on his knee, and to place one arm, like a buckler, before his face, while he held the other in readiness to grapple his adversary. Utteringa fierce yell, the hound returned to the charge, darting at Luke, whoreceived the assault without flinching; and in spite of a severelaceration of the arm, he seized his foe by the throat, and hurling himupon the ground, jumped with all his force upon his belly. There was ayell of agony--the contest was ended, and Luke was at liberty to pursuehis flight unmolested. 

Brief as had been the interval required for this combat, it had beensufficient to bring the pursuers within sight of the fugitive. HughBadger, who from the acclivity had witnessed the fate of his favorite, with a loud oath discharged the contents of his gun at the head of itsdestroyer. It was fortunate for Luke that at this instant he stumbledover the root of a tree--the shot rattled in the leaves as he fell, andthe keeper, concluding that he had at least winged his bird, descendedmore leisurely towards him. As he lay upon the ground, Luke felt that hewas wounded; whether by the teeth of the dog, from a stray shot, or frombruises inflicted by the fall, he could not determine. But, smartingwith pain, he resolved to wreak his vengeance upon the first person whoapproached him. He vowed not to be taken with life--to strangle any whoshould lay hands upon him. At that moment he felt a pressure at hisbreast. It was the dead hand of his mother!

Luke shuddered. The fire of revenge was quenched. He mentally cancelledhis rash oath; yet he could not bring himself to surrender atdiscretion, and without further effort. The keeper and his assistantswere approaching the spot where he lay, and searching for his body. HughBadger was foremost, and within a yard of him. 

"Confound the rascal!" cried Hugh, "he's not half killed; he seems tobreathe. "

The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere the speaker was dashedbackwards, and lay sprawling upon the sod. Suddenly and unexpectedly, asan Indian chief might rush upon his foes, Luke arose, dashing himselfwith great violence against Hugh, who happened to stand in his way, andbefore the startled assistants, who were either too much taken bysurprise, or unwilling to draw a trigger, could in any way lay handsupon him, exerting all the remarkable activity which he possessed, hecaught hold of a projecting branch of a tree, and swung himself, at asingle bound, fairly over the paling. 

Hugh Badger was shortly on his legs, swearing lustily at his defeat. Directing his men to skirt alongside the fence, and make for aparticular part of the plantation which he named, and snatching a loadedfowling-piece from one of them, he clambered over the pales, and guidedby the crashing branches and other sounds conveyed to his quick ear, hewas speedily upon Luke's track. 

The plantation through which the chase now took place was not, as mightbe supposed, a continuation of the ring fence which Luke had originallycrossed on his entrance into the park, though girded by the same line ofpaling, but, in reality, a close pheasant preserve, occupying the banksof a ravine, which, after a deep and tortuous course, terminated in thedeclivity heretofore described as forming the park boundary. Lukeplunged into the heart of this defile, fighting his way downwards, inthe direction of the brook. His progress was impeded by a thickundergrowth of brier, and other matted vegetation, as well as by theentanglements thrown in his way by the taller bushes of thorn and hazel, the entwined and elastic branches of which, in their recoil, galled andfretted him, by inflicting smart blows on his face and hands. This was ahardship he usually little regarded. But, upon the present occasion, ithad the effect, by irritating his temper, of increasing the thirst ofvengeance raging in his bosom. 

Through the depths of the ravine welled the shallow stream beforealluded to, and Hugh Badger had no sooner reached its sedgy margin thanhe lost all trace of the fugitive. He looked cautiously round, listenedintently, and inclined his ear to catch the faintest echo. All wasstill: not a branch shook, not a leaf rustled. Hugh looked aghast. Hehad made sure of getting a glimpse, and, perhaps, a stray shot at the"poaching rascal, " as he termed him, "in the open space, which he wassure the fellow was aiming to reach; and now, all at once, he haddisappeared, like a will-o'-the-wisp or a boggart of the clough. "However, he could not be far off, and Hugh endeavored to obtain someclue to guide him in his quest. He was not long in detecting recentmarks deeply indented in the mud on the opposite bank. Hugh leapedthither at once. Further on, some rushes were trodden down, and therewere other indications of the course the fugitive had taken. 

"Hark forward!" shouted Hugh, in the joy of his heart at this discovery;and, like a well-trained dog, he followed up with alacrity the scent hehad opened. The brook presented still fewer impediments to expeditionthan the thick copse, and the keeper pursued the wanderings of the pettycurrent, occasionally splashing into the stream. Here and there, theprint of a foot on the soil satisfied him he was in the right path. Atlength he became aware, from the crumbling soil, that the object of hispursuit had scaled the bank, and he forthwith moderated his pace. Halting, he perceived what he took to be a face peeping at him frombehind a knot of alders that overhung the steep and shelving bankimmediately above him. His gun was instantly at his shoulder. 

"Come down, you infernal deer-stealing scoundrel, " cried Hugh, "or I'llblow you to shivers. "

No answer was returned: expostulation was vain; and, fearful of placinghimself at a disadvantage if he attempted to scale the bank, Hugh firedwithout further parley. The sharp discharge rolled in echoes down theravine, and a pheasant, scared by the sound, answered the challenge froma neighboring tree. Hugh was an unerring marksman, and on this occasionhis aim had been steadily taken. The result was not precisely such as hehad anticipated. A fur cap, shaken by the shot from the bough on whichit hung, came rolling down the bank, proclaiming the _ruse_ that hadbeen practised upon the keeper. Little time was allowed him forreflection. Before he could reload, he felt himself collared by the ironarm of Luke. 

Hugh Badger was a man of great personal strength--square-set, bandy-legged, with a prodigious width of chest, and a frame like aHercules, and, energetic as was Luke's assault, he maintained his groundwithout flinching. The struggle was desperate. Luke was of slighterproportion, though exceeding the keeper in stature by the head andshoulders. This superiority availed him little. It was rather adisadvantage in the conflict that ensued. The gripe fastened uponHugh's throat was like that of a clenched vice. But Luke might as wellhave grappled the neck of a bull, as that of the stalwart keeper. Defending himself with his hobnail boots, with which he inflictedseveral severe blows upon Luke's shins, and struggling vehemently, Hughsucceeded in extricating himself from his throttling grasp; he thenclosed with his foe, and they were locked together, like a couple ofbears at play. Straining, tugging, and practising every sleight andstratagem coming within the scope of feet, knees, and thighs--nowtripping, now jerking, now advancing, now retreating, they continued thestrife, but all with doubtful result. Victory, at length, seemed todeclare itself in favor of the sturdy keeper. Aware of his opponent'sstrength, it was Luke's chief endeavor to keep his lower limbsdisengaged, and to trust more to skill than force for ultimate success. To prevent this was Hugh's grand object. Guarding himself against everyfeint, he ultimately succeeded in firmly grappling his agile assailant. Luke's spine was almost broken by the shock, when he suddenly gave way;and, without losing his balance, drew his adversary forward, kicking hisright leg from under him. With a crash like that of an uprooted oak, Hugh fell, with his foe upon him, into the bed of the rivulet. 

Not a word had been spoken during the conflict. A convulsive groan burstfrom Hugh's hardy breast. His hand sought his girdle, but in vain; hisknife was gone. Gazing upwards, his dancing vision encountered theglimmer of the blade. The weapon had dropped from its case in the fall. Luke brandished it before his eyes. 

"Villain!" gasped Hugh, ineffectually struggling to free himself, "youwill not murder me?" And his efforts to release himself becamedesperate. 

"No, " answered Luke, flinging the uplifted knife into the brook. "I willnot do _that_, though thou hast twice aimed at my life to-night. But Iwill silence thee, at all events. " Saying which, he dealt the keeper ablow on the head that terminated all further resistance on his part. 

Leaving the inert mass to choke up the current, with whose waters theblood, oozing from the wound, began to commingle, Luke prepared todepart. His perils were not yet past. Guided by the firing, the reportof which alarmed them, the keeper's assistants hastened in the directionof the sound, presenting themselves directly in the path Luke was aboutto take. He had either to retrace his steps, or face a double enemy. Hiselection was made at once. He turned and fled. 

For an instant the men tarried with their bleeding companion. They thendragged him from the brook, and with loud oaths followed in pursuit. 

Threading, for a second time, the bosky labyrinth, Luke sought thesource of the stream. This was precisely the course his enemies wouldhave desired him to pursue; and when they beheld him take it, they feltconfident of his capture. 

The sides of the hollow became more and more abrupt as they advanced, though they were less covered with brushwood. The fugitive made noattempt to climb the bank, but still pressed forward. The road wastortuous, and wound round a jutting point of rock. Now he was a fairmark--no, he had swept swiftly by, and was out of sight before a guncould be raised. They reached the same point. He was still before them, but his race was nearly run. Steep, slippery rocks, shelving down to theedges of a small, deep pool of water, the source of the stream, formedan apparently insurmountable barrier in that direction. Rooted--Heavenknows how!--in some reft or fissure of the rock, grew a wild ash, throwing out a few boughs over the solitary pool; this was all thesupport Luke could hope for, should he attempt to scale the rock. Therock was sheer--the pool deep--yet still he hurried on. He reached themuddy embankment; mounted its sides; and seemed to hesitate. The keeperswere now within a hundred yards of him. Both guns were discharged. And, sudden as the reports, with a dead, splashless plunge, like a divingotter, the fugitive dropped into the water. 

The pursuers were at the brink. They gazed at the pool. A few bubblesfloated upon its surface, and burst. The water was slightly discoloredwith sand. No ruddier stain crimsoned the tide; no figure rested on thenaked rock; no hand clung to the motionless tree. 

"Devil take the rascal!" growled one; "I hope he harn't escaped us, arter all. "

"Noa, noa, he be fast enough, never fear, " rejoined the other; "stickinglike a snig at the bottom o' the pond; and, dang him! he deserves it, for he's slipped out of our fingers like a snig often enough to-night. But come, let's be stumping, and give poor Hugh Badger a helping hand. "

Whereupon they returned to the assistance of the wounded and discomfitedkeeper. 

_CHAPTER IV_

_THE HALL_

 I am right against my house--seat of my ancestors. 

 _Yorkshire Tragedy. _

Rookwood Place was a fine, old, irregular pile, of considerable size, presenting a rich, picturesque outline, with its innumerable gable-ends, its fantastical coigns, and tall crest of twisted chimneys. There was nouniformity of style about the building, yet the general effect waspleasing and beautiful. Its very irregularity constituted a charm. Nothing except convenience had been consulted in its construction:additions had from time to time been made to it, but everything droppedinto its proper place, and, without apparent effort or design, grew intoan ornament, and heightened the beauty of the whole. It was, in short, one of those glorious manorial houses that sometimes unexpectedly greetus in our wanderings, and gladden us like the discovery of a hiddentreasure. Some such ancestral hall we have occasionally encountered, inunlooked-for quarters, in our native county of Lancaster, or in itssmiling sister shire; and never without feelings of intense delight, rejoicing to behold the freshness of its antiquity, and the greenness ofits old age. For, be it observed in passing, a Cheshire or Lancashirehall, time-honored though it be, with its often renovated black andwhite squares, fancifully filled up with trefoils and quatrefoils, rosettes, and other figures, seems to bear its years so lightly, thatits age, so far from detracting from its beauty, only lends it a grace;and the same mansion, to all outward appearance, fresh and perfect as itexisted in the days of good Queen Bess, may be seen in admirablepreservation in the days of the youthful Victoria. Such is Bramall--suchMoreton, and many another we might instance; the former of these housesmay, perhaps, be instanced as the best specimen of its class, --and itsclass in our opinion, _is_ the best--to be met with in Cheshire, considered with reference either to the finished decoration of itsexterior, rich in the chequered coloring we have alluded to, preservedwith a care and neatness almost Dutch, or to the consistent tasteexhibited by its possessor to the restoration and maintenance of all itsoriginal and truly national beauty within doors. As an illustration ofold English hospitality--that real, hearty hospitality for which thesquirearchy of this country was once so famous--Ah! why have theybartered it for other customs less substantially _English_?--it may bementioned, that a road conducted the passenger directly through thegreat hall of this house, literally "of entertainment, " where, if helisted, strong ale, and other refreshments, awaited his acceptance andcourted his stay. Well might old King, the Cheshire historian, in thepride of his honest heart, exclaim, "_I know divers men, who are butfarmers, that in their housekeeping may compare with a lord or baron, in some countries beyond the seas;--yea, although I named a higherdegree, I were able to justify it. _" We have no such "golden farmers" inthese degenerate days!

The mansion, was originally built by Sir Ranulph de Rookwood--or, as itwas then written, Rokewode--the first of the name, a stout Yorkist, whoflourished in the reign of Edward IV. , and received the fair domain andbroad lands upon which the edifice was raised, from his sovereign, inreward for good service; retiring thither in the decline of life, at theclose of the Wars of the Roses, to sequestrate himself from scenes ofstrife, and to consult his spiritual weal in the erection and endowmentof the neighboring church. It was of mixed architecture, and combinedthe peculiarities of each successive era. Retaining some of the sternerfeatures of earlier days, the period ere yet the embattled manor-housepeculiar to the reigns of the later Henrys had been merged into thegraceful and peaceable hall, the residence of the Rookwoods had earlyanticipated the gentler characteristics of a later day, though it couldboast little of that exuberance of external ornament, luxuriance ofdesign, and prodigality of beauty, which, under the sway of the VirginQueen, distinguished the residence of the wealthier English landowner;and rendered the hall of Elizabeth, properly so called, the pride andboast of our domestic architecture. 

The site selected by Sir Ranulph for his habitation had been alreadyoccupied by a vast fabric of oak, which he in part removed, though somevestiges might still be traced of that ancient pile. A massive edificesucceeded, with gate and tower, court and moat complete; substantialenough, one would have thought, to have endured for centuries. But eventhis ponderous structure grew into disuse, and Sir Ranulph's successors, remodelling, repairing, almost rebuilding the whole mansion, in the endso metamorphosed its aspect, that at last little of its original anddistinctive character remained. Still, as we said before, it was a fineold house, though some changes had taken place for the worse, whichcould not be readily pardoned by the eye of taste: as, for instance, the deep embayed windows had dwindled into modernized casements, oflighter construction; the wide porch, with its flight of steps leadingto the great hall of entrance, had yielded to a narrow door; and thebroad quadrangular court was succeeded by a gravel drive. Yet, despiteall these changes, the house of the Rookwoods, for an old house--and, after all, what is like an old house?--was no undesirable or uncongenialabode for any worshipful country gentleman "who had a great estate. "

The hall was situated near the base of a gently declining hill, terminating a noble avenue of limes, and partially embosomed in animmemorial wood of the same timber, which had given its name to thefamily that dwelt amongst its rook-haunted shades. Descending theavenue, at the point of access afforded by a road that wound down thehill-side, towards a village distant about half a mile, as you advanced, the eye was first arrested by a singular octagonal turret of brick, ofmore recent construction than the house; and in all probabilityoccupying the place where the gateway stood of yore. This tower rose toa height corresponding with the roof of the mansion; and was embellishedon the side facing the house with a flamingly gilt dial, peering, likean impudent observer, at all that passed within doors. Two apartments, which it contained, were appropriated to the house-porter. Despoiled ofits martial honors, the gateway still displayed the achievements of thefamily--the rook and the fatal branch--carved in granite, which hadresisted the storms of two centuries, though stained green with moss, and mapped over with lichens. To the left, overgrown with ivy, andpeeping from out a tuft of trees, appeared the hoary summit of adovecot, indicating the near neighborhood of an ancient barn, contemporary with the earliest dwelling-house, and of a little world ofoffices and outbuildings buried in the thickness of the foliage. To theright was the garden--the pleasaunce of the place--formal, precise, old-fashioned, artificial, yet exquisite!--for commend us to thebygone, beautiful English garden--_really a garden_--not that mixture ofpark, meadow, and wilderness[3], brought up to one's verywindows--which, since the days of the innovators, Kent, and his "boldassociates, " Capability Brown and Co. , has obtained so largely--this_was_ a garden! There might be seen the stately terraces, such asWatteau, and our own Wilson, in his earlier works, painted--the trimalleys exhibiting all the triumphs of topiarian art--

 _The sidelong walls Of shaven yew; the holly's prickly arms, Trimm'd into high arcades; the tonsile box, Wove in mosaic mode of many a curl, Around the figured carpet of the lawn;_[4]

the gayest of parterres and greenest of lawns, with its admonitorysun-dial, its marble basin in the centre, its fountain, and conchedwater-god; the quaint summer-house, surmounted with its gilt vane; thestatue, glimmering from out its covert of leaves; the cool cascade, theurns, the bowers, and a hundred luxuries besides, suggested andcontrived by Art to render Nature most enjoyable, and to enhance therecreative delights of home-out-of-doors--for such a garden should be--, with least sacrifice of indoor comfort and convenience. 

 _When Epicurus to the world had taught, That pleasure was the chiefest good; --And was perhaps i' th' right, if rightly understood, His life he to his doctrine brought-- And in his garden's shade that sovereign pleasure sought. _[5]

All these delights might once have been enjoyed. But at the time ofwhich we write, this fair garden was for the most part a waste. Ill-kept, and unregarded, the gay parterres were disfigured with weeds;grass grew on the gravel walk; several of the urns were overthrown; thehour upon the dial was untold; the fountain was choked up, and thesmooth-shaven lawn only rescued, it would seem, from the general fate, that it might answer the purpose of a bowling-green, as the implementsof that game, scattered about, plainly testified. 

Diverging from the garden to the house, we have before remarked that themore ancient and characteristic features of the place had been, for themost part, destroyed; less by the hand of time than to suit the tastesof different proprietors. This, however, was not so observable in theeastern wing, which overlooked the garden. Here might be discerned manyindications of its antiquity. The strength and solidity of the walls, which had not been, as elsewhere, masked with brickwork; the low, Tudorarches; the mullioned bars of the windows--all attested its age. Thiswing was occupied by an upper and lower gallery, communicating withsuites of chambers, for the most part deserted, excepting one or two, which were used as dormitories; and another little room on theground-floor, with an oriel window opening upon the lawn, and commandingthe prospect beyond--a favorite resort of the late Sir Piers. Theinterior was curious for his honeycomb ceiling, deeply moulded inplaster, with the arms and alliances of the Rookwoods. In the centre wasthe royal blazon of Elizabeth, who had once honored the hall with avisit during a progress, and whose cipher E. R. Was also displayed uponthe immense plate of iron which formed the fire-grate. 

To return, for a moment, to the garden, which we linger about as a beearound a flower. Below the lawn there was another terrace, edged by alow balustrade of stone, commanding a lovely view of park, water, andwoodland. High hanging-woods waved in the foreground, and an extensivesweep of flat champaign country stretched out to meet a line of blue, hazy hills bounding the distant horizon. 

_CHAPTER V_

_SIR REGINALD ROOKWOOD_

 A king who changed his wives as easily as a woman changes her dress. He threw aside the first, cut off the second's head, the third he disemboweled: as for the fourth, he pardoned her, and simply turned her out of doors, but to make matters even, cut off the head of number five. --VICTOR HUGO: _Marie Tudor_. 

From the house to its inhabitants the transition is natural. Besides theconnexion between them, there were many points of resemblance; manyfamily features in common; there was the same melancholy grandeur, thesame character of romance, the same fantastical display. Nor were thesecret passages, peculiar to the one, wanting to the history of theother. Both had their mysteries. One blot there was in the otherwiseproud escutcheon of the Rookwoods, that dimmed its splendor, and madepale its pretensions: their sun was eclipsed in blood from its rising toits meridian; and so it seemed would be its setting. This foul reproachattached to all the race; none escaped it. Traditional rumors werehanded down from father to son, throughout the county, and, like allother rumors, had taken to themselves wings, and flown abroad; theircrimes became a by-word. How was it they escaped punishment? How camethey to evade the hand of justice? Proof was ever wanting; justice wasever baffled. They were a stern and stiff-necked people, of indomitablepride and resolution, with, for the most part, force of charactersufficient to enable them to breast difficulties and dangers that wouldhave overwhelmed ordinary individuals. No quality is so advantageous toits possessor as firmness; and the determined energy of the Rookwoodsbore them harmless through a sea of trouble. Besides, they werewealthy; lavish even to profusion; and gold will do much, if skilfullyadministered. Yet, despite all this, a dark, ominous cloud settled overtheir house, and men wondered when the vengeance of Heaven, so longdelayed, would fall and consume it. 

Possessed of considerable landed property, once extending over nearlyhalf the West Riding of Yorkshire, the family increased in power andimportance for an uninterrupted series of years, until the outbreak ofthat intestine discord which ended in the civil wars, when the espousalof the royalist party, with sword and substance, by Sir Ralph Rookwood, the then lord of the mansion--a dissolute, depraved personage, who, however, had been made a Knight of the Bath at the coronation of CharlesI. --, ended in his own destruction at Naseby, and the wreck of much ofhis property; a loss which the gratitude of Charles II. , on hisrestoration, did not fail to make good to Sir Ralph's youthful heir, Reginald. 

Sir Ralph Rookwood left two sons, Reginald and Alan. The fate of thelatter was buried in obscurity. It was even a mystery to his family. Hewas, it was said, a youth of much promise, and of gentle manners; who, having made an imprudent match, from jealousy, or some other motive, deserted his wife, and fled his country. Various reasons were assignedfor his conduct. Amongst others, it was stated that the object of Alan'sjealous suspicions was his elder brother, Reginald; and that it was thediscovery of his wife's infidelity in this quarter which occasioned hissudden disappearance with his infant daughter. Some said he died abroad. Others, that he had appeared again for a brief space at the hall. Butall now concurred in a belief of his decease. Of his child nothing wasknown. His inconstant wife, after enduring for some years the agonies ofremorse, abandoned by Sir Reginald, and neglected by her own relatives, put an end to her existence by poison. This is all that could begathered of the story, or the misfortunes of Alan Rookwood. 

The young Sir Reginald had attended Charles, in the character of page, during his exile; and if he could not requite the devotion of the son, by absolutely reinstating the fallen fortunes of the father, the monarchcould at least accord him the fostering influence of his favor andcountenance; and bestow upon him certain lucrative situations in hishousehold, as an earnest of his good-will. And thus much he did. Remarkable for his personal attractions in youth, it is not to bewondered at that we should find the name of Reginald Rookwood recordedin the scandalous chronicles of the day, as belonging to a cavalier ofinfinite address and discretion, matchless wit, and marvellouspleasantry; and eminent beyond his peers for his successes with some ofthe most distinguished beauties who ornamented that brilliant andvoluptuous court. 

A career of elegant dissipation ended in matrimony. His first match wasunpropitious. Foiled in his attempts upon the chastity of a lady ofgreat beauty and high honor, he was rash enough to marry her; rash, wesay, for from that fatal hour all became as darkness; the curtain fellupon the comedy of his life, to rise to tragic horrors. When, passionsubsided, repentance awoke, and he became anxious for deliverance fromthe fetters he had so heedlessly imposed on himself, and on hisunfortunate dame. 

The hapless lady of Sir Reginald was a fair and fragile creature, floating on the eddying current of existence, and hurried in destructionas the summer gossamer is swept away by the rude breeze, and lostforever. So beautiful, so gentle was she, that if, Sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self, it would have been difficult to say whether the charm of softness andsweetness was more to be admired than her faultless personalattractions. But when a tinge of melancholy came, saddening and shadingthe once smooth and smiling brow; when tears dimmed the blue beauty ofthose deep and tender eyes; when hot, hectic flushes supplied the placeof healthful bloom, and despair took possession of her heart, then wasit seen _what_ was the charm of Lady Rookwood, if charm that could becalled which was a saddening sight to see, and melted the beholder'ssoul within him. All acknowledged, that exquisite as she had beenbefore, the sad, sweet lady was now more exquisite still. 

Seven moons had waned and flown--seven bitter, tearful moons--and eachday Lady Rookwood's situation claimed more soothing attention at thehand of her lord. About this time his wife's brother, whom he hated, returned from the Dutch wars. Struck with his sister's alteredappearance, he readily divined the cause; indeed, all tongues were eagerto proclaim it to him. Passionately attached to her, Lionel Vavasourimplored an explanation of the cause of his sister's griefs. Thebewildered lady answered evasively, attributing her woe-begone looks toany other cause than her husband's cruelty; and pressing her brother, ashe valued her peace, her affection, never to allude to the subjectagain. The fiery youth departed. He next sought out his brother-in-law, and taxed him sharply with his inhumanity, adding threats to hisupbraidings. Sir Reginald listened silently and calmly. When the otherhad finished, with a sarcastic obeisance, he replied: "Sir, I am muchbeholden for the trouble you have taken in your sister's behalf. Butwhen she entrusted herself to my keeping, she relinquished, I conceive, all claim on _your_ guardianship: however, I thank you for the troubleyou have taken; but, for your own sake, I would venture to caution youagainst a repetition of interference like the present. "

"And I, sir, caution _you_. See that you give heed to my words, or, bythe heaven above us! I will enforce attention to them. "

"You will find me, sir, as prompt at all times to defend my conduct, asI am unalterable in my purposes. Your sister is my wife. What more wouldyou have? Were she a harlot, you should have her back and welcome. Thetool is virtuous. Devise some scheme, and take her with you hence--soyou rid _me_ of her I am content. "

"Rookwood, you are a villain. " And Vavasour spat upon his brother'scheek. 

Sir Reginald's eyes blazed. His sword started from its scabbard. "Defendyourself!" he exclaimed, furiously attacking Vavasour. Pass after passwas exchanged. Fierce thrusts were made and parried. Feint and appeal, the most desperate and dexterous, were resorted to. Their swords glancedlike lightning flashes. In the struggle, the blades became entangled. There was a moment's cessation. Each glanced at the other with deadly, inextinguishable hate. Both were admirable masters of the art ofdefence. Both were so brimful of wrath as to be regardless ofconsequences. They tore back their weapons. Vavasour's blade shivered. He was at the mercy of his adversary--an adversary who knew no mercy. Sir Reginald passed his rapier through his brother's body. The hiltstruck against his ribs. 

Sir Reginald's ire was kindled, not extinguished, by the deed he haddone. Like the tiger, he had tasted blood--like the tiger, he thirstedfor more. He sought his home. He was greeted by his wife. Terrified byhis looks, she yet summoned courage sufficient to approach him. Sheembraced his arm--she clasped his hand. Sir Reginald smiled. His smilewas cutting as his dagger's edge. 

"What ails you, sweetheart?" said he. 

"I know not; your smile frightens me. "

"My smile frightens you--fool! be thankful that I frown not. "

"Oh! do not frown. Be gentle, my Reginald, as you were when first I knewyou. Smile not so coldly, but as you did then, that I may, for oneinstant, dream you love me. "

"Silly wench! There--I _do_ smile. "

"That smile freezes me. Oh, Reginald, could you but know what I haveendured this morning, on your account. My brother Lionel has been here. "

"Indeed!"

"Nay, look not so. He insisted on knowing the reason of my alteredappearance. "

"And no doubt you made him acquainted with the cause. You told him_your_ version of the story. "

"Not a word, as I hope to live. "

"A lie!"

"By my truth, no. "

"A lie, I say. He avouched it to me himself. "

"Impossible! He could not--would not disobey me. "

Sir Reginald laughed bitterly. 

"He would not, I am sure, give utterance to any scandal, " continued LadyRookwood. "You say this but to try me, do you not?--ha! what is this?Your hand is bloody. You have not harmed him? Whose blood is this?"

"Your brother spat upon my check. I have washed out the stain, " repliedSir Reginald, coldly. 

"Then it _is_ his blood!" shrieked Lady Rookwood, pressing her handshuddering before her eyes. "Is he dead?"

Sir Reginald turned away. 

"Stay, " she cried, exerting her feeble strength to retain him, andbecoming white as ashes, "abide and hear me. You have killed me, I feel, by your cruelty. I am sinking fast--dying. I, who loved you, only you;yes, one besides--my brother, and you have slain _him_. Your hands aredripping in his blood, and I have kissed them--have clasped them! Andnow, " continued she, with an energy that shook Sir Reginald, "I hateyou--I renounce you--forever! May my dying words ring in your ears onyour death-bed, for that hour _will_ come. You cannot shun _that_. Thenthink of _him_! think of _me_!"

"Away!" interrupted Sir Reginald, endeavoring to shake her off. 

"I will _not_ away! I will cling to you--will curse you. My unborn childshall live to curse you--to requite you--to visit my wrongs on you andyours. Weak as I am, you shall not cast me off. You shall learn to feareven _me_. "

"I fear nothing living, much less a frantic woman. "

"Fear the _dead_, then. "

There was a struggle--a blow--and the wretched lady sank, shrieking, upon the floor. Convulsions seized her. A mother's pains succeededfierce and fast. She spoke no more, but died within the hour, givingbirth to a female child. 

Eleanor Rookwood became her father's idol--her father's bane. All thelove he had to bestow was centred in her. She returned it not. She fledfrom his caresses. With all her mother's beauty, she had all herfather's pride. Sir Reginald's every thought was for his daughter--forher aggrandizement. In vain. She seemed only to endure him, and whilehis affection waxed stronger, and entwined itself round her alone, shewithered beneath his embraces as the shrub withers in the clasping foldsof the parasite plant. 

She grew towards womanhood. Suitors thronged around her--gentle andnoble ones. Sir Reginald watched them with a jealous eye. He waswealthy, powerful, high in royal favor; and could make his own election. He did so. For the first time, Eleanor promised obedience to his wishes. They accorded with her own humor. The day was appointed. It came. Butwith it came not the bride. She had fled, with the humblest and themeanest of the pretenders to her hand--with one upon whom Sir Reginaldsupposed she had not deigned to cast her eyes. He endeavored to forgether, and, to all outward seeming, was successful in the effort. But hefelt that the curse was upon him; the undying flame scorched his heart. 

Once, and once only, they met again, in France, whither she hadwandered. It was a dread encounter--terrible to both; but most so toSir Reginald. He spoke not of her afterwards. 

Shortly after the death of his first wife, Sir Reginald had madeproposals to a dowager of distinction, with a handsome jointure, one ofhis early attachments, and was, without scruple, accepted. The power ofthe family might then be said to be at its zenith; and but for certainuntoward circumstances, and the growing influence of his enemies, SirReginald would have been elevated to the peerage. Like most reformedspend-thrifts, he had become proportionately avaricious, and his mindseemed engrossed in accumulating wealth. In the meantime, his secondwife followed her predecessor, dying, it was said, of vexation anddisappointment. 

The propensity to matrimony, always a distinguishing characteristic ofthe Rookwoods, largely displayed itself in Sir Reginald. Another damefollowed--equally rich, younger, and far more beautiful than herimmediate predecessor. She was a prodigious flirt, and soon set herhusband at defiance. Sir Reginald did not condescend to expostulate. Itwas not his way. He effectually prevented any recurrence of herindiscretions. She was removed, and with her expired Sir Reginald'swaning popularity. So strong was the expression of odium against him, that he thought it prudent to retire to his mansion, in the country, andthere altogether seclude himself. One anomaly in Sir Reginald'sotherwise utterly selfish character was uncompromising devotion to thehouse of Stuart; and shortly after the abdication of James II. , hefollowed that monarch to Saint Germain, having previously mixed largelyin secret political intrigues; and only returned from the French courtto lay his bones with those of his ancestry, in the family vault atRookwood. 

_CHAPTER VI_

_SIR PIERS ROOKWOOD_

 My old master kept a good house, and twenty or thirty tall sword-and-buckler men about him; and in faith his son differs not much; he will have metal too; though he has no store of cutler's blades, he will have plenty of vintners' pots. His father kept a good house for honest men, his tenants that brought him in part; and his son keeps a bad house with knaves that help to consume all: 'tis but the change of time: why should any man repine at it? Crickets, good, loving, and lucky worms, were wont to feed, sing, and rejoice in the father's chimney; and now carrion crows build in the son's kitchen. 

 WILKINS: _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_. 

Sir Reginald died, leaving issue three children: a daughter, thebefore-mentioned Eleanor--who, entirely discountenanced by the family, had been seemingly forgotten by all but her father--, and two sons byhis third wife. Reginald, the eldest, whose military taste had earlyprocured him the command of a company of horse, and whose politics didnot coalesce with those of his sire, fell, during his father's lifetime, at Killiecrankie, under the banners of William. Piers, therefore, thesecond son, succeeded to the title. 

A very different character, in many respects, from his father andbrother, holding in supreme dislike courts and courtiers, party warfare, political intrigue, and all the subtleties of Jesuitical diplomacy, neither having any inordinate relish for camps or campaigns, Sir PiersRookwood yet displayed in early life one family propensity, viz. , unremitting devotion to the sex. Among his other mistresses was theunfortunate Susan Bradley, in whom by some he was supposed to have beenclandestinely united. In early youth, as has been stated, Sir Piersprofessed the faith of Rome, but shortly after the death of hisbeautiful mistress--or wife, as it might be--, having quarreled with hisfather's confessor, Checkley, he publicly abjured his heresies. SirPiers subsequently allied himself to Maud, only daughter of Sir ThomasD'Aubeny, the last of a line as proud and intolerant as his own. Thetables were then turned. Lady Rookwood usurped sovereign sway over herlord and Sir Piers, a cipher in his own house, scarce master of himself, much less of his dame, endured an existence so miserable, that he wasoften heard to regret, in his cups, that he had not inherited, with theestate of his forefathers, the family secret of shaking off thematrimonial yoke, when found to press too hardly. 

At the onset, Sir Piers struggled hard to burst his bondage. But invain--he was fast fettered; and only bruised himself, like the cagedlark, against the bars of his prison-house. Abandoning all furthereffort at emancipation, he gave himself up to the usual resource of aweak mind, debauchery; and drank so deeply to drown his cares, that, inthe end, his hale constitution yielded to his excesses. It was evensaid, that remorse at his abandonment of the faith of his fathers hadsome share in his misery; and that his old spiritual, and if reportspoke truly, sinful adviser, Father Checkley, had visited him secretlyat the hall. Sir Piers was observed to shudder whenever the priest'sname was mentioned. 

Sir Piers Rookwood was a good-humored man in the main, had little of theold family leaven about him, and was esteemed by his associates. Oflate, however, his temper became soured, and his friends deserted him;for, between his domestic annoyances, remorseful feelings, and theinroads already made upon his constitution by constant inebriety, hegrew so desperate and insane in his revels, and committed such fearfulextravagances, that even his boon companions shrank from his orgies. Fearful were the scenes between him and Lady Rookwood upon theseoccasions--appalling to the witnesses, dreadful to themselves. And itwas, perhaps, their frequent recurrence, that, more than anything else, banished all decent society from the hall. 

At the time of Sir Piers's decease, which brings us down to the date ofour story, his son and successor, Ranulph, was absent on his travels. Shortly after the completion of his academical education, he haddeparted to make the tour of the Continent, and had been absent ratherbetter than a year. He had quitted his father in displeasure, and wasdestined never again to see his face while living. The last intelligencereceived of young Rookwood was from Bordeaux, whence it was thought hehad departed for the Pyrenees. A special messenger had been despatchedin search of him, with tidings of the melancholy event. But, as it wasdeemed improbable by Lady Rookwood that her son could return within anyreasonable space, she gave directions for the accomplishment of thefuneral rites of her husband on the sixth night after his decease--itbeing the custom of the Rookwoods ever to inter their dead atmidnight, --intrusting their solemnization entirely to the care of one ofSir Piers's hangers-on--Dr. Titus Tyrconnel, --for which she was greatlyscandalized in the neighborhood. 

Ranulph Rookwood was a youth of goodly promise. The stock from which hesprang would on neither side warrant such conclusion. But it sometimeshappens that from the darkest elements are compounded the brightest andsubtlest substances; and so it occurred in this instance. Fair, frank, and free--generous, open, unsuspicious--he seemed the very opposite ofall his race--their antagonizing principle. Capriciously indulgent, hisfather had allowed him ample means, neither curbing nor restraining hisexpenditure; acceding at one moment to every inclination, and the nextirresolutely opposing it. It was impossible, therefore, for him, in sucha state of things, to act decidedly, without incurring his father'sdispleasure; and the only measure he resolved upon, which was to absenthimself for a time, was conjectured to have brought about the result hehad endeavored to avoid. Other reasons, however, there were, whichsecretly influenced him, which it will be our business in due time todetail. 

_CHAPTER VII_

_THE RETURN_

 _Flam. _ How croaks the raven? Is our good Duchess dead?

 _Lod. _ Dead. 

 WEBSTER. 

The time of the sad ceremonial drew nigh. The hurrying of the domesticsto and fro; the multifarious arrangements for the night; thedistribution of the melancholy trappings, and the discussion of the"funeral-baked meats, " furnished abundant occupation within doors. Without, there was a constant stream of the tenantry, thronging down theavenue, mixed with an occasional horseman, once or twice intercepted bya large lumbering carriage, bringing friends of the deceased, somereally anxious to pay the last tribute of regard, but the majorityattracted by the anticipated spectacle of a funeral by torchlight. Therewere others, indeed, to whom it was not matter of choice; who werecompelled, by a vassal tenure of their lands, held of the house ofRookwood, to lend a shoulder to the coffin, and a hand to the torch, onthe burial of its lord. Of these there was a plentiful muster collectedin the hall; they were to be marshalled by Peter Bradley, who was deemedto be well skilled in the proceedings, having been present at twosolemnities of the kind. That mysterious personage, however, had notmade his appearance--to the great dismay of the assemblage. Scouts weresent in search of him, but they returned with the intelligence that thedoor of his habitation was fastened, and its inmate apparently absent. No other tidings of the truant sexton could be obtained. 

It was a sultry August evening. No breeze was stirring in the garden; nocool dews refreshed the parched and heated earth; yet from thelanguishing flowers rich sweets exhaled. The plash of a fountain fellpleasantly upon the ear, conveying in its sound a sense of freshness tothe fervid air; while deep and drowsy murmurs hummed heavily beneath thetrees, making the twilight slumberously musical. The westering sun, which filled the atmosphere with flame throughout the day, was nowwildly setting; and, as he sank behind the hall, its varied andpicturesque tracery became each instant more darkly and distinctlydefined against the crimson sky. 

At this juncture a little gate, communicating with the chase, was thrownopen, and a young man entered the garden, passing through the shrubbery, and hurrying rapidly forward till he arrived at a vista opening upon thehouse. The spot at which the stranger halted was marked by a littlebasin, scantily supplied with water, streaming from a lion's kinglyjaws. His dress was travel-soiled, and dusty; and his whole appearancebetokened great exhaustion from heat and fatigue. Seating himself uponan adjoining bench, he threw off his riding-cap, and unclasped hiscollar, displaying a finely-turned head and neck; and a countenancewhich, besides its beauty, had that rare nobility of feature whichseldom falls to the lot of the aristocrat, but is never seen in one ofan inferior order. A restless disquietude of manner showed that he wassuffering from over-excitement of mind, as well as from bodily exertion. His look was wild and hurried; his black ringlets were dashed heedlesslyover a pallid, lofty brow, upon which care was prematurely written;while his large melancholy eyes were bent, with a look almost of agony, upon the house before him. 

After a short pause, and as if struggling against violent emotions, andsome overwhelming remembrance, the youth arose, and plunged his handinto the basin, applying the moist element to his burning brow. Apparently becoming more calm, he bent his steps towards the hall, whentwo figures, suddenly issuing from an adjoining copse, arrested hisprogress; neither saw him. Muttering a hurried farewell, one of thefigures disappeared within the shrubbery, and the other, confronting thestranger, displayed the harsh features and gaunt form of Peter Bradley. Had Peter encountered the dead Sir Piers in corporeal form, he could nothave manifested more surprise than he exhibited, for an instant or two, as he shrunk back from the stranger's path. 

_CHAPTER VIII_

_AN IRISH ADVENTURER_

 _Scapin. _ A most outrageous, roaring fellow, with a swelled red face inflamed with brandy. --_Cheats of Scapin. _

An hour or two prior to the incident just narrated, in a small, cosyapartment of the hall, nominally devoted to justiciary business by itslate owner, but, in reality, used as a sanctum, snuggery, orsmoking-room, a singular trio were assembled, fraught with the ulteriorpurpose of attending the obsequies of their deceased patron and friend, though immediately occupied in the discussion of a magnum of excellentclaret, the bouquet of which perfumed the air, like the fragrance of abed of violets. 

This little room had been poor Sir Piers's favorite retreat. It was, infact, the only room in the house that he could call his own; and thitherwould he often, with pipe and punch, beguile the flagging hours, securefrom interruption. A snug, old-fashioned apartment it was; wainscotedwith rich black oak; with a fine old cabinet of the same material, and aline or two of crazy, worm-eaten bookshelves, laden with sundry dusty, unconsulted law tomes, and a light sprinkling of the elder divines, equally neglected. The only book, indeed, Sir Piers ever read, was the"Anatomie of Melancholy;" and he merely studied Burton because thequaint, racy style of the learned old hypochondriac suited his humor atseasons, and gave a zest to his sorrows, such as the olives lent to hiswine. 

Four portraits adorned the walls: those of Sir Reginald Rookwood and hiswives. The ladies were attired in the flowing drapery of Charles theSecond's day, the snow of their radiant bosoms being somewhat sullied byover-exposure, and the vermeil tinting of their cheeks darkened by thefumes of tobacco. There was a shepherdess, with her taper crook, whoselarge, languishing eyes, ripe pouting lips, ready to melt into kisses, and air of voluptuous abandonment, scarcely suited the innocentsimplicity of her costume. She was portrayed tending a flock of downysheep, with azure ribbons round their necks, accompanied by one of thoseinvaluable little dogs whose length of ear and silkiness of skin evincedhim perfect in his breeding, but whose large-eyed indifference to hischarge proved him to be as much out of character with his situation asthe refined and luxuriant charms of his mistress were out of keepingwith her artless attire. This was Sir Piers's mother, the third wife, abeautiful woman, answering to the notion of one who had been somewhat ofa flirt in her day. Next to her was a magnificent dame, with the throatand arm of a Juno, and a superb bust--the bust was then what the bustleis now--a paramount attraction; whether the modification be animprovement, we leave to the consideration of the lovers of thebeautiful--this was the dowager. Lastly, there was the lovely andill-fated Eleanor. Every gentle grace belonging to this unfortunate ladyhad been stamped in undying beauty on the canvas by the hand of Lely, breathing a spell on the picture, almost as powerful as that which haddwelt around the exquisite original. Over the high carved mantelpiecewas suspended the portrait of Sir Reginald. It had been painted inearly youth; the features were beautiful, disdainful, --with a fiercenessbreaking through the courtly air. The eyes were very fine, black asmidnight, and piercing as those of Cæsar Borgia, as seen in Raphael'swonderful picture in the Borghese Palace at Rome. They seemed tofascinate the gazer--to rivet his glances--to follow him whithersoeverhe went--and to search into his soul, as did the dark orbs of SirReginald in his lifetime. It was the work likewise of Lely, and had allthe fidelity and graceful refinement of that great master; nor was thehaughty countenance of Sir Reginald unworthy the patrician painter. 

No portrait of Sir Piers was to be met with. But in lieu thereof, depending from a pair of buck's horns, hung the worthy knight's stainedscarlet coat--the same in which he had ridden forth, with the intent tohunt, on the eventful occasion detailed by Peter Bradley, --his velvetcap, his buck-handled whip, and the residue of his equipment for thechase. This attire was reviewed with melancholy interest and unaffectedemotion by the company, as reminding them forcibly of the departed, ofwhich it seemed a portion. 

The party consisted of the vicar of Rookwood, Dr. Polycarp Small; Dr. Titus Tyrconnel, an emigrant, and empirical professor of medicine, fromthe sister isle, whose convivial habits had first introduced him to thehall, and afterwards retained him there; and Mr. Codicil Coates, clerkof the peace, attorney-at-law, bailiff, and receiver. We were wrong insaying that Tyrconnel was retained. He was an impudent, intrusivefellow, whom, having once gained a footing in the house, it wasimpossible to dislodge. He cared for no insult; perceived no slight; andprofessed, in her presence, the profoundest respect for Lady Rookwood:in short, he was ever ready to do anything but depart. 

Sir Piers was one of those people who cannot dine alone. He disliked asolitary repast almost as much as a _tête-à-tête_ with his lady. Hewould have been recognized at once as the true Amphitryon, had any onebeen hardy enough to play the part of Jupiter. Ever ready to give adinner, he found a difficulty arise, not usually experienced on suchoccasions--there was no one upon whom to bestow it. He had the best ofwine; kept an excellent table; was himself no niggard host; but his ownmerits, and those of his _cuisine_, were forgotten in the invariable_pendant_ to the feast; and the best of wine lost its flavor when thelast bottle found its way to the guest's head. Dine alone Sir Pierswould not. And as his old friends forsook him, he plunged lower in hissearch of society; collecting within his house a class of persons whomno one would have expected to meet at the hall, nor even its owner havechosen for his companions, had any choice remained to him. He did notendure this state of things without much outward show of discontent. "Anything for a quiet life, " was his constant saying; and, like thegenerality of people with whom those words form a favorite maxim, he ledthe most uneasy life imaginable. Endurance, to excite commiseration, must be uncomplaining--an axiom the aggrieved of the gentle sex shouldremember. Sir Piers endured, but he grumbled lustily, and was on allhands voted a bore; domestic grievances, especially if the husband bethe plaintiff, being the most intolerable of all mentionable miseries. No wonder that his friends deserted him; still there was TitusTyrconnel; his ears and lips were ever open to pathos and to punch; soTitus kept his station. Immediately after her husband's demise, it hadbeen Lady Rookwood's intention to clear the house of all the "vermin, "so she expressed herself, that had so long infested it; and forcibly toeject Titus, and one or two other intruders of the same class. But inconsequence of certain hints received from Mr. Coates, who representedthe absolute necessity of complying with Sir Piers's testamentaryinstructions, which were particular in that respect, she thought properto defer her intentions until after the ceremonial of interment shouldbe completed, and, in the mean time, strange to say, committed itsarrangement to Titus Tyrconnel; who, ever ready to accommodate, accepted, nothing loth, the charge, and acquitted himself admirably wellin his undertaking: especially, as he said, "in the aiting and drinkingdepartment--the most essential part of it all. " He kept open house--opendining-room--open cellar; resolved that his patron's funeral shouldemulate as much as possible an Irish burial on a grand scale, "thefinest sight, " in his opinion, "in the whole world. "

Inflated with the importance of his office, inflamed with heat, satTitus, like a "robustious periwig-pated" alderman after a civic feast. The natural rubicundity of his countenance was darkened to a deep purpletint, like that of a full-blown peony, while his ludicrous dignity wasaugmented by a shining suit of sables, in which his portly person wasinvested. 

The first magnum had been discussed in solemn silence; the cloud, however, which hung over the conclave, disappeared under the genialinfluence of "another and a better" bottle, and gave place to a denservapor, occasioned by the introduction of the pipe and itsaccompaniments. 

Ensconced in a comfortable old chair--it is not every old chair that_is_ comfortable, --with pipe in mouth, and in full unbuttoned ease, hisbushy cauliflower wig laid aside, by reason of the heat, reposed Dr. Small. Small, indeed, was somewhat of a misnomer, as applied to theworthy doctor, who, besides being no diminutive specimen of his kind, entertained no insignificant opinion of himself. His height wascertainly not remarkable; but his width of shoulder--his sesquipedalityof stomach--and obesity of calf--these were unique! Of his origin weknow nothing; but presume he must, in some way or other, have beenconnected with the numerous family of "the Smalls, " who, according toChristopher North, form the predominant portion of mankind. Inappearance, the doctor was short-necked and puffy, with a sodden, pastyface, wherein were set eyes whose obliquity of vision was, in somemeasure, redeemed by their expression of humor. He was accounted a manof parts and erudition, and had obtained high honors at his university. Rigidly orthodox, he abominated the very names of Papists and Jacobites, amongst which heretical herd he classed his companion, Mr. TitusTyrconnel--Ireland being with him synonymous with superstition andCatholicism--and every Irishman rebellious and schismatical. On thishead he was inclined to be disputatious. His prejudices did not preventhim from passing the claret, nor from laughing, as heartily as aplethoric asthma and sense of the decorum due to the occasion wouldpermit, at the quips and quirks of the Irishman, who, he admitted, notwithstanding his heresies, was a pleasant fellow in the main. Andwhen, in addition to the flattery, a pipe had been insinuated by theofficious Titus, at the precise moment that Small yearned for hisafternoon's solace, yet scrupled to ask for it; when the door had beenmade fast, and the first whiff exhaled, all his misgivings vanished, andhe surrendered himself to the soft seduction. In this Elysian state wefind him. 

"Ah! you may say that, Dr. Small, " said Titus, in answer to someobservation of the vicar, "that's a most original apothegm. We all of ushould our lives by a thrid. Och! many's the sudden finale I have seen. Many's the fine fellow's heels tripped up unawares, when least expected. Death hangs over our heads by a single hair, as your reverence says, precisely like the sword of Dan Maclise, [6] the flatterer of Dinnishwhat-do-you-call-him, ready to fall at a moment's notice, or no noticeat all--eh?--Mr. Coates. And that brings me back again to SirPiers--poor gentleman--ah! we sha'n't soon see the like of him again!"

"Poor Sir Piers!" said Mr. Coates, a small man, in a scratch wig, with aface red and round as an apple, and almost as diminutive. "It is to beregretted that his over-conviviality should so much have hastened hislamented demise. "

"Conviviality!" replied Titus; "no such thing--it wasapoplexy--extravasation of _sarum_. "

"Extra vase-ation of rum and water, you mean, " replied Coates, who, likeall his tribe, rejoiced in a quibble. 

"The squire's ailment, " continued Titus, "was a sanguineous effusion, aswe call it--positive determination of blood to the head, occasioned by alow way he got into, just before his attack--a confirmed case ofhypochondriasis, as that _ould_ book Sir Piers was so fond of terms theblue devils. He neglected the bottle, which, in a man who has been ahard drinker all his life, is a bad sign. The lowering system neveranswers--never. Doctor, I'll just trouble you"--for Small, in a fit ofabsence, had omitted to pass the bottle, though not to help himself. "Had he stuck to _this_"--holding up a glass, ruby bright--"the elixirvitæ--the grand panacea--he might have been hale and hearty at thispresent moment, and as well as any of us. But he wouldn't be advised. Tomy thinking, as that was the case, he'd have been all the better for alittle of your reverence's sperretual advice; and his conscience havingbeen relieved by confession and absolution, he might have opened a freshaccount with an aisy heart and clane breast. "

"I trust, sir, " said Small, gravely withdrawing his pipe from his lips, "that Sir Piers Rookwood addressed himself to a higher source than asinning creature of clay like himself for remission of his sins; but, ifthere was any load of secret guilt that might have weighed heavy uponhis conscience, it is to be regretted that he refused the last officesof the church, and died incommunicate. I was denied all admittance tohis chamber. "

"Exactly my case, " said Mr. Coates, pettishly. "I was refused entrance, though my business was of the utmost importance--certaindispositions--special bequests--matter connected with his sister--forthough the estate is entailed, yet still there are charges--youunderstand me--very strange to refuse to see _me_. Some people mayregret it--may live to regret it, I say--that's all. I've just sent upa package to Lady Rookwood, which was not to be delivered till after SirPiers's death. Odd circumstance that--been in my custody a longwhile--some reason to think Sir Piers meant to alter his will--ought tohave seen _me_--sad neglect!"

"More's the pity. But it was none of poor Sir Piers's doing!" repliedTitus; "he had no will of his own, poor fellow, during his life, and thedevil a will was he likely to have after his death. It was all LadyRookwood's doing, " added he, in a whisper. "I, his medical adviser andconfidential friend, was ordered out of the room; and, although I knewit was as much as his life was worth to leave him for a moment in thatstate, I was forced to comply: and, would you believe it, as I left theroom, I heard high words. Yes, doctor, as I hope to be saved, words ofanger from her at that awful juncture. "

The latter part of this speech was uttered in a low tone, and verymysterious manner. The speakers drew so closely together, that the bowlsof their pipes formed a common centre, whence the stems radiated. Amomentary silence ensued, during which each man puffed for very life. Small next knocked the ashes from his tube, and began to replenish it, coughing significantly. Mr. Coates expelled a thin, curling stream ofvapor from a minute orifice in the corner of his almost invisible mouth, and arched his eyebrows in a singular manner, as if he dared not trustthe expression of his thoughts to any other feature. Titus shook hishuge head, and, upon the strength of a bumper which he swallowed, mustered resolution enough to unburden his bosom. 

"By my sowl, " said he, mysteriously, "I've seen enough lately tofrighten any quiet gentleman out of his senses. I'll not get a wink ofsleep, I fear, for a week to come. There must have been somethingdreadful upon Sir Piers's mind; sure--nay, there's no use in mincing thematter with _you_--in a word, then, some crime too deep to be divulged. "

"Crime!" echoed Coates and Small, in a breath. 

"Ay, crime!" repeated Titus. "Whist! not so loud, lest any one shouldoverhear us. Poor Sir Piers, he's dead now. I'm sure you both loved himas I did, and pity and pardon him if he was guilty; for certain am Ithat no soul ever took its flight more heavily laden than did that ofour poor friend. Och! it was a terrible ending. But you shall hear _how_he died, and judge for yourselves. When I returned to his room afterLady Rookwood's departure, I found him quite delirious. I knew death wasnot far off then. One minute he was in the chase, cheering on thehounds. 'Halloo! tallyho!' cried he: 'who clears that fence?--who swimsthat stream?' The next, he was drinking, carousing, and hurrahing, atthe head of his table. 'Hip! hip! hip!'--as mad, and wild, and franticas ever he used to be when wine had got the better of him; and then allof a sudden, in the midst of his shouting, he stopped, exclaiming, 'What! here again?--who let her in?--the door is fast--I locked itmyself. Devil! why did you open it?--you have betrayed me--she willpoison me--and I cannot resist. Ha! another! Who--who is that?--her faceis white--her hair hangs about her shoulders. Is she alive again? Susan!Susan! why that look? You loved me well--too well. You will not drag meto perdition! You will not appear against me! No, no, no--it is not inyour nature--you whom I doted on, whom I loved--whom I--but Irepented--I sorrowed--I prayed--prayed! Oh! oh! no prayers would avail. Pray for me, Susan--for ever! _Your_ intercession may avail. It is nottoo late. I will do justice to all. Bring me pen and ink--paper--I willconfess--_he_ shall have all. Where is my sister? I would speak withher--would tell her--tell her. Call Alan Rookwood--I shall die before Ican tell it. Come hither, ' said he to me. 'There is a dark, dreadfulsecret on my mind--it must forth. Tell my sister--no, my sensesswim--Susan is near me--fury in her eyes--avenging fury--keep her off. What is this white mass in my arms? what do I hold? is it the corpse bymy side, as it lay that long, long night? It is--it is. Cold, stiff, stirless as then. White--horribly white--as when the moon, that wouldnot set, showed all its ghastliness. Ah! it moves, embraces me, stifles, suffocates me. Help! remove the pillow. I cannot breathe--I choke--oh!'And now I am coming to the strangest part of my story--and, strange asit may sound, every word is as true as Gospel. "

"Ahem!" coughed Small. 

"Well, at this moment--this terrible moment--what should I hear but atap against the wainscot. Holy Virgin! how it startled me. My heartleapt to my mouth in an instant, and then went thump, thump, against myribs. But I said nothing, though you may be sure I kept my ears wideopen--and then presently I heard the tap repeated somewhat louder, andshortly afterwards a third--I should still have said nothing, but SirPiers heard the knock, and raised himself at the summons, as if it hadbeen the last trumpet. 'Come in, ' cried he, in a dying voice; and Heavenforgive me if I confess that I expected a certain person, whose companyone would rather dispense with upon such an occasion, to step in. However, though it wasn't the ould gentleman, it was somebody near akinto him; for a door I had never seen, and never even dreamed of, openedin the wall, and in stepped Peter Bradley--ay, you may well stare, gentlemen; but it was Peter, looking as stiff as a crowbar, and as blueas a mattock. Well, he walked straight up to the bed of the dying man, and bent his great, diabolical gray eyes upon him, laughing all thewhile--yes, laughing--you know the cursed grin he has. To proceed. 'Youhave called me, ' said he to Sir Piers; 'I am here. What would you withme?'--'We are not alone, ' groaned the dying man. 'Leave us, Mr. Tyrconnel--leave me for five minutes--only five, mark me. '--'I'll go, 'thinks I, 'but I shall never see you again alive. ' And true enough itwas--I never did see him again with breath in his body. Without moreado, I left him, and I had scarcely reached the corridor when I heardthe door bolted behind me. I then stopped to listen: and I'm sure you'llnot blame me when I say I clapped my eye to the keyhole; for I suspectedsomething wrong. But, Heaven save us! that crafty gravedigger had takenhis precautions too well. I could neither see nor hear anything, exceptafter a few minutes, a wild unearthly screech. And then the door wasthrown open, and I, not expecting it, was precipitated head foremostinto the room, to the great damage of my nose. When I got up, Peter hadvanished, I suppose, as he came; and there was poor Sir Piers leaningback upon the pillow with his hands stretched out as if in supplication, his eyes unclosed and staring, and his limbs stark and stiff!"

A profound silence succeeded this narrative. Mr. Coates would notventure upon a remark. Dr. Small seemed, for some minutes, lost inpainful reflection; at length he spoke: "You have described a shockingscene, Mr. Tyrconnel, and in a manner that convinces me of its fidelity. But I trust you will excuse me, as a friend of the late Sir Piers, inrequesting you to maintain silence in future on the subject. Itsrepetition can be productive of no good, and may do infinite harm bygiving currency to unpleasant reports, and harrowing the feelings of thesurvivors. Every one acquainted with Sir Piers's history must be aware, as I dare say you are already, of an occurrence which cast a shade overhis early life, blighted his character, and endangered his personalsafety. It was a dreadful accusation. But I believe, nay, I am sure, itwas unfounded. Dark suspicions attach to a Romish priest of the name ofCheckley. He, I believe, is beyond the reach of human justice. ErringSir Piers was, undoubtedly. But I trust he was more weak than sinful. Ihave reason to think he was the tool of others, especially of the wretchI have named. And it is easy to perceive how that incomprehensiblelunatic, Peter Bradley, has obtained an ascendancy over him. Hisdaughter, you are aware, was Sir Piers's mistress. Our friend is nowgone, and with him let us bury his offences, and the remembrance ofthem. That his soul was heavily laden, would appear from your account ofhis last moments; yet I fervently trust that his repentance was sincere, in which case there is hope of forgiveness for him. 'At what time soevera sinner shall repent him of his sins, from the bottom of his heart, Iwill blot out all his wickedness out of my remembrance, saith the Lord. 'Heaven's mercy is greater than man's sins. And there is hope ofsalvation even for Sir Piers. "

"I trust so, indeed, " said Titus, with emotion; "and as to repeating asyllable of what I have just said, devil a word more will I utter on thesubject. My lips shall be shut and sealed, as close as one of Mr. Coates's bonds, for ever and a day: but I thought it just right to makeyou acquainted with the circumstances. And now, having dismissed the badfor ever, I am ready to speak of Sir Piers's good qualities, and not fewthey were. What was there becoming a gentleman that he couldn't do, I'dlike to know? Couldn't he hunt as well as ever a one in the county? andhadn't he as good a pack of hounds? Couldn't he shoot as well, and fishas well, and drink as well, or better?--only he couldn't carry his wine, which was his misfortune, not his fault. And wasn't he always ready toask a friend to dinner with him? and didn't he give him a good dinnerwhen he came, barring the cross-cups afterwards? And hadn't heeverything agreeable about him, except his wife? which was a greatdrawback. And with all his peculiarities and humors, wasn't he askind-hearted a man as needs be? and an Irishman at the core? And so, ifhe wern't dead, I'd say long life to him! But as he is, here's peace tohis memory!"

At this juncture, a knocking was heard at the door, which some onewithout had vainly tried to open. Titus rose to unclose it, ushering inan individual known at the hall as Jack Palmer. 

_CHAPTER IX_

_AN ENGLISH ADVENTURER_

 _Mrs. Peachem. _ Sure the captain's the finest gentleman on the road. 

 _Beggar's Opera. _

Jack Palmer was a good-humored, good-looking man, with immense bushy, red whiskers, a freckled, florid complexion, and sandy hair, ratherinclined to scantiness towards the scalp of the head, which garnishedthe nape of his neck with a ruff of crisp little curls, like the ring ona monk's shaven crown. Notwithstanding this tendency to baldness, Jackcould not be more than thirty, though his looks were some five years inadvance. His face was one of those inexplicable countenances, whichappear to be proper to a peculiar class of men--a regular Newmarketphysiognomy--compounded chiefly of cunning and assurance; not lowcunning, nor vulgar assurance, but crafty sporting subtlety, careless asto results, indifferent to obstacles, ever on the alert for the mainchance, game and turf all over, eager, yet easy, keen, yet quiet. He wassomewhat showily dressed, in such wise that he looked half like a finegentleman of that day, half like a jockey of our own. His nether manappeared in well-fitting, well-worn buckskins, and boots with tops, notunconscious of the saddle; while the airy extravagance of hisbroad-skirted, sky-blue riding coat, the richness of his vest--thepockets of which were beautifully exuberant, according to the mode of1737--the smart luxuriance of his cravat, and a certain curious taste inthe size and style of his buttons, proclaimed that, in his own esteem atleast, his person did not appear altogether unworthy of decoration; nor, in justice to Jack, can we allow that he was in error. He was a modelof a man for five feet ten; square, compact, capitally built in everyparticular, excepting that his legs were slightly imbowed, which defectprobably arose from his being almost constantly on horseback; a sort ofexercise in which Jack greatly delighted, and was accounted a superbrider. It was, indeed, his daring horsemanship, upon one particularoccasion, when he had outstripped a whole field, that had procured himthe honor of an invitation to Rookwood. Who he was, or whence he came, was a question not easily answered--Jack, himself, evading all solutionto the inquiry. Sir Piers never troubled his head about the matter: hewas a "deuced good fellow--rode well, and stood on no sort of ceremony;"that was enough for him. Nobody else knew anything about him, save thathe was a capital judge of horseflesh, kept a famous black mare, andattended every hunt in the West Riding--that he could sing a good song, was a choice companion, and could drink three bottles without feelingthe worse for them. 

Sensible of the indecorum that might attach to his appearance, Dr. Smallhad hastily laid down his pipe, and arranged his wig. But when he sawwho was the intruder, with a grunt of defiance he resumed hisoccupation, without returning the bow of the latter, or bestowingfurther notice upon him. Nothing discomposed at the churchman'sdispleasure, Jack greeted Titus cordially, and carelessly saluting Mr. Coates, threw himself into a chair. He next filled a tumbler of claret, and drained it at a draught. 

"Have you ridden far, Jack?" asked Titus, noticing the dusty state ofPalmer's azure attire. 

"Some dozen miles, " replied Palmer; "and that, on such a sultryafternoon as the present, makes one feel thirstyish. I'm as dry as asandbed. Famous wine this--beautiful tipple--better than all your redfustian. Ah, how poor Sir Piers used to like it! Well, that's allover--a glass like this might do him good in his present quarters! I'mafraid I'm intruding. But the fact is, I wanted a little informationabout the order of the procession, and missing you below, came hither insearch of you. You're to be chief mourner, I suppose, Titus--_rehearsing_your part, eh?"

"Come, come, Jack, no joking, " replied Titus; "the subject's tooserious. I am to be chief mourner--and I expect you to be a mourner--andeverybody else to be mourners. We must all mourn at the proper time. There'll be a power of people at the church. "

"There _are_ a power of people here already, " returned Jack, "if theyall attend. "

"And they all _will_ attend, or what is the eating and drinking to gofor? I sha'n't leave a soul in the house. "

"Excepting one, " said Jack, archly. "Lady Rookwood won't attend, Ithink. "

"Ay, excepting her ladyship and her ladyship's abigail. All the rest gowith me, and form part of the procession. You go too. "

"Of course. At what time do you start?"

"Twelve precisely. As the clock strikes, we set out--all in a line, anda long line we'll make. I'm waiting for that ould coffin-faced rascal, Peter Bradley, to arrange the order. "

"How long will it all occupy, think you?" asked Jack, carelessly. 

"That I can't say, " returned Titus; "possibly an hour, more or less. Butwe shall start to the minute--that is, if we can get all together, sodon't be out of the way. And hark ye, Jack, you must contrive to changeyour toggery. That sky-blue coat won't do. It's not the thing at all, atall. "

"Never fear that, " replied Palmer. "But who were those in thecarriages?"

"Is it the last carriage you mean? Squire Forester and his sons. They'redining with the other gentlefolk, in the great room up-stairs, to be outof the way. Oh, we'll have a grand _berrin'_. And, by St. Patrick! Imust be looking after it. "

"Stay a minute, " said Jack; "let's have a cool bottle first. They areall taking care of themselves below, and Peter Bradley has not made hisappearance, so you need be in no hurry. I'll go with you presently. Shall I ring for the claret?"

"By all means, " replied Titus. 

Jack accordingly arose; and a butler answering the summons, along-necked bottle was soon placed before them. 

"You heard of the affray last night, I presume?" said Jack, renewing theconversation. 

"With the poachers? To be sure I did. Wasn't I called in to examine HughBadger's wounds the first thing this morning; and a deep cut there was, just over the eye, besides other bruises. "

"Is the wound dangerous?" inquired Palmer. 

"Not exactly mortal, if you mean that, " replied the Irishman;"dangerous, certainly. "

"Humph!" exclaimed Jack; "they'd a pretty hardish bout of it, Iunderstand. Anything been heard of the body?"

"What body?" inquired Small, who was half-dozing. 

"The body of the drowned poacher, " replied Jack; "they were off tosearch for it this morning. "

"Found it--not they!" exclaimed Titus. "Ha, ha!--I can't help laughing, for the life and _sowl_ of me; a capital trick he played'em, --capital--ha, ha! What do you think the fellow did? Ha, ha!--afterleading 'em the devil's dance, all around the park, killing a hound assavage as a wolf, and breaking Hugh Badger's head, which is as hard andthick as a butcher's block, what does the fellow do but dive into apool, with a great rock hanging over it, and make his way to the otherside, through a subterranean cavern, which nobody knew anything about, till they came to drag it, thinking him snugly drowned all thewhile--ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" chorused Jack; "bravo! he's a lad of the right sort--ha, ha!"

"He! who?" inquired the attorney. 

"Why, the poacher, to be sure, " replied Jack; "who else were we talkingabout?"

"Beg pardon, " returned Coates; "I thought you might have heard someintelligence. We've got an eye upon him. We know who it was. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Jack; "and who was it?"

"A fellow known by the name of Luke Bradley. "

"Zounds!" cried Titus, "you don't say it was he? Murder in Irish! thatbates everything; why, he was Sir Piers's----"

"Natural son, " replied the attorney; "he has not been heard of for sometime--shockingly incorrigible rascal--impossible to do anything withhim. "

"You don't say so?" observed Jack. "I've heard Sir Piers speak of thelad; and, by his account, he's as fine a fellow as ever crossed tit'sback; only a little wildish and unreasonable, as the best of us may be;wants breaking, that's all. Your skittish colt makes the best horse, andso would he. To speak the truth, I'm glad he escaped. "

"So am I, " rejoined Titus; "for, in the first place, I've a foolishpartiality for poachers, and am sorry when any of 'em come to hurt; and, in the second, I'd be mighty displeased if any ill had happened to oneof Sir Piers's flesh and blood, as this young chap appears to be. "

"Appears to be!" repeated Palmer; "there's no _appearing_ in the case, Itake it. This Bradley's an undoubted offshoot of the old squire. Hismother was a servant-maid at the hall, I rather think. You sir, "continued he, addressing Coates, "perhaps, can inform us of the realfacts of the case. "

"She was something better than a servant, " replied the attorney, with aslight cough and a knowing wink. "I remember her quite well, though Iwas but a boy then; a lovely creature, and so taking, I don't wonderthat Sir Piers was smitten with her. He was mad after the women in thosedays, and pretty Sue Bradley above all others. She lived with him quitelike his lady. "

"So I've heard, " returned Jack; "and she remained with him till herdeath. Let me see, wasn't there something rather odd in the way in whichshe died, rather suddenish and unexpected, --a noise made about it at thetime, eh?"

"Not that I ever heard, " replied Coates, shaking his head, and appearingto be afflicted with an instantaneous ignorance; while Titus affectednot to hear the remark, but occupied himself with his wine-glass. Smallsnored audibly. "I was too young, then, to pay any attention to idlerumors, " continued Coates. "It's a long time ago. May I ask the reasonof your inquiry?"

"Nothing further than simple curiosity, " replied Jack, enjoying theconsternation of his companions. "It is, as you say, a long while since. But it's singular how that sort of thing is remembered. One would thinkpeople had something else to do than talk of one's private affairs forever. For my part, I despise such tattle. But there _are_ persons in theneighborhood who still say it was an awkward business. Amongst others, I've heard that this very Luke Bradley talks in pretty plain terms aboutit. "

"Does he, indeed?" said Coates. "So much the worse for him. Let me oncelay hands upon him, and I'll put a gag in his mouth that shall spoil histalking in the future. "

"That's precisely the point I desire to arrive at, " replied Jack; "and Iadvise you by all means to accomplish that, for the sake of the family. Nobody likes his friends to be talked about. So I'd settle the matteramicably, were I you. Just let the fellow go his way; he won't returnhere again in a hurry, I'll be bound. As to clapping him in quod, hemight prattle--turn stag. "

"Turn stag!" replied Coates, "what the deuce is that? In my opinion, hehas 'turned stag' already. At all events, he'll pay _deer_ for hisnight's sport, you may depend upon it. What signifies it what _he_ says?Let me lay hands upon him, that's all. "

"Well, well, " said Jack, "no offence. I only meant to offer asuggestion. I thought the family, young Sir Ranulph, I mean, mightn'tlike the story to be revived. As to Lady Rookwood, she don't, I suppose, care much about idle reports. Indeed, if I've been rightly informed, shebears this youngster no particular good-will to begin with, and hastried hard to get him out of the country. But, as you say, what _does_it signify what he says? he can _only_ talk. Sir Piers is dead andgone. "

"Humph!" muttered Coates, peevishly. 

"But it does seem a little hard, that a lad should swing for killing abit of venison in his own father's park. "

"Which he'd a _nat'ral_ right to do, " cried Titus. 

"He had no natural right to bruise, violently assault, and endanger thelife of his father's, or anybody else's gamekeeper, " retorted Coates. "Itell you, sir, he's committed a capital offence, and if he's taken----"

"No chance of that, I hope, " interrupted Jack. 

"That's a wish I can't help wishing myself, " said Titus: "on myconscience, these poachers are fine boys, when all's said and done. "

"The finest of all boys, " exclaimed Jack, with a kindred enthusiasm, "are those birds of the night, and minions of the moon, whom we call, most unjustly, poachers. They are, after all, only _professionalsportsmen_, making a business of what we make a pleasure; a nightlypursuit of what is to us a daily relaxation; there's the maindistinction. As to the rest, it's all in idea; they merely thin anoverstocked park, as _you_ would reduce a plethoric patient, doctor; oras _you_ would work a moneyed client, if you got him into Chancery, Mister Attorney. And then how much more scientifically andsystematically they set to work than we amateurs do! how noiselesslythey bag a hare, smoke a pheasant, or knock a buck down with an air-gun!how independent are they of any license, except that of a good eye, anda swift pair of legs! how unnecessary is it for them to ask permissionto shoot over Mr. So-and-so's grounds, or my Lord That's preserves!they are free of every cover, and indifferent to any alteration in thegame laws. I've some thoughts, when everything else fails, of taking topoaching myself. In my opinion, a poacher's a highly respectablecharacter. What say you, Mr. Coates?" turning very gravely to thatgentleman. 

"Such a question, sir, " replied Coates, bridling up, "scarcely deservesa serious answer. I make no doubt you will next maintain that ahighwayman is a gentleman. "

"Most undoubtedly, " replied Palmer, in the same grave tone, which mighthave passed for banter, had Jack ever bantered. "I'll maintain and proveit. I don't see how he can be otherwise. It is as necessary for a man tobe a gentleman before he can turn highwayman, as it is for a doctor tohave his diploma, or an attorney his certificate. Some of the finestgentlemen of their day, as Captain Lovelace, Hind, Hannum, and Dudley, were eminent on the road, and they set the fashion. Ever since their daya real highwayman would consider himself disgraced, if he did notconduct himself in every way like a gentleman. Of course, there arepretenders in this line, as in everything else. But these are onlyexceptions, and prove the rule. What are the distinguishingcharacteristics of a fine gentleman?--perfect knowledge of theworld--perfect independence of character--notoriety--command ofcash--and inordinate success with the women. You grant all thesepremises? First, then, it is part of a highwayman's business to bethoroughly acquainted with the world. He is the easiest and pleasantestfellow going. There is Tom King, for example: he is the handsomest manabout town, and the best-bred fellow on the road. Then whoseinclinations are so uncontrolled as the highwayman's, so long as themopuses last? who produces so great an effect by so few words?--'STANDAND DELIVER!' is sure to arrest attention. Every one is captivated by anaddress so _taking_. As to money, he wins a purse of a hundred guineasas easily as you would the same sum from the faro table. And whereinlies the difference? only in the name of the game. Who so little needof a banker as he? all he has to apprehend is a check--all he has todraw is a trigger. As to the women, they dote upon him: not even yourred-coat is so successful. Look at a highwayman mounted on his flyingsteed, with his pistols in his holsters, and his mask upon his face. What can be a more gallant sight? The clatter of his horse's heels islike music to his ear--he is in full quest--he shouts to the fugitivehorseman to stay--the other flies all the faster--what chase can be halfso exciting as that? Suppose he overtakes his prey, which ten to one hewill, how readily his summons to deliver is obeyed! how satisfactory isthe appropriation of a lusty purse or corpulent pocket-book!--gettingthe brush is nothing to it. How tranquilly he departs, takes off his hatto his accommodating acquaintance, wishes him a pleasant journey, anddisappears across the heath! England, sir, has reason to be proud of herhighwaymen. They are peculiar to her clime, and are as much before thebrigand of Italy, the contrabandist of Spain, or the cut-purse ofFrance--as her sailors are before all the rest of the world. The daywill never come, I hope, when we shall degenerate into the footpad, andlose our _Night Errantry_. Even the French borrow from us--they haveonly one highwayman of eminence, and he learnt and practised his art inEngland. "

"And who was he, may I ask?" said Coates. 

"Claude Du-Val, " replied Jack; "and though a Frenchman, he was a deucedfine fellow in his day--quite a tip-top macaroni--he could skip andtwirl like a figurant, warble like an opera-singer, and play theflageolet better than any man of his day--he always carried a lute inhis pocket, along with his snappers. And then his dress--it was quitebeautiful to see how smartly he was rigg'd out, all velvet and lace; andeven with his vizard on his face, the ladies used to cry out to see him. Then he took a purse with the air and grace of a receiver-general. Allthe women adored him--and that, bless their pretty faces! was the bestproof of his gentility. I wish he'd not been a Mounseer. The womennever mistake. _They_ can always discover the true gentlemen, and theywere all, of every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, overhead and ears in love with him. "

"But he was taken, I suppose?" asked Coates. 

"Ay, " responded Jack, "the women were his undoing, as they've been manya brave fellow's before, and will be again. " Touched by whichreflection, Jack became for once in his life sentimental, and sighed. "Poor Du-Val! he was seized at the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandos-street bythe bailiff of Westminster, when dead drunk, his liquor having beendrugged by his dells--and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn. "

"It was thousand pities, " said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, "that so fine agentleman should come to so ignominious an end!"

"Quite the contrary, " returned Jack. "As his biographer, Doctor Pope, properly remarks, 'Who is there worthy of the name of man, that wouldnot prefer such a death before a mean, solitary, inglorious life?'By-the-by, Titus, as we're upon the subject, if you like I'll sing you asong about highwaymen. "

"I should like it of all things, " replied Titus, who entertained a veryfavorable opinion of Jack's vocal powers, and was by no means anindifferent performer; "only let it be in a minor key. "

Jack required no further encouragement, but disregarding the hints andlooks of Coates, sang with much unction the following ballad to a goodold tune, then very popular--the merit of which "nobody can deny. "

 A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN

 Of every rascal of every kind, The most notorious to my mind, Was the Cavalier Captain, gay JEMMY HIND![7] _Which nobody can deny. _

 But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all For lute, coranto, and madrigal, Was the galliard Frenchman, CLAUDE DU-VAL![8] _Which nobody can deny. _

 And Tobygloak never a coach could rob, Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob, With a neater hand than OLD MOB, OLD MOB![9] _Which nobody can deny. _

 Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks On the stubborn lid of a good strong box, Than that prince of good fellows, TOM COX, TOM COX![10] _Which nobody can deny. _

 A blither fellow on broad highway, Did never with oath bid traveller stay, Than devil-may-care WILL HOLLOWAY![11] _Which nobody can deny. _

 And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks Of GETTINGS and GREY, and the five or six Who trod in the steps of bold NEDDY WICKS![12] _Which nobody can deny. _

 Nor could any so handily break a lock As SHEPPARD, who stood on the Newgate dock, And nicknamed the jailers around him "_his flock_!"[13] _Which nobody can deny. _

 Nor did highwaymen ever before possess For ease, for security, danger, distress, Such a mare as DICK TURPIN'S Black Bess! Black Bess! _Which nobody can deny. _

"A capital song, by the powers!" cried Titus, as Jack's ditty came to aclose. "But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with ourTories[14] and Rapparees--nothing at all. They were the _raal_gentlemen--they were the boys to cut a throat _aisily_. "

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I speak of nevermaltreated any one, except in self-defence. "

"Maybe not, " replied Titus; "I'll not dispute the point--but theseRapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch. I'll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don'tlet's forget the bottle--talking's dry work. My service to you, doctor!"added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And tossing off his glass, Titus delivered himself with much joviality of the following ballad; thewords of which he adapted to the tune of the _Groves of the Pool_:

 THE RAPPAREES

 Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of the walk, His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks[15]--it's all botheration and talk; Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a mile, There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

 First and foremost comes REDMOND O'HANLON, allowed the first thief of the world, [16] That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled; Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life, At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting knife. 

 And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed REDMOND'S _tail_! Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur O'Neal; _Shure_ never were any boys like 'em for rows, _agitations_, and sprees, Not a _rap_ did they leave in the country, and hence they were called _Rap_parees. [17]

 Next comes POWER, the great Tory[18] of Munster, a gentleman born every inch, And strong JACK MACPHERSON of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a pinch; The last was a fellow so _lively_, not death e'en his courage could damp, For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the camp. "[19]

 PADDY FLEMING, DICK BALF, and MULHONI, I think are the next on my list, All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist; JEMMY CARRICK must follow his leaders, _ould_ PURNEY who put in a huff, By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff. 

 There's PAUL LIDDY, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a spike, And BILLY DELANEY, the "_Songster_, "[20] we never shall meet with his like; For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm, No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm. 

 And lastly, there's CAHIR NA CAPPUL, the handiest rogue of them all, Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his stall; Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should be near, And devil a bit in the paddock, if CAHIR gets _hould_ of his ear. 

 Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant, the gay! With them the best _Rumpads_[21] of England are not to be named the same day! And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with our _prigs_, Recollect that _our_ robbers are Tories, while those of _your_ country are Whigs. 

"Bravissimo!" cried Jack, drumming upon the table. 

"Well, " said Coates, "we've had enough about the Irish highwaymen, inall conscience. But there's a rascal on our side of the Channel, whomyou have only incidentally mentioned, and who makes more noise than themall put together. "

"Who's that?" asked Jack, with some curiosity. 

"Dick Turpin, " replied the attorney: "he seems to me quite as worthy ofmention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, or the O'Hanlons, you haveeither of you enumerated. "

"I did not think of him, " replied Palmer, smiling; "though, if I had, hescarcely deserves to be ranked with those illustrious heroes. "

"Gads bobs!" cried Titus; "they tell me Turpin keeps the best nag in theUnited Kingdom, and can ride faster and further in a day than any otherman in a week. "

"So I've heard, " said Palmer, with a glance of satisfaction. "I shouldlike to try a run with him. I warrant me, I'd not be far behind. "

"I should like to get a peep at him, " quoth Titus. 

"So should I, " added Coates. "Vastly!"

"You may both of you be gratified, gentlemen, " said Palmer. "Talking ofDick Turpin, they say, is like speaking of the devil, he's at your elbowere the word's well out of your mouth. He may be within hearing at thismoment, for anything we know to the contrary. "

"Body o' me!" ejaculated Coates, "you don't say so? Turpin in Yorkshire!I thought he confined his exploits to the neighborhood of themetropolis, and made Epping Forest his headquarters. "

"So he did, " replied Jack, "but the cave is all up now. The whole of thegreat North Road, from Tottenham Cross to York gates, comes withinDick's present range; and Saint Nicholas only knows in which part of ithe is most likely to be found. He shifts his quarters as often and asreadily as a Tartar; and he who looks for him may chance to catch aTartar--ha!--ha!"

"It's a disgrace to the country that such a rascal should remainunhanged, " returned Coates, peevishly. "Government ought to look to it. Is the whole kingdom to be kept in a state of agitation by a singlehighwayman?--Sir Robert Walpole should take the affair into his ownhands. "

"Fudge!" exclaimed Jack, emptying his glass. 

"I have already addressed a letter to the editor of the _Common Sense_on the subject, " said Coates, "in which I have spoken my mind prettyplainly: and I repeat, it is perfectly disgraceful that such a rascalshould be suffered to remain at large. "

"You don't happen to have that letter by you, I suppose, " said Jack, "orI should beg the favor to hear it?--I am not acquainted with thenewspaper to which you allude;--I read _Fog's Journal_. "

"So I thought, " replied Coates, with a sneer; "that's the reason you areso easily mystified. But luckily I have the paper in my pocket; and youare quite welcome to my opinions. Here it is, " added he, drawing forth anewspaper. "I shall waive my preliminary remarks, and come to the pointat once. "

"By all means, " said Jack. 

"'I thank God, '" began Coates, in an authoritative tone, "'that I wasborn in a country that hath formerly emulated the Romans in their publicspirit; as is evident from their conquests abroad, and their strugglesfor liberty at home. '"

"What has all this got to do with Turpin?" interposed Jack. 

"You will hear, " replied the attorney--"no interruptions if you please. 'But this noble principle, '" continued he, with great emphasis, "'thoughnot utterly lost, I cannot think at present so active as it ought to bein a nation so jealous of her liberty. '"

"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "There is more than '_common sense_' in thatobservation, Mr. Coates. "

"'My suspicion, '" proceeded Coates, "'is founded on a late instance. Imean the flagrant, undisturbed success of the notorious TURPIN, who hathrobb'd in a manner scarce ever known before for several years, and isgrown so insolent and impudent as to threaten particular persons, andbecome openly dangerous to the lives as well as fortunes of the peopleof England. '"

"Better and better, " shouted Jack, laughing immoderately. "Pray go on, sir. "

"'That a fellow, '" continued Coates, "'who is known to be a thief by thewhole kingdom, shall for so long a time continue to rob us, and not onlyrob us, but make a jest of us----'"

"Ha--ha--ha--capital! Excuse me, sir, " roared Jack, laughing till thetears ran down his cheeks--"pray, pray, go on. "

"I see nothing to laugh at, " replied Coates, somewhat offended;"however, I will conclude my letter, since I have begun it--'not onlyrob us, but make a jest of us, shall defy the laws, and laugh atjustice, argues a want of public spirit, which should make everyparticular member of the community sensible of the public calamity, andambitious of the honor of extirpating such a notorious highwayman fromsociety, since he owes his long successes to no other cause than hisimmoderate impudence, and the sloth and pusillanimity of those who oughtto bring him to justice. ' I will not deny, " continued Coates, "that, professing myself, as I do, to be a staunch new Whig, I had not somecovert political object in penning this epistle. [22] Nevertheless, setting aside my principles----"

"Right, " observed Jack; "you Whigs, new or old, always set aside yourprinciples. "

"Setting aside any political feeling I may entertain, " continued Coates, disregarding the interruption, "I repeat, I am ambitious of extirpatingthis modern Cacus--this Autolycus of the eighteenth century. "

"And what course do you mean to pursue?" asked Jack, "for I suppose youdo not expect to catch this '_ought-to-lick-us_, ' as you call him, by aline in the newspapers. "

"I am in the habit of keeping my own counsel, sir, " replied Coates, pettishly; "and to be plain with you, I hope to finger all the rewardmyself. "

"Oons, is there a reward offered for Turpin's apprehension?" askedTitus. 

"No less than two hundred pounds, " answered Coates, "and that's notrifle, as you will both admit. Have you not seen the king'sproclamation, Mr. Palmer?"

"Not I, " replied Jack, with affected indifference. 

"Nor I, " added Titus, with some appearance of curiosity; "do you happento have _that_ by you too?"

"I always carry it about with me, " replied Coates, "that I may refer toit in case of emergency. My father, Christopher, or Kit Coates, as hewas familiarly called, was a celebrated thief-taker. He apprehendedSpicket, and Child, and half a dozen others, and always kept theirdescriptions in his pocket. I endeavor to tread in my worthy father'sfootsteps. I hope to signalize myself by capturing a highwayman. By-the-by, " added he, surveying Jack more narrowly, "it occurs to methat Turpin must be rather like you, Mr. Palmer?"

"Like me, " said Jack, regarding Coates askance; "like me--how am I tounderstand you, sir, eh?"

"No offence; none whatever, sir. Ah! stay, you won't object to mycomparing the description. That _can_ do no harm. Nobody would take youfor a highwayman--nobody whatever--ha! ha! Singular resemblance--he--he. These things _do_ happen sometimes: not very often, though. But here isTurpin's description in the _Gazette_, _June 28th_, A. D. 1737:--'_Ithaving been represented to the King that Richard Turpin did, onWednesday, the 4th of May last, rob on his Majesty's highway VavasourMowbray, Esq. , Major of the 2d troop of Horse Grenadiers_'--that MajorMowbray, by-the-by, is a nephew of the late Sir Piers, and cousin of thepresent baronet--'_and commit other notorious felonies and robberiesnear London, his Majesty is pleased to promise his most gracious pardonto any of his accomplices, and a reward of two hundred pounds to anyperson or persons who shall discover him, so as he may be apprehendedand convicted_. '"

"Odsbodikins!" exclaimed Titus, "a noble reward! I should like to layhands upon Turpin, " added he, slapping Palmer's shoulder: "I wish hewere in your place at this moment, Jack. "

"Thank you!" replied Palmer, shifting his chair. 

"'_Turpin_, '" continued Coates, "'_was born at Thacksted, in Essex; isabout thirty_'--you, sir, I believe, are about thirty?" added he, addressing Palmer. 

"Thereabouts, " said Jack, bluffly. "But what has my age to do with thatof Turpin?"

"Nothing--nothing at all, " answered Coates; "suffer me, however, toproceed:--'_Is by trade a butcher_, '--you, sir, I believe, never had anydealings in that line?"

"I have some notion how to dispose of a troublesome calf, " returnedJack. "But Turpin, though described as a butcher, is, I understand, alineal descendant of a great French archbishop of the same name. "

"Who wrote the chronicles of that royal robber Charlemagne; I know him, "replied Coates--"a terrible liar!--The modern Turpin '_is about fivefeet nine inches high_'--exactly your height, sir--exactly!"

"I am five feet ten, " answered Jack, standing bolt upright. 

"You have an inch, then, in your favor, " returned the unperturbedattorney, deliberately proceeding with his examination--"'_he has abrown complexion, marked with the smallpox_. '"

"My complexion is florid--my face without a seam, " quoth Jack. 

"Those whiskers would conceal anything, " replied Coates, with a grin. "Nobody wears whiskers nowadays, except a highwayman. "

"Sir!" said Jack, sternly. "You are personal. "

"I don't mean to be so, " replied Coates; "but you must allow thedescription tallies with your own in a remarkable manner. Hear me out, however--'_his cheek bones are broad--his face is thinner towards thebottom--his visage short--pretty upright--and broad about theshoulders_. ' Now I appeal to Mr. Tyrconnel if all this does not soundlike a portrait of yourself. "

"Don't appeal to me, " said Titus, hastily, "upon such a delicate point. I can't say that I approve of a gentleman being likened to a highwayman. But if ever there was a highwayman I'd wish to resemble, it's eitherRedmond O'Hanlon or Richard Turpin; and may the devil burn me if I knowwhich of the two is the greater rascal!"

"Well, Mr. Palmer, " said Coates, "I repeat, I mean no offence. Likenesses are unaccountable. I am said to be like my Lord North;whether I am or not, the Lord knows. But if ever I meet with Turpin Ishall bear you in mind--he--he! Ah! if ever I _should_ have the goodluck to stumble upon him, I've a plan for his capture which couldn'tfail. Only let me get a glimpse of him, that's all. You shall see howI'll dispose of him. "

"Well, sir, we _shall_ see, " observed Palmer. "And for your own sake, Iwish you may never be nearer to him than you are at this moment. Withhis friends, they say Dick Turpin can be as gentle as a lamb; with hisfoes, especially with a limb of the law like yourself, he's been foundbut an ugly customer. I once saw him at Newmarket, where he was collaredby two constable culls, one on each side. Shaking off one, and dealingthe other a blow in the face with his heavy-handled whip, he stuck spursinto his mare, and though the whole field gave chase, he distanced themall, easily. "

"And how came you not to try your pace with him, if you were there, asyou boasted a short time ago?" asked Coates. 

"So I did, and stuck closer to him than any one else. We were neck andneck. I was the only person who could have delivered him to the hands ofjustice, if I'd felt inclined. "

"Zounds!" cried Coates; "If I had a similar opportunity, it should beneck or nothing. Either he or I should reach the scragging-post first. I'd take him, dead or alive. "

"_You_ take Turpin?" cried Jack, with a sneer. 

"I'd engage to do it, " replied Coates. "I'll bet you a hundred guineas Itake him, if I ever have the same chance. "

"Done!" exclaimed Jack, rapping the table at the same time, so that theglasses danced upon it. 

"That's right, " cried Titus. "I'll go you halves. "

"What's the matter--what's the matter?" exclaimed Small, awakened fromhis doze. 

"Only a trifling bet about a highwayman, " replied Titus. 

"A highwayman!" echoed Small. "Eh! what? there are none in the house, Ihope. "

"I hope not, " answered Coates. "But this gentleman has taken up thedefence of the notorious Dick Turpin in so singular a manner, that----"

"_Quod factu fœdum est, idem est et Dictu Turpe_, " returned Small. "The less said about that rascal the better. "

"So I think, " replied Jack. "The fact is as you say, sir--were Dickhere, he would, I am sure, take the _freedom to hide 'em_. "

Further discourse was cut short by the sudden opening of the door, followed by the abrupt entrance of a tall, slender young man, whohastily advanced towards the table, around which the company wereseated. His appearance excited the utmost astonishment in the wholegroup: curiosity was exhibited in every countenance--the magnum remainedpoised midway in the hand of Palmer--Dr. Small scorched his thumb in thebowl of his pipe; and Mr. Coates was almost choked, by swallowing aninordinate whiff of vapor. 

"Young Sir Ranulph!" ejaculated he, as soon as the syncope would permithim. 

"Sir Ranulph here?" echoed Palmer, rising. 

"Angels and ministers!" exclaimed Small. 

"Odsbodikins!" cried Titus, with a theatrical start; "this is more thanI expected. "

"Gentlemen, " said Ranulph, "do not let my unexpected arrival herediscompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the manner of my greeting;and you, Mr. Coates. One of the present party, I believe, was myfather's medical attendant, Dr. Tyrconnel. "

"I had that honor, " replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly--"I am Dr. Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service. "

"When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, sir?" inquiredRanulph. 

"Poor Sir Piers, " answered Titus, again bowing, "departed this life onThursday last. "

"The hour?--the precise minute?" asked Ranulph, eagerly. 

"Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might be a fewminutes before midnight. "

"The very hour!" exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the window. Hissteps were arrested as his eye fell upon the attire of his father, which, as we have before noticed, hung at that end of the room. A slightshudder passed over his frame. There was a momentary pause, during whichRanulph continued gazing intently at the apparel. "The very dress, too!"muttered he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching hismovements with surprise; "Doctor, " said he, addressing Small, "I havesomething for your private ear. Gentlemen, will you spare us the roomfor a few minutes?"

"On my conscience, " said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as they quitted thesanctum, "a mighty fine boy is this young Sir Ranulph!--and a chip ofthe ould block!--he'll be as good a fellow as his father. "

"No doubt, " replied Palmer, shutting the door. "But what the devilbrought him back, just in the nick of it?"

_CHAPTER X_

_RANULPH ROOKWOOD_

 _Fer. _ Yes, Francisco, He hath left his curse upon me. 

 _Fran. _ How?

 _Fer. _ His curse I dost comprehend what that word carries? Shot from a father's angry breath? Unless I tear poor Felisarda from my heart, He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses. 

 SHIRLEY: _The Brothers_. 

"There is nothing, I trust, my dear young friend, and quondam pupil, "said Dr. Small, as the door was closed, "that weighs upon your mind, beyond the sorrow naturally incident to an affliction, severe as thepresent. Forgive my apprehensions if I am wrong. You know theaffectionate interest I have ever felt for you--an interest which, Iassure you, is nowise diminished, and which will excuse my urging you tounburden your mind to me; assuring yourself, that whatever may be yourdisclosure, you will have my sincere sympathy and commiseration. I maybe better able to advise with you, should counsel be necessary, thanothers, from my knowledge of your character and temperament. I would notanticipate evil, and am, perhaps, unnecessarily apprehensive. But I own, I am startled at the incoherence of your expressions, coupled with yoursudden and almost mysterious appearance at this distressing conjuncture. Answer me: has your return been the result of mere accident? is it to beconsidered one of those singular circumstances which almost look likefate, and baffle our comprehension? or were you nearer home than weexpected, and received the news of your father's demise through somechannel unknown to us? Satisfy my curiosity, I beg of you, upon thispoint. "

"Your curiosity, my dear sir, " replied Ranulph, gravely and sadly, "willnot be decreased, when I tell you, that my return has neither been thework of chance, --for I came, fully anticipating the dread event, which Ifind realized, --nor has it been occasioned by any intelligence derivedfrom yourself, or others. It was only, indeed, upon my arrival here thatI received full confirmation of my apprehensions. I had another, a moreterrible summons to return. "

"What summons? you perplex me!" exclaimed Small, gazing with somemisgiving into the face of his young friend. 

"I am myself perplexed--sorely perplexed, " returned Ranulph. "I havemuch to relate; but I pray you bear with me to the end. I have that onmy mind which, like guilt, must be revealed. "

"Speak, then, fearlessly to me, " said Small, affectionately pressingRanulph's hand, "and assure yourself, beforehand, of my sympathy. "

"It will be necessary, " said Ranulph, "to preface my narrative by someslight allusion to certain painful events--and yet I know not why Ishould call them painful, excepting in their consequences--whichinfluenced my conduct in my final interview between my father andmyself--an interview which occasioned my departure for theContinent--and which was of a character so dreadful, that I would noteven revert to it, were it not a necessary preliminary to thecircumstance I am about to detail. 

"When I left Oxford, I passed a few weeks alone, in London. A collegefriend, whom I accidentally met, introduced me, during a promenade inSt. James's Park, to some acquaintances of his own, who were taking anairing in the Mall at the same time--a family whose name was Mowbray, consisting of a widow lady, her son, and daughter. This introduction wasmade in compliance with my own request. I had been struck by thesingular beauty of the younger lady, whose countenance had a peculiarand inexpressible charm to me, from its marked resemblance to theportrait of the Lady Eleanor Rookwood, whose charms and unhappy fate Ihave so often dwelt upon and deplored. The picture is there, " continuedRanulph, pointing to it: "look at it, and you have the fair creature Ispeak of before you; the color of the hair--the tenderness of the eyes. No--the expression is not so sad, except when----but no matter! Irecognized her features at once. 

"It struck me, that upon the mention of my name, the party betrayed somesurprise, especially the elder lady. For my own part, I was so attractedby the beauty of the daughter, the effect of which upon me seemed ratherthe fulfilment of a predestined event, originating in the strangefascination which the family portrait had wrought in my heart, than theoperation of what is called 'love at first sight, ' that I was insensibleto the agitation of the mother. In vain I endeavored to rally myself; myefforts at conversation were fruitless; I could not talk--all I could dowas silently to yield to the soft witchery of those tender eyes; myadmiration increasing each instant that I gazed upon them. 

"I accompanied them home. Attracted as by some irresistible spell, Icould not tear myself away; so that, although I fancied I could perceivesymptoms of displeasure in the looks of both the mother and the son, yet, regardless of consequences, I ventured, uninvited, to enter thehouse. In order to shake off the restraint which I felt my societyimposed, I found it absolutely necessary to divest myself ofbashfulness, and to exert such conversational powers as I possessed. Isucceeded so well that the discourse soon became lively and animated;and what chiefly delighted me was, that _she_, for whose sake I hadcommitted my present rudeness, became radiant with smiles. I had beenall eagerness to seek for some explanation of the resemblance to which Ihave just alluded, and the fitting moment had, I conceived, arrived. Icalled attention to a peculiar expression in the features of MissMowbray, and then instanced the likeness that subsisted between her andmy ancestress. 'It is the more singular, ' I said, turning to her mother, 'because there could have been no affinity, that I am aware of, betweenthem, and yet the likeness is really surprising. '--'It is not sosingular as you imagine, ' answered Mrs. Mowbray; 'there _is_ a closeaffinity. That Lady Rookwood was my mother. Eleanor Mowbray _does_resemble her ill-fated ancestress. '

"Words cannot paint my astonishment. I gazed at Mrs. Mowbray, considering whether I had not misconstrued her speech--whether I had notso shaped the sounds as to suit my own quick and passionate conceptions. But no! I read in her calm, collected countenance--in the downcastglance, and sudden sadness of Eleanor, as well as in the changed andhaughty demeanor of the brother, that I had heard her rightly. EleanorMowbray was my cousin--the descendant of that hapless creature whoseimage I had almost worshipped. 

"Recovering from my surprise, I addressed Mrs. Mowbray, endeavoring toexcuse my ignorance of our relationship, on the plea that I had not beengiven to understand that such had been the name of the gentleman she hadespoused. 'Nor was it, ' answered she, 'the name he bore at Rookwood;circumstances forbade it then. From the hour I quitted that house untilthis moment, excepting one interview with my--with Sir ReginaldRookwood--I have seen none of my family--have held no communication withthem. My brothers have been strangers to me; the very name of Rookwoodhas been unheard, unknown; nor would you have been admitted here, hadnot accident occasioned it. ' I ventured now to interrupt her, and toexpress a hope that she would suffer an acquaintance to be kept up, which had so fortunately commenced, and which might most probably bringabout an entire reconciliation between the families. I was so earnest inmy expostulations, my whole soul being in them, that she inclined amore friendly ear to me. Eleanor, too, smiled encouragement. Love lentme eloquence; and at length, as a token of my success, and her ownrelenting, Mrs. Mowbray held forth her hand: I clasped it eagerly. Itwas the happiest moment of my life. 

"I will not trouble you with any lengthened description of EleanorMowbray. I hope, at some period or other, you may still be enabled tosee her, and judge for yourself; for though adverse circumstances havehitherto conspired to separate us, the time for a renewal of ouracquaintance is approaching, I trust, for I am not yet altogetherwithout hope. But this much I may be allowed to say, that her rareendowments of person were only equalled by the graces of her mind. 

"Educated abroad, she had all the vivacity of our livelier neighbors, combined with every solid qualification which we claim as moreessentially our own. Her light and frolic manner was French, certainly;but her gentle, sincere heart was as surely English. The foreign accentthat dwelt upon her tongue communicated an inexpressible charm, even tothe language which she spoke. 

"I will not dwell too long upon this theme. I feel ashamed of my ownprolixity. And yet I am sure you will pardon it. Ah, those bright briefdays! too quickly were they fled! I could expatiate upon eachminute--recall each word--revive each look. It may not be. I must hastenon. Darker themes await me. 

"My love made rapid progress--I became each hour more enamored of mynew-found cousin. My whole time was passed near her; indeed, I couldscarcely exist in absence from her side. Short, however, was destined tobe my indulgence in this blissful state. One happy week was its extent. I received a peremptory summons from my father to return home. 

"Immediately upon commencing this acquaintance, I had written to myfather, explaining every particular attending it. This I should havedone of my own free will, but I was urged to it by Mrs. Mowbray. Unaccustomed to disguise, I had expatiated upon the beauty of Eleanor, and in such terms, I fear, that I excited some uneasiness in his breast. His letter was laconic. He made no allusion to the subject upon which Ihad expatiated when writing to him. He commanded me to return. 

"The bitter hour was at hand. I could not hesitate to comply. Without myfather's sanction, I was assured Mrs. Mowbray would not permit anycontinuance of my acquaintance. Of Eleanor's inclinations I fancied Ihad some assurance; but without her mother's consent, to whose will shewas devoted, I felt, had I even been inclined to urge it, that my suitwas hopeless. The letter which I had received from my father made memore than doubt whether I should not find him utterly adverse to mywishes. Agonized, therefore, with a thousand apprehensions, I presentedmyself on the morning of my departure. It was then I made thedeclaration of my passion to Eleanor; it was then that every hope wasconfirmed, every apprehension realized. I received from her lips aconfirmation of my fondest wishes; yet were those hopes blighted in thebud, when I heard, at the same time, that their consummation wasdependent on the will of two others, whose assenting voices, she feared, could never be obtained. From Mrs. Mowbray I received a more decidedreply. All her haughtiness was aroused. Her farewell words assured me, that it was indifferent to her whether we met again as relatives or asstrangers. Then was it that the native tenderness of Eleanor displayeditself, in an outbreak of feeling peculiar to a heart keenly sympatheticas hers. She saw my suffering--the reserve natural to her sex gaveway--she flung herself into my arms--and so we parted. 

"With a heavy foreboding I returned to Rookwood, and, oppressed with thegloomiest anticipations, endeavored to prepare myself for the worst. Iarrived. My reception was such as I had calculated upon; and, toincrease my distress, my parents had been at variance. I will not painyou and myself with any recital of their disagreement. My mother hadespoused my cause, chiefly, I fear, with the view of thwarting my poorfather's inclinations. He was in a terrible mood, exasperated by thefiery stimulants he had swallowed, which had not indeed, drowned hisreason, but roused and inflamed every dormant emotion to violence. Hewas as one insane. It was evening when I arrived. I would willingly havepostponed the interview till the morrow. It could not be. He insistedupon seeing me. 

"My mother was present. You know the restraint she usually had over myfather, and how she maintained it. On this occasion she had none. Hequestioned me as to every particular; probed my secret soul; draggedforth every latent feeling, and then thundered out his own determinationthat Eleanor never should be bride of mine; nor would he receive, underhis roof, her mother, the discountenanced daughter of his father. Iendeavored to remonstrate with him. He was deaf to my entreaties. Mymother added sharp and stinging words to my expostulations. 'I had herconsent, ' she said; 'what more was needed? The lands were entailed. Ishould at no distant period be their master, and might then pleasemyself. ' This I mention in order to give you my father's strange answer. 

"'Have a care, madam, ' replied he, 'and bridle your tongue; they _are_entailed, 'tis true, but I need not ask _his_ consent to cut off thatentail. Let him dare to disobey me in this particular, and I will sodivert the channel of my wealth, that no drop shall reach him. Iwill--but why threaten?--let him do it, and approve the consequences. '

"On the morrow I renewed my importunities, with no better success. Wewere alone. 

"'Ranulph, ' said he, 'you waste time in seeking to change my resolution. It is unalterable. I have many motives which influence me; they areinexplicable, but imperative. Eleanor Mowbray never can be yours. Forgether as speedily as may be, and I pledge myself, upon whomsoever elseyour choice may fix, I will offer no obstacle. '

"'But why, ' exclaimed I, with vehemence, 'do you object to one whom youhave never beheld? At least, consent to see her. '

"'Never!' he replied, 'The tie is sundered, and cannot be reunited; myfather bound me by an oath never to meet in friendship with my sister; Iwill not break my vow, I will not violate its conditions, even in thesecond degree. We never can meet again. An idle prophecy which I haveheard has said "_that when a Rookwood shall marry a Rookwood the end ofthe house draweth nigh_. " That I regard not. It may have no meaning, orit may have much. To me it imports nothing further, than that, if youwed Eleanor, every acre I possess shall depart from you. And assureyourself this is no idle threat. I can, and will do it. My curse shallbe your sole inheritance. '

"I could not avoid making some reply, representing to him howunjustifiable such a procedure was to me, in a case where the happinessof my life was at stake; and how inconsistent it was with the charitableprecepts of our faith, to allow feelings of resentment to influence hisconduct. My remonstrances, as in the preceding meeting, wereineffectual. The more I spoke, the more intemperate he grew. I thereforedesisted, but not before he had ordered me to quit the house. I did notleave the neighborhood, but saw him again on the same evening. 

"Our last interview took place in the garden. I then told him that I haddetermined to go abroad for two years, at the expiration of which periodI proposed returning to England; trusting that his resolution might thenbe changed, and that he would listen to my request, for the fulfilmentof which I could never cease to hope. Time, I hoped, might befriend me. He approved of my plan of travelling, requesting me not to see Eleanorbefore I set out; adding, in a melancholy tone--'We may never meetagain, Ranulph, in this life; in that case, farewell forever. Indulge novain hopes. Eleanor never can be yours, but upon one condition, and tothat you would never consent!'--'Propose it!' I cried; 'there is nocondition I could not accede to. '--'Rash boy!' he replied, 'you know notwhat you say; that pledge you would never fulfil, were I to propose itto you; but no--should I survive till you return, you shall learn itthen--and now, farewell. '--'Speak now, I beseech you!' I exclaimed;'anything, everything--what you will!'--'Say no more, ' replied he, walking towards the house; 'when you return we will renew this subject;farewell--perhaps forever!' His words were prophetic--that parting _was_forever. I remained in the garden till nightfall. I saw my mother, but_he_ came not again. I quitted England without beholding Eleanor. "

"Did you not acquaint her by letter with what had occurred, and yourconsequent intentions?" asked Small. 

"I did, " replied Ranulph; "but I received no reply. My earliestinquiries will be directed to ascertain whether the family are still inLondon. It will be a question for our consideration, whether I am notjustified in departing from my father's expressed wishes, or whether Ishould violate his commands in so doing. "

"We will discuss that point hereafter, " replied Small; adding, as henoticed the growing paleness of his companion, "you are too muchexhausted to proceed--you had better defer the remainder of your storyto a future period. "

"No, " replied Ranulph, swallowing a glass of water; "I am exhausted, yetI cannot rest--my blood is in a fever, which nothing will allay. I shallfeel more easy when I have made the present communication. I amapproaching the sequel of my narrative. You are now in possession of thestory of my love--of the motive of my departure. You shall learn whatwas the occasion of my return. 

"I had wandered from city to city during my term of exile--consumed byhopeless passion--with little that could amuse _me_, though surroundedby a thousand objects of interest to others, and only rendering lifeendurable by severest study or most active exertion. My steps conductedme to Bordeaux;--there I made a long halt, enchanted by the beauty ofthe neighboring scenery. My fancy was smitten by the situation of avilla on the banks of the Garonne, within a few leagues of the city. Itwas an old château, with fine gardens bordering the blue waters of theriver, and commanding a multitude of enchanting prospects. The house, which had in part gone to decay, was inhabited by an aged couple, whohad formerly been servants to an English family, the members of whichhad thus provided for them on their return to their own country. Iinquired the name. Conceive my astonishment to find that this châteauhad been the residence of the Mowbrays. This intelligence decided me atonce--I took up my abode in the house; and a new and unexpected sourceof solace and delight was opened to me, I traced the paths she hadtraced; occupied the room she had occupied; tended the flowers she hadtended; and, on the golden summer evenings, would watch the rapidwaters, tinged with all the glorious hues of sunset, sweeping past myfeet, and think how _she_ had watched them. Her presence seemed topervade the place. I was now comparatively happy, and, anxious to remainunmolested, wrote home that I was leaving Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, onmy way to Spain. "

"That account arrived, " observed Small. 

"One night, " continued Ranulph--"'tis now the sixth since the occurrenceI am about to relate--I was seated in a bower that overlooked the river. It had been a lovely evening--so lovely, that I lingered there, wrappedin the heavenly contemplation of its beauties. I watched each rosy tintreflected upon the surface of the rapid stream--now fading intoyellow--now shining silvery white. I noticed the mystic mingling oftwilight with darkness--of night with day, till the bright current on asudden became a black mass of waters. I could scarcely discern aleaf--all was darkness--when lo! another change! The moon was up--aflood of light deluged all around--the stream was dancing again inreflected radiance, and I still lingering at its brink. 

"I had been musing for some moments, with my head resting upon my hand, when, happening to raise my eyes, I beheld a figure immediately beforeme. I was astonished at the sight, for I had perceived no oneapproach--had heard no footstep advance towards me, and was satisfiedthat no one besides myself could be in the garden. The presence of thefigure inspired me with an undefinable awe! and, I can scarce tell why, but a thrilling presentiment convinced me that it was a supernaturalvisitant. Without motion--without life--without substance, it seemed;yet still the outward character of life was there. I started to my feet. God! what did I behold? The face was turned to me--my father's face! Andwhat an aspect, what a look! Time can never efface that terribleexpression; it is graven upon my memory--I cannot describe it. It wasnot anger--it was not pain: it was as if an eternity of woe were stampedupon its features. It was too dreadful to behold, I would fain haveaverted my gaze--my eyes were fascinated--fixed--I could not withdrawthem from the ghastly countenance. I shrank from it, yet stirred not--Icould not move a limb. Noiselessly gliding towards me, the apparitionapproached. I could not retreat. It stood obstinately beside me. Ibecame as one half-dead. The phantom shook its head with the deepestdespair; and as the word 'Return!' sounded hollowly in my ears, itgradually melted from my view. I cannot tell how I recovered from theswoon into which I fell, but daybreak saw me on my way to England. I amhere. On that night--at that same hour, my father died. "

"It was, after all, then, a supernatural summons that you received?"said Small. 

"Undoubtedly, " replied Ranulph. 

"Humph!--the coincidence, I own, is sufficiently curious, " returnedSmall, musingly; "but it would not be difficult, I think, to discover asatisfactory explanation of the delusion. "

"There was no delusion, " replied Ranulph, coldly; "the figure was aspalpable as your own. Can I doubt, when I behold this result? Could anydeceit have been practised upon me, at that distance?--the precise time, moreover, agreeing. Did not the phantom bid me return?--I _have_returned--he is dead. I have gazed upon a being of another world. Todoubt were impious, after that look. "

"Whatever my opinions may be, my dear young friend, " returned Small, gravely, "I will suspend them for the present. You are still greatlyexcited. Let me advise you to seek some repose. "

"I am easier, " replied Ranulph; "but you are right, I will endeavor tosnatch a little rest. Something within tells me all is not yetaccomplished. What remains?--I shudder to think of it. I will rejoin youat midnight. I shall myself attend the solemnity. Adieu!"

Ranulph quitted the room. Small sighingly shook his head, and havinglighted his pipe, was presently buried in a profundity of smoke andmetaphysical speculation. 

_CHAPTER XI_

_LADY ROOKWOOD_

 _Fran. De Med. _ Your unhappy husband Is dead. 

 _Vit. Cor. _ Oh, he's a happy husband! Now he owes nature nothing. 

 _Mon. _ And look upon this creature as his wife. She comes not like a widow--she comes armed With scorn and impudence. Is this a mourning habit?

 _The White Devil. _

The progress of our narrative demands our presence in another apartmentof the hall--a large, lonesome chamber, situate in the eastern wing ofthe house, already described as the most ancient part of thebuilding--the sombre appearance of which was greatly increased by thedingy, discolored tapestry that clothed its walls; the record of thepatience and industry of a certain Dame Dorothy Rookwood, who flourishedsome centuries ago, and whose skilful needle had illustrated theslaughter of the Innocents, with a severity of _gusto_, and sanguinaryminuteness of detail, truly surprising in a lady so amiable as she wasrepresented to have been. Grim-visaged Herod glared from the ghostlywoof, with his shadowy legions, executing their murderous purposes, grouped like a troop of Sabbath-dancing witches around him. Mysterioustwilight, admitted through the deep, dark, mullioned windows, revealedthe antique furniture of the room, which still boasted a sort ofmildewed splendor, more imposing, perhaps, than its original gaudymagnificence; and showed the lofty hangings, and tall, hearse-likecanopy of a bedstead, once a couch of state, but now destined for therepose of Lady Rookwood. The stiff crimson hangings were embroidered ingold, with the arms and cipher of Elizabeth, from whom the apartment, having once been occupied by that sovereign, obtained the name of the"Queen's Room. "

The sole tenant of this chamber was a female, in whose countenance, iftime and strong emotion had written strange defeatures, they had notobliterated its striking beauty and classical grandeur of expression. Itwas a face majestical and severe. Pride was stamped in all its lines;and though each passion was, by turns, developed, it was evident thatall were subordinate to the sin by which the angels fell. The contour ofher face was formed in the purest Grecian mould, and might have been amodel for Medea; so well did the gloomy grandeur of the brow, the severechiselling of the lip, the rounded beauty of the throat, and thefaultless symmetry of her full form, accord with the beau ideal ofantique perfection. Shaded by smooth folds of raven hair, which stillmaintained its jetty dye, her lofty forehead would have been displayedto the greatest advantage, had it not been at this moment knit anddeformed by excess of passion, if that passion can be said to deformwhich only calls forth strong and vehement expression. Her figure, whichwanted only height to give it dignity, was arrayed in the garb ofwidowhood; and if she exhibited none of the desolation of heart whichsuch a bereavement might have been expected to awaken, she was evidentlya prey to feelings scarcely less harrowing. At the particular time ofwhich we speak, Lady Rookwood, for she it was, was occupied in theinvestigation of the contents of an escritoire. Examining the paperswhich it contained with great deliberation, she threw each aside, assoon as she had satisfied herself of its purport, until she arrived at alittle package, carefully tied up with black ribbon, and sealed. This, Lady Rookwood hastily broke open, and drew forth a small miniature. Itwas that of a female, young and beautiful, rudely, yet faithfully, executed--faithfully, we say, for there was an air of sweetness andsimplicity--and, in short, a look of reality and nature about thepicture (it is seldom, indeed, that we mistake a likeness, even if weare unacquainted with the original) that attested the artist's fidelity. The face was as radiant with smiles as a bright day with sunbeams. Theportrait was set in gold, and behind it was looped a lock of the darkestand finest hair. Underneath the miniature was written, in Sir Piers'shand, the words "_Lady Rookwood_. " A slip of folded paper was alsoattached to it. 

Lady Rookwood scornfully scrutinized the features for a few moments, andthen unfolded the paper, at the sight of which she started, and turnedpale. "Thank God!" she cried, "this is in my possession--while I holdthis, we are safe. Were it not better to destroy this evidence at once?No, no, not _now_--it shall not part from me. I will abide Ranulph'sreturn. This document will give me a power over him such as I couldnever otherwise obtain. " Placing the marriage certificate, for such itwas, within her breast, and laying the miniature upon the table, shenext proceeded, deliberately, to arrange the disordered contents of thebox. 

All outward traces of emotion had, ere this, become so subdued in LadyRookwood, that although she had, only a few moments previously, exhibited the extremity of passionate indignation, she now, apparentlywithout effort, resumed entire composure, and might have been supposedto be engaged in a matter of little interest to herself. It was a dreadcalm, which they who knew her would have trembled to behold. "From theseletters I gather, " exclaimed she, "that their wretched offspring knowsnot of his fortune. So far, well. There is no channel whence he canderive information, and my first care shall be to prevent his obtainingany clue to the secret of his birth. I am directed to provide forhim--ha! ha! I will provide--a grave! There will I bury him and hissecret. My son's security and my own wrong demand it. I must choosesurer hands--the work must not be half-done, as heretofore. And now, Ibethink me, he is in the neighborhood, connected with a gang ofpoachers--'tis as I could wish it. "

At this moment a knock at the chamber-door broke upon her meditations. "Agnes, is it you?" demanded Lady Rookwood. 

Thus summoned, the old attendant entered the room. 

"Why are my orders disobeyed?" asked the lady, in a severe tone ofvoice. "Did I not say, when you delivered me this package from Mr. Coates, which he himself wished to present, that I would not bedisturbed?"

"You did, my lady, but----"

"Speak out, " said Lady Rookwood, somewhat more mildly, perceiving, fromAgnes's manner, that she had something of importance to communicate. "What is it brings you hither?"

"I am sorry, " returned Agnes, "to disturb your ladyship, but--but----"

"But what?" interrupted Lady Rookwood, impatiently. 

"I could not help it, my lady--he would have me come; he said he wasresolved to see your ladyship, whether you would or not. "

"Would see me, ha! is it so? I guess his errand, and its object--he hassome suspicion. No, that cannot be; he would not dare to tamper withthese seals. Agnes, I will _not_ see him. "

"But he swears, my lady, that he will not leave the house without seeingyou--he would have forced his way into your presence, if I had notconsented to announce him. "

"Insolent!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, with a glance of indignation;"force his way! I promise you he shall not display an equal anxiety torepeat the visit. Tell Mr. Coates I will see him. "

"Mr. Coates! Mercy on us, my lady, it's not he. He'd never have intrudedupon you unasked. No such thing. He knows his place too well. No, no;it's not Mr. Coates----"

"If not he, who is it?"

"Luke Bradley; your ladyship knows whom I mean. "

"He here--now?----"

"Yes, my lady; and looking so fierce and strange, I was quite frightenedto see him. He looked so like his--his----"

"His father, you would say. Speak out. "

"No, my lady, his grandfather--old Sir Reginald. He's the very image ofhim. But had not your ladyship better ring the alarm-bell? and when hecomes in, I'll run and fetch the servants--he's dangerous, I'm sure. "

"I have no fears of him. He _will_ see me, you say----"

"Ay, _will_!" exclaimed Luke, as he threw open the door, and shut itforcibly after him, striding towards Lady Rookwood, "nor abide longerdelay. "

It was an instant or two ere Lady Rookwood, thus taken by surprise, could command speech. She fixed her eyes with a look of keen and angryinquiry upon the bold intruder, who, nothing daunted, confronted herglances with a gaze as stern and steadfast as her own. 

"Who are you, and what seek you?" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, after a briefpause, and, in spite of herself, her voice sounded tremulously. "Whatwould you have, that you venture to appear before me at this season andin this fashion?"

"I might have chosen a fitter opportunity, " returned Luke, "were itneeded. My business will not brook delay--you must be pleased tooverlook this intrusion on your privacy, at a season of sorrow like thepresent. As to the fashion of my visit, you must be content to excuseit. I cannot help myself. I may amend hereafter. Who I am, you are able, I doubt not, to divine. What I seek, you shall hear, when this old womanhas left the room, unless you would have a witness to a declaration thatconcerns you as nearly as myself. "

An indefinite feeling of apprehension had, from the first instant ofLuke's entrance crossed Lady Rookwood's mind. She, however, answered, with some calmness:

"What you can have to say is of small moment to me--nor does it signifywho may hear it. It shall not, however, be said that Lady Rookwoodfeared to be alone, even though she endangered her life. "

"I am no assassin, " replied Luke, "nor have sought the destruction of mydeadliest foe--though 'twere but retributive justice to have done so. "

Lady Rookwood started. 

"Nay, you need not fear me, " replied Luke; "my revenge will be otherwiseaccomplished. "

"Go, " said Lady Rookwood to Agnes; "yet--stay without, in theantechamber. "

"My lady, " said Agnes, scarcely able to articulate, "shall I----"

"Hear me, Lady Rookwood, " interrupted Luke. "I repeat, I intend you noinjury. My object here is solely to obtain a private conference. You canhave no reason for denying me this request. I will not abuse yourpatience. Mine is no idle mission. Say you refuse me, and I will at oncedepart. I will find other means of communicating with you--less direct, and therefore less desirable. Make your election. But we _must_ bealone--undisturbed. Summon your household--let them lay hands upon me, and I will proclaim aloud what you would gladly hide, even fromyourself. "

"Leave us, Agnes, " said Lady Rookwood. "I have no fear of this man. Ican deal with him myself, should I see occasion. "

"Agnes, " said Luke, in a stern, deep whisper, arresting the ancienthandmaiden as she passed him, "stir not from the door till I come forth. Have you forgotten your former mistress!--my mother? Have you forgottenBarbara Lovel, and _that night_?"

"In Heaven's name, hush!" replied Agnes, with a shudder. 

"Let that be fresh in your memory. Move not a footstep, whatever you mayhear, " added he, in the same tone as before. 

"I will not--I will not. " And Agnes departed. 

Luke felt some wavering in his resolution when he found himself alonewith the lady, whose calm, collected, yet haughty demeanor, as sheresumed her seat, prepared for his communication, could not fail toinspire him with a certain degree of awe. Not unconscious of heradvantage, nor slow to profit by it, Lady Rookwood remained perfectlysilent, with her eyes steadily fixed upon his face, while hisembarrassment momentarily increased. Summoning, at length, couragesufficient to address her, and ashamed of his want of nerve, he thusbroke forth:

"When I entered this room, you asked my name and object. As to thefirst, I answer to the same designation as your ladyship. I have longborne my mother's name. I now claim my father's. My object is, therestitution of my rights. "

"Soh!--it is as I suspected, " thought Lady Rookwood, involuntarilycasting her large eyes down. "Do I hear you rightly?" exclaimed she, aloud; "your name is----"

"Sir Luke Rookwood. As my father's elder born; by right of _his_ rightto that title. "

If a glance could have slain him, Luke had fallen lifeless at the lady'sfeet. With a smile of ineffable disdain, she replied, "I know not why Ihesitate to resent this indignity, even for an instant. But I would seehow far your audacity will carry you. The name you bear is Bradley?"

"In ignorance I have done so, " replied Luke. "I am the son of her whosemaiden name was Bradley. She was----"

"'Tis false--I will not hear it--she was _not_, " cried Lady Rookwood, her vehemence getting the master of her prudence. 

"Your ladyship anticipates my meaning, " returned Luke. "Susan Bradleywas the first wife of Sir Piers Rookwood. "

"His minion--his mistress if you will; nought else. Is it new to you, that a village wench, who lends herself to shame, should be beguiled bysuch shallow pretences? That she was so duped, I doubt not. But it istoo late now to complain, and I would counsel you not to repeat youridle boast. It will serve no other purpose, trust me, than to blazonforth your own--your mother's dishonor. "

"Lady Rookwood, " sternly answered Luke, "my mother's fame is as freefrom dishonor as your own. I repeat, she was the first wife of SirPiers; and that I, her child, am first in the inheritance; nay, soleheir to the estates and title of Rookwood, to the exclusion of your son. Ponder upon that intelligence. Men say they fear you, as a thing of ill. _I_ fear you not. There _have_ been days when the Rookwoods held theirdames in subjection. Discern you nought of that in me?"

Once or twice during this speech Lady Rookwood's glances had wanderedtowards the bell-cord, as if about to summon aid; but the intention wasabandoned almost as soon as formed, probably from apprehension of theconsequences of any such attempt. She was not without alarm as to theresult of the interview, and was considering how she could bring it to atermination without endangering herself, and, if possible, secure theperson of Luke, when the latter, turning sharply round upon her, anddrawing a pistol, exclaimed, --

"Follow me!"

"Whither?" asked she, in alarm. 

"To the chamber of death!"

"Why there? what would you do? Villain! I will not trust my life withyou. I will _not_ follow you. "

"Hesitate not, as you value your life. Do aught to alarm the house, andI fire. Your safety depends upon yourself. I would see my father's bodyere it be laid in the grave. I will not leave you here. "

"Go, " said Lady Rookwood; "if that be all, I pledge myself you shall notbe interrupted. "

"I will not take your pledge; your presence shall be my surety. By mymother's unavenged memory, if you play me false, though all yoursatellites stand around you, you die upon the spot! Obey me, and you aresafe. Our way leads to the room by the private staircase--we shall passunobserved--you see I know the road. The room, by your own command, isvacant--save of the dead. We shall, therefore, be alone. This done, Idepart. You will then be free to act. Disobey me, and your blood be uponyour own head. "

"Lead on!" said Lady Rookwood, pressing towards the antechamber. 

"The door I mean is there, " pointing to another part of the room--"thatpanel, --"

"Ha! how know you that?"

"No matter; follow. "

Luke touched a spring, and the panel flying open, disclosed a dimrecess, into which he entered; and, seizing Lady Rookwood's hand, dragged her after him. 

_CHAPTER XII_

_THE CHAMBER OF DEATH_

 It is the body--I have orders given That here it should be laid. 

 _De Montfort. _

The recess upon which the panel opened had been a small oratory, and, though entirely disused, still retained its cushions and its crucifix. There were two other entrances to this place of prayer, the onecommunicating with a further bedchamber, the other leading to thegallery. Through the latter, after closing the aperture, withoutrelinquishing his grasp, Luke passed. 

It was growing rapidly dark, and at the brightest seasons this gloomycorridor was but imperfectly lighted from narrow, painted, andwire-protected windows that looked into the old quadrangular courtyardbelow; and as they issued from the oratory a dazzling flash oflightning--a storm having suddenly arisen--momentarily illumined thewhole length of the passage, disclosing the retreating figure of a man, wrapped in a large sable cloak, at the other extremity of the gallery. Lady Rookwood uttered an outcry for assistance; but the man, whoever hemight be, disappeared in the instantaneously succeeding gloom, leavingher in doubt whether or not her situation had been perceived. Luke hadseen this dark figure at the same instant; and, not withoutapprehensions lest his plans should be defeated, he griped LadyRookwood's arm still more strictly, and placing the muzzle of the pistolto her breast, hurried her rapidly forwards. 

All was now in total obscurity; the countenance of neither could beperceived as they trod the dark passage; but Luke's unrelaxed graspindicated no change in his purposes, nor did the slow, dignified marchof the lady betray any apprehension on her part. Descending a spiralstaircase, which led from the gallery to a lower story, their way nowlay beneath the entrance-hall, a means of communication little used. Their tread sounded hollowly on the flagged floor; no other sound washeard. Mounting a staircase, similar to the one they had just descended, they arrived at another passage. A few paces brought them to the door. Luke turned the handle, and they stood within the chamber of the dead. 

The room which contained the remains of poor Sir Piers was arrayed inall that mockery of state which, vainly attempting to deride death, isitself a bitter derision of the living. It was the one devoted to theprincipal meals of the day; a strange choice, but convenience haddictated its adoption by those with whom this part of the ceremonial hadoriginated, and long custom had rendered its usage, for this purpose, almost prescriptive. This room, which was of some size, had originallyformed part of the great hall, from which it was divided by a thickscreen of black, lustrously varnished oak, enriched with fancifulfigures carved in bold relief. The walls were panelled with the sameembrowned material, and sustained sundry portraits of the members of thefamily, in every possible costume, from the steely gear of Sir Ranulph, down to the flowing attire of Sir Reginald. Most of the race were rangedaround the room; and, seen in the yellow light shed upon their featuresby the flambeaux, they looked like an array of stern and silentwitnesses, gazing upon their departed descendant. The sides of thechamber were hung with black cloth, and upon a bier in the middle of theroom rested the body. Broad escutcheons, decked out in glowing colorspompously set forth the heraldic honors of the departed. Tall lightsburned at the head and feet, and fragrant perfumes diffused their odorsfrom silver censers. 

The entrance of Luke and his unwilling companion had been abrupt. Thetransition from darkness to the glare of light was almost blinding, andthey had advanced far into the room ere Lady Rookwood perceived a man, whom she took to be one of the mutes, leaning over the bier. Thecoffin-lid was entirely removed, and the person, whose back was towardsthem appeared to be wrapped in mournful contemplation of the sadspectacle before him. Suddenly bursting from Luke's hold, Lady Rookwoodrushed forward with a scream, and touched the man's shoulder. He startedat the summons, and disclosed the features of her son!

Rapidly as her own act, Luke followed. He levelled a pistol at her head, but his hand dropped to his side as he encountered the glance ofRanulph. All three seemed paralyzed by surprise. Ranulph, inastonishment, extended his arm to his mother, who, placing one arm overhis shoulder, pointed with the other to Luke; the latter stared sternlyand inquiringly at both--yet none spoke. 

_CHAPTER XIII_

_THE BROTHERS_

 We're sorry His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honor, And stained our honors; Thrown ink upon the forehead of our fame, Which envious spirits will dip their pens into After our death, and blot us in our tombs; For that which would seem treason in our lives, Is laughter when we're dead. Who dares now whisper, That dares not then speak out; and even proclaim, With loud words, and broad pens, our closest shame?

 _The Revenger's Tragedy. _

With that quickness of perception which at once supplies information onsuch an emergency, Luke instantly conjectured who was before him. Startled as he was, he yet retained his composure, abiding the resultwith his arms folded upon his breast. 

"Seize him!" cried Lady Rookwood, as soon as she could command herspeech. 

"He rushes on his death if he stirs, " exclaimed Luke, pointing hispistol. 

"Bethink you where you are, villain!" cried Ranulph; "you are entrappedin your own toils. Submit yourself to our mercy--resistance is vain, andwill not secure your safety, while it will aggravate your offence. Surrender yourself----"

"Never!" answered Luke. "Know you whom you ask to yield?"

"How should I?" answered Ranulph. 

"By that instinct which tells me who _you_ are. Ask Lady Rookwood--shecan inform you, if she will. "

"Parley not with him--seize him!" cried Lady Rookwood. "He is a robber, a murderer, who has assailed my life. "

"Beware!" said Luke to Ranulph, who was preparing to obey his mother'scommands; "I am no robber--no murderer. Do not you make me afratricide. "

"Fratricide!" echoed Ranulph. 

"Heed him not, " ejaculated Lady Rookwood. "It is false--he dares notharm thee, for his soul. I will call assistance. "

"Hold, mother!" exclaimed Ranulph, detaining Lady Rookwood; "this manmay be what he represents himself. Before we proceed to extremities, Iwould question him. I would not have mentioned it in your hearing couldit have been avoided, but my father had another son. "

Lady Rookwood frowned. She would have checked him, but Luke rejoined--

"You have spoken the truth; he had a son--I am he. I----"

"Be silent, I command you!" said Lady Rookwood. 

"Death!" cried Luke, in a loud voice. "Why should I be silent at yourbidding--at _yours_--who regard no laws, human or divine; who pursueyour own fell purposes, without fear of God or man? Waste not yourfrowns on me--I heed them not. Do you think I am like a tame hound, tobe cowed to silence? I _will_ speak. Ranulph Rookwood, the name you bearis mine, and by a right as good as is your own. From his loins, who liesa corpse before us, I sprang. No brand of shame is on my birth. I amyour father's son--his first-born--your _elder_ brother. Hear me!" criedhe, rushing to the bier. "By this body, I swear that I have avouched thetruth--and though to me the dead Sir Piers Rookwood hath never been whata father should be to a son--though I have never known his smile, felthis caresses, or received his blessing, yet now be all forgiven, allforgotten. " And he cast himself with frantic violence upon the coffin. 

It is difficult to describe the feelings with which Ranulph heard Luke'savowal. Amazement and dread predominated. Unable to stir, he stoodgazing on in silence. Not so Lady Rookwood. The moment for action wasarrived. Addressing her son in a low tone, she said, "Your prey iswithin your power. Secure him. "

"Wherefore?" rejoined Ranulph; "if he be my brother, shall I raise myhand against him?"

"Wherefore not?" returned Lady Rookwood. 

"'Twere an accursed deed, " replied Ranulph. "The mystery is resolved. 'Twas for this that I was summoned home. "

"Ha! what say you? summoned! by whom?"

"My father!"

"Your father?" echoed Lady Rookwood, in great surprise. 

"Ay, my dead father! He has appeared to me since his decease. "

"Ranulph, you rave--you are distracted with grief--with astonishment. "

"No, mother; but I will not struggle against my destiny. "

"Pshaw! your destiny is Rookwood, its manors, its lands, its rent-roll, and its title; nor shall you yield it to a base-born churl like this. Let him prove his rights. Let the law adjudge them to him, and we willyield--but not till then. I tell thee he has _not_ the right, nor can hemaintain it. He is a deluded dreamer, who, having heard some idle taleof his birth, believes it, because it chimes with his wishes. I treatedhim with the scorn he deserved. I would have driven him from mypresence, but he was armed, as you see, and forced me hither, perhaps tomurder me; a deed he might have accomplished had it not been for yourintervention. His life is already forfeit, for an attempt of the samesort last night. Why else came he hither? for what else did he drag meto this spot? Let him answer that!"

"I _will_ answer it, " replied Luke, raising himself from the bier. 

His face was ghastly as the corpse over which he leaned. "I had a deedto do, which I wished you to witness. It was a wild conception. But themeans by which I have acquired the information of my rights were wild. Ranulph, we are both the slaves of fate. You have received your summonshither--I have had mine. Your father's ghost called you; my mother'sspectral hand beckoned me. Both are arrived. One thing more remains, andmy mission is completed. " Saying which, he drew forth the skeleton hand;and having first taken the wedding-ring from the finger, he placed thewithered limb upon the left breast of his father's body. "Rest there, "he cried, "for ever. "

"Will you suffer that?" said Lady Rookwood, tauntingly, to her son. 

"No, " replied Ranulph; "such profanation of the dead shall not beendured, were he ten times my brother. Stand aside, " added he, advancingtowards the bier, and motioning Luke away. "Withdraw your hand from myfather's body, and remove what you have placed upon it. "

"I will neither remove it nor suffer it to be removed, " returned Luke. "'Twas for that purpose I came hither. 'Twas to that hand he was unitedin life, in death he shall not be divided from it. "

"Such irreverence shall not be!" exclaimed Ranulph, seizing Luke withone hand, and snatching at the cereclothes with the other. "Remove it, or by Heaven----"

"Leave go your hold, " said Luke, in a voice of thunder; "you strive invain. "

Ranulph ineffectually attempted to push him backwards; and, shaking awaythe grasp that was fixed upon his collar, seized his brother's wrist, soas to prevent the accomplishment of his purpose. In this unnatural andindecorous strife the corpse of their father was reft of its coveringand the hand discovered lying upon the pallid breast. 

And as if the wanton impiety of their conduct called forth an immediaterebuke, even from the dead, a frown seemed to pass over Sir Piers'sfeatures, as their angry glances fell in that direction. This startlingeffect was occasioned by the approach of Lady Rookwood, whose shadow, falling over the brow and visage of the deceased, produced theappearance we have described. Simultaneously quitting each other, with adeep sense of shame, mingled with remorse, both remained, their eyesfixed upon the dead, whose repose they had violated. 

Folding the graveclothes decently over the body, Luke prepared todepart. 

"Hold!" cried Lady Rookwood; "you go not hence. "

"My brother Ranulph will not oppose my departure, " returned Luke; "whoelse shall prevent it?"

"That will I!" cried a sharp voice behind him; and, ere he could turn toascertain from whom the exclamation proceeded, Luke felt himselfgrappled by two nervous assailants, who, snatching the pistol from hishold, fast pinioned his arms. 

This was scarcely the work of a moment, and he was a prisoner before hecould offer any resistance. A strong smile of exultation evinced LadyRookwood's satisfaction. 

"Bravo, my lads, bravo!" cried Coates, stepping forward, for he it wasunder whose skilful superintendence the seizure had been effected:"famously managed; my father the thief-taker's runners couldn't havedone it better--hand me that pistol--loaded, I see--slugs, no doubt--oh, he's a precious rascal--search him--turn his pockets inside out, while Ispeak to her ladyship. " Saying which, the brisk attorney, enchanted withthe feat he had performed, approached Lady Rookwood with a profound bow, and an amazing smirk of self-satisfaction. "Just in time to preventmischief, " said he; "hope your ladyship does not suffer anyinconvenience from the alarm--beg pardon, annoyance I meant tosay--which this horrible outrage must have occasioned; excessivelydisagreeable this sort of thing to a lady at any time, but at a periodlike this more than usually provoking. However, we have the villain safeenough. Very lucky I happened to be in the way. Perhaps your ladyshipwould like to know how I discovered----"

"Not now, " replied Lady Rookwood, checking the volubility of the man oflaw. "I thank you, Mr. Coates, for the service you have rendered me; youwill now add materially to the obligation by removing the prisoner withall convenient despatch. "

"Certainly, if your ladyship wishes it. Shall I detain him a closeprisoner in the hall for the night, or remove him at once to the lock-uphouse in the village?"

"Where you please, so you do it quickly, " replied Lady Rookwood, noticing, with great uneasiness, the agitated manner of her son, andapprehensive lest, in the presence of so many witnesses, he might say ordo something prejudicial to their interests. Nor were her fearsgroundless. As Coates was about to return to the prisoner, he wasarrested by the voice of Ranulph, commanding him to stay. 

"Mr. Coates, " said he, "however appearances may be against this man, heis no robber--you must, therefore, release him. "

"Eh day, what's that? release him, Sir Ranulph?"

"Yes, sir; I tell you he came here neither with the intent to rob nor tooffer violence. "

"That is false, Ranulph, " replied Lady Rookwood. "I was dragged hitherby him at the peril of my life. He is Mr. Coates's prisoner on anothercharge. "

"Unquestionably, your ladyship is perfectly right; I have a warrantagainst him for assaulting Hugh Badger, the keeper, and for othermisdemeanors. "

"I will myself be responsible for his appearance to that charge, "replied Ranulph. "Now, sir, at once release him. "

"At your peril!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood. 

"Well, really, " muttered the astonished attorney, "this is the mostperplexing proceeding I ever witnessed. "

"Ranulph, " said Lady Rookwood, sternly, to her son, "beware how youthwart me!"

"Yes, Sir Ranulph, let me venture to advise you, as a friend, not tothwart her ladyship, " whispered the attorney; "indeed, she is in theright. " But seeing his advice unheeded, Coates withdrew to a littledistance. 

"I will not see injustice done to my father's son, " replied Ranulph, ina low tone. "Why would you detain him?"

"Why?" returned she, "our safety demands it--our honor. "

"Our honor demands his instant liberation; each moment he remains inthose bonds sullies its purity. I will free him myself from hisfetters. "

"And brave my curse, foolish boy? You incurred your miserable father'sanathema for a lighter cause than this. Our honor cries aloud for hisdestruction. Have I not been injured in the nicest point a woman can beinjured? Shall I lend my name to mockery and scorn, by baseacknowledgment of such deceit, or will you? Where would be my honor, then, stripped of my fair estates--my son--myself--beggars--dependent onthe bounty of an upstart? Does honor ask you to bear this? It is aphantom sense of honor, unsubstantial as your father's shade, of whichyou just now spoke, that would prompt you to do otherwise. "

"Do not evoke his awful spirit, mother, " cried Ranulph, with a shudder;"do not arouse his wrath. "

"Do not arouse _my_ wrath, " returned Lady Rookwood. "I am the more to befeared. Think of Eleanor Mowbray; the bar between your nuptials isremoved. Would you raise up a greater impediment?"

"Enough, mother; more than enough. You have decided, though notconvinced me. Detain him within the house, if you will, until themorrow; in the meantime, I will consider over my line of conduct. "

"Is this, then, your resolve?"

"It is. Mr. Coates, " said Ranulph, calling the attorney, who had been aninquisitive spectator, though, luckily, not an auditor of thisinterview, "unbind the prisoner, and bring him hither. "

"Is it your ladyship's pleasure?" asked Mr. Coates, who regrettedexceedingly that he could not please both parties. 

Lady Rookwood signified her assent by a slight gesture in theaffirmative. 

"Your bidding shall be done, Sir Ranulph, " said Coates, bowing anddeparting. 

"_Sir_ Ranulph!" echoed Lady Rookwood, with strong emphasis; "marked youthat?"

"Body o' me, " muttered the attorney, "this is the most extraordinaryfamily, to be sure. Make way, gentlemen, if you please, " added he, pushing through the crowd, towards the prisoner. 

Having described what took place between Lady Rookwood and her son inone part of the room, we must now briefly narrate some incidentaloccurrences in the other. The alarm of a robber having been taken spreadwith great celerity through the house, and almost all its inmates rushedinto the room, including Dr. Small, Titus Tyrconnel, and Jack Palmer. 

"Odsbodikins! are you there, honey?" said Titus, who discovered hisally; "the bird's caught, you see. "

"Caught be d--d, " replied Jack, bluffly; "so I see; all his own fault;infernal folly to come here, at such a time as this. However, it can'tbe helped now; he must make the best of it. And as to that sneaking, gimlet-eyed, parchment-skinned quill-driver, if I don't serve him outfor his officiousness one of these days, my name's not Jack Palmer. "

"Och! cushlamacree! did I ever? why, what's the boy to you, Jack? Fairplay's a jewel, and surely Mr. Coates only did his duty. I'm sorry he'scaptured, for his relationship to Sir Piers, and because I think he'llbe tucked up for his pains; and, moreover, I could forgive the poaching;but as to the breaking into a house on such an occasion as this, och!It's a plaguy bad look. I'm afraid he's worse than I thought him. "

A group of the tenantry, many of whom were in a state of intoxication, had, in the meantime, formed themselves round the prisoner. Whatevermight be the nature of his thoughts, no apprehension was visible inLuke's countenance. He stood erect amidst the assemblage, his tall formtowering above them all, and his eyes fixed upon the movements of LadyRookwood and her son. He had perceived the anguish of the latter, andthe vehemence of the former, attributing both to their real causes. Thetaunts and jeers, threats and insolent inquiries, of the hinds whothronged around him, passed unheeded; yet one voice in his ear, sharp asthe sting of a serpent, made him start. It was that of the sexton. 

"You have done well, " said Peter, "have you not? Your fetters are, Ihope, to your liking. Well! a wilful man must have his own way, andperhaps the next time you will be content to follow my advice. You mustnow free yourself, the best way you can, from these Moabites, and Ipromise you it will be no easy matter. Ha, ha!"

Peter withdrew into the crowd; and Luke, vainly endeavoring to discoverhis retreating figure, caught the eye of Jack Palmer fixed upon himself, with a peculiar and very significant expression. 

At this moment Mr. Coates made his appearance. 

"Bring forward the prisoner, " said the man of law to his two assistants;and Luke was accordingly hurried along, Mr. Coates using his bestefforts to keep back the crowd. It was during the pressure that Lukeheard a voice whisper in his ear, "Never fear; all's right!" and turninghis head, he became aware of the propinquity of Jack Palmer. The latterelevated his eyebrows with a gesture of silence, and Luke passed on asif nothing had occurred. He was presently confronted with Lady Rookwoodand her son; and, notwithstanding the efforts of Mr. Coates, seconded bysome few others, the crowd grew dense around them. 

"Remove his fetters, " said Ranulph. And his manacles were removed. 

"You will consent to remain here a prisoner till to-morrow?"

"I consent to nothing, " replied Luke; "I am in your hands. "

"He does not deserve your clemency, Sir Ranulph, " interposed Coates. 

"Let him take his own course, " said Lady Rookwood; "he will reap thebenefit of it anon. "

"Will you pledge yourself not to depart?" asked Ranulph. 

"Of course, " cried the attorney; "to be sure he will. Ha, ha!"

"No, " returned Luke, haughtily, "I will not--and you will detain me atyour proper peril. "

"Better and better, " exclaimed the attorney. "This is the highest joke Iever heard. "

"I shall detain, you, then, in custody, until proper inquiries can bemade, " said Ranulph. "To your care, Mr. Coates, and to that of Mr. Tyrconnel, whom I must request to lend you his assistance, I commit thecharge; and I must further request, that you will show him everyattention which his situation will permit. Remove him. We have a sacredduty to the dead to fulfil, to which even justice to the living mustgive way. Disperse this crowd, and let instant preparations be made forthe completion of the ceremonial. You understand me, sir. "

"Ranulph Rookwood, " said Luke, sternly, as he departed, "you haveanother--a more sacred office to perform. Fulfil your duty to yourfather's son. "

"Away with him!" cried Lady Rookwood. "I am out of all patience withthis trilling. Follow me to my chamber, " added she to her son, passingtowards the door. The concourse of spectators, who had listened to thisextraordinary scene in astonishment, made way for her instantly, and sheleft the room, accompanied by Ranulph. The prisoner was led out by theother door. 

"Botheration!" cried Titus to Mr. Coates, as they followed in the wake, "why did he choose out me? I'll lose the funeral entirely by hisarrangement. "

"That you will, " replied Palmer. "Shall I be your deputy?"

"No, no, " returned Coates. "I will have no other than Mr. Tyrconnel. Itwas Sir Ranulph's express wish. "

"That's the devil of it, " returned Titus; "and I, who was to have beenchief mourner, and have made all the preparations, am to be omitted. Iwish Sir Ranulph had stayed till to-morrow--what could bring him here, to spoil all?--it's cursedly provoking!"

"Cursed provoking!" echoed Jack. 

"But then there's no help, so I must make the best of it, " returned thegood-humored Irishman. 

"Body o' me, " said Coates, "there's something in all this that I can'tfathom. As to keeping the prisoner _here_, that's all moonshine. But Isuppose we shall know the whole drift of it to-morrow. "

"Ay, " replied Jack, with a meaning smile, "to-morrow!"

_BOOK II_

_THE SEXTON_

 _Duchess. _ Thou art very plain. 

 _Bosola. _ My trade is to flatter the dead--not the living--I am a tomb-maker. 

 WEBSTER. 

_CHAPTER I_

_THE STORM_

 Come, list, and hark! the bell doth towle, For some but now departing sowle; And was not that some ominous fowle? The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owle? To these I hear the wild wolf howle, In this dark night that seems to scowle;-- All these my blacke-booke shall enrowle, For hark! still hark! the bell doth towle For some but new-departed sowle!

 HAYWOOD: _Rape of Lucrece_. 

The night was wild and stormy. The day had been sultry, with a lurid, metallic-looking sky, hanging like a vast galvanic plate over the faceof nature. As evening drew on, everything betokened the coming tempest. Unerring indications of its approach were noted by the weatherwise atthe hall. The swallow was seen to skim the surface of the pool soclosely that he ruffled its placid mirror as he passed; and then, sharply darting round and round, with twittering scream, he winged hisrapid flight to his clay-built home, beneath the barn eaves. The kinethat had herded to the margin of the water, and sought, by splashing, torelieve themselves from the keen persecution of their myriad insecttormentors, wended stallwards, undriven, and deeply lowing. The deer, that at twilight had trooped thither also for refreshment, suddenly, "with expanded nostrils, snuffed the air, " and bounded off to theircoverts, amidst the sheltering fernbrake. The rooks "obstreperous ofwing, in crowds combined, " cawed in a way that, as plainly as wordscould have done, bespoke their apprehension; and were seen, somehovering and beating the air with flapping pinion, others shootingupwards in mid space, as if to reconnoitre the weather; while others, again, were croaking to their mates, in loud discordant tone, from thehighest branches of the lime-trees; all, seemingly, as anxious and asbusy as mariners before a gale of wind. At sunset, the hazy vapors, which had obscured the horizon throughout the day, rose up in spiralvolumes, like smoke from a burning forest, and, becoming graduallycondensed, assumed the form of huge, billowy masses, which, reflectingthe sun's light, changed, as the sinking orb declined, from purple toflame-color, and thence to ashy, angry gray. Night rushed onwards, likea sable steed. There was a dead calm. The stillness was undisturbed, save by an intermittent, sighing wind, which, hollow as a murmur fromthe grave, died as it rose. At once the gray clouds turned to an inkyblackness. A single, sharp, intensely vivid flash, shot from the bosomof the rack, sheer downwards, and struck the earth with a report likethat of a piece of ordnance. In ten minutes it was dunnest night, and arattling thunder-storm. 

The progress of the storm was watched with infinite apprehension by thecrowd of tenantry assembled in the great hall; and loud and frequentwere the ejaculations uttered, as each succeeding peal burst over theirheads. There was, however, one amongst the assemblage who seemed toenjoy the uproar. A kindred excitement appeared to blaze in his glances, as he looked upon the storm without. This was Peter Bradley. He stoodclose by the window, and shaded not his eyes, even before the fiercestflashes. A grin of unnatural exhilaration played upon his features, andhe seemed to exult in, and to court, the tempestuous horrors, whichaffected the most hardy amongst his companions with consternation, andmade all shrink, trembling, into the recesses of the room. Peter'sconduct was not unobserved, nor his reputation for unholy dealingforgotten. To some he was almost as much an object of dread as the stormitself. 

"Didst ever see the like o' that?" said Farmer Burtenshaw--one of theguests, whose round, honest face good wine had recently empurpled, butfear had now mottled white, --addressing a neighbor. "Didst ever hear ofany man that were a Christian laughing in the very face o' athunder-storm, with the lightnin' fit to put out his eyes, and therattle above ready to break the drums o' his ears? I always thoughtPeter Bradley was not exactly what he ought to be, and now I am sure onit. "

"For my part, I think, Neighbor Burtenshaw, " returned the other, "thatthis great burst of weather's all of his raising, for in all my borndays I never see'd such a hurly-burly, and hope never to see the like ofit again. I've heard my grandfather tell of folk as could command windand rain; and, mayhap, Peter may have the power--we all know he can domore nor any other man. "

"We know, at all events, " replied Burtenshaw, "that he lives like noother man; that he spends night after night by himself in that drearychurchyard; that he keeps no living thing, except an old terrier dog, inhis crazy cottage; and that he never asks a body into his house from oneyear's end to another. I've never crossed his threshold these twentyyears. But, " continued he mysteriously, "I happened to pass the houseone dark, dismal night, and there what dost think I see'd through thewindow?"

"What--what didst see?"

"Peter Bradley sitting with a great book open on his knees; it were aBible, I think, and he crying like a child. "

"Art sure o' that?"

"The tears were falling fast upon the leaves, " returned Burtenshaw; "butwhen I knocked at the door, he hastily shut up the book, and ordered meto be gone, in a surly tone, as if he were ashamed of being caught inthe fact. "

"I thought no tear had ever dropped from his eye, " said the other. "Why, he laughed when his daughter Susan went off at the hall; and, when shedied, folks said he received hush-money to say nought about it. _That_were a bad business, anyhow; and now that his grandson Luke be taken inthe fact of housebreaking, he minds it no more, not he, than if nothinghad happened. "

"Don't be too sure of that, " replied Burtenshaw; "he may be schemingsummat all this time. Well, I've known Peter Bradley now thesetwo-and-fifty years, and, excepting that one night, I never saw any goodabout him, and never heard of nobody who could tell who he be, or wherehe do come from. "

"One thing's certain, at least, " replied the other farmer--"he werenever born at Rookwood. How he came here the devil only knows. Save us!what a crash!--this storm be all of his raising, I tell 'ee. "

"He be--what he certainly will be, " interposed another speaker, in alouder tone, and with less of apprehension in his manner than hiscomrade, probably from his nerves being better fortified with strongliquor. "Dost thou think, Samuel Plant, as how Providence would entrustthe like o' him with the command of the elements? No--no, it's rankblasphemy to suppose such a thing, and I've too much of the trueCatholic and apostate church about me, to stand by and hear that said. "

"Maybe, then, he gets his power from the Prince of Darkness, " repliedPlant; "no man else could go on as he does--only look at him. He seemsto be watching for the thunderbowt. "

"I wish he may catch it, then, " returned the other. 

"That's an evil wish, Simon Toft, and thou mayst repent it. "

"Not I, " replied Toft; "it would be a good clearance to the neighborhoodto get rid o' th' old croaking curmudgeon. "

Whether or not Peter overheard the conversation, we pretend not to say, but at that moment a blaze of lightning showed him staring fiercely atthe group. 

"As I live, he's overheard you, Simon, " exclaimed Plant. "I wouldn't bein your skin for a trifle. "

"Nor I, " added Burtenshaw. 

"Let him overhear me, " answered Toft; "who cares? he shall hear summatworth listening to. I'm not afraid o' him or his arts, were they asblack as Beelzebuth's own; and to show you I'm not, I'll go and have acrack with him on the spot. "

"Thou'rt a fool for thy pains, if thou dost, Friend Toft, " returnedPlant, "that's all I can say. "

"Be advised by me, and stay here, " seconded Burtenshaw, endeavoring tohold him back. 

But Toft would not be advised--

 Kings may be blest, but he was glorious, O'er all the ills of life victorious. 

Staggering up to Peter, he laid a hard grasp upon his shoulder, and, thus forcibly soliciting his attention, burst into a loud horse-laugh. 

But Peter was, or affected to be, too much occupied to look at him. 

"What dost see, man, that thou starest so?"

"It comes, it comes--the rain--the rain--a torrent--a deluge--ha, ha!Blessed is the corpse the rain rains on. Sir Piers may be drenchedthrough his leaden covering by such a downfall as that--splash, splash--fire and water and thunder, all together--is not that fine?--ha, ha! The heavens will weep for him, though friends shed not a tear. Whendid a great man's heir feel sympathy for his sire's decease? When didhis widow mourn? When doth any man regret his fellow? Never! Herejoiceth--he maketh glad in his inmost heart--he cannot help it--it isnature. We all pray for--we all delight in each other's destruction. Wewere created to do so; or why else should we act thus? I never wept forany man's death, but I have often laughed. Natural sympathy!--out on thephrase! The distant heavens--the senseless trees--the impenetrablestones--shall regret you more than man shall bewail your death with moresincerity. Ay, 'tis well--rain on--splash, splash: it will cool thehell-fever. Down, down--buckets and pails, ha, ha!"

There was a pause, during which the sexton, almost exhausted by thefrenzy in which he had suffered himself to be involved, seemedinsensible to all around him. 

"I tell you what, " said Burtenshaw to Plant, "I have always thoughtthere was more in Peter Bradley nor appears on the outside. He is notwhat he seems to be, take my word on it. Lord love you! do you think aman such as he pretends to be could talk in that sort of way--aboutnat'ral simpering?--no such thing. "

When Peter recovered, his insane merriment broke out afresh, having onlyacquired fury by the pause. 

"Look out, look out!" cried he; "hark to the thunder--list to the rain!Marked ye that flash--marked ye the clock-house--and the bird upon theroof? 'tis the rook--the great bird of the house, that hath borne awaythe soul of the departed. There, there--can you not see it? it sits andcroaks through storm and rain, and never heeds at all--and whereforeshould it heed? See, it flaps its broad black wings--it croaks--ha, ha!It comes--it comes. "

And driven, it might be by the terror of the storm, from more securequarters, a bird, at this instant, was dashed against the window, andfell to the ground. 

"That's a call, " continued Peter; "it will be over soon, and we must setout. The dead will not need to tarry. Look at that trail of fire alongthe avenue; dost see yon line of sparkles, like a rocket's tail? That'sthe path the corpse will take. St. Hermes's flickering fire, RobinGoodfellow's dancing light, or the blue flame of the corpse-candle, which I saw flitting to the churchyard last week, was not so pretty asight--ha, ha! You asked me for a song a moment ago--you shall have onenow without asking. "

And without waiting to consult the inclinations of his comrades, Peterbroke into the following wild strain with all the fervor of ahalf-crazed improvisatore:

 THE CORPSE-CANDLE

 Lambere flamma ταφος et circum funera pasci. 

 Through the midnight gloom did a pale blue light To the churchyard mirk wing its lonesome flight:-- Thrice it floated those old walls round-- Thrice it paused--till the grave it found. Over the grass-green sod it glanced, Over the fresh-turned earth it danced, Like a torch in the night-breeze quivering-- Never was seen so gay a thing! Never was seen so blithe a sight As the midnight dance of that blue light!

 Now what of that pale blue flame dost know? Canst tell where it comes from, or where it will go? Is it the soul, released from clay, Over the earth that takes its way, And tarries a moment in mirth and glee Where the corse it hath quitted interred shall be? Or is it the trick of some fanciful sprite, That taketh in mortal mischance delight, And marketh the road the coffin shall go, And the spot where the dead shall be soon laid low? Ask him who can answer these questions aright; I know not the cause of that pale blue light!

"I can't say I like thy song, Master Peter, " said Toft, as the sextonfinished his stave, "but if thou _didst_ see a corpse-candle, as thoucall'st thy pale blue flame, whose death doth it betoken?--eh!"

"Thine own, " returned Peter, sharply. 

"Mine! thou lying old cheat--dost dare to say that to my face? Why, I'mas hale and hearty as ever a man in the house. Dost think there's nolife and vigor in this arm, thou drivelling old dotard?"

Upon which, Toft seized Peter by the throat with an energy that, but forthe timely intervention of the company, who rushed to his assistance, the prophet might himself have anticipated the doom he prognosticated. 

Released from the grasp of Toft, who was held back by the bystanders, Peter again broke forth into his eldritch laugh; and staring right intothe face of his adversary, with eyes glistening, and hands uplifted, asif in the act of calling down an imprecation on his head, he screamed, in a shrill and discordant voice, "Soh! you will not take my warning?you revile me--you flout me! 'Tis well! your fate shall prove a warningto all unbelievers--_they_ shall remember this night, though _you_ willnot. Fool! fool!--your doom has long been sealed! I saw your wraithchoose out its last lodgment on Halloween; I know the spot. Your graveis dug already--ha, ha!" And, with renewed laughter, Peter rushed out ofthe room. 

"Did I not caution thee not to provoke him, friend Toft?" said Plant;"it's ill playing with edge-tools; but don't let him fly off in thattantrum--one of ye go after him. "

"That will I, " replied Burtenshaw; and he departed in search of thesexton. 

"I'd advise thee to make it up with Peter so soon as thou canst, neighbor, " continued Plant; "he's a bad friend, but a worse enemy. "

"Why, what harm can he do me?" returned Toft, who, however, was notwithout some misgivings. "If I must die, I can't help it--I shall gonone the sooner for him, even if he speak the truth, which I don't thinkhe do; and if I must, I sha'n't go unprepared--only I think as how, ifit pleased Providence, I could have wished to keep my old missus companysome few years longer, and see those bits of lasses of mine grow upinto women, and respectably provided for. But His will be done. Isha'n't leave 'em quite penniless, and there's one eye at least, I'msure, won't be dry at my departure. " Here the stout heart of Toft gaveway, and he shed some few "natural tears, " which, however, he speedilybrushed away. "I'll tell you what, neighbors, " continued he, "I think wemay all as well be thinking of going to our own homes, for, to my mind, we shall never reach the churchyard to-night. "

"That _you_ never will, " exclaimed a voice behind him; and Toft, turninground, again met the glance of Peter. 

"Come, come, Master Peter, " cried the good-natured farmer, "this be uglyjesting--ax pardon for my share of it--sorry for what I did--so give usthy hand, man, and think no more about it. "

Peter extended his claw, and the parties were, apparently, once moreupon terms of friendship. 

_CHAPTER II_

_THE FUNERAL ORATION_

 In northern customs duty was exprest To friends departed by their funeral feast; Though I've consulted Hollingshed and Stow, I find it very difficult to know, Who, to refresh the attendants to the grave, Burnt claret first, or Naples' biscuit gave. 

 KING: _Art of Cookery_. 

 Ceterum priusquam corpus humo injectâ contegatur, defunctus oratione funebri laudabatur. --DURAND. 

A supply of spirits was here introduced; lights were brought at the sametime, and placed upon a long oak table. The party gathering round it, ill-humor was speedily dissipated, and even the storm disregarded, inthe copious libations that ensued. At this juncture, a loiterer appearedin the hall. His movements were unnoticed by all excepting the sexton, who watched his proceedings with some curiosity. The person walked tothe window, appearing, so far as could be discovered, to eye the stormwith great impatience. He then paced the hall rapidly backwards andforwards, and Peter fancied he could detect sounds of disappointment inhis muttered exclamations. Again he returned to the window, as if toascertain the probable duration of the shower. It was a hopelessendeavor; all was pitch-dark without; the lightning was now only seen atlong intervals, but the rain still audibly descended in torrents. Apparently seeing the impossibility of controlling the elements, theperson approached the table. 

"What think you of the night, Mr. Palmer?" asked the sexton of Jack, forhe was the anxious investigator of the weather. 

"Don't know--can't say--set in, I think--cursed unlucky--for thefuneral, I mean--we shall be drowned if we go. "

"And drunk if we stay, " rejoined Peter. "But never fear, it will holdup, depend upon it, long before we can start. Where have they put theprisoner?" asked he, with a sudden change of manner. 

"I know the room, but can't describe it; it's two or three doors downthe lower corridor of the eastern gallery. "

"Good. Who are on guard?"

"Titus Tyrconnel and that swivel-eyed quill-driver, Coates. "

"Enough. "

"Come, come, Master Peter, " roared Toft, "let's have another stave. Giveus one of your odd snatches. No more corpse-candles, or that sort ofthing. Something lively--something jolly--ha, ha!"

"A good move, " shouted Jack. "A lively song from _you_--lillibullerofrom a death's-head--ha, ha!"

"My songs are all of a sort, " returned Peter; "I am seldom asked tosing a second time. However, you are welcome to the merriest I have. "And preparing himself, like certain other accomplished vocalists, with afew preliminary hems and haws, he struck forth the following dolefulditty:

 THE OLD OAK COFFIN

 Sic ego componi versus in ossa velim. --TIBULLUS. 

 In a churchyard, upon the sward, a coffin there was laid, And leaning stood, beside the wood, a sexton on his spade. A coffin old and black it was, and fashioned curiously, With quaint device of carved oak, in hideous fantasie. 

 For here was wrought the sculptured thought of a tormented face, With serpents lithe that round it writhe, in folded strict embrace. Grim visages of grinning fiends were at each corner set, And emblematic scrolls, mort-heads, and bones together met. 

 "Ah, welladay!" that sexton gray unto himself did cry, "Beneath that lid much lieth hid--much awful mysterie. It is an ancient coffin from the abbey that stood here; Perchance it holds an abbot's bones, perchance those of a frere. 

 "In digging deep, where monks do sleep, beneath yon cloister shrined, That coffin old, within the mould, it was my chance to find; The costly carvings of the lid I scraped full carefully, In hope to get at name or date, yet nothing could I see. 

 "With pick and spade I've plied my trade for sixty years and more, Yet never found, beneath the ground, shell strange as that before; Full many coffins have I seen--have seen them deep or flat, Fantastical in fashion--none fantastical as that. "

 And saying so, with heavy blow, the lid he shattered wide, And, pale with fright, a ghastly sight that sexton gray espied; A miserable sight it was, that loathsome corpse to see, The last, last, dreary, darksome stage of fall'n humanity. 

 Though all was gone, save reeky bone, a green and grisly heap, With scarce a trace of fleshly face, strange posture did it keep. The hands were clenched, the teeth were wrenched, as if the wretch had risen, E'en after death had ta'en his breath, to strive and burst his prison. 

 The neck was bent, the nails were rent, no limb or joint was straight; Together glued, with blood imbued, black and coagulate. And, as the sexton stooped him down to lift the coffin plank, His fingers were defiled all o'er with slimy substance dank. 

 "Ah, welladay!" that sexton gray unto himself did cry, "Full well I see how Fate's decree foredoomed this wretch to die; A living man, a breathing man, within the coffin thrust, Alack! alack! the agony ere he returned to dust!"

 A vision drear did then appear unto that sexton's eyes; Like that poor wight before him straight he in a coffin lies. He lieth in a trance within that coffin close and fast; Yet though he sleepeth now, he feels he shall awake at last. 

 The coffin, then, by reverend men, is borne with footsteps slow, Where tapers shine before the shrine, where breathes the requiem low; And for the dead the prayer is said, for the soul that is _not_ flown-- Then all is drowned in hollow sound, the earth is o'er him thrown!

 He draweth breath--he wakes from death to life more horrible; To agony! such agony! no living tongue may tell. Die! die he must, that wretched one! he struggles--strives in vain; No more Heaven's light, nor sunshine bright, shall he behold again. 

 "Gramercy, Lord!" the sexton roared, awakening suddenly, "If this be dream, yet doth it seem most dreadful so to die. Oh, cast my body in the sea! or hurl it on the shore! But nail me not in coffin fast--no grave will I dig more. "

It was not difficult to discover the effect produced by this song, inthe lengthened faces of the greater part of the audience. Jack Palmer, however, laughed loud and long. 

"Bravo, bravo!" cried he; "that suits my humor exactly. I can't abidethe thoughts of a coffin. No deal box for me. "

"A gibbet might, perhaps, serve your turn as well, " muttered the sexton;adding aloud, "I am now entitled to call upon you;--a song!--a song!"

"Ay, a song, Mr. Palmer, a song!" reiterated the hinds. "Yours will bethe right kind of thing. "

"Say no more, " replied Jack. "I'll give you a chant composed upon DickTurpin, the highwayman. It's no great shakes, to be sure, but it's thebest I have. " And, with a knowing wink at the sexton, he commenced, inthe true nasal whine, the following strain:

 ONE FOOT IN THE STIRRUP

 OR TURPIN'S FIRST FLING

 Cum esset proposita fuga _Turpi_(n)_s_. --CICERO. 

 "One foot in the stirrup, one hand in the rein, And the noose be my portion, or freedom I'll gain! Oh! give me a seat in my saddle once more, And these bloodhounds shall find that the chase is not o'er!" Thus muttered Dick Turpin, who found, while he slept, That the Philistines old on his slumbers had crept; Had entrapped him as puss on her form you'd ensnare, And that gone were his snappers--and gone was his mare. _Hilloah!_

 How Dick had been captured is readily told, The pursuit had been hot, though the night had been cold, So at daybreak, exhausted, he sought brief repose Mid the thick of a corn-field, away from his foes. But in vain was his caution--in vain did his steed, Ever watchful and wakeful in moments of need, With lip and with hoof on her master's cheek press-- He slept on, nor heeded the warning of Bess. _Hilloah!_

 "Zounds! gem'men!" cried Turpin, "you've found me at fault, And the highflying highwayman's come to a halt; You have turned up a trump--for I weigh well my weight, -- And the _forty is yours_, though the halter's _my_ fate. Well, come on't what will, you shall own when all's past, That Dick Turpin, the Dauntless, was game to the last. But, before we go further, I'll hold you a bet, That one foot in my stirrup you won't let me set. _Hilloah!_

 "A hundred to one is the odds _I_ will stand, A hundred to one is the odds _you_ command; Here's a handful of goldfinches ready to fly! May I venture a foot in my stirrup to try?" As he carelessly spoke, Dick directed a glance At his courser, and motioned her slyly askance:-- You might tell by the singular toss of her head, And the prick of her ears, that his meaning she read. _Hilloah!_

 With derision at first was Dick's wager received, And his error at starting as yet unretrieved; But when from his pocket the shiners he drew, And offered to "make up the hundred to two, " There were havers in plenty, and each whispered each, The same thing, though varied in figure of speech, "Let the fool act his folly--the stirrup of Bess! He has put his foot _in it_ already, we guess!" _Hilloah!_

 Bess was brought to her master--Dick steadfastly gazed At the eye of his mare, then his foot quick upraised; His toe touched the stirrup, his hand grasped the rein-- He was safe on the back of his courser again! As the clarion, fray-sounding and shrill, was the neigh Of Black Bess, as she answered his cry "Hark-away!" "Beset me, ye bloodhounds! in rear and in van; My foot's in the stirrup and catch me who can!" _Hilloah!_

 There was riding and gibing mid rabble and rout, And the old woods re-echoed the Philistines' shout! There was hurling and whirling o'er brake and o'er brier, But the course of Dick Turpin was swift as Heaven's fire. Whipping, spurring, and straining would nothing avail, Dick laughed at their curses, and scoffed at their wail; "My foot's in the stirrup!"--thus rang his last cry; "Bess has answered my call; now her mettle we'll try!" _Hilloah!_

Uproarious applause followed Jack's song, when the joviality of themourners was interrupted by a summons to attend in the state-room. Silence was at once completely restored; and, in the best order theycould assume, they followed their leader, Peter Bradley. Jack Palmerwas amongst the last to enter, and remained a not incurious spectator ofa by no means common scene. 

Preparations had been made to give due solemnity to the ceremonial. Theleaden coffin was fastened down, and enclosed in an outer case of oak, upon the lid of which stood a richly-chased massive silver flagon, filled with burnt claret, called the grace-cup. All the lights wereremoved, save two lofty wax flambeaux, which were placed to the back, and threw a lurid glare upon the group immediately about the body, consisting of Ranulph Rookwood and some other friends of the deceased. Dr. Small stood in front of the bier; and, under the directions of PeterBradley, the tenantry and household were formed into a wide half-moonacross the chamber. There was a hush of expectation, as Dr. Small lookedgravely round; and even Jack Palmer, who was as little likely as any manto yield to an impression of the kind, felt himself moved by the scene. 

The very orthodox Small, as is well known to our readers, heldeverything savoring of the superstitions of the Scarlet Woman in supremeabomination; and, entertaining such opinions, it can scarcely besupposed that a funeral oration would find much favor in his eyes, accompanied, as it was, with the accessories of censer, candle, and cup;all evidently derived from that period when, under the three-crownedpontiff's sway, the shaven priest pronounced his benediction o'er thedead, and released the penitent's soul from purgatorial flames, while heheavily mulcted the price of his redemption from the possessions of hissuccessor. Small resented the idea of treading in such steps, as aninsult to himself and his cloth. Was he, the intolerant of Papistry, totolerate this? Was he, who could not endure the odor of Catholicism, tohave his nostrils thus polluted--his garments thus defiled by actualcontact with it? It was not to be thought of: and he had formallysignified his declination to Mr. Coates, when a little conversation withthat gentleman, and certain weighty considerations therein heldforth--the advowson of the church of Rookwood residing with thefamily--and represented by him, as well as the placing in juxtapositionof penalties to be incurred by refusal, that the scruples of Small gaveway; and, with the best grace he could muster, very reluctantly promisedcompliance. 

With these feelings, it will be readily conceived that the doctor wasnot in the best possible frame of mind for the delivery of hisexhortation. His spirit had been ruffled by a variety of pettyannoyances, amongst the greatest of which was the condition to which thegood cheer had reduced his clerk, Zachariah Trundletext, whose reelingeye, pendulous position, and open mouth proclaimed him absolutelyincapable of office. Zachariah was, in consequence, dismissed, and Smallcommenced his discourse unsupported. But as our recording it would notprobably conduce to the amusement of our readers, whatever it might totheir edification, we shall pass it over with very brief mention. Suffice it to say, that the oration was so thickly interstrewn withlengthy quotations from the fathers, --Chrysostomus, Hieronymus, Ambrosius, Basilius, Bernardus, and the rest, with whose reconditeLatinity, notwithstanding the clashing of their opinions with his own, the doctor was intimately acquainted, and which he moreover delighted toquote, --that his auditors were absolutely mystified and perplexed, andprobably not without design. Countenances of such amazement were turnedtowards him, that Small, who had a keen sense of the ludicrous, couldscarcely forbear smiling as he proceeded; and if we could suspect sograve a personage of waggery, we should almost think that, by way ofretaliation, he had palmed some abstruse, monkish epicedium upon hisastounded auditors. 

The oration concluded, biscuits and confectionery were, according to oldobservance, handed to such of the tenantry as chose to partake of them. The serving of the grace-cup, which ought to have formed part of theduties of Zachariah, had he been capable of office, fell to the shareof the sexton. The bowl was kissed, first by Ranulph, with lips thattrembled with emotion, and afterward by his surrounding friends; but nodrop was tasted--a circumstance which did not escape Peter'sobservation. Proceeding to the tenantry, the first in order happened tobe Farmer Toft. Peter presented the cup, and as Toft was about to draina deep draught of the wine, Peter whispered in his ear, "Take my advicefor once, Friend Toft, and don't let a bubble of the liquid pass yourlips. For every drop of the wine you drain, Sir Piers will have one sinthe less, and you a load the heavier on your conscience. Didst neverhear of sin-swallowing? For what else was this custom adopted? Seestthou not the cup's brim hath not yet been moistened? Well, as youwill--ha, ha!" And the sexton passed onwards. 

His work being nearly completed, he looked around for Jack Palmer, whomhe had remarked during the oration, but could nowhere discover him. Peter was about to place the flagon, now almost drained of its contents, upon its former resting-place, when Small took it from his hands. 

"_In poculi fundo residuum non relinque_, admonisheth Pythagoras, " saidhe, returning the empty cup to the sexton. 

"My task here is ended, " muttered Peter, "but not elsewhere. Foulweather or fine, thunder or rain, I must to the church. "

Bequeathing his final instructions to certain of the household who wereto form part of the procession, in case it set out, he opened the halldoor, and, the pelting shower dashing heavily in his face, took his wayup the avenue, screaming, as he strode along, the following congenialrhymes:

 EPHIALTES

 I ride alone--I ride by night Through the moonless air on a courser white! Over the dreaming earth I fly, Here and there--at my fantasy! My frame is withered, my visage old, My locks are frore, and my bones ice cold. The wolf will howl as I pass his lair, The ban-dog moan, and the screech-owl stare. For breath, at my coming, the sleeper strains, And the freezing current forsakes his veins! Vainly for pity the wretch may sue-- Merciless Mara no prayers subdue! _To his couch I flit-- On his breast I sit! Astride! astride! astride! And one charm alone --A hollow stone!--[23] Can scare me from his side!_

 A thousand antic shapes I take; The stoutest heart at my touch will quake. The miser dreams of a bag of gold, Or a ponderous chest on his bosom rolled. The drunkard groans 'neath a cask of wine; The reveller swelts 'neath a weighty chine. The recreant turns, by his foes assailed, To flee!--but his feet to the ground are nailed. The goatherd dreams of his mountain-tops, And, dizzily reeling, downward drops. 

 The murderer feels at his throat a knife, And gasps, as his victim gasped, for life! The thief recoils from the scorching brand; The mariner drowns in sight of land! Thus sinful man have I power to fray, Torture, and rack, but not to slay! But ever the couch of purity, With shuddering glance, I hurry by. _Then mount! away! To horse! I say, To horse! astride! astride! The fire-drake shoots-- The screech-owl hoots-- As through the air I glide!_

_CHAPTER III_

_THE CHURCHYARD_

 Methought I walked, about the mid of night, Into a churchyard. 

 WEBSTER: _The White Devil_. 

Lights streamed through the chancel window as the sexton entered thechurchyard, darkly defining all the ramified tracery of the noble Gothicarch, and illumining the gorgeous dyes of its richly-stained glass, profusely decorated with the armorial bearings of the founder of thefane, and the many alliances of his descendants. The sheen of theirblazonry gleamed bright in the darkness, as if to herald to his lasthome another of the line whose achievements it displayed. Glowingcolorings, checkered like rainbow tints, were shed upon the brokenleaves of the adjoining yew-trees, and upon the rounded grassy tombs. 

Opening the gate, as he looked in that direction, Peter became aware ofa dark figure, enveloped in a large black cloak, and covered with aslouched hat, standing at some distance, between the window and thetree, and so intervening as to receive the full influence of the streamof radiance which served to dilate its almost superhuman stature. Thesexton stopped. The figure remained stationary. There was somethingsingular both in the costume and situation of the person. Peter'scuriosity was speedily aroused, and, familiar with every inch of thechurchyard, he determined to take the nearest cut, and to ascertain towhom the mysterious cloak and hat belonged. Making his way over theundulating graves, and instinctively rounding the headstones thatintercepted his path, he quickly drew near the object of his inquiry. From the moveless posture it maintained, the figure appeared to beunconscious of Peter's approach. To his eyes it seemed to expand as headvanced. He was now almost close upon it, when his progress wasarrested by a violent grasp laid on his shoulder. He started, anduttered an exclamation of alarm. At this moment a vivid flash oflightning illumined the whole churchyard, and Peter then thought hebeheld, at some distance from him, two other figures, bearing upon theirshoulders a huge chest, or, it might be, a coffin. The garb of thesefigures, so far as it could be discerned through the drenching rain, wasfantastical in the extreme. The foremost seemed to have a long whitebeard descending to his girdle. Little leisure, however, was allowedPeter for observation. The vision no sooner met his glance than itdisappeared, and nothing was seen but the glimmering tombstones--nothingheard but the whistling wind and the heavily-descending shower. Herubbed his eyes. The muffled figure had vanished, and not a trace couldbe discovered of the mysterious coffin-bearers, if such they were. 

"What have I seen?" mentally ejaculated Peter: "is this sorcery ortreachery, or both? No body-snatchers would visit this place on a nightlike this, when the whole neighborhood is aroused. Can it be a vision Ihave seen? Pshaw! shall I juggle myself as I deceive these hinds? It wasno bearded demon that I beheld, but the gipsy patrico, Balthazar. I knewhim at once. But what meant that muffled figure; and whose arm could ithave been that griped my shoulder? Ha! what if Lady Rookwood should havegiven orders for the removal of Susan's body? No, no; that cannot be. Besides, I have the keys of the vault; and there are hundreds now in thechurch who would permit no such desecration. I am perplexed to thinkwhat it can mean. But I will to the vault. " Saying which, he hastened tothe church porch, and after wringing the wet from his clothes, as awater-dog might shake the moisture from his curly hide, and doffing hisbroad felt hat, he entered the holy edifice. The interior seemed oneblaze of light to the sexton, in his sudden transition from outerdarkness. Some few persons were assembled, probably such as were engagedin the preparations; but there was one group which immediately caughthis attention. 

Near the communion-table stood three persons, habited in deep mourning, apparently occupied in examining the various monumental carvings thatenriched the walls. Peter's office led him to that part of the church. About to descend into the vaults, to make the last preparations for thereception of the dead, with lantern in hand, keys, and a crowbar, heapproached the party. Little attention was paid to the sexton'sproceedings, till the harsh grating of the lock attracted their notice. 

Peter started as he beheld the face of one of the three, and relaxinghis hold upon the key, the strong bolt shot back in the lock. There wasa whisper amongst the party. A light step was heard advancing towardshim; and ere the sexton could sufficiently recover his surprise, orforce open the door, a female figure stood by his side. 

The keen, inquiring stare which Peter bestowed upon the countenance ofthe young lady so much abashed her, that she hesitated in her purpose ofaddressing him, and hastily retired. 

"She here!" muttered Peter; "nay, then, I must no longer withhold thedreaded secret from Luke, or Ranulph may, indeed, wrest his possessionsfrom him. "

Reinforced by her companions, an elderly lady and a tall, handsome man, whose bearing and deportment bespoke him to be a soldier, the fairstranger again ventured towards Peter. 

"You are the sexton, " said she, addressing him in a voice sweet andmusical. 

"I am, " returned Peter. It was harmony succeeded by dissonance. 

"You, perhaps, can tell us, then, " said the elderly lady, "whether thefuneral is likely to take place to-night? We thought it possible thatthe storm might altogether prevent it. "

"The storm is over, as nearly as maybe, " replied Peter. "The body willsoon be on its way. I am but now arrived from the hall. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed the lady. "None of the family will be present, Isuppose. Who is the chief mourner?"

"Young Sir Ranulph, " answered the sexton. "There will be more of thefamily than were expected. "

"Is Sir Ranulph returned?" asked the young lady, with great agitation ofmanner. "I thought he was abroad--that he was not expected. Are you sureyou are rightly informed?"

"I parted with him at the hall not ten minutes since, " replied Peter. "He returned from France to-night most unexpectedly. "

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed the younger lady, "that this should be--that Ishould meet him here. Why did we come?--let us depart. "

"Impossible!" replied her mother; "the storm forbids it. This man'sinformation is so strange, I scarce can credit it. Are you sure you haveasserted the truth?" said she, addressing Peter. 

"I am not accustomed to be doubted, " answered he. "Other things asstrange have happened at the hall. "

"What mean you?" asked the gentleman, noticing this last remark. 

"You would not need to ask the question of me, had you been there, amongst the other guests, " retorted Peter. "Odd things, I tell you, havebeen done there this night, and stranger things may occur before themorning. "

"You are insolent, sirrah! I comprehend you not. "

"Enough! I can comprehend _you_, " replied Peter, significantly; "I knowthe count of the mourners invited to this ceremonial, and I am awarethat there are three too many. "

"Know you this saucy knave, mother?"

"I cannot call him to mind, though I fancy I have seen him before. "

"My recollection serves me better, lady, " interposed Peter. "I rememberone who was once the proud heiress of Rookwood--ay, proud and beautiful. Then the house was filled with her gallant suitors. Swords were crossedfor her. Hearts bled for her. Yet she favored none, until one haplesshour. Sir Reginald Rookwood _had_ a daughter; Sir Reginald _lost_ adaughter. Ha!--I see I am right. Well, he is dead and buried; andReginald, his son, is dead likewise; and Piers is on his road hither;and you are the last, as in the course of nature you might have been thefirst. And, now that they are all gone, you do rightly to bury yourgrievances with them. "

"Silence, sirrah!" exclaimed the gentleman, "or I will beat your brainsout with your own spade. "

"No; let him speak, Vavasour, " said the lady, with an expression ofanguish--"he has awakened thoughts of other days. "

"I have done, " said Peter, "and must to work. Will you descend with me, madam, into the sepulchre of your ancestry? All your family liewithin--ay, and the Lady Eleanor, your mother, amongst the number. "

Mrs. Mowbray signified her assent, and the party prepared to follow him. 

The sexton held the lantern so as to throw its light upon the steps asthey entered the gloomy receptacle of the departed. Eleanor halfrepented having ventured within its dreary limits, so much did theappearance of the yawning catacombs, surcharged with mortality, and, above all, the ghostly figure of the grim knight, affect her with dread, as she looked wistfully around. She required all the support herbrother's arm could afford her; nor was Mrs. Mowbray altogether unmoved. 

"And all the family are here interred, you say?" inquired the latter. 

"All, " replied the sexton. 

"Where, then, lies Sir Reginald's younger brother?"

"Who?" exclaimed Peter, starting. 

"Alan Rookwood. "

"What of him?"

"Nothing of moment. But I thought you could, perhaps, inform me. He diedyoung. "

"He did, " replied Peter, in an altered tone--"very young; but not beforehe had lived to an old age of wretchedness. Do you know his story, madam?"

"I have heard it. "

"From your father's lips?"

"From Sir Reginald Rookwood's--never. Call him not my father, sirrah;even _here_ I will not have him named so to me. "

"Your pardon, madam, " returned the sexton. "Great cruelty was shown tothe Lady Eleanor, and may well call forth implacable resentment in herchild; yet methinks the wrong he did his brother Alan was the fouleststain with which Sir Reginald's black soul was dyed. "

"With what particular wrong dost thou charge Sir Reginald?" demandedMajor Mowbray. "What injury did he inflict upon his brother Alan?"

"He wronged his brother's honor, " replied the sexton; "he robbed him ofhis wife, poisoned his existence, and hurried him to an untimely grave. "

Eleanor shudderingly held back during this horrible narration, thehearing of which she would willingly have shunned, had it been possible. 

"Can this be true?" asked the major. 

"Too true, my son, " replied Mrs. Mowbray, sorrowfully. 

"And where lies the unfortunate Alan?" asked Major Mowbray. 

"'Twixt two cross roads. Where else should the suicide lie?"

Evading any further question, Peter hastily traversed the vault, elevating the light so as to reveal the contents of each cell. Onecircumstance filled him with surprise and dismay--he could nowhereperceive the coffin of his daughter. In vain he peered into everycatacomb--they were apparently undisturbed; and, with much internalmarvelling and misgiving, Peter gave up the search. "That vision is nowexplained, " muttered he; "the body is removed, but by whom? Death! can Idoubt? It must be Lady Rookwood--who else can have any interest in itsremoval. She has acted boldly. But she shall yet have reason to repenther temerity. " As he continued his search, his companions silentlyfollowed. Suddenly he stopped, and, signifying that all was finished, they not unwillingly quitted this abode of horror, leaving him behindthem. 

"It is a dreadful place, " whispered Eleanor to her mother; "nor would Ihave visited it, had I conceived anything of its horrors. And thatstrange man! who or what is he?"

"Ay, who is he?" repeated Major Mowbray. 

"I recollect him now, " replied Mrs. Mowbray; "he is one who has everbeen connected with the family. He had a daughter, whose beauty was herruin: it is a sad tale; I cannot tell it now: you have heard enough ofmisery and guilt: but that may account for his bitterness of speech. Hewas a dependent upon my poor brother. "

"Poor man!" replied Eleanor; "if he has been unfortunate, I pity him. Iam sorry we have been into that dreadful place. I am very faint: and Itremble more than ever at the thought of meeting Ranulph Rookwood again. I can scarcely support myself--I am sure I shall not venture to lookupon him. "

"Had I dreamed of the likelihood of his attending the ceremony, restassured, dear Eleanor, we should not have been here: but I was informedthere was no possibility of his return. Compose yourself, my child. Itwill be a trying time to both of us; but it is now inevitable. "

At this moment the bell began to toll. "The procession has started, "said Peter, as he passed the Mowbrays. "That bell announces the settingout. "

"See yonder persons hurrying to the door, " exclaimed Eleanor, witheagerness, and trembling violently. "They are coming. Oh! I shall neverbe able to go through with it, dear mother. "

Peter hastened to the church door, where he stationed himself, incompany with a host of others, equally curious. Flickering lights in thedistance, shining like stars through the trees, showed them that theprocession was collecting in front of the hall. The rain had nowentirely ceased; the thunder muttered from afar, and the lightningseemed only to lick the moisture from the trees. The bell continued totoll, and its loud booming awoke the drowsy echoes of the valley. On thesudden, a solitary, startling concussion of thunder was heard; andpresently a man rushed down from the belfry, with the tidings that hehad seen a ball of fire fall from a cloud right over the hall. Every earwas on the alert for the next sound; none was heard. It was the crisisof the storm. Still the funeral procession advanced not. The strongsheen of the torchlight was still visible from the bottom of the avenue, now disappearing, now brightly glimmering, as if the bearers werehurrying to and fro amongst the trees. It was evident that muchconfusion prevailed, and that some misadventure had occurred. Each manmuttered to his neighbor, and few were there who had not in a measuresurmised the cause of the delay. At this juncture, a person without hishat, breathless with haste and almost palsied with fright, rushedthrough the midst of them and, stumbling over the threshold, fellheadlong into the church. 

"What's the matter, Master Plant? What has happened? Tell us! Tell us!"exclaimed several voices simultaneously. 

"Lord have mercy upon us!" cried Plant, gasping for utterance, and notattempting to raise himself. "It's horrible! dreadful! oh!--oh!"

"What has happened?" inquired Peter, approaching the fallen man. 

"And dost _thou_ need to ask, Peter Bradley? thou, who foretold it all?but I will not say what I think, though my tongue itches to tell theethe truth. Be satisfied, thy wizard's lore has served thee right--he isdead. "

"Who? Ranulph Rookwood? Has anything befallen him, or the prisoner, LukeBradley?" asked the sexton, with eagerness. 

A scream here burst forth from one who was standing behind the group;and, in spite of the efforts of her mother to withhold her, EleanorMowbray rushed forward. 

"Has aught happened to Sir Ranulph?" asked she. 

"Noa--noa--not to Sir Ranulph--he be with the body. "

"Heaven be thanked for that!" exclaimed Eleanor. And then, as if ashamedof her own vehemence, and, it might seem, apparent indifference toanother's fate, she inquired who was hurt. 

"It be poor neighbor Toft, that be killed by a thunderbolt, ma'am, "replied Plant. 

Exclamations of horror burst from all around. 

No one was more surprised at this intelligence than the sexton. Likemany other seers, he had not, in all probability, calculated upon thefulfilment of his predictions, and he now stared aghast at the extent ofhis own foreknowledge. 

"I tell 'ee what, Master Peter, " said Plant, shaking his bullet-head, "it be well for thee thou didn't live in my grandfather's time, orthou'dst ha' been ducked in a blanket; or may be burnt at the stake, like Ridley and Latimer, as we read on--but however that may be, yeshall hear how poor Toft's death came to pass, and nobody can tell 'eebetter nor I, seeing I were near to him, poor fellow, at the time. Well, we thought as how the storm were all over--and had all got into order ofmarch, and were just beginning to step up the avenue, the coffin-bearerspushing lustily along, and the torches shining grandly, when poor SimonToft, who could never travel well in liquor in his life, reeled to oneside, and staggering against the first huge lime-tree, sat himself downbeneath it--thou knowest the tree I mean. "

"The tree of fate, " returned Peter. "I ought, methinks, to know it. "

"Well, I were just stepping aside to pick him up, when all at once therecomes such a crack of thunder, and, whizzing through the trees, flasheda great globe of red fire, so bright and dazzlin', it nearly blinded me;and when I opened my eyes, winkin' and waterin', I see'd that whichblinded me more even than the flash--that which had just afore been poorSimon, but which was now a mass o' black smouldering ashes, cleanconsumed and destroyed--his clothes rent to a thousand tatters--theearth and stones tossed up, and scattered all about, and a greatsplinter of the tree lying beside him. "

"Heaven's will be done!" said the sexton; "this is an awful judgment. "

"And Sathan cast down; for this is a spice o' his handiwork, " mutteredPlant; adding, as he slunk away, "If ever Peter Bradley do come to theblanket, dang me if I don't lend a helpin' hand. "

_CHAPTER IV_

_THE FUNERAL_

 How like a silent stream, shaded by night, And gliding softly with our windy sighs, Moves the whole frame of this solemnity! Tears, sighs, and blacks, filling the simile! Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove Of death, thus hollowly break forth. 

 _The Fatal Dowry. _

Word being given that the funeral train was fast approaching, the churchdoor was thrown open, and the assemblage divided in two lines, to allowit admission. 

Meanwhile, a striking change had taken place, even in this brief period, in the appearance of the night. The sky, heretofore curtained withdarkness, was now illumined by a serene, soft moon, which, floating in awatery halo, tinged with silvery radiance the edges of a few ghostlyclouds that hurried along the deep and starlit skies. The suddenness ofthe change could not fail to excite surprise and admiration, mingledwith regret that the procession had not been delayed until the presenttime. 

Slowly and mournfully the train was seen to approach the churchyard, winding, two by two, with melancholy step, around the corner of theroad. First came Dr. Small; then the mutes, with their sable panoply;next, the torch-bearers; next, those who sustained the coffin, bendingbeneath their ponderous burden, followed by Sir Ranulph and a long lineof attendants, all plainly to be distinguished by the flashingtorchlight. There was a slight halt at the gate, and the coffin changedsupporters. 

"Ill luck betide them!" ejaculated Peter; "could they find no otherplace except that to halt at? Must Sir Piers be gatekeeper till nextYule! No, " added he, seeing what followed; "it will be poor Toft, afterall. "

Following close upon the coffin came a rude shell, containing, as Peterrightly conjectured, the miserable remains of Simon Toft, who had methis fate in the manner described by Plant. The bolt of death glancedfrom the tree which it first struck, and reduced the unfortunate farmerto a heap of dust. Universal consternation prevailed, and doubts wereentertained as to what course should be pursued. It was judged best byDr. Small to remove the remains at once to the charnel-house. Thus"unanointed, unaneled, with all his imperfections on his head, " was poorSimon Toft, in one brief second, in the twinkling of an eye, plungedfrom the height of festivity to the darkness of the grave, and sohorribly disfigured, that scarce a vestige of humanity was discerniblein the mutilated mass that remained of him. Truly may we be said to walkin blindness, and amidst deep pitfalls. 

The churchyard was thronged by the mournful train. The long array ofdusky figures--the waving torchlight gleaming ruddily in the whitemoonshine--now glistening upon the sombre habiliments of the bearers, and on their shrouded load, now reflected upon the jagged branches ofthe yew-trees, or falling upon the ivied buttresses of the ancientchurch, constituted no unimpressive picture. Over all, like a lamp hungin the still sky, shone the moon, shedding a soothing, spiritual lustreover the scene. 

The organ broke into a solemn strain as the coffin was borne along themid-aisle--the mourners following, with reverent step, and slow. It wasdeposited near the mouth of the vault, the whole assemblage circlingaround it. Dr. Small proceeded with the performance of that magnificentservice appointed for the burial of the dead, in a tone as remarkablefor its sadness as for its force and fervor. There was a tear in everyeye--a cloud on every brow. 

Brightly illumined as was the whole building, there were still somerecesses which, owing to the intervention of heavy pillars, were throwninto shade; and in one of these, supported by her mother and brother, stood Eleanor, a weeping witness of the scene. She beheld the coffinsilently borne along; she saw one dark figure slowly following; she knewthose pale features--oh, how pale they were! A year had wrought afearful alteration; she could scarce credit what she beheld. He must, indeed, have suffered--deeply suffered; and her heart told her that hissorrows had been for her. 

Many a wistful look, besides, was directed to the principal figure inthis ceremonial, Ranulph Rookwood. He was a prey to unutterable anguishof soul; his heart bled inwardly for the father he had lost. Mechanically following the body down the aisle, he had taken his stationnear it, gazing with confused vision upon the bystanders; had listened, with a sad composure, to the expressive delivery of Small, until heread--"_For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself invain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them. _"

"Verily!" exclaimed a deep voice; and Ranulph, looking round, met theeyes of Peter Bradley fixed full upon him. But it was evidently not thesexton who had spoken. 

Small continued the service. He arrived at this verse: "_Thou hast setour misdeeds before thee; and our secret sins in the light of thycountenance. _"

"Even so!" exclaimed the voice; and as Ranulph raised his eyes in thedirection of the sound, he thought he saw a dark figure, muffled in acloak, disappear behind one of the pillars. He bestowed, however, at themoment, little thought upon this incident. His heart melted within him;and leaning his face upon his hand, he wept aloud. 

"Command yourself, I entreat of you, my dear Sir Ranulph, " said Dr. Small, as soon as the service was finished, "and suffer this melancholyceremonial to be completed. " Saying which, he gently withdrew Ranulphfrom his support, and the coffin was lowered into the vault. 

Ranulph remained for some time in the extremity of sorrow. When he inpart recovered, the crowd had dispersed, and few persons were remainingwithin the church; yet near him stood three apparent loiterers. Theyadvanced towards him. An exclamation of surprise and joy burst from hislips. 

"Eleanor!"

"Ranulph!"

"Is it possible? Do I indeed behold you, Eleanor?"

No other word was spoken. They rushed into each other's arms. Oh!sad--sad is the lover's parting--no pang so keen; but if life hath azest more exquisite than others--if felicity hath one drop more racythan the rest in her honeyed cup, it is the happiness enjoyed in such aunion as the present. To say that he was as one raised from the depthsof misery by some angel comforter, were a feeble comparison of thetransport of Ranulph. To paint the thrilling delight of Eleanor--thetrembling tenderness--the fond abandonment which vanquished all hermaiden scruples, would be impossible. Reluctantly yielding--fearing, yetcomplying, her lips were sealed in one long, loving kiss, thesanctifying pledge of their tried affection. 

"Eleanor, dear Eleanor, " exclaimed Ranulph, "though I hold you within myarms--though each nerve within my frame assures me of yourpresence--though I look into those eyes, which seem fraught with greaterendearment than ever I have known them wear--though I see and feel andknow all this, so sudden, so unlooked for is the happiness, that I couldalmost doubt its reality. Say to what blessed circumstance I am indebtedfor this unlooked-for happiness. "

"We are staying not far hence, with friends, dear Ranulph; and mymother, hearing of Sir Piers Rookwood's death, and wishing to bury allanimosity with him, resolved to be present at the sad ceremony. We weretold you could not be here. "

"And would my presence have prevented your attendance, Eleanor?"

"Not that, dear Ranulph; but----"

"But what?"

At this moment the advance of Mrs. Mowbray offered an interruption totheir further discourse. 

"My son and I appear to be secondary in your regards, Sir Ranulph, " saidshe, gravely. 

"_Sir_ Ranulph!" mentally echoed the young man. "What will _she_ thinkwhen she knows that that title is not mine? I dread to tell her. " Hethen added aloud, with a melancholy smile, "I crave your pardon, madam;the delight of a meeting so unexpected with your daughter must plead myapology. "

"None is wanting, Sir Ranulph, " said Major Mowbray. "I who have knownwhat separation from my sister is, can readily excuse your feelings. Butyou look ill. "

"I have, indeed, experienced much mental anxiety, " said Ranulph, lookingat Eleanor; "it is now past, and I would fain hope that a brighter dayis dawning. " His heart answered, 'twas but a hope. 

"You were unlooked for here to-night, Sir Ranulph, " said Mrs. Mowbray;"by us, at least: we were told you were abroad. "

"You were rightly informed, madam, " replied Ranulph. "I only arrivedthis evening from Bordeaux. "

"I am glad you are returned. We are at present on a visit with yourneighbors, the Davenhams, at Braybrook, and trust we shall see youthere. "

"I will ride over to-morrow, " replied Ranulph; "there is much on which Iwould consult you all. I would have ventured to request the favor ofyour company at Rookwood, had the occasion been other than the present. "

"And I would willingly have accepted your invitation, " returned Mrs. Mowbray; "I should like to see the old house once more. During yourfather's lifetime I could not approach it. You are lord of broad lands, Sir Ranulph--a goodly inheritance. "

"Madam!"

"And a proud title, which you will grace well, I doubt not. The first, the noblest of our house, was he from whom you derive your name. You arethe third Sir Ranulph; the first founded the house of Rookwood; the nextadvanced it; 'tis for you to raise its glory to its height. "

"Alas! madam, I have no such thought. "

"Wherefore not? you are young, wealthy, powerful. With such domains asthose of Rookwood--with such a title as its lord can claim, naughtshould be too high for your aspirations. "

"I aspire to nothing, madam, but your daughter's hand; and even that Iwill not venture to solicit until you are acquainted with----" And hehesitated. 

"With what?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, in surprise. 

"A singular, and to me most perplexing event has occurred to-night, "replied Ranulph, "which may materially affect my future fortunes. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. "Does it relate to your mother?"

"Excuse my answering the question now, madam, " replied Ranulph; "youshall know all to-morrow. "

"Ay, to-morrow, dear Ranulph, " said Eleanor; "and whatever that morrowmay bring forth, it will bring happiness to me, if you are bearer of thetidings. "

"I shall expect your coming with impatience, " said Mrs. Mowbray. 

"And I, " added Major Mowbray, who had listened thus far in silence, "would offer you my services in any way you think they would be useful. Command me as you think fitting. "

"I thank you heartily, " returned Ranulph. "To-morrow you shall learnall. Meanwhile, it shall be my business to investigate the truth orfalsehood of the statement I have heard, ere I report it to you. Tillthen, farewell. "

As they issued from the church it was gray dawn. Mrs. Mowbray's carriagestood at the door. The party entered it; and accompanied by Dr. Small, whom he found within in the vestry, Ranulph walked towards the hall, where a fresh surprise awaited him. 

_CHAPTER V_

_THE CAPTIVE_

 _Black Will. _ Which is the place where we're to be concealed?

 _Green. _ This inner room. 

 _Black Will. _ 'Tis well. The word is, "Now I take you. "

 _Arden of Feversham. _

Guarded by the two young farmers who had displayed so much address inseizing him, Luke, meanwhile, had been conveyed in safety to the smallchamber in the eastern wing, destined by Mr. Coates to be his place ofconfinement for the night. The room, or rather closet, opening fromanother room, was extremely well adapted for the purpose, having noperceptible outlet; being defended, on either side, by thick partitionwalls of the hardest oak, and at the extremity by the solid masonry ofthe mansion. It was, in fact, a remnant of the building anterior to thefirst Sir Ranulph's day; and the narrow limits of Luke's cell had beenerected long before the date of his earliest progenitor. Having seentheir prisoner safely bestowed, the room was carefully examined, everyboard sounded, every crevice and corner peered into by the curious eyeof the little lawyer; and nothing being found insecure, the light wasremoved, the door locked, the rustic constables dismissed, and a braceof pistols having been loaded and laid on the table, Mr. Coatespronounced himself thoroughly satisfied and quite comfortable. 

Comfortable! Titus heaved a sigh as he echoed the word. He felt anythingbut comfortable. His heart was with the body all the while. He thoughtof the splendor of the funeral, the torches, the illumined church, hisown dignified march down the aisle, and the effect he expected toproduce amongst the bewildered rustics. He thought of all these things, and cursed Luke by all the saints in the calendar. The sight of themusty old apartment, hung round with faded arras, which, as he said, "smelt of nothing but rats and ghosts, and suchlike varmint, " did notserve to inspirit him; and the proper equilibrium of his temper was notcompletely restored until the appearance of the butler, with all therequisites for the manufacture of punch, afforded him some prospectivesolace. 

"And what are they about now, Tim?" asked Titus. 

"All as jolly as can be, " answered the domestic; "Dr. Small is justabout to pronounce the funeral 'ration. "

"Devil take it, " ejaculated Titus, "there's another miss! Couldn't Ijust slip out, and hear that?"

"On no account, " said Coates. "Consider, Sir Ranulph is there. "

"Well, well, " rejoined Titus, heaving a deep sigh, and squeezing alemon; "are you sure this is _biling_ water, Tim? You know, I'm mightyparticular. "

"Perfectly aware of it, sir. "

"Ah, Tim, do you recollect the way I used to brew for poor Sir Piers, with a bunch of red currants at the bottom of the glass? And then tothink that, after all, I should be left out of his funeral--it's theheight of barbarity. Tim, this rum of yours is poor stuff--there's nopunch worth the trouble of drinking, except whisky-punch. A glass ofright potheen, straw-color, peat-flavor, ten degrees over proof, wouldbe the only thing to drown my cares. Any such thing in the cellar? Thereused to be an odd bottle or so, Tim--in the left bin, near the door. "

"I've a notion there be, " returned Timothy. "I'll try the bin yourhonor mentions, and if I can lay hands upon a bottle you shall have it, you may depend. "

The butler departed, and Titus, emulating Mr. Coates, who had alreadyenveloped himself, like Juno at the approach of Ixion, in a cloud, proceeded to light his pipe. 

Luke, meanwhile, had been left alone, without light. He had much tomeditate upon, and with naught to check the current of his thoughts, hepensively revolved his present situation and future prospects. Thefuture was gloomy enough--the present fraught with danger. And now thatthe fever of excitement was passed, he severely reproached himself forhis precipitancy. 

His mind, by degrees, assumed a more tranquil state; and, exhausted withhis great previous fatigue, he threw himself upon the floor of hisprison-house, and addressed himself to slumber. The noise he madeinduced Coates to enter the room, which he did with a pistol in eachhand, followed by Titus with a pipe and candle; but finding all safe thesentinels retired. 

"One may see, with half an eye, that you're not used to a feather-bed, my friend, " said Titus, as the door was locked. "By the powers, he's atall chap, anyhow--why his feet almost touch the door. I should say thatroom was a matter of six feet long, Mr. Coates. "

"Exactly six feet, sir. "

"Well, that's a good guess. Hang that ugly rascal, Tim; he's neverbrought the whisky. But I'll be even with him to-morrow. Couldn't youjust see to the prisoner for ten minutes, Mr. Coates?"

"Not ten seconds. I shall report you, if you stir from your post. "

Here the door was opened, and Tim entered with the whisky. 

"Arrah! by my soul, Tim, and here you are at last--uncork it, man, andgive us a thimbleful--blob! there goes the stopper--here's aglass"--smacking his lips--"whist, Tim, another drop--stuff like thiswill never hurt a body. Mr. Coates, try it--no--I thought you'd be a manof more taste. "

"I must limit you to a certain quantity, " replied Coates, "or you willnot be fit to keep guard--another glass must be the extent of yourallowance. "

"Another glass! and do you think I'll submit to any such iniquitousproposition?"

"Beg pardon, gentlemen, " said Tim, "but her ladyship desires me to tellyou both, that she trusts you will keep the strictest watch upon theprisoner. I have the same message also from Sir Ranulph. "

"Do you hear that?" said Coates. 

"And what are they all about now, Tim?" groaned Titus. 

"Just starting, sir, " returned Tim; "and, indeed, I must not lose mytime gossiping here, for I be wanted below. You must be pleased to takecare of yourselves, gentlemen, for an hour or so, for there will be onlya few women-kind left in the house. The storm's just over, and the menare all lighting their torches. Oh, it's a grand sight!" And off setTim. 

"Bad luck to myself, anyhow, " ejaculated Titus; "this is more than I canbear--I've had enough of this watch and ward business--if the prisonerstirs, shoot him, if you think proper--I'll be back in an hour. "

"I tell you what, Mr. Tyrconnel, " said Coates, coolly taking up thepistol from the table, "I'm a man of few words, but those few are, Ihope, to the purpose, and I'd have you to know if you stir from thatchair, or attempt to leave the room, damme but I'll send a brace ofbullets after you. I'm serious, I assure you. " And he cocked the pistol. 

By way of reply to this menace, Titus deliberately filled a stiff glassof whisky-and-water. 

"That's your last glass, " said the inexorable Coates. 

To return once more to Luke. He slept uneasily for some short space, and was awakened by a sound which reached his dreaming ears andconnected itself with the visions that slumber was weaving around him. It was some moments before he could distinctly remember where he was. Hewould not venture to sleep again, though he felt overwhelmed bydrowsiness--there was a fixed pain at his heart, as if circulation weresuspended. Changing his posture, he raised himself upon one arm; he thenbecame aware of a scratching noise, somewhat similar to the sound he hadheard in his dream, and perceived a light gleaming through a crevice inthe oaken partition. His attention was immediately arrested, and placinghis eye close to the chink, he distinctly saw a dark lantern burning, and by its light a man filing some implement of housebreaking. The lightfell before the hard features of the man, with whose countenance Lukewas familiar; and although only one person came within the scope of hisview, Luke could make out, from a muttered conversation that was carriedon, that he had a companion. The parties were near to him, and thoughspeaking in a low tone, Luke's quick ear caught the following:

"What keeps Jack Palmer, I wonder?" said he of the file. "We're allready for the fakement--pops primed--and I tell you what, Rob Rust, I'vemade my clasp-knife as sharp as a razor, and damme, if Lady Rookwoodoffers any resistance, I'll spoil her talking in future, I promise you. "

Suppressed laughter from Rust followed this speech. That laugh madeLuke's blood run cold within his veins. 

"Harkee, Dick Wilder, you're a reg'lar out-and-outer, and stops atnothing, and curse me if I'd think any more of it than yourself. ButJack's as squeamish of bloodshed as young Miss that cries at her cutfinger. It's the safer plan. Say what you will, nothing but _that_ willstop a woman's tongue. "

"I shall make short work with her ladyship to-night, anyhow. Hist! hereJack comes. "

A footstep crossed in the room, and, presently afterwards, exclamationsof surprise and smothered laughter were heard from the parties. 

"Bravo, Jack! famous! that disguise would deceive the devil himself. "

"And now, my lads, " said the newcomer, "is all right?"

"Right and tight. "

"Nothing forgotten?"

"Nothing. "

"Then off with your stamps, and on with your list slippers; not a word. Follow me, and, for your lives, don't move a step but as I direct you. The word must be, '_Sir Piers Rookwood calls_. ' We'll overhaul the swaghere. This crack may make us all for life; and if you'll follow mydirections implicitly, we'll do the trick in style. This slum must beour rendezvous when all's over; for hark ye, my lads, I'll not budge aninch till Luke Bradley be set free. He's an old friend, and I alwaysstick by old friends. I'd do the same for one of you if you were in thesame scrape, so, damn you, no flinching; besides, I owe thatspider-shanked, snivelling split-cause Coates, who stands sentry, agrudge, and I'll pay him off, as Paul did the Ephesians. You may crophis ears, or slit his tongue as you would a magpie's, or any otherchattering varmint; make him sign his own testament, or treat him with atouch of your _Habeas Corpus_ Act, if you think proper, or give him ataste of blue plumb. One thing only I stipulate, that you don't hurtthat fat, mutton-headed Broganeer, whatever he may say or do; he's adevilish good fellow. And now to business. "

Saying which, they noiselessly departed. But carefully as the door wasclosed, Luke's ear could detect the sound. His blood boiled withindignation; and he experienced what all must have felt who have beensimilarly situated, with the will, but not the power, to assistanother--a sensation almost approaching to torture. At this moment adistant scream burst upon his ears--another--he hesitated no longer. With all his force he thundered at the door. 

"What do you want, rascal?" cried Coates, from without. 

"There are robbers in the house. "

"Thank you for the information. There is one I know of already. "

"Fool, they are in Lady Rookwood's room. Run to her assistance. "

"A likely story, and leave you here. "

"Do you hear that scream?"

"Eh, what--what's that? I do hear something. " Here Luke dashed with allhis force against the door. It yielded to the blow, and he stood beforethe astonished attorney. 

"Advance a footstep, villain, " exclaimed Coates, presenting both hispistols, "and I lodge a brace of balls in your head. "

"Listen to me, " said Luke; "the robbers are in Lady Rookwood'schamber--they will plunder the place of everything--perhaps murder her. Fly to her assistance, I will accompany you--assist you--it is your onlychance. "

"_My_ only chance--_your_ only chance. Do you take me for a greenhorn?This is a poor subterfuge; could you not have vamped up somethingbetter? Get back to your own room, or I shall make no more of shootingyou than I would of snuffing that candle. "

"Be advised, sir, " continued Luke. "There are three of them--give me apistol, and fear nothing. "

"Give _you_ a pistol! Ha, ha!--to be its mark myself. You are an amusingrascal, I will say. "

"Sir, I tell you not a moment is to be lost. Is life nothing? LadyRookwood may be murdered. "

"I tell _you_, once for all, it won't do. Go back to your room, or takethe consequences. "

"By the powers! but it shall do, anyhow, " exclaimed Titus, flinginghimself upon the attorney, and holding both his arms; "you've bullied melong enough. I'm sure the lad's in the right. "

Luke snatched the pistols from the hands of Coates. 

"Very well, Mr. Tyrconnel; very well, sir, " cried the attorney, boilingwith wrath, and spluttering out his words. "Extremely well, sir. You arenot perhaps aware, sir, what you have done; but you will repent this, sir--repent, I say--repent was my word, Mr. Tyrconnel. "

"Poh!--poh!" replied Titus. "I shall never repent a good-naturedaction. "

"Follow me, " cried Luke; "settle your disputes hereafter. Quick, or weshall be too late. "

Coates bustled after him, and Titus, putting the neck of the forbiddenwhisky bottle to his lips, and gulping down a hasty mouthful, snatchedup a rusty poker, and followed the party with more alacrity than mighthave been expected from so portly a personage. 

_CHAPTER VI_

_THE APPARITION_

 _Gibbet. _ Well, gentlemen, 'tis a fine night for our enterprise. 

 _Hounslow. _ Dark as hell. 

 _Bagshot. _ And blows like the devil. 

 _Boniface. _ You'll have no creature to deal with but the ladies. 

 _Gibbet. _ And I can assure you, friend, there's a great deal of address, and good manners, in robbing a lady. I am the most of a gentleman, that way, that ever travelled the road. 

 _Beaux Stratagem. _

Accompanied by her son, Lady Rookwood, on quitting the chamber of thedead, returned to her own room. She then renewed all her arguments; hadrecourse to passionate supplications--to violent threats, but withouteffect. Ranulph maintained profound silence. Passion, as it ever doth, defeated its own ends; and Lady Rookwood, seeing the ill effect heranger would probably produce, gradually softened the asperity of hermanner, and suffered him to depart. 

Left to herself, and to the communings of her own troubled spirit, herfortitude, in a measure, forsook her, under the pressure of thedifficulties by which she was environed. There was no plan she coulddevise--no scheme adopt, unattended with peril. She must act alone--withpromptitude and secrecy. To win her son over was her chief desire, andthat, at all hazards, she was resolved to do. But how? She knew of onlyone point on which he was vulnerable--his love for Eleanor Mowbray. Byraising doubts in his mind, and placing fresh difficulties in his path, she might compel him to acquiesce in her machinations, as a necessarymeans of accomplishing his own object. This she hoped to effect. Stillthere was a depth of resolution in the placid stream of Ranulph'scharacter which she had often noticed with apprehension. Aware of hisfirmness, she dreaded lest his sense of justice should be stronger thanhis passion. 

As she wove these webs of darkness, fear, hitherto unknown, tookpossession of her soul. She listened to the howling of the wind--to thevibration of the rafters--to the thunder's roar, and to the hissingrain--till she, who never trembled at the thought of danger, becamefilled with vague uneasiness. Lights were ordered; and when her oldattendant returned. Lady Rookwood fixed a look so wistful upon her, thatAgnes ventured to address her. 

"Bless you, my lady, " said the ancient handmaiden, trembling, "you lookvery pale, and no wonder. I feel sick at heart, too. Oh! I shall be gladwhen they return from the church, and happier still when the morningdawns. I can't sleep a wink--can't close my eyes, but I think of him. "

"Of _him_?"

"Of Sir Piers, my lady; for though he's dead, I don't think he's gone. "

"How?"

"Why, my lady, the corruptible part of him's gone, sure enough. But theincorruptible, as Dr. Small calls it--the sperrit, my lady. It might bemy fancy, your ladyship; but as I'm standing here, when I went back intothe room just now for the lights, as I hope to live, I thought I saw SirPiers in the room. "

"You are crazed, Agnes. "

"No, my lady, I'm not crazed; it was mere fancy, no doubt. Oh, it's ablessed thing to live with an easy conscience--a thrice blessed thing to_die_ with an easy one, and that's what I never shall, I'm afeard. PoorSir Piers! I'd mumble a prayer for him, if I durst. "

"Leave me, " said Lady Rookwood, impatiently. 

And Agnes quitted the room. 

"What if the dead can return?" thought Lady Rookwood. "All men doubt it, yet all men believe it. _I_ would not believe it, were there not acreeping horror that overmasters me, when I think of the state beyondthe grave--that intermediate state, for such it must be, when the bodylieth mouldering in the ground, and the soul survives, to wander, unconfined, until the hour of doom. And doth the soul survive whendisenthralled? Is it dependent on the body? Does it perish with thebody? These are doubts I cannot resolve. But if I deemed there was nofuture state, this hand should at once liberate me from my ownweaknesses--my fears--my life. There is but one path to acquire thatknowledge, which, once taken, can never be retraced. I am content tolive--while living, to be feared--it may be, hated; when dead, to becontemned--yet still remembered. Ha! what sound was that? A stifledscream! Agnes!--without there! She is full of fears. I am not free fromthem myself, but I will shake them off. This will divert their channel, "continued she, drawing from her bosom the marriage certificate. "Thiswill arouse the torpid current of my blood--'_Piers Rookwood to SusanBradley_. ' And by whom was it solemnized? The name is Checkley--RichardCheckley. Ha! I bethink me--a Papist priest--a recusant--who was forsome time an inmate of the hall. I have heard of this man--he wasafterwards imprisoned, but escaped--he is either dead or in a foreignland. No witnesses--'tis well! Methinks Sir Piers Rookwood did well topreserve this. It shall light his funeral pyre. Would he could nowbehold me, as I consume it!"

She held the paper in the direction of the candle; but, ere it couldtouch the flame, it dropped from her hand. As if her horrible wish hadbeen granted, before her stood the figure of her husband! Lady Rookwoodstarted not. No sign of trepidation or alarm, save the sudden stiffeningof her form, was betrayed. Her bosom ceased to palpitate--herrespiration stopped--her eyes were fixed upon the apparition. 

The figure appeared to regard her sternly. It was at some littledistance, within the shade cast by the lofty bedstead. Still she coulddistinctly discern it. There was no ocular deception; it was attired inthe costume Sir Piers was wont to wear--a hunting dress. All that herson had told her rushed to her recollection. The phantom advanced. Itscountenance was pale, and wore a gloomy frown. 

"What would you destroy?" demanded the apparition, in a hollow tone. 

"The evidence of----"

"What?"

"Your marriage. "

"With yourself, accursed woman?"

"With Susan Bradley. "

"What's that I hear?" shouted the figure, in an altered tone. "Marriedto her! then Luke _is_ legitimate, and heir to this estate!" Whereuponthe apparition rushed to the table, and laid a very substantial graspupon the document. "A marriage certificate!" ejaculated the spectre;"here's a piece of luck! It ain't often in our lottery life we draw aprize like this. One way or the other, it must turn up a few coolthousands. "

"Restore that paper, villain, " exclaimed Lady Rookwood, recovering allthe audacity natural to her character the instant she discovered theearthly nature of the intruder--"restore it, or, by Heaven, you shallrue your temerity. "

"Softly, softly, " replied the pseudo-phantom, with one hand pushing backthe lady, while the other conveyed the precious document to the custodyof his nether man--"softly, " said he, giving the buckskin pocket aslap--"two words to that, my lady. I know its value as well as yourself, and must make my market. The highest offer has me, your ladyship; he'sbut a poor auctioneer that knocks down his ware when only one bidder ispresent. Luke Bradley, or, as I find he now is, Sir Luke Rookwood, maycome down more handsomely. "

"Who are you, ruffian, and to what end is this masquerade assumed? Iffor the purpose of terrifying me into compliance with the schemes ofthat madman, Luke Bradley, whom I presume to be your confederate, yourlabor is misspent--your stolen disguise has no more weight with me thanhis forged claims. "

"Forged claims! Egad, he must be a clever hand to have forged thatcertificate. Your ladyship, however, is in error. Sir Luke Rookwood isno associate of mine; I am his late father's friend. But I have no timeto bandy talk. What money have you in the house? Be alive. "

"You _are_ a robber, then?"

"Not I. I'm a tax-gatherer--a collector of Rich-Rates--ha, ha! Whatplate have you got? Nay, don't be alarmed--take it quietly--these thingscan't be helped--better make up your mind to do it without moreado--much the best plan--no screaming, it may injure your lungs, and canalarm nobody. Your maids have done as much before--it's beneath yourdignity to make so much noise. So, you will not heed me? As you will. "Saying which, he deliberately cut the bell-cord, and drew out a brace ofpistols at the same time. 

"Agnes!" shrieked Lady Rookwood, now seriously alarmed. 

"I must caution your ladyship to be silent, " said the robber, who, asour readers will no doubt have already conjectured, was no other thanthe redoubted Jack Palmer. "Agnes is already disposed of, " said he, cocking a pistol. "However like your deceased 'lord and master' I mayappear, you will find you have got a very different spirit from that ofSir Piers to deal with. I am naturally the politest man breathing--havebeen accounted the best-bred man on the road by every lady whom I havehad the honor of addressing; and I should be sorry to sully mywell-earned reputation by anything like rudeness. I must use a littleforce, of the gentlest kind. Perhaps you will permit me to hand you to achair. Bless me! what a wrist your ladyship has got. Excuse me if I hurtyou, but you are so devilish strong. What ho! 'Sir Piers Rookwoodcalls--'"

"Ready, " cried a voice. 

"That's the word, " rejoined another; "ready;" and immediately two men, their features entirely hidden by a shroud of black crape, accoutred inrough attire, and each armed with pistols, rushed into the room. 

"Lend a hand, " said Jack. 

Even in this perilous extremity Lady Rookwood's courage did not deserther. Anticipating their purpose, ere her assailants could reach her sheextricated herself from Palmer's grasp, and rushed upon the foremost sounexpectedly, that, before the man could seize her, she snatched apistol from his hand, and presented it at the group with an aspect likethat of a tigress at bay--her eye wandering from one to the other, as ifselecting a mark. 

There was a pause of a few seconds, in which the men glanced at thelady, and then at their leader. Jack looked blank. 

"Hem!" said he, coolly; "this is something new--disarmed--defied by apetticoat. Hark ye, Rob Rust, the disgrace rests with you. Clear yourcharacter, by securing her at once. What! afraid of a woman?"

"A woman!" repeated Rust, in a surly tone; "devilish like a woman, indeed. Few men could do what she has done. Give the word, and I fire. As to seizing her, that's more than I'll engage to do. "

"You are a coward, " cried Jack. "I will steer clear of blood--if I canhelp it. Come, madam, surrender, like the more sensible part of yoursex, at discretion. You will find resistance of no avail. " And hestepped boldly towards her. 

Lady Rookwood pulled the trigger. The pistol flashed in the pan. Sheflung away the useless weapon without a word. 

"Ha, ha!" said Jack, as he leisurely stooped to pick up the pistol, andapproached her ladyship; "the bullet is not yet cast that is to be mybillet. Here, " said he, dealing Rust a heavy thump upon the shoulderwith the butt-end of the piece, "take back your snapper, and look youprick the touchhole, or your barking-iron will never bite for you. Andnow, madam, I must take the liberty of again handing you to a seat. DickWilder, the cord--quick. It distresses me to proceed to such lengthswith your ladyship--but safe bind, safe find, as Mr. Coates would say. "

"You will not bind me, ruffian. "

"Your ladyship is very much mistaken--I have no alternative--yourladyship's wrist is far too dexterous to be at liberty. I mustfurthermore request of your ladyship to be less vociferous--youinterrupt business, which should be transacted with silence anddeliberation. "

Lady Rookwood's rage and vexation at this indignity were beyond allbounds. Resistance, however, was useless, and she submitted in silence. The cord was passed tightly round her arms, when it flashed upon herrecollection for the first time that Coates and Tyrconnel, who were incharge of her captive in the lower corridor, might be summoned to herassistance. This idea no sooner crossed her mind than she uttered a loudand prolonged scream. 

"'Sdeath!" cried Jack; "civility is wasted here. Give me the gag, Rob. "

"Better slit her squeaking-pipe at once, " replied Rust, drawing hisclasped knife; "she'll thwart everything. "

"The gag, I say, not _that_. "

"I can't find the gag, " exclaimed Wilder, savagely. "Leave Rob Rust tomanage her--he'll silence her, I warrant you, while you and I rummagethe room. "

"Ay, leave her to me, " said the other miscreant. "Go about yourbusiness, and take no heed. Her hands are fast--she can't scratch. I'lldo it with a single gash--send her to join her lord, whom she loved sowell, before he's under ground. They'll have something to see when theycome home from the master's funeral--their mistress _cut and dry_ foranother. Ho, ho!"

"Mercy, mercy!" shrieked Lady Rookwood. 

"Ay, ay, I'll be merciful, " said Rust, brandishing his knife before hereyes. "I'll not be long about it. Leave her to me--I'll give her a tasteof Sir Sydney. "

"No, no, Rust; no bloodshed, " said Jack, authoritatively; "I'll findsome other way to gag the jade. "

At this moment a noise of rapid footsteps was heard within the passage. 

"Assistance comes, " screamed Lady Rookwood. "Help! help!"

"To the door!" cried Jack. The words were scarcely out of his mouthbefore Luke dashed into the room, followed by Coates and Tyrconnel. 

Palmer and his companions levelled their pistols at the intruders, andthe latter would have fired, but Jack's keen eye having discerned Lukeamongst the foremost, checked further hostilities for the present. LadyRookwood, meanwhile, finding herself free from restraint, rushed towardsher deliverers, and crouched beneath Luke's protecting arms, which wereextended, pistol in hand, over her head. Behind them stood TitusTyrconnel, flourishing the poker, and Mr. Coates, who, upon the sight ofso much warlike preparation, began somewhat to repent having rushed soprecipitately into the lion's den. 

"Luke Bradley!" exclaimed Palmer, stepping forward. 

"Luke Bradley!" echoed Lady Rookwood, recoiling and staring into hisface. 

"Fear nothing, madam, " cried Luke. "I am here to assist you--I willdefend you with my life. "

"_You_ defend _me_!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, doubtfully. 

"Even _I_, " cried Luke, "strange as it may sound. "

"Holy powers protect me!" ejaculated Titus. "As I live, it is Sir Piershimself. "

"Sir Piers!" echoed Coates, catching the infection of terror, as heperceived Palmer more distinctly. "What! is the dead come to life again?A ghost, a ghost!"

"By my soul, " cried Titus, "it's the first ghost I ever heard of thatcommitted a burglary in its own house, and on the night of the body'sburial, too. But who the devil are these? maybe they're ghostslikewise. "

"They are, " said Palmer, in a hollow tone, mimicking the voice of SirPiers, "attendant spirits. We are come for this woman; her time is out;so no more palavering, Titus. Lend a hand to take her to the churchyard, and be hanged to you. "

"Upon my conscience, Mr. Coates, " cried Titus, "it's either the devil, or Sir Piers. We'll be only in the way here. He's only just settling hisold scores with his lady. I thought it would come to this long ago. We'dbest beat a retreat. "

Jack took advantage of the momentary confusion created by thisincidental alarm at his disguise to direct Rust towards the door bywhich the new comers had entered; and, this being accomplished, he burstinto a loud laugh. 

"What! not know me?" cried he--"not know your old friend with a newface, Luke? Nor you, Titus? Nor you, who can see through a millstone, lawyer Coates, don't you recognize----"

"Jack Palmer, as I'm a sinner!" cried Titus. "Why, this beats Banaghan. Arrah! Jack, honey, what does this mean? Is it yourself I see in suchcompany? You're not robbing in earnest?"

"Indeed but I am, friend Titus, " exclaimed Jack; "and _it is_ my ownself you see. I just took the liberty of borrowing Sir Piers's oldhunting-coat from the justice-room. You said my toggery wouldn't do forthe funeral. I'm no other than plain Jack Palmer, after all. "

"With half a dozen aliases at your back, I dare say, " cried Coates. "_I_suspected you all along. All your praise of highwaymen was not lost uponme. No, no; I _can_ see into a millstone, be it ever so thick. "

"Well, " replied Jack, "I'm sorry to see you here, friend Titus. Keepquiet, and you shall come to no harm. As to you, Luke Bradley, you haveanticipated my intention by half an hour; I meant to set you free. Foryou, Mr. Coates, you may commit all future care of your affairs to yourexecutors, administrators, and assigns. You will have no further need totrouble yourself with worldly concerns, " added he, levelling a pistol atthe attorney, who, however, shielded himself, in an agony ofapprehension, behind Luke's person. "Stand aside, Luke. "

"I stir not, " replied Luke. "I thank you for your good intention, andwill not injure you--that is, if you do not force me to do so. I am hereto defend her ladyship. "

"What's that you say?" returned Jack, in surprise--"_defend_ herladyship?"

"With my life, " replied Luke. "Let me counsel you to depart. "

"Are you mad? Defend her--Lady Rookwood--your enemy--who would hang you?Tut, tut! Stand aside, I say, Luke Bradley, or look to yourself. "

"You had better consider well ere you proceed, " said Luke. "You know meof old. I have taken odds as great, and not come off the vanquished. "

"The odds are even, " cried Titus, "if Mr. Coates will but show fight. I'll stand by you to the last, my dear boy. You're the right son of yourfather, though on the wrong side. Och! Jack Palmer, my jewel, no wonderyou resemble Dick Turpin. "

"You hear this?" cried Luke. 

"Hot-headed fool!" muttered Jack. 

"Why don't you shoot him on the spot?" said Wilder. 

"And mar my own chance, " thought Jack. "No, that will never do; his lifeis not to be thrown away. Be quiet, " said he, in a whisper to Wilder;"I've another card to play, which shall serve us better than all theplunder here. No harm must come to that youngster; his life is worththousands to us. " Then, turning to Luke, he continued, "I'm loth to hurtyou; yet what can I do? You must have the worst of it if we come to apitched battle. I therefore advise you, as a friend, to draw off yourforces. We are three to three, it is true; but two of _your_ party areunarmed. "

"Unarmed!" interrupted Titus. "Devil burn me! this iron shillelah shallconvince you to the contrary, Jack, or any of your friends. "

"Make ready then, my lads, " cried Palmer. 

"Stop a minute, " exclaimed Coates. "This gets serious; it will end inhomicide--in murder. We shall all have our throats cut to a certainty;and though these rascals will as certainly be hanged for it, that willbe poor satisfaction to the sufferers. Had we not better refer thematter to arbitration?"

"I'm for fighting it out, " said Titus, whisking the poker round his headlike a flail in action. "My blood's up. Come on, Jack Palmer, I'm foryou. "

"I should vote for retreating, " chattered the attorney, "if that cursedfellow had not placed a _ne exeat_ at the door. "

"Give the word, captain, " cried Rust, impatiently. 

"Ay, ay, " echoed Wilder. 

"A skilful general always parleys, " said Jack. "A word in your ear, Luke, ere that be done which cannot be undone. "

"You mean me no treachery?" returned Luke. 

Jack made no answer, but uncocking his pistols, deposited them withinhis pockets. 

"Shoot him as he advances, " whispered Coates; "he is in your power now. "

"Scoundrel!" replied Luke, "do you think me as base as yourself?"

"Hush, hush! for God's sake don't expose me, " said Coates. 

Lady Rookwood had apparently listened to this singular conference withsullen composure, though in reality she was racked with anxiety as toits results; and, now apprehending that Palmer was about to make animmediate disclosure to Luke, she accosted him as he passed her. 

"Unbind me!" cried she, "and what you wish shall beyours--money--jewels----"

"Ha! may I depend?"

"I pledge my word. "

Palmer untied the cord, and Lady Rookwood, approaching a table whereonstood the escritoire, touched a spring, and a secret drawer flew open. 

"You do this of your own free will?" asked Luke. "Speak, if it beotherwise. "

"I do, " returned the lady, hastily. 

Palmer's eyes glistened at the treasures exposed to his view. 

"They are jewels of countless price. Take them, and rid me, " she addedin a whisper, "of _him_. "

"Luke Bradley?"

"Ay. "

"Give them to me. "

"They are yours freely on those terms. "

"You hear that, Luke, " cried he, aloud; "you hear it, Titus; this is norobbery. Mr. Coates--'Know all men by these _presents_'--I call you towitness, Lady Rookwood gives me these pretty things. "

"I do, " returned she; adding, in a whisper, "on the terms which Iproposed. "

"Must it be done at once?"

"Without an instant's delay. "

"Before your own eyes?"

"I fear not to look on. Each moment is precious. He is off his guardnow. You do it, you know, in self-defence. "

"And you?"

"For the same cause. "

"Yet he came here to aid you?"

"What of that?"

"He would have risked his life for yours?"

"I cannot pay back the obligation. He must die!"

"The document?"

"Will be useless then. "

"Will not that suffice; why aim at life?"

"You trifle with me. You fear to do it. "

"_Fear!_"

"About it, then; you shall have more gold. "

"I will about it, " cried Jack, throwing the casket to Wilder, andseizing Lady Rookwood's hands. "I am no Italian bravo, madam--noassassin--no remorseless cut-throat. What are you--devil or woman--whoask me to do this? Luke Bradley, I say. "

"Would you betray me?" cried Lady Rookwood. 

"You have betrayed yourself, madam. Nay, nay, Luke, hands off. See, LadyRookwood, how you would treat a friend. This strange fellow would blowout my brains for laying a finger upon your ladyship. "

"I will suffer no injury to be done to her, " said Luke; "release her. "

"Your ladyship hears him, " said Jack. "And you, Luke, shall learn thevalue set upon your generosity. You will not have _her_ injured. Thisinstant she has proposed, nay, paid for _your_ assassination. "

"How?" exclaimed Luke, recoiling. 

"A lie, as black as hell, " cried Lady Rookwood. 

"A truth, as clear as heaven, " retained Jack. "I will speedily convinceyou of the fact. " Then, turning to Lady Rookwood, he whispered, "Shall Igive him the marriage document?"

"Beware!" said Lady Rookwood. 

"Do I avouch the truth, then?"

She was silent. 

"I am answered, " said Luke. 

"Then leave her to her fate, " cried Jack. 

"No, " replied Luke; "she is still a woman, and I will not abandon her toruffianly violence. Set her free. "

"You are a fool, " said Jack. 

"Hurrah, hurrah!" vociferated Coates, who had rushed to the window. "Rescue, rescue! they are returning from the church; I see thetorchlight in the avenue; we are saved!"

"Hell and the devil!" cried Jack; "not an instant is to be lost. Alive, lads; bring off all the plunder you can; be handy!"

"Lady Rookwood, I bid you farewell, " said Luke, in a tone in which scornand sorrow were blended. "We shall meet again. "

"We have not parted yet, " returned she; "will you let this man pass? Athousand pounds for his life. "

"Upon the nail?" asked Rust. 

"By the living God, if any of you attempt to touch him, I will blow hisbrains out upon the spot, be he friend or foe, " cried Jack. "LukeBradley, _we_ shall meet again. You shall hear from me. "

"Lady Rookwood, " said Luke, as he departed, "I shall not forget thisnight. "

"Is all ready?" asked Palmer of his comrades. 

"All. "

"Then budge. "

"Stay!" cried Lady Rookwood, in a whisper to him. "What will purchasethat document?"

"Hem!"

"A thousand pounds?"

"Double it. "

"It _shall_ be doubled. "

"I will turn it over. "

"Resolve me now. "

"You shall hear from me. "

"In what manner?"

"I will find speedy means. "

"Your name is Palmer?"

"Palmer is the name he goes by, your ladyship, " replied Coates, "but itis the fashion with these rascals to have an alias. "

"Ha! ha!" said Jack, thrusting the ramrod into his pistol-barrel, "areyou there, Mr. Coates? Pay your wager, sir. "

"What wager?"

"The hundred we bet that you would take me if ever you had the chance. "

"Take _you_!--it was Dick Turpin I betted to take. "

"_I_ am DICK TURPIN--that's my alias!" replied Jack. 

"Dick Turpin! then I'll have a snap at you at all hazards, " criedCoates, springing suddenly towards him. 

"And I at you, " said Turpin, discharging his pistol right in the face ofthe rash attorney; "there's a quittance in full. "

_BOOK III_

_THE GIPSY_

 Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear, Say I died true. My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth; Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth. 

 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 

_CHAPTER I_

_A MORNING RIDE_

 I had a sister, who among the race Of gipsies was the fairest. Fair she was In gentle blood, and gesture to her beauty. 

 BROME. 

On quitting Lady Rookwood's chamber, Luke speeded along the gloomycorridor, descended the spiral stairs, and, swiftly traversing sundryother dark passages, issued from a door at the back of the house. Daywas just beginning to break. His first object had been to furnishhimself with means to expedite his flight; and, perceiving no one in theyard, he directed his hasty steps towards the stable. The door wasfortunately unfastened; and, entering, he found a strong roan horse, which he knew, from description, had been his father's favorite hunter, and to the use of which he now considered himself fully entitled. Theanimal roused himself as he approached, shook his glossy coat, andneighed, as if he recognized the footsteps and voice. 

"Thou art mistaken, old fellow, " said Luke; "I am not he thou thinkest;nevertheless, I am glad thy instinct would have it so. If thou bearestmy father's son as thou hast borne thy old master, o'er many a field formany a day, he need not fear the best mounted of his pursuers. Soho!come hither, Rook. "

The noble steed turned at the call. Luke hastily saddled him, vaultedupon his back, and, disregarding every impediment in the shape of fenceor ditch, shaped his course across the field towards the sexton'scottage, which he reached just as its owner was in the act of unlockinghis door. Peter testified his delight and surprise at the escape of hisgrandson, by a greeting of chuckling laughter. 

"How?--escaped!" exclaimed he. "Who has delivered you from the hands ofthe Moabites? Ha, ha! But why do I ask? Who could it have been but JackPalmer?"

"My own hands have set me free, " returned Luke. "I am indebted to no manfor liberty; still less to _him_. But I cannot tarry here; each momentis precious. I came to request you to accompany me to the gipsyencampment. Will you go, or not?"

"And mount behind you?" replied Peter; "I like not the manner ofconveyance. "

"Farewell, then. " And Luke turned to depart. 

"Stay; that is Sir Piers's horse, old Rook. I care not if I do ridehim. "

"Quick, then; mount. "

"I will not delay you a moment, " rejoined the sexton, opening his door, and throwing his implements into the cottage. "Back, Mole; back, sir, "cried he, as the dog rushed out to greet him. "Bring your steed nighthis stone, grandson Luke--there--a little nearer--all's right. " Andaway they galloped. 

The sexton's first inquiries were directed to ascertain how Luke hadaccomplished his escape; and, having satisfied himself in thisparticular, he was content to remain silent; musing, it might be, on theincidents detailed to him. 

The road Luke chose was a rough, unfrequented lane, that skirted, fornearly a mile, the moss-grown palings of the park. It then diverged tothe right, and seemed to bear towards a range of hills rising in thedistance. High hedges impeded the view on either hand; but there wereoccasional gaps, affording glimpses of the tract of country throughwhich he was riding. Meadows were seen steaming with heavy dews, intersected by a deep channelled stream, whose course was marked by ahanging cloud of vapor, as well as by a row of melancholypollard-willows, that stood like stripped, shivering urchins by theriver side. Other fields succeeded, yellow with golden grain, or brightwith flowering clover--the autumnal crop--colored with every shade, fromthe light green of the turnip to the darker verdure of the bean, thevarious products of the teeming land. The whole was backed by rounddrowsy masses of trees. 

Luke spoke not, nor abated his furious course, till the road began toclimb a steep ascent. He then drew in the rein, and from the heights ofthe acclivity surveyed the plain over which he had passed. 

It was a rich agricultural district, with little picturesque beauty, butmuch of true English endearing loveliness to recommend it. Such a quiet, pleasing landscape, in short, as one views, at such a season of theyear, from every eminence in every county of our merry isle. The picturewas made up of a tract of land filled with corn ripe for the sickle, orstudded with sheaves of the same golden produce, enlivened with greenmeadows, so deeply luxuriant as to claim the scythe for the second time;each divided from the other by thick hedgerows, the uniformity of whichwas broken ever and anon by some towering elm, tall poplar, orwide-branching oak. Many old farmhouses, with their broad barns andcrowded haystacks--forming little villages in themselves--ornamented thelandscape at different points, and by their substantial look evidencedthe fertility of the soil, and the thriving condition of itsinhabitants. Some three miles distant might be seen the scattered hamletof Rookwood; the dark russet thatch of its houses scarcely perceptibleamidst the embrowned foliage of the surrounding timber. The site of thevillage was, however, pointed out by the square tower of the antiquechurch, that crested the summit of the adjoining hill; and although thehall was entirely hidden from view, Luke readily traced out its localityamidst the depths of the dark grove in which it was embosomed. 

This goodly prospect had other claims to attention in Luke's eyesbesides its agricultural or pictorial merit. It was, or he deemed itwas, his own. Far as his eye ranged, yea, even beyond the line ofvision, the estates of Rookwood extended. 

"Do you see that house below us in the valley?" asked Peter of hiscompanion. 

"I do, " replied Luke; "a snug old house--a model of a farm. Everythinglooks comfortable and well to do about it. There are a dozen lustyhaystacks, or thereabouts; and the great barn, with its roof yellowedlike gold, looks built for a granary; and there are stables, kine-houses, orchards, dovecots, and fishponds, and an old circulargarden, with wall-fruit in abundance. He should be a happy man, and awealthy one, who dwells therein. "

"He dwells therein no longer, " returned Peter; "he died last night. "

"How know you that? None are stirring in the house as yet. "

"The owner of that house, Simon Toft, " replied Peter, "was last nightstruck by a thunderbolt. He was one of the coffin-bearers at yourfather's funeral. They are sleeping within the house, you say. 'Tiswell. Let them sleep on--they will awaken too soon, wake when theymay--ha, ha!"

"Peace!" cried Luke; "you blight everything--even this smiling landscapeyou would turn to gloom. Does not this morn awaken a happier train ofthoughts within your mind? With me it makes amends for want of sleep, effaces resentment, and banishes every black misgiving. 'Tis a joyousthing thus to scour the country at earliest dawn; to catch all thespirit and freshness of the morning; to be abroad before the lazy worldis half awake; to make the most of a brief existence; and to have spenta day of keen enjoyment, almost before the day begins with some. I liketo anticipate the rising of the glorious luminary; to watch every lineof light changing, as at this moment, from shuddering gray to blushingrose! See how the heavens are dyed! Who would exchange yon gorgeousspectacle, " continued he, pointing towards the east, and again urginghis horse to full speed down the hill, endangering the sexton's seat, and threatening to impale him upon the crupper of the saddle--"who wouldexchange that sight, and the exhilarating feeling of this fresh morn, for a couch of eiderdown, and a headache in reversion?"

"I for one, " returned the sexton, sharply, "would willingly exchange itfor that, or any other couch, provided it rid me of this accursedcrupper, which galls me sorely. Moderate your pace, grandson Luke, or Imust throw myself off the horse in self-defence. "

Luke slackened his charger's pace, in compliance with the sexton's wish. 

"Ah! well, " continued Peter, restored in a measure to comfort; "now Ican contemplate the sunrise, which you laud, somewhat at mine ease. 'Tisa fine sight, I doubt not, to the eyes of youth; and, to the sanguinesoul of him upon whom life itself is dawning, is, I dare say, inspiriting: but when the heyday of existence is past; when the bloodflows sluggishly in the veins; when one has known the desolating stormswhich the brightest sunrise has preceded, the seared heart refuses totrust its false glitter; and, like the experienced sailor, sees oft inthe brightest skies a forecast of the tempest. To such a one, there canbe no new dawn of the heart; no sun can gild its cold and cheerlesshorizon; no breeze can revive pulses that have long since ceased tothrob with any chance emotion. I am too old to feel freshness in thisnipping air. It chills me more than the damps of night, to which I amaccustomed. Night--midnight! is my season of delight. Nature is instinctthen with secrets dark and dread. There is a language which he whosleepeth not, but will wake, and watch, may haply learn. Strange organsof speech hath the invisible world; strange language doth it talk;strange communion hold with him who would pry into its mysteries. Ittalks by bat and owl--by the grave-worm, and by each crawling thing--bythe dust of graves, as well as by those that rot therein--but ever dothit discourse by night, and specially when the moon is at the full. 'Tisthe lore I have then learned that makes that season dear to me. Likeyour cat, mine eye expands in darkness. I blink at the sunshine, likeyour owl. "

"Cease this forbidding strain, " returned Luke; "it sounds as harshly asyour own screech-owl's cry. Let your thoughts take a more sprightlyturn, more in unison with my own and the fair aspect of nature. "

"Shall I direct them to the gipsies' camp, then?" said Peter, with asneer. "Do your own thoughts tend thither?"

"You are not altogether in the wrong, " replied Luke. "I _was_ thinkingof the gipsies' camp, and of one who dwells amongst its tents. "

"I knew it, " replied Peter. "Did you hope to deceive me by attributingall your joyousness of heart to the dawn? Your thoughts have beenwandering all this while upon one who hath, I will engage, a pair ofsloe-black eyes, an olive skin, and yet withal a clear one--'black, yetcomely, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon'--a mesh ofjetty hair, that hath entangled you in its network--ripe lips, and acunning tongue--one of the plagues of Egypt. --Ha, ha!"

"You have guessed shrewdly, " replied Luke; "I care not to own that mythoughts were so occupied. "

"I was assured of it, " replied the sexton. "And what may be the name ofher towards whom your imagination was straying?"

"Sibila Perez, " replied Luke. "Her father was a Spanish Gitano. She isknown amongst her people by her mother's name of Lovel. "

"She is beautiful, of course?"

"Ay, very beautiful!--but no matter! You shall judge of her charmsanon. "

"I will take your word for them, " returned the sexton; "and you loveher?"

"Passionately. "

"You are not married?" asked Peter, hastily. 

"Not as yet, " replied Luke; "but my faith is plighted. "

"Heaven be praised! The mischief is not then irreparable. I would haveyou married--though not to a gipsy girl. "

"And whom would you select?"

"One before whom Sybil's beauty would pale as stars at day's approach. "

"There lives not such a one. "

"Trust me there does. Eleanor Mowbray is lovely beyond parallel. I wasmerely speculating upon a possibility when I wished her yours--it isscarcely likely she would cast her eyes upon you. "

"I shall not heed her neglect. Graced with my title, I doubt not, wereit my pleasure to seek a bride amongst those of gentle blood, I shouldnot find all indifferent to my suit. "

"Possibly not. Yet what might weigh with others, would not weigh withher. There are qualities you lack which she has discovered in another. "

"In whom?"

"In Ranulph Rookwood. "

"Is _he_ her suitor?"

"I have reason to think so. "

"And you would have me abandon my own betrothed love, to beguile from mybrother his destined bride? That were to imitate the conduct of mygrandsire, the terrible Sir Reginald, towards _his_ brother Alan. "

The sexton answered not, and Luke fancied he could perceive a quiveringin the hands that grasped his body for support. There was a brief pausein their conversation. 

"And who is Eleanor Mowbray?" asked Luke, breaking the silence. 

"Your cousin. On the mother's side a Rookwood. 'Tis therefore I wouldurge your union with her. There is a prophecy relating to your house, which seems as though it would be fulfilled in your person and in hers:

 When the stray Rook shall perch on the topmost bough, There shall be clamor and screaming, I trow; But of right, and of rule, of the ancient nest, The Rook that with Rook mates shall hold him possest. "

"I place no faith in such fantasies, " replied Luke; "and yet the linesbear strangely upon my present situation. "

"Their application to yourself and Eleanor Mowbray is unquestionable, "replied the sexton. 

"It would seem so, indeed, " rejoined Luke; and he again sank intoabstraction, from which the sexton did not care to arouse him. 

The aspect of the country had materially changed since their descent ofthe hill. In place of the richly-cultivated district which lay on theother side, a broad brown tract of waste land spread out before them, covered with scattered patches of gorse, stunted fern, and lowbrushwood, presenting an unvaried surface of unbaked turf. The shallowcoat of sod was manifested by the stones that clattered under thehorse's hoofs as he rapidly traversed the arid soil, clearing with easeto himself, though not without discomfort to the sexton, every gravellytrench, natural chasm, or other inequality of ground that occurred inhis course. Clinging to his grandson with the tenacity of a bird ofprey, Peter for some time kept his station in security; but, unluckily, at one dike rather wider than the rest, the horse, owing possibly to themismanagement, intentional or otherwise, of Luke, swerved; and thesexton, dislodged from his "high estate, " fell at the edge of thetrench, and rolled incontinently to the bottom. 

Luke drew in the rein to inquire if any bones were broken; and Peterpresently upreared his dusty person from the abyss, and withoutcondescending to make any reply, yet muttering curses, "not loud, butdeep, " accepted his grandson's proffered hand, and remounted. 

While thus occupied, Luke fancied he heard a distant shout, and notingwhence the sound proceeded--the same quarter by which he had approachedthe heath--he beheld a single horseman spurring in their direction atthe top of his speed; and to judge from the rate at which he advanced, it was evident he was anything but indifferently mounted. Apprehensiveof pursuit, Luke expedited the sexton's ascent; and that accomplished, without bestowing further regard upon the object of his solicitude, heresumed his headlong flight. He now thought it necessary to bestow moreattention on his choice of road, and, perfectly acquainted with theheath, avoided all unnecessary hazardous passes. In spite of hisknowledge of the ground, and the excellence of his horse, the strangersensibly gained upon him. The danger, however, was no longer imminent. 

"We are safe, " cried Luke; "the limits of Hardchase are past. In a fewseconds we shall enter Davenham Wood. I will turn the horse loose, andwe will betake ourselves to flight amongst the trees. I will show you aplace of concealment. He cannot follow us on horseback, and on foot Idefy him. "

"Stay, " cried the sexton. "He is not in pursuit--he takes anothercourse--he wheels to the right. By Heaven! it is the Fiend himself upona black horse, come for Bow-legged Ben. See, he is there already. "

The horseman had turned, as the sexton stated, careering towards arevolting object at some little distance on the right hand. It was agibbet, with its grisly burden. He rode swiftly towards it, and, reiningin his horse, took off his hat, bowing profoundly to the carcase thatswung in the morning breeze. Just at that moment a gust of air catchingthe fleshless skeleton, its arms seemed to be waved in reply to thesalutation. A solitary crow winged its flight over the horseman's headas he paused. After a moment's halt, he wheeled about, and again shoutedto Luke, waving his hat. 

"As I live, " said the latter, "it is Jack Palmer. "

"Dick Turpin, you mean, " rejoined the sexton. "He has been paying hisrespects to a brother blade. Ha, ha! Dick will never have the honor of agibbet; he is too tender of the knife. Did you mark the crow? But herehe comes. " And in another instant Turpin was by their side. 

_CHAPTER II_

_A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT_

 I see a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. 

 COWPER: _The Task_. 

"The top of the morning to you, gem'men, " said Turpin, as he rode up atan easy canter. "Did you not hear my halloo? I caught a glimpse of youon the hill yonder. I knew you both, two miles off; and so, having aword or two to say to you, Luke Bradley, before I leave this part of thecountry, I put Bess to it, and she soon brought me within hail. Blessher black skin, " added he, affectionately patting his horse's neck, "there's not her match in these parts, or in any other; she wants nocoaxing to do her work--no bleeders for her. I should have been up withyou before this had I not taken a cross cut to look at poor Ben. 

 One night, when mounted on my mare. To Bagshot Heath I did repair, And saw Will Davies hanging there, Upon the gibbet bleak and bare, _With a rustified, fustified, mustified air. _

Excuse my singing. The sight of a gibbet always puts me in mind of theGolden Farmer. May I ask whither you are bound, comrades?"

"Comrades!" whispered the sexton to Luke; "you see _he_ does not soeasily forget his old friends. "

"I have business that will not admit of delay, " rejoined Luke; "and tospeak plainly----"

"You want not my society, " returned Turpin; "I guessed as much. Naturalenough! You have got an inkling of your good fortune. You have found outyou are a rich man's heir, not a poor wench's bastard. No offence; I'm aplain spoken man, as you will find, if you know it not already. I haveno objection to your playing these fine tricks on others, though itwon't answer your turn to do so with me. "

"Sir!" exclaimed Luke, sharply. 

"Sir to you, " replied Turpin--"Sir Luke--as I suppose you would nowchoose to be addressed. I am aware of all. A nod is as good as a wink tome. Last night I learned the fact of Sir Piers's marriage from LadyRookwood--ay, from her ladyship. You stare--and old Peter, there, openshis ogles now. She let it out by accident; and I am in possession ofwhat can alone substantiate your father's first marriage, and establishyour claims to the property. "

"The devil!" cried the sexton; adding, in a whisper to Luke, "You hadbetter not be precipitate in dropping so obliging an acquaintance. "

"You are jesting, " said Luke to Turpin. 

"It is ill jesting before breakfast, " returned Dick: "I am seldom in themood for a joke so early. What if a certain marriage certificate hadfallen into my hand?"

"A marriage certificate!" echoed Luke and the sexton simultaneously. 

"The only existing proof of the union of Sir Piers Rookwood with SusanBradley, " continued Turpin. "What if I had stumbled upon such adocument--nay more, if I knew where to direct you to it?"

"Peace!" cried Luke to his tormentor; and then addressing Turpin, "ifwhat you say be true, my quest is at an end. All that I need, you appearto possess. Other proofs are secondary to this. I know with whom I haveto deal. What do you demand for that certificate?"

"We will talk about the matter after breakfast, " said Turpin. "I wish totreat with you as friend with friend. Meet me on those terms, and I amyour man; reject my offer, and I turn my mare's head, and ride back toRookwood. With me now rest all your hopes. I have dealt fairly with you, and I expect to be fairly dealt with in return. It were idle to say, nowI have an opportunity, that I should not turn this luck to my account. Iwere a fool to do otherwise. You cannot expect it. And then I have Rustand Wilder to settle with. Though I have left them behind, they know mydestination. We have been old associates. I like your spirit--I care notfor your haughtiness; but I will not help you up the ladder to be kickeddown myself. Now you understand me. Whither are you bound?"

"To Davenham Priory, the gipsy camp. "

"The gipsies are your friends?"

"They are. "

"I am alone. "

"You are safe. "

"You pledge your word that all shall be on the square. You will notmention to one of that canting crew what I have told you?"

"With one exception, you may rely upon my secrecy. "

"Whom do you except?"

"A woman. "

"Bad! never trust a petticoat. "

"I will answer for her with my life. "

"And for your granddad there?"

"He will answer for himself, " said Peter. "You need not fear treacheryin me. Honor among thieves, you know. "

"Or where else should you seek it?" rejoined Turpin; "for it has leftall other classes of society. Your highwayman is your only man of honor. I will trust you both; and you shall find you may trust me. Afterbreakfast, as I said before, we will bring the matter to a conclusion. Tip us your daddle, Sir Luke, and I am satisfied. You shall rule inRookwood, I'll engage, ere a week be flown; and then---- But so muchparleying is dull work; let's make the best of our way to breakfast. "

And away they cantered. 

A narrow bridle-road conducted them singly through the defiles of athick wood. Their route lay in the shade, and the air felt chilly amidstthe trees, the sun not having attained sufficient altitude to penetrateits depths, while overhead all was warmth and light. Quivering on thetops of the timber, the horizontal sunbeams created, in theirrefraction, brilliant prismatic colorings, and filled the air with moteslike golden dust. Our horsemen heeded not the sunshine or the shade. Occupied each with his own train of thought, they silently rode on. 

Davenham Wood, through which they urged their course, had, in the oldentime, been a forest of some extent. It was then an appendage to thedomains of Rookwood, but had passed from the hands of that family tothose of a wealthy adjoining landowner and lawyer, Sir Edward Davenham, in the keeping of whose descendants it had ever after continued. A noblewood it was, and numbered many patriarchal trees. Ancient oaks, withbroad, gnarled limbs, which the storms of five hundred years had vainlystriven to uproot, and which were now sternly decaying; gigantic beechtrees, with silvery stems shooting smoothly upwards, sustaining branchesof such size, that each, dissevered, would in itself have formed a tree, populous with leaves, and variegated with rich autumnal tints; thesprightly sycamore, the dark chestnut, the weird wych-elm, the majesticelm itself, festooned with ivy, every variety of wood, dark, dense, andintricate, composed the forest through which they rode; and somultitudinous was the timber, so closely planted, so entirely filled upwith a thick, matted vegetation, which had been allowed to collectbeneath, that little view was afforded, had any been desired by theparties, into the labyrinth of the grove. Tree after tree, clad in theglowing livery of the season, was passed, and as rapidly succeeded byothers. Occasionally a bough projected over their path, compelling theriders to incline their heads as they passed; but, heedless of suchdifficulties, they pressed on. Now the road grew lighter, and theybecame at once sensible of the genial influence of the sun. Thetransition was as agreeable as instantaneous. They had opened upon anextensive plantation of full-grown pines, whose tall, branchless stemsgrew up like a forest of masts, and freely admitted the pleasantsunshine. Beneath those trees, the soil was sandy and destitute of allundergrowth, though covered with brown, hair-like fibres and dry cones, shed by the pines. The agile squirrel, that freest denizen of the grove, starting from the ground as the horsemen galloped on, sprang up thenearest tree, and might be seen angrily gazing at the disturbers of hishaunts, beating the branches with his fore feet, in expression ofdispleasure; the rabbit darted across their path; the jays flewscreaming amongst the foliage; the blue cushat, scared at the clatter ofthe horses' hoofs, sped on swift wing into quarters secure from theirapproach; while the parti-colored pies, like curious village gossips, congregated to peer at the strangers, expressing their astonishment byloud and continuous chattering. Though so gentle of ascent as to bealmost imperceptible, it was still evident that the path they werepursuing gradually mounted a hill-side; and when at length they reachedan opening, the view disclosed the eminence they had insensibly won. Pausing for a moment upon the brow of the hill, Luke pointed to a streamthat wound through the valley, and, tracing its course, indicated aparticular spot amongst the trees. There was no appearance of adwelling house--no cottage roof, no white canvas shed, to point out thetents of the wandering tribe whose abode they were seeking. The onlycircumstance betokening that it had once been the haunt of man were afew gray monastic ruins, scarce distinguishable from the stony barrierby which they were surrounded; and the sole evidence that it was stillfrequented by human beings was a thin column of pale blue smoke, thatarose in curling wreaths from out the brake, the light-colored vaporbeautifully contrasting with the green umbrage whence it issued. 

"Our destination is yonder, " exclaimed Luke, pointing in the directionof the vapor. 

"I am glad to hear it, " cried Turpin, "as well as to perceive there issome one awake. That smoke holds out a prospect of breakfast. No smokewithout fire, as old Lady Scanmag said; and I'll wager a trifle thatfire was not lighted for the fayter fellows to count their fingers by. We shall find three sticks, and a black pot with a kid seething in it, I'll engage. These gipsies have picked out a prettyish spot to quarterin--quite picturesque, as one may say--and but for that tell-tale smoke, which looks for all the world like a Dutch skipper blowing his morningcloud, no one need know of their vicinity. A pretty place, upon mysoul. "

The spot, in sooth, merited Turpin's eulogium. It was a little valley, in the midst of wooded hills, so secluded, that not a single habitationappeared in view. Clothed with timber to the very summits, excepting onthe side where the party stood, which verged upon the declivity, thesemountainous ridges presented a broken outline of foliage, variegatedwith tinted masses of bright orange, timber, and deepest green. Fourhills hemmed in the valley. Here and there a gray slab of rock might bediscerned amongst the wood, and a mountain-ash figured conspicuouslyupon a jutting crag immediately below them. Deep sunken in the ravine, and concealed in part from view by the wild herbage and dwarf shrubs, ran a range of precipitous rocks, severed, it would seem, by somediluvial convulsion, from the opposite mountain side, as a correspondingrift was there visible, in which the same dip of strata might beobserved, together with certain ribbed cavities, matching huge bolts ofrock which had once locked these stony walls together. Washing thiscliff, swept a clear stream, well known and well regarded, as it waxedin width, by the honest brethren of the angle, who seldom, however, tracked it to its rise amongst these hills. The stream found its wayinto the valley through a chasm far to the left, and rushed thunderingdown the mountain side in a boiling cascade. The valley was approachedin this direction from Rookwood by an unfrequented carriage-road, whichLuke had, from prudential reasons, avoided. All seemed consecrated tosilence--to solitude--to the hush of nature; yet this quiet scene wasthe chosen retreat of lawless depredators, and had erstwhile been thetheatre of feudal oppression. We have said that no habitation wasvisible; that no dwelling tenanted by man could be seen; but followingthe spur of the furthest mountain hill, some traces of a stone wallmight be discovered; and upon a natural platform of rock stood a sternsquare tower, which had once been the donjon of the castle, the lords ofwhich had called the four hills their own. A watch-tower then hadcrowned each eminence, every vestige of which had, however, long sincedisappeared. Sequestered in the vale stood the Priory before alludedto--a Monastery of Gray Friars, of the Order of St. Francis--some of thevenerable walls of which were still remaining; and if they had notreverted to the bat and the owl, as is wont to be the fate of suchsacred structures, their cloistered shrines were devoted to beings whosenatures partook, in some measure, of the instincts of those creatures ofthe night--a people whose deeds were of darkness, and whose eyes shunnedthe light. Here the gipsies had pitched their tent; and though the placewas often, in part, deserted by the vagrant horde, yet certain of thetribe, who had grown into years--over whom Barbara Lovel held queenlysway--made it their haunt, and were suffered by the authorities of theneighborhood to remain unmolested--a lenient piece of policy, which, inour infinite regard for the weal of the tawny tribe, we recommend to theadoption of all other justices and knights of the shire. 

Bidding his grandsire have regard to his seat, Luke leaped a high bank;and, followed by Turpin, began to descend the hill. Peter, however, tookcare to provide for himself. The descent was so perilous, and thefooting so insecure, that he chose rather to trust to such conveyance asnature had furnished him with, than to hazard his neck by any false stepof the horse. He contrived, therefore, to slide off from behind, shapinghis own course in a more secure direction. 

He who has wandered amidst the Alps must have often had occasion towitness the wonderful surefootedness of that mountain pilot, the mule. He must have remarked how, with tenacious hoof, he will claw the rock, and drag himself from one impending fragment to another, with perfectsecurity to his rider; how he will breast the roaring currents of air, and stand unshrinking at the verge of almost unfathomable ravines. Butit is not so with the horse: fleet on the plain, careful over ruggedground, he is timid and uncertain on the hill-side, and the riskincurred by Luke and Turpin, in their descent of the almostperpendicular sides of the cliff, was tremendous. Peter watched them intheir descent with some admiration, and with much contempt. 

"He will break his neck, of a surety, " said he; "but what matters it? Aswell now as hereafter. "

So saying, he approached the verge of the precipice, where he could seethem more distinctly. 

The passage along which Luke rode had never before been traversed byhorse's hoof. Cut in the rock, it presented a steep zigzag path amongstthe cliffs, without any defence for the foot traveller, except such aswas afforded by a casual clinging shrub, and no protection whateverexisted for a horseman; the possibility of any one attempting thepassage not having, in all probability, entered into the calculation ofthose who framed it. Added to this, the steps were of such unequalheights, and withal so narrow, that the danger was proportionatelyincreased. 

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Turpin, staring downwards, "is this thebest road you have got?"

"You will find one more easy, " replied Luke, "if you ride for a quarterof a mile down the wood, and then return by the brook side. You willmeet me at the priory. "

"No, " answered the highwayman, boldly; "if you go, I go too. It shallnever be said that Dick Turpin was afraid to follow where another wouldlead. Proceed. "

Luke gave his horse the bridle, and the animal slowly and steadilycommenced the descent, fixing his fore legs upon the steps, and drawinghis hinder limbs carefully after him. Here it was that the lightness andsteadiness of Turpin's mare was completely shown. No Alpine mule couldhave borne its rider with more apparent ease and safety. Turpinencouraged her by hand and word; but she needed it not. The sexton sawthem, and, tracking their giddy descent, he became more interested thanhe anticipated. His attention was suddenly drawn towards Luke. 

"He is gone, " cried Peter. "He falls--he sinks--my plans are alldefeated--the last link is snapped. No, " added he, recovering his wontedcomposure, "his end is not so fated. "

Rook had missed his footing. He rolled stumbling down the precipice afew yards. Luke's fate seemed inevitable. His feet were entangled in thestirrup, he could not free himself. A birch tree, growing in a chink ofthe precipice, arrested his further fall. But for this timely aid allhad been over. Here Luke was enabled to extricate himself from thestirrup and to regain his feet; seizing the bridle, he dragged hisfaulty steed back again to the road. 

"You have had a narrow escape, by Jove, " said Turpin, who had beenthunderstruck with the whole proceeding. "Those big cattle are alwaysclumsy; devilish lucky it's no worse. "

It was now comparatively smooth travelling; but they had not as yetreached the valley, and it seemed to be Luke's object to take acircuitous path. This was so evident that Turpin could not helpcommenting upon it. 

Luke evaded the question. "The crag is steep there, " said he; "besides, to tell you the truth, I want to surprise them. "

"Ho, ho!" laughed Dick. "Surprise them, eh? What a pity the birch treewas in the way; you would have done it properly then. Egad, here'sanother surprise. "

Dick's last exclamation was caused by his having suddenly come upon awide gully in the rock, through which dashed a headlong torrent, crossedby a single plank. 

"You must be mad to have taken this road, " cried Turpin, gazing downinto the roaring depths in which the waterfall raged, and measuring thedistance of the pass with his eye. "So, so, Bess!--Ay, look at it, wench. Curse me, Luke, if I think your horse will do it, and, therefore, turn him loose. "

But Dick might as well have bidden the cataract to flow backwards. Lukestruck his heels into his horse's sides. The steed galloped to thebrink, snorted, and refused the leap. 

"I told you so--he can't do it, " said Turpin. "Well, if you areobstinate, a wilful man must have his way. Stand aside, while I try itfor you. " Patting Bess, he put her to a gallop. She cleared the gulfbravely, landing her rider safely upon the opposite rock. 

"Now then, " cried Turpin, from the other side of the chasm. 

Luke again urged his steed. Encouraged by what he had seen, this timethe horse sprang across without hesitation. The next instant they werein the valley. 

For some time they rode along the banks of the stream in silence. Asound at length caught the quick ears of the highwayman. 

"Hist!" cried he; "some one sings. Do you hear it?"

"I do, " replied Luke, the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

"And could give a guess at the singer, no doubt, " said Turpin, with aknowing look. "Was it to hear yon woodlark that you nearly broke yourown neck, and put mine in jeopardy?"

"Prithee be silent, " whispered Luke. 

"I am dumb, " replied Turpin; "I like a sweet voice as well as another. "

Clear as the note of a bird, yet melancholy as the distant dole of avesper-bell, arose the sound of that sweet voice from the wood. Afragment of a Spanish gipsy song it warbled: Luke knew it well. Thus ranthe romance:

 LA GITANILLA

 By the Guadalquivir, Ere the sun be flown, By that glorious river Sits a maid alone. Like the sunset splendor Of that current bright, Shone her dark eyes tender As its witching light. Like the ripple flowing, Tinged with purple sheen, Darkly, richly glowing, Is her warm cheek seen. 'Tis the Gitanilla By the stream doth linger, In the hope that eve Will her lover bring her. 

 See, the sun is sinking; All grows dim, and dies; See, the waves are drinking Glories of the skies. Day's last lustre playeth On that current dark; Yet no speck betrayeth His long looked-for bark. 'Tis the hour of meeting! Nay, the hour is past; Swift the time is fleeting! Fleeteth hope as fast. Still the Gitanilla By the stream doth linger, In the hope that night Will her lover bring her. 

The tender trembling of a guitar was heard in accompaniment of theravishing melodist. 

The song ceased. 

"Where is the bird?" asked Turpin. 

"Move on in silence, and you shall see, " said Luke; and keeping upon theturf, so that his horse's tread became inaudible, he presently arrivedat a spot where, through the boughs, the object of his investigationcould plainly be distinguished, though he himself was concealed fromview. 

Upon a platform of rock, rising to the height of the trees, nearlyperpendicularly from the river's bed, appeared the figure of the gipsymaid. Her footstep rested on the extreme edge of the abrupt cliff, atwhose base the water boiled in a deep whirlpool, and the boundingchamois could not have been more lightly poised. One small hand restedupon her guitar, the other pressed her brow. Braided hair, of thejettiest dye and sleekest texture, was twined around her brow in endlesstwisted folds:

 Rowled it was in many a curious fret, Much like a rich and curious coronet, Upon whose arches twenty Cupids lay, And were as tied, or loth to fly away. [24]

And so exuberant was this rarest feminine ornament, that, afterencompassing her brow, it was passed behind, and hung down in long thickplaits almost to her feet. Sparkling, as the sunbeams that played uponher dark yet radiant features, were the large, black, Oriental eyes ofthe maiden, and shaded with lashes long and silken. Hers was a Moorishcountenance, in which the magnificence of the eyes eclipses the face, beit ever so beautiful--an effect to be observed in the angelic picturesof Murillo, --and the lovely contour is scarcely noticed in the gazewhich those long, languid, luminous orbs attract. Sybil's features wereexquisite, yet you looked only at her eyes--they were the loadstars ofher countenance. Her costume was singular, and partook, like herself, ofother climes. Like the Andalusian dame, her choice of color inclinedtowards black, as the material of most of her dress was of that sombrehue. A bodice of embroidered velvet restrained her delicate bosom'sswell; a rich girdle, from which depended a silver chain, sustaining ashort poniard, bound her waist; around her slender throat was twined acostly kerchief; and the rest of her dress was calculated to display herslight, yet faultless, figure to the fullest advantage. 

Unconscious that she was the object of regard, she raised her guitar, and essayed to touch the chords. She struck a few notes, and resumed herromance:

 Swift that stream flows on, Swift the night is wearing, -- Yet she is not gone, Though with heart despairing. 

Her song died away. Her hand was needed to brush off the tears that weregathering in her large dark eyes. At once her attitude was changed. Thehare could not have started more suddenly from her form. She heardaccents well known concluding the melody:

 Dips an oar-plash--hark!-- Gently on the river; 'Tis her lover's bark. On the Guadalquivir. Hark! a song she hears! Every note she snatches; As the singer nears, Her own name she catches. Now the Gitanilla Stays not by the water, For the midnight hour Hath her lover brought her. 

It was her lover's voice. She caught the sound at once, and, starting, as the roe would arouse herself at the hunter's approach, bounded downthe crag, and ere he had finished the refrain, was by his side. 

Flinging the bridle to Turpin, Luke sprang to her, and caught her in hisarms. Disengaging herself from his ardent embrace, Sybil drew back, abashed at the sight of the highwayman. 

"Heed him not, " said Luke; "it is a friend. "

"He is welcome here then, " replied Sybil. "But where have you tarried solong, dear Luke?" continued she, as they walked to a little distancefrom the highwayman. "What hath detained you? The hours have passedwearily since you departed. You bring good news?"

"Good news, my girl; so good, that I falter even in the telling of it. You shall know all anon. And see, our friend yonder grows impatient. Arethere any stirring? We must bestow a meal upon him, and that forthwith:he is one of those who brook not much delay. "

"I came not to spoil a love meeting, " said Turpin, who hadgood-humoredly witnessed the scene; "but, in sober seriousness, if thereis a stray capon to be met with in the land of Egypt, I shall be glad tomake his acquaintance. Methinks I scent a stew afar off. "

"Follow me, " said Sybil; "your wants shall be supplied. "

"Stay, " said Luke; "there is one other of our party whose coming we mustabide. "

"He is here, " said Sybil, observing the sexton at a distance. "Who isthat old man?"

"My grandsire, Peter Bradley. "

"Is that Peter Bradley?" asked Sybil. 

"Ay, you may well ask whether that old dried-up _otomy_, who ought togrin in a glass case for folks to stare at, be kith and kin of such abang-up cove as your fancy man, Luke, " said Turpin, laughing--"but i'faith he is. "

"Though he is your grandsire, Luke, " said Sybil, "I like him not. Hisglance resembles that of the Evil Eye. "

And, in fact, the look which Peter fixed upon her was such as therattlesnake casts upon its victim, and Sybil felt like a poor flutteringbird under the fascination of that venomous reptile. She could notremove her eyes from his, though she trembled as she gazed. We have saidthat Peter's orbs were like those of the toad. Age had not dimmed theirbrilliancy. In his harsh features you could only read bitter scorn orwithering hate; but in his eyes resided a magnetic influence ofattraction or repulsion. Sybil underwent the former feeling in adisagreeable degree. She was drawn to him as by the motion of awhirlpool, and involuntarily clung to her lover. 

"It is the Evil Eye, dear Luke. "

"Tut, tut, dear Sybil; I tell you it is my grandsire. "

"The girl says rightly, however, " rejoined Turpin; "Peter has aconfounded ugly look about the ogles, and stares enough to put a modestwench out of countenance. Come, come, my old earthworm, crawl along, wehave waited for you long enough. Is this the first time you have seen apretty lass, eh?"

"It is the first time I have seen one so beautiful, " said Peter; "and Icrave her pardon if my freedom has offended her. I wonder not at yourenchantment, grandson Luke, now I behold the object of it. But there isone piece of counsel I would give to this fair maid. The next time shetrusts you from her sight, I would advise her to await you at thehill-top, otherwise the chances are shrewdly against your reaching theground with neck unbroken. "

There was something, notwithstanding the satirical manner in which Peterdelivered this speech, calculated to make a more favorable impressionupon Sybil than his previous conduct had inspired her with; and, havingascertained from Luke to what his speech referred, she extended her handto him, yet not without a shudder, as it was enclosed in his skinnygrasp. It was like the fingers of Venus in the grasp of a skeleton. 

"This is a little hand, " said Peter, "and I have some skill myself inpalmistry. Shall I peruse its lines?"

"Not now, in the devil's name!" said Turpin, stamping impatiently. "Weshall have Old Ruffin himself amongst us presently, if Peter Bradleygrows gallant. "

Leading their horses, the party took their way through the trees. A fewminutes' walking brought them in sight of the gipsy encampment, the spotselected for which might be termed the Eden of the valley. It was asmall green plain, smooth as a well-shorn lawn, kept ever verdant--savein the spots where the frequent fires had scorched its surface--by theflowing stream that rushed past it, and surrounded by an amphitheatre ofwooded hills. Here might be seen the canvas tent with its patches ofvaried coloring; the rude-fashioned hut of primitive construction; thekettle slung

 Between two poles, upon a stick transverse;

the tethered beasts of burden, the horses, asses, dogs, carts, caravans, wains, blocks, and other movables and immovables belonging to thewandering tribe. Glimmering through the trees, at the extremity of theplain, appeared the ivy-mantled walls of Davenham Priory. Though muchhad gone to decay, enough remained to recall the pristine state of thisonce majestic pile, and the long, though broken line of Saxon arches, that still marked the cloister wall; the piers that yet supported thedormitory; the enormous horse-shoe arch that spanned the court; and, above all, the great marigold, or circular window, which terminated thechapel, and which, though now despoiled of its painted honors, retained, like the skeleton leaf, its fibrous intricacies entire, --all eloquentlyspoke of the glories of the past, while they awakened reverence andadmiration for the still enduring beauty of the present. 

Towards these ruins Sybil conducted the party. 

"Do you dwell therein?" asked Peter, pointing towards the priory. 

"That is my dwelling, " said Sybil. 

"It is one I should covet more than a modern mansion, " returned thesexton. 

"I love those old walls better than any house that was ever fashioned, "replied Sybil. 

As they entered the Prior's Close, as it was called, several swarthyfigures made their appearance from the tents. Many a greeting wasbestowed upon Luke, in the wild jargon of the tribe. At length anuncouth dwarfish figure, with a shock head of black hair, hopped towardsthem. He seemed to acknowledge Luke as his master. 

"What ho! Grasshopper, " said Luke, "take these horses, and see that theylack neither dressing nor provender. "

"And hark ye, Grasshopper, " added Turpin; "I give you a special chargeabout this mare. Neither dress nor feed her till I see both done myself. Just walk her for ten minutes, and if you have a glass of ale in theplace, let her sip it. "

"Your bidding shall be done, " chirped the human insect, as he flutteredaway with his charges. 

A motley assemblage of tawny-skinned varlets, dark-eyed women andchildren, whose dusky limbs betrayed their lineage, in strange costume, and of wild deportment, checked the path, muttering welcome upon welcomeinto the ear of Luke as he passed. As it was evident he was in no moodfor converse, Sybil, who seemed to exercise considerable authority overthe crew, with a word dispersed them, and they herded back to theirrespective habitations. 

A low door admitted Luke and his companions into what had once been thegarden, in which some old moss-encrusted apple and walnut-trees werestill standing, bearing a look of antiquity almost as venerable as thatof the adjoining fabric. 

Another open door gave them entrance to a spacious chamber, formerly theeating-room or refectory of the holy brotherhood, and a goodly room ithad been, though now its slender lanceolated windows were stuffed withhay to keep out the air. Large holes told where huge oaken rafters hadonce crossed the roof, and a yawning aperture marked the place where acheering fire had formerly blazed. As regarded this latter spot, thegood old custom was not, even now, totally abrogated. An iron plate, covered with crackling wood, sustained a ponderous black caldron, therich steam from which gratefully affected the olfactory organs of thehighwayman. 

"That augurs well, " said he, rubbing his hands. 

"Still hungering after the fleshpots of Egypt, " said the sexton, with aghastly smile. 

"We will see what that kettle contains, " said Luke. 

"Handassah--Grace!" exclaimed Sybil, calling. 

Her summons was answered by two maidens, habited not unbecomingly, ingipsy gear. 

"Bring the best our larder can furnish, " said Sybil, "and use despatch. You have appetites to provide for, sharpened by a long ride in the openair. "

"And by a night's fasting, " said Luke, "and solitary confinement toboot. "

"And a night of business, " added Turpin--"and plaguy perplexing businessinto the bargain. "

"And the night of a funeral too, " doled Peter; "and that funeral afather's. Let us have breakfast speedily, by all means. We have rareappetites. "

An old oaken table--it might have been the self-same upon which the holyfriars had broken their morning fast--stood in the middle of the room. The ample board soon groaned beneath the weight of the savory caldron, the unctuous contents of which proved to be a couple of dismemberedpheasants, an equal proportion of poultry, great gouts of ham, mushrooms, onions, and other piquant condiments, so satisfactory to DickTurpin, that, upon tasting a mouthful, he absolutely shed tears ofdelight. The dish was indeed the triumph of gipsy cookery; and sosedulously did Dick apply himself to his mess, and so complete was hisabstraction, that he perceived not he was left alone. It was only whenabout to wash down the last drumstick of the last fowl with a can ofexcellent ale that he made this discovery. 

"What! all gone? And Peter Bradley, too? What the devil does this mean?"mused he. "I must not muddle my brain with any more Pharaoh, though Ihave feasted like a king of Egypt. That will never do. Caution, Dick, caution. Suppose I shift yon brick from the wall, and place thisprecious document beneath it. Pshaw! Luke would never play me false. Andnow for Bess! Bless her black skin! she'll wonder where I've been solong. It's not my way to leave her to shift for herself, though she cando that on a pinch. "

Soliloquizing thus, he arose and walked towards the door. 

_CHAPTER III_

_SYBIL_

 The wiving vine, that round the friendly elm Twines her soft limbs, and weaves a leafy mantle For her supporting lover, dares not venture To mix her humble boughs with the embraces Of the more lofty cedar. 

 GLAPTHORNE: _Albertus Wallenstein_. 

Beneath a moldering wall, whither they had strayed, to be free frominterruption, and upon a carpet of the greenest moss, sat Sybil and herlover. 

With eager curiosity she listened to his tale. He recounted all that hadbefallen him since his departure. He told her of the awful revelationsof the tomb; of the ring that, like a talisman, had conjured up athousand brilliant prospects; of his subsequent perils; his escapes; hisrencontre with Lady Rookwood; his visit to his father's body; and hismeeting with his brother. All this she heard with a cheek now flushedwith expectation, now made pale with apprehension; with palpitatingbosom, and suppressed breath. But when taking a softer tone, love, affection, happiness inspired the theme, and Luke sought to paint thebliss that should be theirs in his new estate; when he would throw hisfortune into her lap, his titles at her feet, and bid her wear them withhim; when, with ennobled hand and unchanged heart, he would fulfil thetroth plighted in his outcast days; in lieu of tender, gratefulacquiescence, the features of Sybil became overcast, the soft smilefaded away, and, as spring sunshine is succeeded by the sudden shower, the light that dwelt in her sunny orbs grew dim with tears. 

"Why--why is this, dear Sybil?" said Luke, gazing upon her inastonishment, not unmingled with displeasure. "To what am I to attributethese tears? You do not, surely, regret my good fortune?"

"Not on your own account, dear Luke, " returned she, sadly. "The tears Ished were for myself--the first, the only tears that I have ever shedfor such cause; and, " added she, raising her head like a flowersurcharged with moisture, "they shall be the last. "

"This is inexplicable, dear Sybil. Why should you lament for yourself, if not for me? Does not the sunshine of prosperity that now shines uponme gild you with the same beam? Did I not even now affirm that the daythat saw me enter the hall of my forefathers should dawn upon ourespousals?"

"True; but the sun that shines upon you, to me wears a threateningaspect. The day of those espousals will never dawn. You cannot make methe Lady of Rookwood. "

"What do I hear?" exclaimed Luke, surprised at this avowal of hismistress, sadly and deliberately delivered. "Not wed you! And whereforenot? Is it the rank I have acquired, or hope to acquire, that displeasesyou? Speak, that I may waste no further time in thus pursuing theshadows of happiness, while the reality fleets from me. "

"And _are_ they shadows; and _is_ this the reality, dear Luke? Questionyour secret soul, and you will find it otherwise. You could not foregoyour triumph; it is not likely. You have dwelt too much upon the proudtitle which will be yours to yield it to another, when it may be won soeasily. And, above all, when your mother's reputation, and your ownstained name, may be cleared by one word, breathed aloud, would you failto utter it? No, dear Luke, I read your heart; you would not. "

"And if I could _not_ forego this, wherefore is it that you refuse to bea sharer in my triumph? Why will you render my honors valueless when Ihave acquired them? You love me not. "

"Not love you, Luke?"

"Approve it, then. "

"I do approve it. Bear witness the sacrifice I am about to make of allmy hopes, at the shrine of my idolatry to you. Bear witness the agony ofthis hour. Bear witness the horror of the avowal, that I never can beyours. As Luke Bradley, I would joyfully--oh, how joyfully!--have beenyour bride. As Sir Luke Rookwood"--and she shuddered as she pronouncedthe name--"I never can be so. "

"Then, by Heaven! Luke Bradley will I remain. But wherefore--whereforenot as Sir Luke Rookwood?"

"Because, " replied Sybil, with reluctance--"because I am no longer yourequal. The gipsy's low-born daughter is no mate for Sir Luke Rookwood. Love cannot blind me, dear Luke. It cannot make me other than I am; itcannot exalt me in my own esteem, nor in that of the world, with whichyou, alas! too soon will mingle, and which will regard even me as--nomatter what!--it shall not scorn me as your bride. I will not bringshame and reproach upon you. Oh! if for me, dear Luke, the proud ones ofthe earth were to treat you with contumely, this heart would break withagony. For myself, I have pride sufficient--perchance too much. Perchance 'tis pride that actuates me now. I know not. But for you I amall weakness. As you were heretofore, I would have been to you thetenderest and truest wife that ever breathed; as you are now----"

"Hear me, Sybil. "

"Hear _me_ out, dear Luke. One other motive there is that determines mypresent conduct, which, were all else surmounted, would in itselfsuffice. Ask me not what that is. I cannot explain it. For your ownsake; I implore you, be satisfied with my refusal. "

"What a destiny is mine!" exclaimed Luke, striking his forehead with hisclenched hand. "No choice is left me. Either way I destroy my ownhappiness. On the one hand stands love--on the other, ambition; yetneither will conjoin. "

"Pursue, then, ambition, " said Sybil, energetically, "if you _can_hesitate. Forget that I have ever existed; forget you have ever loved;forget that such a passion dwells within the human heart, and you maystill be happy, though you are great. "

"And do you deem, " replied Luke, with frantic impatience, "that I _can_accomplish this; that I _can_ forget that I have loved you; that I _can_forget you? Cost what it will, the effort shall be made. Yet by ourformer love, I charge you tell me what has wrought this change in you!Why do you _now_ refuse me?"

"I have said you are Sir Luke Rookwood, " returned Sybil, with painfulemotion. "Does that name import nothing?"

"Imports it aught of ill?"

"To me, everything of ill. It is a fated house. Its line are allpredestined. "

"To what?" demanded Luke. 

"To _murder_!" replied Sybil, with solemn emphasis. "To the murder oftheir wives. Forgive me, Luke, if I have dared to utter this. Yourselfcompelled me to it. "

Amazement, horror, wrath, kept Luke silent for a few moments. Startingto his feet, he cried:

"And can you suspect me of a crime so foul? Think you, because I shallassume the name, that I shall put on the nature likewise of my race? Doyou believe me capable of aught so horrible?"

"Oh, no, I believe it not. I am sure you would not do it. Your soulwould reject with horror such a deed. But if Fate should guide yourhand, if the avenging spirit of your murdered ancestress should point tothe steel, you could not shun it then. "

"In Heaven's name! to what do you allude?"

"To a tradition of your house, " replied Sybil. "Listen to me, and youshall hear the legend. " And with a pathos that produced a thrillingeffect upon Luke, she sang the following ballad:

 THE LEGEND OF THE LADY OF ROOKWOOD

 Grim Ranulph home hath at midnight come, from the long wars of the Roses, And the squire, who waits at his ancient gates, a secret dark discloses; To that varlet's words no response accords his lord, but his visage stern Grows ghastly white in the wan moonlight, and his eyes like the lean wolf's burn. 

 To his lady's bower, at that lonesome hour, unannounced, is Sir Ranulph gone; Through the dim corridor, through the hidden door, he glides--she is all alone! Full of holy zeal doth his young dame kneel at the meek Madonna's feet, Her hands are pressed on her gentle breast, and upturned is her aspect sweet. 

 Beats Ranulph's heart with a joyful start, as he looks on her guiltless face; And the raging fire of his jealous ire is subdued by the words of grace; His own name shares her murmured prayers--more freely can he breathe; But ah! that look! Why doth he pluck his poniard from its sheath?

 On a footstool thrown, lies a costly gown of saye and of minevere --A mantle fair for the dainty wear of a migniard cavalier, -- And on it flung, to a bracelet hung, a picture meets his eye; "By my father's head!" grim Ranulph said, "false wife, thy end draws nigh. "

 From off its chain hath the fierce knight ta'en that fond and fatal pledge; His dark eyes blaze, no word he says, thrice gleams his dagger's edge! Her blood it drinks, and, as she sinks, his victim hears his cry: "For kiss impure of paramour, adult'ress, dost thou die!"

 Silent he stood, with hands embrued in gore, and glance of flame, As thus her plaint, in accents faint, made his ill-fated dame: "Kind Heaven can tell, that all too well, I've loved thee, cruel lord; But now with hate commensurate, assassin, thou'rt abhorred. 

 "I've loved thee long, through doubt and wrong; I've loved thee and no other; And my love was pure for my paramour, for alas! he was my brother! The Red, Red Rose, on _thy_ banner glows, on _his_ pennon gleams the White, And the bitter feud, that ye both have rued, forbids ye to unite. 

 "My bower he sought, what time he thought thy jealous vassals slept, Of joy we dreamed, and never deemed that watch those vassals kept; An hour flew by, too speedily!--that picture was his boon: Ah! little thrift to me that gift: he left me all too soon!

 "Wo worth the hour! dark fates did lower, when our hands were first united, For my heart's firm truth, 'mid tears and ruth, with death hast thou requited: In prayer sincere, full many a year of my wretched life I've spent; But to hell's control would I give my soul to work thy chastisement!"

 These wild words said, low drooped her head, and Ranulph's life-blood froze, For the earth did gape, as an awful shape from out its depths arose: "Thy prayer is heard, Hell hath concurred, " cried the fiend, "thy soul is mine! Like fate may dread each dame shall wed with Ranulph or his line!"

 Within the tomb to await her doom is that hapless lady sleeping, And another bride by Ranulph's side through the livelong night is weeping. _This_ dame declines--a third repines, and fades, like the rest, away; Her lot she rues, whom a Rookwood woos--_cursed is her Wedding Day_!

"And this is the legend of my ancestress?" said Luke, as Sybil's strainswere ended. 

"It is, " replied she. 

"An idle tale, " observed Luke, moodily. 

"Not so, " answered Sybil. "Has not the curse of blood clung to all yourline? Has it not attached to your father--to Sir Reginald--SirRalph--Sir Ranulph--to all? Which of them has escaped it? And when Itell you this, dear Luke; when I find you bear the name of this accursedrace, can you wonder if I shudder at adding to the list of the victimsof that ruthless spirit, and that I tremble for you? I would die _for_you willingly--but not by your hand. I would not that my blood, which Iwould now pour out for you as freely as water, should rise up injudgment against you. For myself I have no tears--for _you_, a thousand. My mother, upon her death-bed, told me I should never be yours. Ibelieved her not, for I was happy then. She said that we never should beunited; or, if united----?"

"What, in Heaven's name?"

"That you would be my destroyer. How could I credit her words then? Howcan I doubt them now, when I find you are a Rookwood? And think not, dear Luke, that I am ruled by selfish fears in this resolution. Torenounce you may cost me my life; but the deed will be my own. You maycall me superstitious, credulous: I have been nurtured in credulity. Itis the faith of my fathers. There are those, methinks, who have aninsight into futurity; and such boding words have been spoken, that, bethey true or false, I will not risk their fulfilment in my person. I maybe credulous; I may be weak; I may be erring; but I am steadfast inthis. Bid me perish at your feet, and I will do it. I will not be yourFate. I will not be the wretched instrument of your perdition. I willlove, worship, watch, serve, perish for you--but I'll not wed you. "

Exhausted by the vehemence of her emotion, she would have sunk upon theground, had not Luke caught her in his arms. Pressing her to his bosom, he renewed his passionate protestations. Every argument was unavailing. Sybil appeared inflexible. 

"You love me as you have ever loved me?" said she, at length. 

"A thousand-fold more fervently, " replied Luke; "put it to the test. "

"How if I dare to do so? Consider well: I may ask too much. "

"Name it. If it be not to surrender you, by my mother's body I will obeyyou. "

"I would propose an oath. "

"Ha!"

"A solemn, binding oath, that; if you wed me not, you will not wedanother. Ha! do you start? Have I appalled you?"

"I start? I will take it. Hear me--by----"

"Hold!" exclaimed a voice behind them. "Do not forswear yourself. " Andimmediately afterwards the sexton made his appearance. There was amalignant smile upon his countenance. The lovers started at the ominousinterruption. 

"Begone!" cried Luke. 

"Take not that oath, " said Peter, "and I leave you. Remember the counselI gave you on our way hither. "

"What counsel did he give you, Luke?" inquired Sybil, eagerly, of herlover. 

"We spoke of you, fond girl, " replied Peter. "I cautioned him againstthe match. I knew not your sentiments, or I had spared myself thetrouble. You have judged wisely. Were he to wed you, ill would come ofit. But he _must_ wed another. "

"MUST!" cried Sybil, her eyes absolutely emitting sparkles ofindignation from their night-like depths; and, unsheathing as she spokethe short poniard which she wore at her girdle, she rushed towardsPeter, raising her hand to strike. 

"_Must_ wed another! And dare you counsel this?"

"Put up your dagger, fair maiden, " said Peter, calmly. "Had I beenyounger, your eyes might have had more terrors for me than your weapon;as it is, I am proof against both. You would not strike an old man likemyself, and of your lover's kin?"

Sybil's uplifted hand fell to her side. 

"'Tis true, " continued the sexton, "I dared to give him this advice; andwhen you have heard me out, you will not, I am persuaded, think me sounreasonable as, at first, I may appear to be. I have been an unseenlistener to your converse; not that I desire to pry into yoursecrets--far from it; I overheard you by accident. I applaud yourresolution; but if you are inclined to sacrifice all for your lover'sweal, do not let the work be incomplete. Bind him not by oaths which hewill regard as spiders' webs, to be burst through at pleasure. You see, as well as I do, that he is bent on being lord of Rookwood; and, intruth, to an aspiring mind, such a desire is natural, is praiseworthy. It will be pleasant, as well as honorable, to efface the stain cast uponhis birth. It will be an act of filial duty in him to restore hismother's good name; and I, her father, laud his anxiety on that score;though, to speak truth, fair maid, I am not so rigid as your nicemoralists in my view of human nature, and can allow a latitude to lovewhich their nicer scruples will not admit. It will be a proud thing totriumph over his implacable foe; and this he may accomplish----"

"Without marriage, " interrupted Sybil, angrily. 

"True, " returned Peter; "yet not maintain it. May win it, but not wearit. You have said truly, the house of Rookwood is a fated house; and ithath been said likewise, that if he wed not one of his own kindred--thatif Rook mate not with Rook, his possessions shall pass away from hishands. Listen to this prophetic quatrain:

 When the stray Rook shall perch on the topmost bough, There shall be clamor and screeching, I trow; But of right to, and rule of the ancient nest, The Rook that with Rook mates shall hold him possest. 

You hear what these quaint rhymes say. Luke is, doubtless, the strayrook, and a fledgeling hath flown hither from a distant country. He musttake her to his mate, or relinquish her and 'the ancient nest' to hisbrother. For my own part, I disregard such sayings. I have little faithin prophecy and divination. I know not what Eleanor Mowbray, for so sheis called, can have to do with the tenure of the estates of Rookwood. But if Luke Rookwood, after he has lorded it for awhile in splendor, becast forth again in rags and wretchedness, let him not blame hisgrandsire for his own want of caution. "

"Luke, I implore you, tell me, " said Sybil, who had listened, horror-stricken, to the sexton, shuddering, as it were, beneath thechilly influence of his malevolent glance, "is this true? Does your fatedepend upon Eleanor Mowbray? Who is she? What has she to do withRookwood? Have you seen her? Do you love her?"

"I have never seen her, " replied Luke. 

"Thank Heaven for that!" cried Sybil. "Then you love her not?"

"How were that possible?" returned Luke. "Do I not say I have not seenher?"

"Who is she, then?"

"This old man tells me she is my cousin. She is betrothed to my brotherRanulph. "

"How?" ejaculated Sybil. "And would you snatch his betrothed from yourbrother's arms? Would you do him this grievous wrong? Is it not enoughthat you must wrest from him that which he has long deemed his own? Andif he has falsely deemed it so, it will not make his loss the lessbitter. If you do thus wrong your brother, do not look for happiness; donot look for respect; for neither will be your portion. Even thisstony-hearted old man shrinks aghast at such a deed. His snake-like eyesare buried on the ground. See, I have moved even _him_. "

And in truth Peter did appear, for an instant, strangely moved. 

"'Tis nothing, " returned he, mastering his emotion by a strong effort. "What is all this to me? I never had a brother. I never had aught--wife, child, or relative, that loved me. And I love not the world, nor thethings of the world, nor those that inhabit the world. But I know whatsways the world and its inhabitants; and that is, SELF! ANDSELF-INTEREST! Let Luke reflect on this. The key to Rookwood is EleanorMowbray. The hand that grasps hers, grasps those lands; thus saith theprophecy. "

"It is a lying prophecy. "

"It was uttered by one of your race. "

"By whom?"

"By Barbara Lovel, " said Peter, with a sneer of triumph. 

"Ha!"

"Heed him not, " exclaimed Luke, as Sybil recoiled at this intelligence. "I am yours. "

"Not mine! not mine!" shrieked she; "but, oh! not _hers_!"

"Whither go you?" cried Luke, as Sybil, half bewildered, tore herselffrom him. 

"To Barbara Lovel. "

"I will go with you. "

"No! let me go alone. I have much to ask her; yet tarry not with thisold man, dear Luke, or close your ears to his crafty talk. Avoid him. Oh, I am sick at heart. Follow me not; I implore you, follow me not. "

And with distracted air she darted amongst the mouldering cloisters, leaving Luke stupefied with anguish and surprise. The sexton maintaineda stern and stoical composure. 

"She is a woman, after all, " muttered he; "all her high-flown resolvesmelt like snow in the sunshine at the thought of a rival. I congratulateyou, grandson Luke; you are free from your fetters. "

"Free!" echoed Luke. "Quit my sight; I loathe to look upon you. You havebroken the truest heart that ever beat in woman's bosom. "

"Tut, tut, " returned Peter; "it is not broken yet. Wait till we hearwhat old Barbara has got to say; and, meanwhile, we must arrange withDick Turpin the price of that certificate. The knave knows its valuewell. Come, be a man. This is worse than womanish. "

And at length he succeeded, half by force and half by persuasion, indragging Luke away with him. 

_CHAPTER IV_

_BARBARA LOVEL_

 Los Gitanos son encantadores, adivinos, magos, chyromanticos, que dicen por las rayas de las manos lo Futuro, que ellos llaman Buenaventura, y generalmente son dados à toda supersticion. 

 DOCTOR SANCHO DE MONCADA. _Discurso sobre Espulsion de los Gitanos. _

Like a dove escaped from the talons of the falcon, Sybil fled from theclutches of the sexton. Her brain was in a whirl, her blood on fire. Shehad no distinct perception of external objects; no definite notion ofwhat she herself was about to do, and glided more like a flitting spiritthan a living woman along the ruined ambulatory. Her hair had fallen indisorder over her face. She stayed not to adjust it, but tossed asidethe blinding locks with frantic impatience. She felt as one may feel whotries to strain his nerves, shattered by illness, to the endurance ofsome dreadful, yet necessary pain. 

Sybil loved her granddame, old Barbara; but it was with a love temperedby fear. Barbara was not a person to inspire esteem or to claimaffection. She was regarded by the wild tribe which she ruled as theirqueen-elect, with some such feeling of inexplicable awe as isentertained by the African slave for the Obeah woman. They acknowledgedher power, unhesitatingly obeyed her commands, and shrank with terrorfrom her anathema, which was indeed seldom pronounced; but when uttered, was considered as doom. Her tribe she looked upon as her flock, andstretched her maternal hand over all, ready alike to cherish orchastise; and having already survived a generation, that whichsucceeded, having from infancy imbibed a superstitious veneration forthe "cunning woman, " as she was called, the sentiment could never bewholly effaced. Winding her way, she knew not how, through rooflesshalls, over disjointed fragments of fallen pillars, Sybil reached aflight of steps. A door, studded with iron nails, stayed her progress;it was an old, strong oaken frame, surmounted by a Gothic arch, in thekeystone of which leered one of those grotesque demoniacal faces withwhich the fathers of the church delighted to adorn their shrines. Sybillooked up--her glance encountered the fantastical visage. It recalledthe features of the sexton, and seemed to mock her--to revile her. Herfortitude at once deserted her. Her fingers were upon the handle of thedoor. She hesitated: she even drew back, with the intention ofdeparting, for she felt then that she dared not face Barbara. It was toolate--she had moved the handle. A deep voice from within called to herby name. She dared not disobey that call--she entered. 

The room in which Sybil found herself was the only entire apartment nowexisting in the priory. It had survived the ravages of time; it hadescaped the devastation of man, whose ravages outstrip those of time. Octagonal, lofty, yet narrow, you saw at once that it formed theinterior of a turret. It was lighted by a small oriel window, commandinga lovely view of the scenery around, and paneled with oak, richlywrought in ribs and groins; and from overhead depended a molded ceilingof honeycomb plaster-work. This room had something, even now, in thedays of its desecration, of monastic beauty about it. Where the odor ofsanctity had breathed forth, the fumes of idolatry prevailed; butimagination, ever on the wing, flew back to that period--and a traditionto that effect warranted the supposition--when, perchance, it had beenthe sanctuary and the privacy of the prior's self. 

Wrapped in a cloak composed of the skins of various animals, upon a lowpallet, covered with stained scarlet cloth, sat Barbara. Around her headwas coiffed, in folds like those of an Asiatic turban, a rich, thoughfaded shawl, and her waist was encircled with the magic zodiacalzone--proper to the sorceress--the _Mago Cineo_ of the Cingara--whencethe name Zingaro, according to Moncada--which Barbara had brought fromSpain. From her ears depended long golden drops, of curious antiquefashioning; and upon her withered fingers, which looked like a coil oflizards, were hooped a multitude of silver rings, of the purest andsimplest manufacture. They seemed almost of massive unwrought metal. Herskin was yellow as the body of a toad; corrugated as its back. She mighthave been steeped in saffron from her finger tips, the nails of whichwere of the same hue, to such portions of her neck as were visible, andwhich was puckered up like the throat of a turtle. To look at her, onemight have thought the embalmer had experimented her art upon herself. So dead, so bloodless, so blackened seemed the flesh, where fleshremained, leather could scarce be tougher than her skin. She seemed likean animated mummy. A frame so tanned, appeared calculated to endure forages; and, perhaps, might have done so. But, alas! the soul cannot beembalmed. No oil can re-illumine that precious lamp! And that Barbara'svital spark was fast waning, was evident from her heavy, blood-shoteyes, once of a swimming black, and lengthy as a witch's, which were nowsinister and sunken. 

The atmosphere of the room was as strongly impregnated as a museum withvolatile odors, emitted from the stores of drugs with which the shelveswere loaded, as well as from various stuffed specimens of birds and wildanimals. Barbara's only living companion was a monstrous owl, which, perched over the old gipsy's head, hissed a token of recognition asSybil advanced. From a hook, placed in the plaster roof, was suspended aglobe of crystal glass, about the size and shape of a large gourd, filled with a pure pellucid liquid, in which a small snake, the Egyptianaspic, described perpetual gyrations. 

Dim were the eyes of Barbara, yet not altogether sightless. The troubleddemeanor of her grandchild struck her as she entered. She felt the hotdrops upon her hand as Sybil stooped to kiss it; she heard hervainly-stifled sobs. 

"What ails you, child?" said Barbara, in a voice that rattled in herthroat, and hollow as the articulation of a phantom. "Have you heardtidings of Luke Bradley? Has any ill befallen him? I said you wouldeither hear of him or see him this morning. He is not returned, I see. What have you heard?"

"He _is_ returned, " replied Sybil, faintly; "and no ill hath happened tohim. "

"He _is_ returned, and you are here, " echoed Barbara. "No ill hathhappened to _him_, thou sayest--am I to understand there is--to _you_?"

Sybil answered not. She could not answer. 

"I see, I see, " said Barbara, more gently, her head and hand shakingwith paralytic affection: "a quarrel, a lover's quarrel. Old as I am, Ihave not forgotten my feelings as a girl. What woman ever does, if shebe woman? and you, like your poor mother, are a true-hearted wench. Sheloved her husband, as a husband should be loved, Sybil; and though sheloved me well, she loved him better, as was right. Ah! it was a bitterday when she left me for Spain; for though, to one of our wanderingrace, all countries are alike, yet the soil of our birth is dear to us, and the presence of our kindred dearer. Well, well, I will not think ofthat. She is gone. Nay, take it not so to heart, wench. Luke has a hastytemper. 'Tis not the first time I have told you so. He will not bearrebuke, and you have questioned him too shrewdly touching his absence. Is it not so? Heed it not. Trust me, you will have him seek yourforgiveness ere the shadows shorten 'neath the noontide sun. "

"Alas! alas!" said Sybil, sadly, "this is no lover's quarrel, which may, at once, be forgotten and forgiven--would it were so!"

"What is it, then?" asked Barbara; and without waiting Sybil's answer, she continued, with vehemence, "has he wronged you? Tell me, girl, inwhat way? Speak, that I may avenge you, if your wrong requires revenge. Are you blood of mine, and think I will not do this for you, girl? Noneof the blood of Barbara Lovel were ever unrevenged. When Richard Cooperstabbed my first-born, Francis, he fled to Flanders to escape my wrath. But he did not escape it. I pursued him thither. I hunted him out; drovehim back to his own country, and brought him to the gallows. It took apower of gold. What matter? Revenge is dearer than gold. And as it waswith Richard Cooper, so it shall be with Luke Bradley. I will catch him, though he run. I will trip him, though he leap. I will reach him, thoughhe flee afar. I will drag him hither by the hair of his head, " addedshe, with a livid smile, and clutching at the air with her hands, as ifin the act of pulling some one towards her. "He shall wed you within thehour, if you will have it, or if your honor need that it should be so. My power is not departed from me. My people are yet at my command. I amstill their queen, and woe to him that offendeth me!"

"Mother! mother!" cried Sybil, affrighted at the storm she hadunwittingly aroused, "he has not injured me. 'Tis I alone who am toblame, not Luke. "

"You speak in mysteries, " said Barbara. 

"Sir Piers Rookwood is dead. "

"Dead!" echoed Barbara, letting fall her hazel rod. "Sir Piers dead!"

"And Luke Bradley----"

"Ha!"

"Is his successor. "

"Who told you that?" asked Barbara, with increased astonishment. 

"Luke himself. All is disclosed. " And Sybil hastily recounted Luke'sadventures. "He is now Sir Luke Rookwood. "

"This is news, in truth, " said Barbara; "yet not news to weep for. Youshould rejoice, not lament. Well, well, I foresaw it. I shall live tosee all accomplished; to see my Agatha's child ennobled; to see herwedded; ay, to see her well wedded. "

"Dearest mother!"

"I can endow you, and I will do it. You shall bring your husband notalone beauty, you shall bring him wealth. "

"But, mother----"

"My Agatha's daughter shall be Lady Rookwood. "

"Never! It cannot be. "

"What cannot be?"

"The match you now propose. "

"What mean you, silly wench? Ha! I perceive the meaning of those tears. The truth flashes upon me. He has discarded you. "

"No, by the Heaven of Heavens, he is still the same--unaltered inaffection. "

"If so, your tears are out of place. "

"Mother, it is not fitting that I, a gipsy born, should wed with him. "

"Not fitting! Ha! and you my child! Not fitting! Get up, or I will spurnyou. Not fitting! This from you to me! I tell you it _is_ fitting; youshall have a dower as ample as that of any lady in the land. Notfitting! Do you say so, because you think that he derives himself from aproud and ancient line--ancient and proud--ha, ha! I tell you, girl, that for his one ancestor I can number twenty; for the years in whichhis lineage hath flourished, my race can boast centuries, and was apeople--a kingdom!--ere the land in which he dwells was known. What! if, by the curse of Heaven, we were driven forth, the curse of hell restsupon his house. "

"I know it, " said Sybil; "a dreadful curse, which, if I wed him, willalight on me. "

"No; not on you; you shall avoid that curse. I know a means to satisfythe avenger. Leave that to me. "

"I dare not, as it never can be; yet, tell me--you saw the body ofLuke's ill-fated mother. Was she poisoned? Nay, you may speak. SirPiers's death releases you from your oath. How died she?"

"By strangulation, " said the old gipsy, raising her palsied hand to herthroat. 

"Oh!" cried Sybil, gasping with horror. "Was there a ring upon herfinger when you embalmed the body?"

"A ring--a wedding-ring! The finger was crookened. Listen, girl, I couldhave told Luke the secret of his birth long ago, but the oath imposed bySir Piers sealed fast my lips. His mother was wedded to Sir Piers; hismother was murdered by Sir Piers. Luke was entrusted to my care by hisfather. I have brought him up with you. I have affianced you together;and I shall live to see you united. He is now Sir Luke. He is yourhusband. "

"Do not deceive yourself, mother, " said Sybil, with a fearfulearnestness. "He is not yet Sir Luke Rookwood; would he had no claim tobe so! The fortune that has hitherto been so propitious may yet deserthim. Bethink you of a prophecy you uttered. "

"A prophecy? Ha!"

And with slow enunciation Sybil pronounced the mystic words which shehad heard repeated by the sexton. 

As she spoke, a gloom, like that of a thunder-cloud, began to gatherover the brow of the old gipsy. The orbs of her sunken eyes expanded, and wrath supplied her frame with vigor. She arose. 

"Who told you that?" cried Barbara. 

"Luke's grandsire, Peter Bradley. "

"How learnt he it?" said Barbara. "It was to one who hath long been inhis grave I told it; so long ago, it had passed from my memory. 'Tisstrange! old Sir Reginald had a brother, I know. But there is no otherof the house. "

"There is a cousin, Eleanor Mowbray. "

"Ha! I see; a daughter of that Eleanor Rookwood who fled from herfather's roof. Fool, fool. Am I caught in my own toils? Those words werewords of truth and power, and compel the future and 'the will be' aswith chains of brass. They must be fulfilled, yet not by Ranulph. Heshall never wed Eleanor. "

"Whom then shall she wed?"

"His elder brother. "

"Mother!" shrieked Sybil. "Do you say so? Oh! recall your words. "

"I may not; it is spoken. Luke shall wed her. "

"Oh God, support me!" exclaimed Sybil. 

"Silly wench, be firm. It must be as I say. He shall wed her--yet shallhe wed her not. The nuptial torch shall be quenched as soon as lighted;the curse of the avenger shall fall--yet not on thee. "

"Mother, " said Sybil, "if sin must fall upon some innocent head, let itbe on mine--not upon hers. I love him, I would gladly die for him. Sheis young--unoffending--perhaps happy. Oh! do not let her perish. "

"Peace, I say!" cried Barbara, "and mark me. This is your birthday. Eighteen summers have flown over your young head--eighty winters havesown their snows on mine. _You_ have yet to learn. Years have broughtwrinkles--they have brought wisdom likewise. To struggle with Fate, Itell you, is to wrestle with Omnipotence. We may foresee, but not avertour destiny. What will be, shall be. This is your eighteenth birthday, Sybil: it is a day of fate to you; in it occurs your planetary hour--anhour of good or ill, according to your actions. I have cast yourhoroscope. I have watched your natal star; it is under the balefulinfluence of Scorpion, and fiery Saturn sheds his lurid glance upon it. Let me see your hand. The line of life is drawn out distinct andclear--it runs--ha! what means that intersection? Beware--beware, mySybil. Act as I tell you, and you are safe. I will make another trial, by the crystal bowl. Attend. "

Muttering some strange words, sounding like a spell, Barbara, with thebifurcate hazel staff which she used as a divining-rod, described acircle upon the floor. Within this circle she drew other lines, fromangle to angle, forming seven triangles, the bases of which constitutedthe sides of a septilateral figure. This figure she studied intently fora few moments. She then raised her wand and touched the owl with it. Thebird unfolded its wings, and arose in flight; then slowly circled roundthe pendulous globe. Each time it drew nearer, until at length ittouched the glassy bowl with its flapping pinions. 

"Enough!" ejaculated Barbara. And at another motion from her rod thebird stayed its flight and returned to its perch. 

Barbara arose. She struck the globe with her staff. The pure lymphbecame instantly tinged with crimson, as if blood had been commingledwith it. The little serpent could be seen within, coiled up and knotted, as in the struggles of death. 

"Again I say, beware!" ejaculated Barbara, solemnly. "This is ominous ofill. "

Sybil had sunk, from faintness, on the pallet. A knock was heard at thedoor. 

"Who is without?" cried Barbara. 

"'Tis I, Balthazar, " replied a voice. 

"Thou mayest enter, " answered Barbara; and an old man with a long beard, white as snow, reaching to his girdle, and a costume which might be saidto resemble the raiment of a Jewish high priest, made his appearance. This venerable personage was no other than the patrico, or hierophant ofthe Canting Crew. 

"I come to tell you that there are strangers--ladies--within thepriory, " said the patrico, gravely. "I have searched for you in vain, "continued he, addressing Sybil; "the younger of them seems to need yourassistance. "

"Whence come they?" exclaimed Barbara. 

"They have ridden, I understand, from Rookwood, " answered the patrico. "They were on their way to Davenham, when they were prevented. "

"From Rookwood?" echoed Sybil. "Their names--did you hear their names?"

"Mowbray is the name of both; they are a mother and a daughter; theyounger is called----"

"Eleanor?" asked Sybil, with an acute foreboding of calamity. 

"Eleanor is the name, assuredly, " replied the patrico, somewhatsurprised. "I heard the elder, whom I guess to be her mother, so addressher. "

"Gracious God! She here!" exclaimed Sybil. 

"Here! Eleanor Mowbray here, " cried Barbara; "within my power. Not amoment is to be lost. Balthazar, hasten round the tents--not a man mustleave his place--above all, Luke Bradley. See that these Mowbrays aredetained within the abbey. Let the bell be sounded. Quick, quick; leavethis wench to me; she is not well. I have much to do. Away with thee, man, and let me know when thou hast done it. " And as Balthazar departedon his mission, with a glance of triumph in her eyes, Barbara exclaimed, "Soh, no sooner hath the thought possessed me, than the means ofaccomplishment appear. It shall be done at once. I will tie the knot. Iwill untie, and then retie it. This weak wench must be nerved to thetask, " added she, regarding the senseless form of Sybil. "Here is thatwill stimulate her, " opening the cupboard, and taking a small phial;"this will fortify her; and this, " continued she, with a ghastly smile, laying her hand upon another vessel, "this shall remove her rival whenall is fulfilled; this liquid shall constrain her lover to be hertitled, landed husband. Ha, ha!"

_CHAPTER V_

_THE INAUGURATION_

 _Beggar. _ Concert, sir! we have musicians, too, among us. True, merry beggars, indeed, that, being within the reach of the lash for singing libellous songs at London, were fain to fly into one cover, and here they sing all our poets' ditties. They can sing anything, most tunably, sir, but psalms. What they may do hereafter, under a triple tree, is much expected; but they live very civilly and genteelly among us. 

 _Spring. _ But what is here--that solemn old fellow, that neither speaks of himself, or any for him?

 _Beggar. _ O, sir, the rarest man of all: he is a prophet. See how he holds up his prognosticating nose. He is divining now. 

 _Spring. _ How, a prophet?

 _Beggar. _ Yes, sir; a cunning man, and a fortune-teller; a very ancient stroller all the world over, and has travelled with gipsies: and is a patrico. 

 _The Merry Beggars. _

In consequence of some few words which the sexton let fall in thepresence of the attendants, during breakfast, more perhaps by designthan accident, it was speedily rumored throughout the camp that theredoubted Richard Turpin was for the time its inmate. This intelligenceproduced some such sensation as is experienced by the inhabitants of apetty town on the sudden arrival of a prince of the blood, acommander-in-chief, or other illustrious and distinguished personage, whose fame has been vaunted abroad amongst his fellowmen by Rumor, "andher thousand tongues;" and who, like our highwayman, has renderedhimself sufficiently notorious to be an object of admiration andemulation amongst his contemporaries. 

All started up at the news. The upright man, the chief of the crew, arose from his chair, donned his gown of state, a very ancient brocadedressing-gown, filched, most probably, from the wardrobe of somestrolling player, grasped his baton of office, a stout oaken truncheon, and sallied forth. The ruffler, who found his representative in a verymagnificently equipped, and by no means ill-favored knave, whose chinwas decorated with a beard as lengthy and as black as Sultan Mahmoud's, together with the dexterous hooker, issued forth from the hovel whichthey termed their boozing ken, eager to catch a glimpse of the prince ofthe high-tobygloaks. The limping palliard tore the bandages from hismock wounds, shouldered his crutch, and trudged hastily after them. Thewhip-jack unbuckled his strap, threw away his timber leg, and "leaptexulting, like the bounding roe. " "With such a sail in sight, " he said, "he must heave to, like the rest. " The dummerar, whose tongue had beencut out by the Algerines, suddenly found the use of it, and made thewelkin ring with his shouts. Wonderful were the miracles Dick's adventwrought. The lame became suddenly active, the blind saw, the dumb spoke;nay, if truth must be told, absolutely gave utterance to "mostvernacular execrations. " Morts, autem morts, walking morts, dells, doxies, kinching morts, and their coes, with all the shades and gradesof the Canting Crew, were assembled. There were, to use the words ofBrome--

 ----Stark, errant, downright beggars. Ay, Without equivocation, statute beggars, Couchant and passant, guardant, rampant beggars; Current and vagrant, stockant, whippant beggars![25]

Each sunburnt varlet started from his shed; each dusky dame, with herbrown, half-naked urchins, followed at his heels; each "ripe youngmaiden, with the glossy eye, " lingered but to sleek her raven tresses, and to arrange her straw bonnet, and then overtook the others; eachwrinkled beldame hobbled as quickly after as her stiffened joints wouldpermit; while the ancient patrico, the priest of the crew--who joinedthe couples together by the hedge-side, "with the nice custom of deadhorse between"[26]--brought up the rear; all bent on one grand object, that of having a peep at the "foremost man of all this prigging world!"

Dick Turpin, at the period of which we treat, was in the zenith of hisreputation. His deeds were full blown; his exploits were in every man'smouth; and a heavy price was set upon his head. That he should showhimself thus openly, where he might be so easily betrayed, excited nolittle surprise among the craftiest of the crew, and augured an excessof temerity on his part. Rash daring was the main feature of Turpin'scharacter. Like our great Nelson, he knew fear only by name; and when hethus trusted himself in the hands of strangers, confident in himself andin his own resources, he felt perfectly easy as to the result. He reliedalso in the continuance of his good fortune, which had as yet neverdeserted him. Possessed of the belief that his hour was not yet come, hecared little or nothing for any risk he might incur; and though hemight, undoubtedly, have some presentiment of the probable terminationof his career, he never suffered it to militate against his presentenjoyment, which proved that he was no despicable philosopher. 

Turpin was the _ultimus Romanorum_, the last of a race, which--we werealmost about to say we regret--is now altogether extinct. Severalsuccessors he had, it is true, but no name worthy to be recorded afterhis own. With him expired the chivalrous spirit which animatedsuccessively the bosoms of so many knights of the road; with him diedaway that passionate love of enterprise, that high spirit of devotion tothe fair sex, which was first breathed upon the highway by the gay, gallant Claude Du-Val, the Bayard of the road--_Le filou sans peur etsans reproche_--but which was extinguished at last by the cord that tiedthe heroic Turpin to the remorseless tree. It were a subject well worthyof inquiry, to trace this decline and fall of the empire of the tobymento its remoter causes; to ascertain the why and the wherefore, that withso many half-pay captains; so many poor curates; so many lieutenants, ofboth services, without hopes of promotion; so many penny-a-liners, andfashionable novelists; so many damned dramatists, and damning critics;so many Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviewers; so many detrimental brothers, and younger sons; when there are horses to be hired, pistols to beborrowed, purses to be taken, and mails are as plentiful aspartridges--it were worth serious investigation, we repeat, to ascertainwhy, with the best material imaginable for a new race of highwaymen, wehave none, not even an amateur. Why do not some of these choice spiritsquit the _salons_ of Pall-Mall, and take to the road? the air of theheath is more bracing and wholesome, we should conceive, than that ofany "hell" whatever, and the chances of success incomparably greater. Wethrow out this hint, without a doubt of seeing it followed up. Probablythe solution of our inquiry may be, that the supply is greater than thedemand; that, in the present state of things, embryo highwaymen may bemore abundant than purses; and then, have we not the horse-patrol? Withsuch an admirably-organized system of conservation, it is vain toanticipate a change. The highwaymen, we fear, like their Irish brothers, the Rapparees, went out with the Tories. They were averse to reform, andeschewed emancipation. 

Lest any one should think we have overrated the pleasures of thehighwayman's existence, they shall hear what "the right villainous" JackHall, a celebrated tobyman of his day, has got to say on the subject. "His life--the highwayman's--has, generally, the most mirth and theleast care in it of any man's breathing, and all he deals for is clearprofit: he has that point of good conscience, that he always sells ashe buys, a good pennyworth, which is something rare, since he tradeswith so small a stock. The _fence_[27] and he are like the devil and thedoctor, they live by one another; and, like traitors, 'tis best to keepeach other's counsel. He has this point of honesty, that he never robsthe house he frequents"--Turpin had the same scruples respecting theHall of Rookwood in Sir Piers's lifetime--; "and perhaps pays his debtsbetter than some others, for he holds it below the dignity of hisemployment to commit so ungenteel a crime as insolvency, and loves topay nobly. He has another quality, not much amiss, that he takes no morethan he has occasion for"--Jack, we think, was a little mistaken here--;"which he verifies this way: he craves no more while that lasts. He is aless nuisance in a commonwealth than a miser, because the money heengrosses all circulates again, which the other hoards as though 'twereonly to be found again at the day of judgment. He is the tithe-pig ofhis family, which the gallows, instead of the parson, claims as its due. He has reason enough to be bold in his undertakings, for, though all theworld threaten him, he stands in fear of but one man in it, and that'sthe hangman; and with him, too, he is generally in fee: however, Icannot affirm he is so valiant that he dares look any man in the face, for in that point he is now and then, a little modest. Newgate may besaid to be his country-house, where he frequently lives so many monthsin the year; and he is not so much concerned to be carried thither for asmall matter, if 'twere only for the benefit of renewing hisacquaintance there. He holds a petit larceny as light as a nun doesauricular confession, though the priest has a more compassionatecharacter than the hangman. Every man in this community is esteemedaccording to his particular quality, of which there are several degrees, though it is contrary often to public government; for here a man shallbe valued purely for his merit, and rise by it too, though it be but toa halter, in which there is a great deal of glory in dying like a hero, and making a decent figure in the cart to the last two staves of thefifty-first psalm. "[28]

This, we repeat, is the plain statement of a practical man, and again wethrow out the hint for adoption. All we regret is, that we are nowdegenerated from the grand tobyman to the cracksman and the sneak, aboutwhom there are no redeeming features. How much lower the next generationof thieves will dive it boots not to conjecture:

 Ætas parentum pejor avis tulit, Nos nequiores; mox daturos, Progeniem vitiosiorem. 

"Cervantes laughed Spain's chivalry away, " sang Byron; and if Gay didnot extinguish the failing flame of our _night_ errantry--unlike the"Robbers" of Schiller, which is said to have inflamed the Saxon youthwith an irrepressible mania for brigandage--, the "Beggar's Opera"helped not to fan the dying fire. That laugh was fatal, as laughsgenerally are. Macheath gave the highwayman his _coup de grâce_. 

The last of this race--for we must persist in maintaining that he _was_the last--, Turpin, like the setting sun, threw up some parting rays ofglory, and tinged the far highways with a luster that may yet be tracedlike a cloud of dust raised by his horse's retreating heels. Unequalledin the command of his steed, the most singular feat that the whole raceof the annals of horsemanship has to record, and of which we may havemore to say hereafter, was achieved by him. So perfect was hisjockeyship, so clever his management of the animal he mounted, sointimately acquainted was he with every cross-road in the neighborhoodof the metropolis--a book of which he constructed, and carriedconstantly about his person--, as well as with many other parts ofEngland, particularly the counties of Chester, York, and Lancaster, thathe outstripped every pursuer, and baffled all attempts at capture. Hisreckless daring, his restless rapidity--for so suddenly did he changehis ground, and renew his attacks in other quarters, that he seemed tobe endowed with ubiquity, --his bravery, his resolution, and, above all, his generosity, won for him a high reputation amongst his compatriots, and even elicited applauses from those upon whom he levied hiscontributions. 

Beyond dispute, he ruled as master of the road. His hands were, as yet, unstained with blood; he was ever prompt to check the disposition tooutrage, and to prevent, as much as lay in his power, the commission ofviolence by his associates. Of late, since he had possessed himself ofhis favorite mare, Black Bess, his robberies had been perpetrated with asuddenness of succession, and at distances so apparently impracticable, that the idea of all having been executed by one man, was rejected as animpossibility; and the only way of reconciling the description of thehorse and rider, which tallied in each instance, was the suppositionthat these attacks were performed by confederates similarly mounted andsimilarly accoutred. 

There was, in all this, as much of the "_famæ sacra fames_" as of the"_auri_;" of the hungering after distinction, as well as of the appetiteof gain. Enamored of his vocation, Turpin delighted to hear himselfdesignated as the Flying Highwayman; and it was with rapturous triumphthat he found his single-handed feats attributed to a band of marauders. But this state of things could not long endure; his secret was blown;the vigilance of the police was aroused; he was tracked to his haunts;and, after a number of hairbreadth 'scapes, which he only effected bymiracle, or by the aid of his wonder-working mare, he reluctantlyquitted the heathy hills of Bagshot, the Pampas plains of Hounslow--overwhich like an archetype of the galloping Sir Francis Head, he had sooften scoured, --the gorsy commons of Highgate, Hampstead, and Finchley, the marshy fields of Battersea, almost all of which he had been known tovisit in a single night, and leaving these beaten tracks to theoccupation of younger and less practised hands, he bequeathed to them, at the same time, his own reversionary interest in the gibbets thereuponerected, and betook himself to the country. 

After a journey of more or less success, our adventurer found himself atRookwood, whither he had been invited after a grand field-day by itshospitable and by no means inquisitive owner. Breach of faith and goodfellowship formed no part of Turpin's character; he had his lights aswell as his shades; and as long as Sir Piers lived, his purse andcoffers would have been free from molestation, except, "so far, " Dicksaid, "as a cog or two of dice went. My dice, you know, are longs forodd and even, a bale of bar'd cinque deuces, " a pattern of which healways carried with him; beyond this, excepting a take-in at a steeplechase, Rookwood church being the mark, a "do" at a leap, or some suchtrifle, to which the most scrupulous could not raise an objection, Dickwas all fair and above-board. But when poor Sir Piers had "put on hiswooden surtout, " to use Dick's own expressive metaphor, hisconscientious scruples evaporated into thin air. Lady Rookwood wasnothing to him; there was excellent booty to be appropriated--

 The wise _convey_ it call. 

He began to look about for hands; and having accidentally encounteredhis old comrades, Rust and Wilder, they were let into the business, which was imperfectly accomplished in the manner heretofore described. 

To return from this digression. When Turpin presented himself at thethreshold of the door, on his way to inquire after his mare, to hisastonishment he found it closely invested. A cheering shout from thetawny throng, succeeded by a general clapping of hands, and attended bya buzzing susurration of applause, such as welcomes the entrance of apopular actor upon the stage, greeted the appearance of the highwayman. At the first sight of the crowd he was a little startled, andinvoluntarily sought for his pistols. But the demonstrations ofadmiration were too unequivocal to be for a moment mistaken; his handwas drawn from his pocket to raise his hat from his brow. 

Thunders of applause. 

Turpin's external man, we have before said, was singularlyprepossessing. It was especially so in the eyes of _the_ sex--fair wecertainly cannot say upon the present occasion--, amongst whom not asingle dissentient voice was to be heard. All concurred in thinking hima fine fellow; could plainly read his high courage in his bearing; hisgood breeding in his débonnaire deportment; and his manly beauty in hisextravagant red whiskers. Dick saw the effect that he produced. He wasat home in a moment. Your true highwayman has ever a passion for effect. This does not desert him at the gallows; it rises superior to deathitself, and has been known to influence the manner of his dangling fromthe gibbet! To hear some one cry, "There goes a proper handsome man, "saith our previously quoted authority, Jack Hall, "somewhat amelioratesthe terrible thoughts of the meagre tyrant death; and to go in a dirtyshirt were enough to save the hangman a labor, and make a man die withgrief and shame at being in that deplorable condition. " With a gracioussmile of condescension, like a popular orator--with a look of blarneylike that of O'Connell, and of assurance like that of Hume--he surveyedthe male portion of the spectators, tipped a knowing wink at theprettiest brunettes he could select, and finally cut a sort of flingwith his well-booted legs, that brought down another appeal of rapturousapplause. 

"A rank scamp!"[29] cried the upright man; and this exclamation, howeverequivocal it may sound, was intended, on his part, to be highlycomplimentary. 

"I believe ye, " returned the ruffler, stroking his chin--"one may seethat he's no half swell by the care with which he cultivates the bestgifts of nature, his whiskers. He's a rank nib. "[30]

"Togged out to the ruffian, no doubt, " said the palliard, who wasincomparably the shabbiest rascal in the corps. "Though a needy mizzlermysel, I likes to see a cove vot's vel dressed. Jist twig his swellkickseys and pipes;[31] if they ain't the thing, I'm done. Lame Harrycan't dance better nor he--no, nor Jerry Juniper neither. "

"I'm dumb founded, " roared the dummerar, "if he can't patter romany[32]as vel as the best on us! He looks like a rum 'un. "

"And a rum 'un he be, take my word for it, " returned the whip-jack, orsham sailor. "Look at his rigging--see how he flashes hissticks[33]--those are the tools to rake a three-decker. He's as clever acraft as I've seen this many a day, or I'm no judge. "

The women were equally enchanted--equally eloquent in the expression oftheir admiration. 

"What ogles!" cried a mort. 

"What pins!" said an autem mort, or married woman. 

"Sharp as needles, " said a dark-eyed dell, who had encountered one ofthe free and frolicsome glances which our highwayman distributed soliberally among the petticoats. 

It was at this crisis Dick took off his hat. Cæsar betrayed hisbaldness. 

"A thousand pities!" cried the men, compassionating his thinly coveredskull, and twisting their own ringlets, glossy and luxuriant, thoughunconscious of Macassar. "A thousand pities that so fine a fellow shouldhave a sconce like a cocoanut!"

"But then his red whiskers, " rejoined the women, tired of the uniformityof thick black heads of hair; "what a warmth of coloring they impart tohis face; and then only look how beautifully bushy they make his cheeksappear!"

La Fosseuse and the court of the Queen of Navarre were not more smittenwith the Sieur de Croix's jolly pair of whiskers. 

The hawk's eye of Turpin ranged over the whole assemblage. Amidst thatthrong of dark faces there was not one familiar to him. 

Before him stood the upright man, Zoroaster--so was he called--, asturdy, stalwart rogue, whose superior strength and stature--as has notunfrequently been the case in the infancy of governments that have risento more importance than is likely to be the case with that of LesserEgypt--had been the means of his elevation to his present dignifiedposition. Zoroaster literally _fought_ his way upwards, and had at firstto maintain his situation by the strong arm; but he now was enabled torepose upon his hard-won laurels, to smoke "the calumet of peace, " andquaff his tipple with impunity. For one of gipsy blood, he presented anunusually jovial, liquor-loving countenance: his eye was mirthful; hislip moist, as if from oft potations; his cheek mellow as an Orleansplum, which fruit, in color and texture, it mightily resembled. Strangeto say, also, for one of that lithe race, his person was heavy andhebetudinous; the consequence, no doubt, of habitual intemperance. LikeCribb, he waxed obese upon the championship. There was a kind of mockstate in his carriage, as he placed himself before Turpin, and with hisleft hand twisted up the tail of his dressing-gown, while the rightthrust his truncheon into his hip, which was infinitely diverting to thehighwayman. 

Turpin's attention, however, was chiefly directed towards his neighbor, the ruffler, in whom he recognized a famous impostor of the day, withwhose history he was sufficiently well acquainted to be able at once toidentify the individual. We have before stated, that a magnificentcoal-black beard decorated the chin of this worthy; but this was notall--his costume was in perfect keeping with his beard, and consisted ofa very theatrical-looking tunic, upon the breast of which wasembroidered, in golden wire, the Maltese cross; while over his shoulderswere thrown the folds of an ample cloak of Tyrian hue. To his side wasgirt a long and doughty sword, which he termed, in his knightly phrase, Excalibur; and upon his profuse hair rested a hat as broad in the brimas a Spanish sombrero. 

Exaggerated as this description may appear, we can assure our readersthat it is not overdrawn; and that a counterpart of the sketch we havegiven of the ruffler certainly "strutted his hour" upon the stage ofhuman life, and that the very ancient and discriminating city ofCanterbury--to which be all honor--was his theatre of action. Hishistory is so far curious, that it exemplifies, more strongly than athousand discourses could do, how prone we are to be governed byappearances, and how easily we may be made the dupes of a plausibleimpostor. Be it remembered, however, that we treat of the eighteenthcentury, before the march of intellect had commenced; we are much tooknowing to be similarly practised upon in these enlightened times. Butwe will let the knight of Malta, for such was the title assumed by theruffler, tell his own story in his own way hereafter; contentingourselves with the moral precepts we have already deduced from it. 

Next to the knight of Malta stood the whip-jack, habited in his sailorgear--striped shirt and dirty canvas trousers; and adjoining him was thepalliard, a loathsome tatterdemalion, his dress one heap of rags, andhis discolored skin one mass of artificial leprosy and imposthumes. 

As Turpin's eye shifted from one to another of these figures, he chancedupon an individual who had been long endeavoring to arrest hisattention. This personage was completely in the background. All thatDick could discern of him was a brown curly head of hair, carelesslyarranged in the modern mode; a handsome, impudent, sun-freckled face, with one eye closed, and the other occupied by a broken bottle-neck, through which, as a substitute for a lorgnette, the individualreconnoitered him. A cocked hat was placed in a very _dégagée_ mannerunder his arm, and he held an ebony cane in his hand, very much in thestyle of a "_fassionable_, " as the French have it, of the present day. This glimpse was sufficient to satisfy Turpin. He recognized in thiswhimsical personage an acquaintance. 

Jerry Juniper was what the classical Captain Grose would designate a"gentleman with three outs, " and, although he was not entirely withoutwit, nor, his associates avouched, without money, nor, certainly, in hisown opinion, had that been asked, without manners; yet was he assuredlywithout shoes, without stockings, without shirt. This latter deficiencywas made up by a voluminous cravat, tied with proportionately largebows. A jaunty pair of yellow breeches, somewhat faded; a waistcoat ofsilver brocade, richly embroidered, somewhat tarnished and lack-lustre;a murrey-colored velvet coat, somewhat chafed, completed the costume ofthis beggar Brummell, this mendicant macaroni!

Jerry Juniper was a character well known at the time, as a constantfrequenter of all races, fairs, regattas, ship-launches, bull-baits, andprize-fights, all of which he attended, and to which he transportedhimself with an expedition little less remarkable than that of Turpin. You met him at Epsom, at Ascot, at Newmarket, at Doncaster, at theRoodee of Chester, at the Curragh of Kildare. The most remote as well asthe most adjacent meeting attracted him. The cock-pit was his constanthaunt, and in more senses than one was he a _leg_. No opera-dancer couldbe more agile, more nimble; scarcely, indeed, more graceful, than wasJerry, with his shoeless and stockingless feet; and the manner in whichhe executed a pirouette, or a pas, before a line of carriages, seldomfailed to procure him "golden opinions from all sorts of dames. " Withthe ladies, it must be owned, Jerry was rather upon too easy terms; butthen, perhaps, the ladies were upon too easy terms with Jerry; and if abright-eyed fair one condescended to jest with him, what marvel if heshould sometimes slightly transgress the laws of decorum. Theseaberrations, however, were trifling; altogether he was so well known, and knew everybody else so well, that he seldom committed himself; and, singular to say, could on occasions even be serious. In addition to hisother faculties, no one cut a sly joke, or trolled a merry ditty, betterthan Jerry. His peculiarities, in short, were on the pleasant side, andhe was a general favorite in consequence. 

No sooner did Jerry perceive that he was recognized, than, after kissinghis hand, with the air of a _petit-maître_, to the highwayman, he stroveto edge his way through the crowd. All his efforts were fruitless; and, tired of a situation in the rear rank, so inconsistent, he conceived, with his own importance, he had recourse to an expedient often practisedwith success in harlequinades, and not unfrequently in real life, wherea flying leap is occasionally taken over our heads. He ran back a fewyards to give himself an impetus, returned, and, placing his hands uponthe shoulders of a stalwart vagabond near to him, threw a summerset uponthe broad cap of a palliard, who was so jammed in the midst that hecould not have stirred to avoid the shock; thence, without pausing, hevaulted forwards, and dropped lightly upon the ground in front ofZoroaster, and immediately before the highwayman. 

Dick laughed immoderately at Jerry's manœuvre. He shook his old chumcordially by the hand, saying, in a whisper, "What the devil brings youhere, Jerry?"

"I might retort, and ask you that question, Captain Turpin, " repliedJerry, _sotto voce_. "It is odd to see me here, certainly--quite out ofmy element--lost amongst this _canaille_--this Canting Crew--all thefault of a pair of gipsy eyes, bright as a diamond, dark as a sloe. Youcomprehend--a little affair, ha! Liable to these things. Bring your earcloser, my boy; be upon your guard--keep a sharp look out--there's adevil of a reward upon your head--I won't answer for all those rascals. "

"Thank you for the hint, Jerry, " replied Dick, in the same tone. "Icalculated my chances pretty nicely when I came here. But if I shouldperceive any symptoms of foul play--any attempt to snitch or nose, amongst this pack of peddlers--I have a friend or two at hand, who won'tbe silent upon the occasion. Rest assured I shall have my eye upon thegnarling scoundrels. I won't be sold for nothing. "

"Trust you for that, " returned Juniper, with a wink. "Stay, " added he;"a thought strikes me. I have a scheme _in petto_ which may, perhaps, afford you some fun, and will, at all events, insure your safety duringyour stay. "

"What is it?" asked Dick. 

"Just amuse yourself with a flirtation for a moment or two with thatpretty damsel, who has been casting her ogles at you for the last fiveminutes without success, while I effect a master-stroke. "

And as Turpin, nothing loth, followed his advice, Jerry addressedhimself to Zoroaster. After a little conference, accompanied by thatworthy and the knight of Malta, the trio stepped forward from the line, and approached Dick, when Juniper, assuming some such attitude as ouradmirable Jones, the comedian, is wont to display, delivered himself ofthe following address. Turpin listened with the gravity of one of thedistinguished persons alluded to, at the commencement of the presentchapter, upon their receiving the freedom of the city at the hands of amayor and corporation. Thus spoke Jerry:

"Highest of High-Tobymen! rummest of rum Padders, and most scampish ofScampsmen! We, in the name of Barbara, our most tawny queen; in the nameof Zoroaster, our Upright Man, Dimber Damber, or Olli Campolli, by allwhich titles his excellency is distinguished; in our own respectivenames, as High Pads and Low Pads, Rum Gills and Queer Gills, Patricos, Palliards, Priggers, Whip-Jacks, and Jarkmen, from the Arch Rogue to theNeedy Mizzler, fully sensible of the honor you have conferred upon us ingracing Stop-Hole Abbey with your presence; and conceiving that we canin no way evince our sense of your condescension so entirely as byoffering you the freedom of our crew, together with the privileges of anUpright Man, [34] which you may be aware are considerable, and bycreating you an honorary member of the Vagrant Club, which we haverecently established; and in so doing, we would fain express thesentiments of gratification and pride which we experience in enrollingamong our members one who has extended the glory of roguery so widelyover the land, and who has kicked up such a dust upon the highways ofEngland, as most effectually to blind the natives--one who is in himselfa legion--of highwaymen! Awaiting, with respectful deference, theacquiescence of Captain Richard Turpin, we beg to tender him the freedomof our crew. "

"Really, gentlemen, " said Turpin, who did not exactly see the drift ofthis harangue, "you do me a vast deal of honor. I am quite at a loss toconceive how I can possibly have merited so much attention at yourhands; and, indeed, I feel myself so unworthy----" Here Dick received anexpressive wink from Juniper, and therefore thought it prudent to alterhis expression. "Could I suppose myself at all deserving of so muchdistinction, " continued the modest speaker, "I should at once acceptyour very obliging offer; but----"

"None so worthy, " said the upright man. 

"Can't hear of a refusal, " said the knight of Malta. 

"Refusal--impossible!" reiterated Juniper. 

"No; no refusal, " exclaimed a chorus of voices. "Dick Turpin must be oneof us. He shall be our dimber damber. "

"Well, gentlemen, since you are so pressing, " replied Turpin, "even sobe it. I _will_ be your dimber damber. "

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the mob, _not_ "of gentlemen. "

"About it, pals, at once, " said the knight of Malta, flourishingExcalibur. "By St. Thomas à Becket, we'll have as fine a scene as Imyself ever furnished to the Canterbury lieges. "

"About what?" asked Dick. 

"Your matriculation, " replied Jerry. "There are certain forms to begone through, with an oath to be taken, merely a trifle. We'll have ajolly booze when all's over. Come bing avast, my merry pals; to thegreen, to the green: a Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!"

"A Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!" echoed the crew. 

"I've brought you through, " said Jerry, taking advantage of the uproarthat ensued to whisper to his chum; "none of them will dare to lift afinger against you now. They are all your friends for life. "

"Nevertheless, " returned Turpin, "I should be glad to know what hasbecome of Bess. "

"If it's your prancer you are wanting, " chirped a fluttering creature, whom Turpin recognized as Luke's groom, Grasshopper, "I gave her a freshloaf and a stoup of stingo, as you bade me, and there she be, under yontree, as quiet as a lamb. "

"I see her, " replied Turpin; "just tighten her girths, Grasshopper, andbring her after me, and thou shalt have wherewithal to chirp over thycups at supper. "

Away bounded the elfin dwarf to execute his behest. 

A loud shout now rent the skies, and presently afterwards was heard thevile scraping of a fiddle, accompanied by the tattoo of a drum. Approaching Turpin, a host of gipsies elevated the highwayman upon theirshoulders, and in this way he was carried to the centre of the green, where the long oaken table, which had once served the Franciscans forrefection, was now destined for the stage of the pageant. 

Upon this table three drums were placed; and Turpin was requested toseat himself on the central one. A solemn prelude, more unearthly thanthe incantation in the Freyschütz, was played by the orchestra of theband, conducted by the Paganini of the place, who elicited the mostmarvellous notes from his shell. A couple of shawms[35] emittedsepulchral sounds, while the hollow rolling of a drum broke ever andanon upon the ear. The effect was prodigiously fine. During thisoverture the patrico and the upright man had ascended the rostrum, eachtaking his place; the former on the right hand of Turpin, the latterupon his left. Below them stood the knight of Malta, with Excaliburdrawn in his hand, and gleaming in the sunshine. On the whole, Dick wasamused with what he saw, and with the novel situation in which he foundhimself placed. Around the table were congregated a compact mass ofheads; so compact, indeed, that they looked like one creature--an Argus, with each eye upturned upon the highwayman. The idea struck Turpin thatthe restless mass of parti-colored shreds and patches, of vivid hues andvaried tintings, singularly, though accidentally, disposed to producesuch an effect, resembled an immense tiger-moth, or it might be a Turkeycarpet spread out upon the grass!

The scene was a joyous one. It was a brilliant sunshiny morning. Freshened and purified by the storm of the preceding night, the airbreathed a balm upon the nerves and senses of the robber. The woodedhills were glittering in light; the brook was flowing swiftly past theedge of the verdant slope, glancing like a wreathed snake in thesunshine--its "quiet song" lost in the rude harmony of the mummers, aswere the thousand twitterings of the rejoicing birds; the rocks baredtheir bosoms to the sun, or were buried in deep-cast gloom; the shadowsof the pillars and arches of the old walls of the priory were projectedafar, while the rose-like ramifications of the magnificent marigoldwindow were traced, as if by a pencil, upon the verdant tablet of thesod. 

The overture was finished. With the appearance of the principal figuresin this strange picture the reader is already familiar. It remains onlyto give him some idea of the patrico. Imagine, then, an oldsuperannuated goat, reared upon its hind legs, and clad in a whitesheet, disposed in folds like those of a simar about its limbs, and youwill have some idea of Balthazar, the patrico. This resemblance to theanimal before mentioned was rendered the more striking by his huge, hanging, goat-like under lip, his lengthy white beard, and a sort ofcap, covering his head, which was ornamented with a pair of horns, suchas are to be seen in Michael Angelo's tremendous statue of Moses. Balthazar, besides being the patrico of the tribe, was its principalprofessor of divination, and had been the long-tried and faithfulminister of Barbara Lovel, from whose secret instructions he wassupposed to have derived much of his magical skill. 

Placing a pair of spectacles upon his "prognosticating nose, " andunrolling a vellum skin, upon which strange characters were written, Balthazar, turning to Turpin, thus commenced in a solemn voice:

 Thou who wouldst our brother be, Say how we shall enter thee? Name the name that thou wilt bear Ere our livery thou wear?

"I see no reason why I should alter my designation, " replied thenoviciate; "but as popes change their titles on their creation, therecan be no objection to a scampsman following so excellent an example. Let me be known as the Night Hawk. "

"The Night Hawk--good, " returned the hierophant, proceeding to registerthe name upon the parchment. "Kneel down, " continued he. 

After some hesitation, Turpin complied. 

"You must repeat the 'salamon, ' or oath of our creed, after mydictation, " said the patrico; and Turpin, signifying his assent by anod, Balthazar propounded the following abjuration:

 OATH OF THE CANTING CREW

 I, Crank-Cuffin, swear to be True to this fraternity; That I will in all obey Rule and order of the lay. Never blow the gab, or squeak; Never snitch to bum or beak; But religiously maintain Authority of those who reign Over Stop-Hole Abbey Green, Be they tawny king, or queen. In their cause alone will fight; Think what they think, wrong or right; Serve them truly, and no other, And be faithful to my brother; Suffer none, from far or near, With their rights to interfere; No strange Abram, ruffler crack, Hooker of another pack, Rogue or rascal, frater, maunderer, Irish toyle, or other wanderer; No dimber damber, angler, dancer, Prig of cackler, prig of prancer; No swigman, swaddler, clapperdudgeon; Cadge-gloak, curtal, or curmudgeon; No whip-jack, palliard, patrico; No jarkman, be he high or low; No dummerar, or romany; No member of "_the Family_;" No ballad-basket, bouncing buffer, Nor any other, will I suffer; But stall-off now and for ever, All outliers whatsoever: And as I keep to the foregone, So may help me Salamon![36]

"So help me Salamon!" repeated Turpin, with emphasis. 

"Zoroaster, " said the patrico to the upright man, "do thy part of thisceremonial. "

Zoroaster obeyed; and, taking Excalibur from the knight of Malta, bestowed a hearty thwack with the blade upon the shoulders of thekneeling highwayman, assisting him afterwards to arise. 

The inauguration was complete. 

"Well, " exclaimed Dick, "I'm glad it's all over. My leg feels a littlestiffish. I'm not much given to kneeling. I must dance it off;" sayingwhich, he began to shuffle upon the boards. "I tell you what, " continuedhe, "most reverend patrico, that same 'salmon' of yours has a cursedlong tail. I could scarce swallow it all, and it's strange if it don'tgive me an indigestion. As to you, sage Zory, from the dexterity withwhich you flourish your sword, I should say you had practised at court. His majesty could scarce do the thing better, when, slapping some fatalderman upon the shoulder, he bids him arise Sir Richard. And now, pals, " added he, glancing round, "as I am one of you, let's have a boozetogether ere I depart, for I don't think my stay will be long in theland of Egypt. "

This suggestion of Turpin was so entirely consonant to the wishes of theassemblage, that it met with universal approbation; and upon a sign fromZoroaster, some of his followers departed in search of supplies for thecarousal. Zoroaster leaped from the table, and his example was followedby Turpin, and more leisurely by the patrico. 

It was rather early in the day for a drinking bout. But the Canting Crewwere not remarkably particular. The chairs were removed, and thejingling of glasses announced the arrival of the preliminaries of thematutine symposion. Poles, canvas, and cords were next brought; and inalmost as short a space of time as one scene is substituted for anotherin a theatrical representation, a tent was erected. Benches, stools, andchairs appeared with equal celerity, and the interior soon presented anappearance like that of a booth at a fair. A keg of brandy was broached, and the health of the new brother quaffed in brimmers. 

Our highwayman returned thanks. Zoroaster was in the chair, the knightof Malta acting as croupier. A second toast was proposed--the tawnyqueen. This was drunk with a like enthusiasm, and with a like allowanceof the potent spirit; but as bumpers of brandy are not to be repeatedwith impunity, it became evident to the president of the board that hemust not repeat his toasts quite so expeditiously. To create atemporary diversion, therefore, he called for a song. 

The dulcet notes of the fiddle now broke through the clamor; and, inanswer to the call, Jerry Juniper volunteered the following:

 JERRY JUNIPER'S CHANT

 In a box[37] of the stone jug[38] I was born, Of a hempen widow[39] the kid forlorn. _Fake away, _ And my father, as I've heard say, _Fake away. _ Was a merchant of capers[40] gay, Who cut his last fling with great applause, _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _[41]

 Who cut his last fling with great applause, [42] To the tune of a "hearty choke with caper sauce. " _Fake away. _ The knucks in quod[43] did my schoolmen play, _Fake away, _ And put me up to the time of day; Until at last there was none so knowing, _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

 Until at last there was none so knowing, No such sneaksman[44] or buzgloak[45] going. _Fake away. _ Fogles[46] and fawnies[47] soon went their way, _Fake away_, To the spout[48] with the sneezers[49] in grand array. No dummy hunter[50] had forks[51] so fly; _Nix my doll pals, fake away_. 

 No dummy hunter had forks so fly, No knuckler[52] so deftly could fake a cly, [53] _Fake away. _ No slour'd hoxter[54] my snipes[55] could stay, _Fake away. _ None knap a reader[56] like me in the lay. Soon then I mounted in swell-street high. _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

 Soon then I mounted in swell-street high, And sported my flashiest toggery[57], _Fake away. _ Firmly resolved I would make my hay, _Fake away, _ While Mercury's star shed a single ray; And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig, [58] _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

 And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig, With my strummel faked in the newest twig. [59] _Fake away. _ With my fawnied famms, [60] and my onions gay, [61] _Fake away;_ My thimble of ridge[62], and my driz kemesa[63]; All my togs were so niblike[64] and splash, _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

 All my togs were so niblike and splash, Readily the queer screens I then could smash;[65] _Fake away. _ But my nuttiest blowen, [66] one fine day, _Fake away, _ To the beaks[67] did her fancy man betray, And thus was I bowled out at last[68] _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

 And thus was I bowled out at last, And into the jug for a lag was cast;[69] _Fake away. _ But I slipped my darbies[70] one morn in May, _Fake away, _ And gave to the dubsman[71] a holiday. And here I am, pals, merry and free, A regular rollicking romany. [72] _Nix my doll pals, fake away. _

Much laughter and applause rewarded Jerry's attempt to please; andthough the meaning of his chant, even with the aid of the numerous notesappended to it, may not be quite obvious to our readers, we can assurethem that it was perfectly intelligible to the Canting Crew. Jerry wasnow entitled to a call; and happening, at the moment, to meet the finedark eyes of a sentimental gipsy, one of that better class of mendicantswho wandered about the country with a guitar at his back, his electionfell upon him. The youth, without prelude, struck up a

 GIPSY SERENADE

 Merry maid, merry maid, wilt thou wander with me? We will roam through the forest, the meadow, and lea; We will haunt the sunny bowers, and when day begins to flee, Our couch shall be the ferny brake, our canopy the tree. _Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me! No life like the gipsy's, so joyous and free!_

 Merry maid, merry maid, though a roving life be ours, We will laugh away the laughing and quickly fleeting hours; Our hearts are free, as is the free and open sky above, And we know what tamer souls know not, how lovers ought to love. _Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me! No life like the gipsy's so joyous and free!_

Zoroaster now removed the pipe from his upright lips to intimate hisintention of proposing a toast. 

A universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers[73] was followed byprofound silence. The sage spoke:

"The city of Canterbury, pals, " said he; "and may it never want a knightof Malta. "

The toast was pledged with much laughter, and in many bumpers. 

The knight, upon whom all eyes were turned, rose, "with stately bearingand majestic motion, " to return thanks. 

"I return you an infinitude of thanks, brother pals, " said he, glancinground the assemblage; and bowing to the president, "and to you, mostupright Zory, for the honor you have done me in associating my name withthat city. Believe me, I sincerely appreciate the compliment, and echothe sentiment from the bottom of my soul. I trust it never _will_ wanta knight of Malta. In return for your consideration, but a poor one youwill say, you shall have a ditty, which I composed upon the occasion ofmy pilgrimage to that city, and which I have thought proper to nameafter myself. "

 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA

 _A Canterbury Tale_[74]

 Come list to me, and you shall have, without a hem or haw, sirs, A Canterbury pilgrimage, much better than old Chaucer's. 'Tis of a hoax I once played off upon that city clever, The memory of which, I hope, will stick to it for ever. _With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak, jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor, Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!_

 To execute my purpose, in the first place, you must know, sirs, My locks I let hang down my neck--my beard and whiskers grow, sirs; A purple cloak I next clapped on, a sword lagged to my side, sirs, And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 Two pages were there by my side, upon two little ponies, Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as macaronies; Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master, And o'er my long and curly locks, I wore a broad-brimmed castor. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 The people all flocked forth, amazed to see a man so hairy, Oh I such a sight had ne'er before been seen in Canterbury! My flowing robe, my flowing beard, my horse with flowing mane, sirs! They stared--the days of chivalry, they thought, were come again, sirs! _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 I told them a long rigmarole romance, that did not halt a Jot, that they beheld in me a real knight of Malta! Tom à Becket had I sworn I was, that saint and martyr hallowed, I doubt not just as readily the bait they would have swallowed. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 I rode about, and speechified, and everybody gullied, The tavern-keepers diddled, and the magistracy bullied; Like puppets were the townsfolk led in that show they call a raree; The Gotham sages were a joke to those of Canterbury. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 The theatre I next engaged, where I addressed the crowd, sirs, And on retrenchment and reform I spouted long and loud, sirs; On tithes and on taxation I enlarged with skill and zeal, sirs, Who so able as a Malta knight, the malt tax to repeal, sirs. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 As a candidate I then stepped forth to represent their city, And my non-election to that place was certainly a pity; For surely I the fittest was, and very proper, very, To represent the wisdom and the wit of Canterbury. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 At the trial of some smugglers next, one thing I rather queer did, And the justices upon the bench I literally _bearded_; For I swore that I some casks did see, though proved as clear as day, sirs, That I happened at the time to be some fifty miles away, sirs. _With my coal-black beard, &c. _

 This last assertion, I must own, was somewhat of a blunder, And for perjury indicted they compelled me to knock under; To my prosperous career this slight error put a stop, sirs, And thus _crossed_, the knight of Malta was at length obliged to _hop_, sirs. _With his coal-black beard, and purple cloak, jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor, Good-by to the knight of Malta. _

The knight sat down amidst the general plaudits of the company. 

The party, meanwhile, had been increased by the arrival of Luke and thesexton. The former, who was in no mood for revelry, refused to complywith his grandsire's solicitation to enter, and remained sullenly at thedoor, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon Turpin, whosemovements he commanded through the canvas aperture. The sexton walked upto Dick, who was seated at the post of honor, and, clapping him uponthe shoulder, congratulated him upon the comfortable position in whichhe found him. 

"Ha, ha! Are you there, my old death's-head on a mop-stick?" saidTurpin, with a laugh. "Ain't we merry mumpers, eh? Keeping it up instyle. Sit down, old Noah--make yourself comfortable, Methusalem. "

"What say you to a drop of as fine Nantz as you ever tasted in yourlife, old cove?" said Zoroaster. 

"I have no sort of objection to it, " returned Peter, "provided you willall pledge my toast. "

"That I will, were it old Ruffin himself, " shouted Turpin. 

"Here's to the three-legged mare, " cried Peter. "To the tree that bearsfruit all the year round, and yet has neither bark nor branch. You won'trefuse that toast, Captain Turpin?"

"Not I, " answered Dick; "I owe the gallows no grudge. If, as Jerry'ssong says, I must have a 'hearty choke and caper sauce' for my breakfastone of these fine mornings, it shall never be said that I fell to mymeal without appetite, or neglected saying grace before it. Gentlemen, here's Peter Bradley's toast: 'The scragging post--the three-leggedmare, ' with three times three. "

Appropriate as this sentiment was, it did not appear to be so invitingto the party as might have been anticipated, and the shouts soon diedaway. 

"They like not the thoughts of the gallows, " said Turpin to Peter. "Morefools they. A mere bugbear to frighten children, believe me; and neveryet alarmed a brave man. The gallows, pshaw! One can but die once, andwhat signifies it how, so that it be over quickly. I think no more ofthe last leap into eternity than clearing a five-barred gate. A rope'send for it! So let us be merry, and make the most of our time, andthat's true philosophy. I know you can throw off a rum chant, " added he, turning to Peter. "I heard you sing last night at the hall. Troll us astave, my antediluvian file, and, in the meantime, tip me a gage offogus, [75] Jerry; and if that's a bowl of huckle-my-butt[76] you arebrewing, Sir William, " added he, addressing the knight of Malta, "youmay send me a jorum at your convenience. "

Jerry handed the highwayman a pipe, together with a tumbler of thebeverage which the knight had prepared, which he pronounced excellent;and while the huge bowl was passed round to the company, a prelude ofshawms announced that Peter was ready to break into song. 

Accordingly, after the symphony was ended, accompanied at intervals by asingle instrument, Peter began his melody, in a key so high, that theutmost exertions of the shawm-blower failed to approach its altitudes. The burden of his minstrelsy was

 THE MANDRAKE[77]

 Μῶλύ δέ μιν καλέουσι θεοί, χαλνπὸν δέ τ' ὀρύσσειν Ἀνδράσι γε θνητοισι θεοι, δέ τε πάντα δύνανται. HOMERUS. 

 The mandrake grows 'neath the gallows-tree, And rank and green are its leaves to see; Green and rank, as the grass that waves Over the unctuous earth of graves; And though all around it lie bleak and bare, Freely the mandrake flourisheth there. _Maranatha--Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!_

 At the foot of the gibbet the mandrake springs; Just where the creaking carcase swings; Some have thought it engendered From the fat that drops from the bones of the dead; Some have thought it a human thing; But this is a vain imagining. _Maranatha--Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!_

 A charnel leaf doth the mandrake wear, A charnel fruit doth the mandrake bear; Yet none like the mandrake hath such great power, Such virtue resides not in herb or flower; Aconite, hemlock, or moonshade, I ween, None hath a poison so subtle and keen. _Maranatha--Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!_

 And whether the mandrake be create Flesh with the power incorporate, I know not; yet, if from the earth 'tis rent, Shrieks and groans from the root are sent; Shrieks and groans, and a sweat like gore Oozes and drops from the clammy core. _Maranatha--Anathema! Dread is the curse of mandragora! Euthanasy!_

 Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die; Blood for blood is his destiny. Some who have plucked it have died with groans, Like to the mandrake's expiring moans; Some have died raving, and some beside-- With penitent prayers--but _all_ have died. _Jesu! save us by night and day! From the terrible death of mandragora! Euthanasy!_

"A queer chant that, " said Zoroaster, coughing loudly, in token ofdisapprobation. 

"Not much to my taste, " quoth the knight of Malta. "We like somethingmore sprightly in Canterbury. "

"Nor to mine, " added Jerry; "don't think it's likely to have an encore. 'Pon my soul, Dick, you must give us something yourself, or we shallnever cry Euthanasy at the Triple Tree. "

"With all my heart, " replied Turpin. "You shall have--but what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke--nay, nay, man, no shrinking--stand forward; I've a word or twoto say to you. We must have a hob-a-nob glass together for oldacquaintance sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you're not a lord yet, nor abaronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; never lookglum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the Canting Crew now; no man shallsneer at me with impunity, eh, Zory? Ha, ha! here's a glass of Nantz;we'll have a bottle of black strap when you are master of your own. Makeready there, you gut-scrapers, you shawm-shavers; I'll put your lungs inplay for you presently. In the meantime--charge, pals, charge--a toast, a toast! Health and prosperity to Sir Luke Rookwood! I see you aresurprised--this, gemmen, is Sir Luke Rookwood, somewhile Luke Bradley, heir to the house of that name, not ten miles distant from this. Say, shall we not drink a bumper to his health?"

Astonishment prevailed amongst the crew. Luke himself had been taken bysurprise. When Turpin discovered him at the door of the tent, andsummoned him to appear, he reluctantly complied with the request; butwhen, in a half-bantering vein, Dick began to rally him upon hispretensions, he would most gladly have retreated, had it been in hispower. It was then too late. He felt he must stand the ordeal. Every eyewas fixed upon him with a look of inquiry. 

Zoroaster took his everlasting pipe from his mouth. 

"This ain't true, sure_ly_?" asked the perplexed Magus. 

"He has said it, " replied Luke; "I may not deny it. "

This was sufficient. There was a wild hubbub of delight amongst thecrew, for Luke was a favorite with all. 

"Sir Luke Rookwood!" cried Jerry Juniper, who liked a title as much asTommy Moore is said to dote upon a lord. "Upon my soul I sincerelycongratulate you; devilish fortunate fellow. Always cursed unluckymyself. I could never find out my own father, unless it were oneMonsieur des Capriolles, a French dancing-master, and _he_ never leftanything behind him that I could hear of, except a broken kit and ahempen widow. Sir Luke Rookwood, we shall do ourselves the pleasure ofdrinking your health and prosperity. "

Fresh bumpers and immense cheering. 

Silence being in a measure restored, Zoroaster claimed Turpin's promiseof a song. 

"True, true, " replied Dick; "I have not forgotten it. Stand to yourbows, my hearties. "

 THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY

 Now Oliver[78] puts his black nightcap on, And every star its glim[79] is hiding, And forth to the heath is the scampsman[80] gone, His matchless cherry-black[81] prancer riding; Merrily over the common he flies, Fast and free as the rush of rocket, His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes, His tol[82] by his side, and his pops[83] in his pocket. 

 CHORUS

 _Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games--high toby?_[84]

 The traveller hears him, away! away! Over the wide wide heath he scurries; He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay, But ever the faster and faster he hurries. But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit? He is caught--he must "stand and deliver;" Then out with the dummy[85], and off with the bit, [86] Oh! the game of high toby for ever!

 CHORUS

 _Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games--high toby?_

 Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys, To compare with the game of high toby; No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys, To blue devils, blue plumbs[87] give the go-by; And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap![88] Even rack punch has _some_ bitter in it, For the mare-with-three-legs[89], boys, I care not a rap, 'Twill be over in less than a minute. 

 GRAND CHORUS

 _Then hip, hurrah! Fling care away! Hurrah for the game of high toby!_

"And now, pals, " said Dick, who began to feel the influence of thesemorning cups, "I vote that we adjourn. Believe me I shall always bear inmind that I am a brother of your band. Sir Luke and I must have a littlechat together ere I take my leave. Adieu!"

And taking Luke by the arm, he walked out of the tent. Peter Bradleyrose, and followed them. 

At the door they found the dwarfish Grasshopper with Black Bess. Rewarding the urchin for his trouble, and slipping the bridle of hismare over his hand, Turpin continued his walk over the green. For a fewminutes he seemed to be lost in rumination. 

"I tell you what, Sir Luke, " said he; "I should like to do a generousthing, and make you a present of this bit of paper. But one ought not tothrow away one's luck, you know--there is a tide in the affairs ofthieves, as the player coves say, which must be taken at the flood, orelse----no matter! Your old dad, Sir Piers--God help him!--had thegingerbread, _that_ I know; he was, as we say, a regular rhino-cericalcull. You won't feel a few thousands, especially at starting; andbesides, there are two others, Rust and Wilder, who row in the same boatwith me, and must therefore come in for their share of the reg'lars. All this considered, you can't complain, I think if I ask five thousandfor it. That old harridan, Lady Rookwood, offered me nearly as much. "

"I will not talk to you of fairness, " said Luke; "I will not say thatdocument belongs of right to me. It fell by accident into your hands. Having possessed yourself of it, I blame you not that you dispose of itto the best advantage. I must, perforce, agree to your terms. "

"Oh, no, " replied Dick, "it's quite optional; Lady Rookwood will give asmuch, and make no mouths about it. Soho, lass! What makes Bess prick herears in that fashion?--Ha! carriage-wheels in the distance! that jadeknows the sound as well as I do. I'll just see what it's like!--you willhave ten minutes for reflection. Who knows if I may not have come in fora good thing here?"

At that instant the carriage passed the angle of a rock some threehundred yards distant, and was seen slowly ascending the hill-side. Eager as a hawk after his quarry, Turpin dashed after it. 

In vain the sexton, whom he nearly overthrew in his career, called afterhim to halt. He sped like a bolt from the bow. 

"May the devil break his neck!" cried Peter, as he saw him dash throughthe brook; "could he not let them alone?"

"This must not be, " said Luke; "know you whose carriage it is?"

"It is a shrine that holds the jewel that should be dearest in youreyes, " returned Peter; "haste, and arrest the spoiler's hand. "

"Whom do you mean?" asked Luke. 

"Eleanor Mowbray, " replied Peter. "She is there. To the rescue--away. "

"Eleanor Mowbray!" echoed Luke--"and Sybil?----"

At this instant a pistol-shot was heard. 

"Will you let murder be done, and upon your cousin?" cried Peter, with abitter look. "You are not what I took you for. "

Luke answered not, but, swift as the hound freed from the leash, dartedin the direction of the carriage. 

_CHAPTER VI_

_ELEANOR MOWBRAY_

 ----Mischiefs Are like the visits of Franciscan friars, They never come to prey upon us single. 

 _Devil's Law Case. _

The course of our tale returns now to Eleanor Mowbray. After she hadparted from Ranulph Rookwood, and had watched him disappear beneath thearches of the church porch, her heart sank, and, drawing herself backwithin the carriage, she became a prey to the most poignant affliction. In vain she endeavored to shake off this feeling of desolation. It wouldnot be. Despair had taken possession of her; the magic fabric of delightmelted away, or only gleamed to tantalize, at an unreachable distance. Apresentiment that Ranulph would never be hers had taken root in herimagination, and overshadowed all the rest. 

While Eleanor pursued this train of reflection, the time insensibly woreaway, until the sudden stoppage of the carriage aroused the party fromtheir meditation. Major Mowbray perceived that the occasion of the haltwas the rapid advance of a horseman, who was nearing them at full speed. The appearance of the rider was somewhat singular, and might havecreated some uneasiness as to the nature of his approach, had not themajor immediately recognized a friend; he was, nevertheless, greatlysurprised to see him, and turned to Mrs. Mowbray to inform her thatFather Ambrose, to his infinite astonishment, was coming to meet them, and appeared, from his manner, to be the bearer of unwelcome tidings. 

Father Ambrose was, perhaps, the only being whom Eleanor disliked. Shehad felt an unaccountable antipathy towards him, which she could neitherextirpate nor control, during their long and close intimacy. It may benecessary to mention that her religious culture had been in accordancewith the tenets of the Romish Church, in whose faith--the faith of herancestry--her mother had continued; and that Father Ambrose, with whomshe had first become acquainted during the residence of the family nearBordeaux, was her ghostly adviser and confessor. An Englishman by birth, he had been appointed pastor to the diocese in which they dwelt, andwas, consequently, a frequent visitor, almost a constant inmate of thechâteau; yet though duty and respect would have prompted her to regardthe father with affection, Eleanor could never conquer the feelings ofdislike and distrust which she had at first entertained towards him; adislike which was increased by the strange control in which he seemed tohold her mother, who regarded him with a veneration approaching toinfatuation. It was, therefore, with satisfaction that she bade himadieu. He had, however, followed his friends to England under a feignedname as--being a recusant Romish priest, and supposed to have beenengaged in certain Jesuitical plots, his return to his own country wasattended with considerable risk--, and had now remained domesticatedwith them for some months. That he had been in some way, in early life, connected with a branch of the house of Rookwood, Eleanor was aware--shefancied he might have been engaged in political intrigue with SirReginald, which would have well accorded with his ardent, ambitioustemperament--, and the knowledge of this circumstance made her doublyapprehensive lest the nature of his present communication should havereference to her lover, towards whose cause the father had never beenfavorable, and respecting whose situation he might have made somediscovery, which she feared he might use to Ranulph's disadvantage. 

Wrapped in a long black cloak, with a broad-brimmed hat drawn closelyover his brows, it was impossible to distinguish further of the priest'sfigure and features beyond the circumstance of his height, which wasremarkable, until he had reached the carriage window, when, raising hishat, he disclosed a head that Titian might have painted, and which, arising from the dark drapery, looked not unlike the visage of somegrave and saturnine Venetian. There was a venerable expanse of forehead, thinly scattered with hair, towering over black pent-house-like brows, which, in their turn, shadowed keen penetrating eyes; the temples werehollow, and blue veins might be traced beneath the sallow skin; thecheek-bones were high, and there was something in the face that spoke ofself-mortification; while the thin livid lips, closely compressed, andthe austere and sinister expression of his countenance, showed that hisself-abasement, if he had ever practised it, had scarcely prostrated thedemon of pride, whose dominion might still be traced in the lines andfurrows of his haughty physiognomy. The father looked at Mrs. Mowbray, and then glanced suspiciously at Eleanor. The former appeared tounderstand him. 

"You would say a word to me in private, " said Mrs. Mowbray; "shall Idescend?"

The priest bowed assent. 

"It is not to you alone that my mission extends, " said he, gravely; "youare all in part concerned; your son had better alight with you. "

"Instantly, " replied the major. "If you will give your horse in chargeto the postilion, we will attend you at once. "

With a feeling of renewed apprehension, connected, she knew not why, with Ranulph, Eleanor beheld her relatives descend from the carriage;and, in the hope of gaining some clue from their gestures to the subjectof their conversation, she watched their motions as narrowly as hersituation permitted. From the earnest manner of the priest, and theinterest his narrative seemed to excite in his hearers, it was evidentthat his communication was of importance. 

Presently, accompanied by Father Ambrose, Mrs. Mowbray returned to thecarriage, while the major, mounting the priest's horse, after bidding ahasty adieu to his sister, adding, with a look that belied theconsolation intended to be conveyed by his words, that "all was well, "but without staying to offer her any explanation of the cause of hissudden departure, rode back the way they had just traversed, and in thedirection of Rookwood. Bereft of the only person to whom she could haveapplied for information, though dying with curiosity and anxiety to knowthe meaning of this singular interview and of the sudden change of planswhich she felt so intimately concerned herself, Eleanor was constrainedto preserve silence, as, after their entrance into the carriage, hermother again seemed lost in painful reflection, and heeded her not; andthe father, drawing from his pocket a small volume, appeared intentlyoccupied in its perusal. 

"Dear mother, " said Eleanor, at length, turning to Mrs. Mowbray, "mybrother is gone----"

"To Rookwood, " said Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone calculated to check furtherinquiry; but Eleanor was too anxious to notice it. 

"And wherefore, mother?" said she. "May I not be informed?"

"Not as yet, my child--not as yet, " replied Mrs. Mowbray. "You willlearn all sufficiently early. "

The priest raised his cat-like eyes from the book to watch the effect ofthis speech, and dropped them instantly as Eleanor turned towards him. She had been about to appeal to him, but having witnessed this look, sherelinquished her scarce-formed purpose, and endeavored to divert hertristful thoughts by gazing through the glimmering medium of her tearsupon the soothing aspect of external nature--that aspect which, insunshine or in storm, has ever relief in store for a heart embittered bythe stormy coldness of the world. 

The road, meanwhile, led them through a long woody valley, and was nowclimbing the sides of a steep hill. They were soon in the vicinity ofthe priory, and of the gipsies' encampment. The priest leaned forward, and whispered something in Mrs. Mowbray's ear, who looked towards theruined shrine, part of the mouldering walls being visible from the road. 

At the moment the clatter of a horse's hoofs, and the sound of a loudvoice, commanding the postilion, in a menacing tone, to stop, accompanied by a volley of imprecations, interrupted the conference, andbespoke the approach of an unwelcome intruder, and one whom all, tootruly, feared would not be readily dismissed. The postilion did his bestto rid them of the assailant. Perceiving a masked horseman behind him, approaching at a furious rate, he had little doubt as to his intentions, and Turpin, for it was our highwayman, soon made his doubts certainties. He hallooed to him to stop; but the fellow paid no attention to hiscommand, and disregarded even the pistol which he saw, in a casualglimpse over his near side, presented at his person. Clapping spurs intohis horse's flanks, he sought succor in flight. Turpin was by his sidein an instant. As the highwayman endeavored to catch his reins, the ladsuddenly wheeled the carriage right upon him, and but for the dexterityof Turpin, and the clever conduct of his mare, would inevitably havecrushed him against the roadside. As it was, his left leg was slightlygrazed. Irritated at this, Turpin fired over the man's head, and withthe butt-end of the pistol felled him from his seat. Startled by thesound, and no longer under the governance of their rider, the horsesrushed with frantic violence towards a ditch that bounded the other sideof the highway, down which the carriage was precipitated, and at onceoverturned. Turpin's first act, after he had ascertained that nomischief had been occasioned to those within, beyond the alarm incidentto the shock, was to compel the postilion, who had by this time gainedhis legs, to release the horses from their traces. This done, with thebest grace he could assume, and, adjusting his mask, he opened thecarriage, and proceeded to liberate the captives. 

"Beg pardon, ma'am, " said he, as soon as he had released Mrs. Mowbray;"excessively sorry, upon my soul, to have been the cause of so muchunnecessary alarm to you--all the fault, I assure you, of that rascal ofa postilion; had the fellow only pulled up when I commanded him, thisbotheration might have been avoided. You will remember that, when youpay him--all his fault, I assure you, ma'am. "

Receiving no reply, he proceeded to extricate Eleanor, with whose beautythe inflammable highwayman was instantly smitten. Leaving the father toshift for himself, he turned to address some observation of coarsegallantry to her; but she eluded his grasp, and flew to her mother'sside. 

"It is useless, sir, " said Mrs. Mowbray, as Turpin drew near them, "toaffect ignorance of your intentions. You have already occasioned usserious alarm; much delay and inconvenience. I trust, therefore, thatbeyond our purses, to which, though scantily supplied, you are welcome, we shall sustain no molestation. You seem to have less of the ruffianabout you than the rest of your lawless race, and are not, I shouldhope, destitute of common humanity. "

"Common humanity!" replied Turpin: "bless you, ma'am, I'm the mosthumane creature breathing--would not hurt a fly, much less a lady. Incivility was never laid to my charge. This business may be managed ina few seconds; and as soon as we have settled the matter, I'll lend yourstupid jack-boy a hand to put the horses to the carriage again, and getthe wheels out of the ditch. You have a banker, ma'am, I suppose, intown--perhaps in the country; but I don't like country bankers; besides, I want a little ready cash in Rumville--beg pardon, ma'am, London Imean. My ears have been so stunned with those Romany patterers, Ialmost _think_ in flash. Just draw me a check; I've pen and ink alwaysready: a check for fifty pounds, ma'am--only fifty. What's your banker'sname? I've blank checks of all the best houses in my pocket; that and akiss from the pretty lips of that cherry-cheeked maid, " winking toEleanor, "will fully content me. You see you have neither an exorbitantnor uncivil personage to deal with. "

Eleanor shrank closer towards her mother. Exhausted by previousagitation of the night, greatly frightened by the shock which she hadjust sustained, and still more alarmed by the words and gestures of thehighwayman, she felt that she was momentarily in danger of fainting, andwith difficulty prevented herself from falling. The priest, who hadsucceeded in freeing himself from the carriage, now placed himselfbetween Turpin and the ladies. 

"Be satisfied, misguided man, " said the father, in a stern voice, offering a purse, which Mrs. Mowbray hastily extended towards him, "withthe crime you have already committed, and seek not to peril your soul bydeeper guilt; be content with the plunder you now obtain, and depart;for, by my holy calling, I affirm to you, that if you advance onefootstep towards the further molestation of these ladies, it shall be atthe hazard of your life. "

"Bravo!" exclaimed Turpin. "Now this is what I like; who would havethought the old autem-bawler had so much pluck in him? Sir, I commendyou for your courage, but you are mistaken. I am the quietest manbreathing, and never harm a human being; in proof of which, only look atyour rascal of a postilion, whom any one of my friends would have sentpost-haste to the devil for half the trouble he gave me. Easy as I am, Inever choose to be balked in my humors. I must have the fifty and thebuss, and then I'm off, as soon as you like; and I may as well have thekiss while the old lady signs the check, and then we shall have the sealas well as the signature. Poh--poh--no nonsense! Many a pretty lass hasthought it an honor to be kissed by Turpin. "

Eleanor recoiled with deepest disgust, as she saw the highwayman thrustaside the useless opposition of the priest, and approach her. He hadremoved his mask; his face, flushed with insolent triumph, was turnedtowards her. Despite the loathing, which curdled the blood within herveins, she could not avert her eyes. He drew near her; she uttered ashrill scream. At that moment a powerful grasp was laid upon Turpin'sshoulder; he turned and beheld Luke. 

"Save me! save me, " cried Eleanor, addressing the new comer. 

"Damnation!" said the highwayman, "what has brought _you_ here? onewould think you were turned assistant to all distressed damsels. Quityour hold, or, by the God above us, you will repent it. "

"Fool!" exclaimed Luke, "talk thus to one who heeds you. " And as hespoke he hurled Turpin backwards with so much force that, staggering afew yards, the highwayman fell to the ground. 

The priest stood like one stunned with surprise at Luke's suddenappearance and subsequent daring action. 

Luke, meanwhile, approached Eleanor. He gazed upon her with curiositymixed with admiration, for his heart told him she was very fair. Adeathlike paleness had spread over her cheeks; yet still, despite thewant of color, she looked exquisitely beautiful, and her large blue eyeseloquently thanked her deliverer for her rescue. The words she wantedwere supplied by Mrs. Mowbray, who thanked him in appropriate terms, when they were interrupted by Turpin, who had by this time pickedhimself up, and was drawing near them. His countenance wore a fierceexpression. 

"I tell you what, " said he, "Luke Bradley, or Luke Rookwood, or whateverelse you may call yourself, you have taken a damned unfair advantage ofme in this matter, and deserve nothing better at my hands than that Ishould call you to instant account for it--and curse me, if I don'ttoo. "

"Luke Bradley!" interrupted Mrs. Mowbray--"are you that individual?"

"I have been so called, madam, " replied Luke. 

"Father Ambrose, is this the person of whom you spoke?" eagerly askedthe lady. 

"So I conclude, " returned the priest, evasively. 

"Did he not call you Luke Rookwood?" eagerly demanded Eleanor. "Is thatalso your name?"

"Rookwood is my name, fair cousin, " replied Luke, "if I may venture tocall you so. "

"And Ranulph Rookwood is----"

"My brother. "

"I never heard he had a brother, " rejoined Eleanor, with some agitation. "How can that be?"

"I am his brother, nevertheless, " replied Luke, moodily--"his ELDERBROTHER!"

Eleanor turned to her mother and the priest with a look of imploringanguish; she saw a confirmation of the truth of this statement in theirglances. No contradiction was offered by either to his statement; both, indeed, appeared in some mysterious manner prepared for it. This, then, was the dreaded secret. This was the cause of her brother's suddendeparture. The truth flashed with lightning swiftness across her brain. 

Chagrined and mortified, Luke remarked that glance of inquiry. His pridewas hurt at the preference thus naturally shown towards his brother. Hehad been struck, deeply struck, with her beauty. He acknowledged thetruth of Peter's words. Eleanor's loveliness was without parallel. Hehad seen naught so fair, and the instant he beheld her, he felt that for_her_ alone could he cancel his vows to Sybil. The spirit of rivalry andjealousy was instantly aroused by Eleanor's exclamations. 

"His elder brother!" echoed Eleanor, dwelling upon his words, andaddressing Luke--"then you must be--but no, you are not, you cannotbe--it is Ranulph's title--it is not yours--you are not----"

"I am Sir Luke Rookwood, " replied Luke, proudly. 

Ere the words were uttered Eleanor had fainted. 

"Assistance is at hand, madam, if you will accept it, and follow me, "said Luke, raising the insensible girl in his arms, and bearing her downthe hill towards the encampment, whither he was followed by Mrs. Mowbrayand the priest, between whom, during the hurried dialogue we havedetailed, very significant glances had been exchanged. Turpin, who, asit may be supposed, had not been an incurious observer of the scenepassing, burst into his usual loud laugh on seeing Luke bear away hislovely burden. 

"Cousin! Ha, ha!" said he. "So the wench is his cousin. Damme, I halfsuspect he has fallen in love with his new-found cousin; and if so, MissSybil, or I'm mistaken, will look as yellow as a guinea. If that littleSpanish devil gets it into her pretty jealous pate that he is about tobring home a new mistress, we shall have a tragedy-scene in thetwinkling of a bed-post. However, I shan't lose sight of Sir Luke untilI have settled my accounts with him. Hark ye, boy, " continued he, addressing the postilion; "remain where you are; you won't be wanted yetawhile, I imagine. There's a guinea for you, to drink Dick Turpin'shealth. "

Upon which he mounted his mare, and walked her easily down the hill. 

"And so that be Dick Turpin, folks talk so much about, " soliloquized thelad, looking curiously after him; "well, he's as civil-speaking a chapas need be, blow my boots if he ain't! and if I'd had a notion it werehe, I'd have pulled up at first call, without more ado. Nothing likeexperience--I shall know better another time, " added he, pocketing thedouceur. 

Rushing swiftly down the hill, Luke tarried at the river's brink, tosprinkle some of the cool element upon the pale brow of Eleanor. As heheld her in his arms, thoughts which he fain would have stifled in theirbirth took possession of his heart. "Would she were mine!" murmured he. "Yet no! the wish is unworthy. " But that wish returned unbidden. 

Eleanor opened her eyes. She was still too weak to walk without support, and Luke, raising her once more in his arms, and motioning Mrs. Mowbrayto follow, crossed the brook by means of stepping-stones, and conductedhis charge along a bypath towards the priory, so as to avoid meetingwith the crew assembled upon the green. 

They had gained one of the roofless halls, when he encounteredBalthazar. Astonished at the sight of the party, the patrico was aboutto address the priest as an acquaintance, when his more orthodox brotherraised his finger to his lips, in token of caution. The action passedunobserved. 

"Hie thee to Sybil, " said Luke to the patrico. "Bid her haste hither. Say that this maiden--that Miss Mowbray is here, and requires her aid. Fly! I will bear her to the refectory. "

As Balthazar passed the priest, he pointed with a significant glancetowards a chasm in the wall, which seemed to be an opening to somesubterraneous chamber. The father again made a gesture of silence, andBalthazar hastened upon his mission. 

Luke led them to the refectory. He brought a chair for Eleanor'ssupport; but so far from reviving, after such attention as could beafforded her, she appeared to become weaker. He was about to issue forthin search of Sybil, when to his surprise he found the door fastened. 

"You cannot pass this way, " said a voice, which Luke instantlyrecognized as that of the knight of Malta. 

"Not pass!" echoed Luke. "What does this mean?"

"Our orders are from the queen, " returned the knight. 

At this instant the low tone of a muffled bell was heard. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Luke; "some danger is at hand. "

His heart smote him as he thought of Sybil, and he looked anxiouslytowards Eleanor. 

Balthazar rushed into the room. 

"Where is Sybil?" cried Luke. "Will she not come?"

"She will be here anon, " answered the patrico. 

"I will seek her myself, then, " said Luke. "The door by which youentered is free. "

"It is _not_ free, " replied Balthazar. "Remain where you are. "

"Who will prevent my going forth?" demanded Luke, sternly. 

"I will, " said Barbara Lovel, as she suddenly appeared in the doorway. "You stir not, excepting at my pleasure. Where is the maiden?" continuedshe, looking around with a grim smile of satisfaction at theconsternation produced by her appearance. "Ha! I see; she faints. Hereis a cordial that shall revive her. Mrs. Mowbray, you are welcome to thegipsies' dwelling--you and your daughter. And you, Sir Luke Rookwood, Icongratulate you upon your accession of dignity. " Turning to the priest, who was evidently overwhelmed with confusion, she exclaimed, "And youtoo, sir, think you I recognize you not? We have met ere this, atRookwood. Know you not Barbara Lovel? Ha, ha! It is long since my poordwelling has been so highly honored. But I must not delay the remedy. Let her drink of this, " said she, handing a phial to Mrs. Mowbray. "Itwill instantly restore her. "

"It is poison, " cried Luke. "She shall not drink it. "

"Poison!" reiterated Barbara. "Behold!" and she drank of the liquid. "Iwould not poison your bride, " added she, turning to Luke. 

"My bride!" echoed Luke. 

"Ay, your bride, " repeated Barbara. 

Luke recoiled in amazement. Mrs. Mowbray almost felt inclined to believeshe was a dreamer, so visionary did the whole scene appear. A densecrowd of witnesses stood at the entrance. Foremost amongst them was thesexton. Suddenly a shriek was heard, and the crowd opening to allow herpassage, Sybil rushed forward. 

_CHAPTER VII_

_MRS. MOWBRAY_

 Well, go thy ways, old Nick Machiavel, there will never be the peer of thee for wholesome policy and good counsel: thou took'st pains to chalk men out the dark paths and hidden plots of murther and deceit, and no man has the grace to follow thee. The age is unthankful, thy principles are quite forsaken, and worn out of memory. 

 SHAKERLEY MARMION'S _Antiquary_. 

Sybil's sudden entrance filled the group that surrounded Miss Mowbraywith new dismay. But she saw them not. Her soul seemed riveted byEleanor, towards whom she rushed; and while her eye wandered over herbeauty, she raised the braided hair from her brow, revealing the clear, polished forehead. Wonder, awe, devotion, pity, usurped the place ofhatred. The fierce expression that had lit up her dark orbs wassucceeded by tender commiseration. She looked an imploring appeal atBarbara. 

"Ay, ay, " returned the old gipsy, extending at the same time the phial;"I understand. Here is that will bring the blood once more into herpallid cheeks, and kindle the fire within her eyes. Give her of this. "

The effect of the potion was almost instantaneous, amply attestingBarbara's skill in its concoction. Stifled respiration first proclaimedEleanor's recovery. She opened her large and languid eyes; her bosomheaved almost to bursting; her pulses throbbed quickly and feverishly;and as the stimulant operated, the wild lustre of excitement blazed inher eyes. 

Sybil took her hand to chafe it. The eyes of the two maidens met. Theygazed upon each other steadfastly and in silence. Eleanor knew not whomshe regarded, but she could not mistake that look of sympathy; she couldnot mistake the tremulous pressure of her hand; she felt the silenttrickling tears. She returned the sympathizing glance, and gazed withequal wonder upon the ministering fairy, for such she almost seemed, that knelt before her. As her looks wandered from the kindly glance ofSybil to the withered and inauspicious aspect of the gipsy queen, andshifted thence to the dusky figures of her attendants, filled withrenewed apprehension, she exclaimed, "Who are these, and where am I?"

"You are in safety, " replied Luke. "This is the ruined priory of St. Francis; and those strange personages are a horde of gipsies. You needfear no injury from them. "

"My deliverer!" murmured Eleanor; when all at once the recollection thathe had avowed himself a Rookwood, and the elder brother of Ranulph, flashed across her memory. "Gipsies! did you not say these people weregipsies? Your own attire is the same as theirs. You are not, cannot be, the brother of Ranulph. "

"I do not boast the same mother, " returned Luke, proudly, "but my fatherwas Sir Piers Rookwood, and I am his elder born. "

He turned away. Dark thoughts swept across his brain. Maddened by thebeauty of Eleanor, stung by her slights, and insensible to the silentagony of Sybil, who sought in vain to catch his eye, he thought ofnothing but of revenge, and the accomplishment of his purposes. Allwithin was a wild and fearful turmoil. His better principles werestifled by the promptings of evil. "Methinks, " cried he, half aloud, "ifthe Tempter were near to offer the maiden to me, even at the peril of mysoul's welfare, I could not resist it. "

The Tempter _was_ at hand. He is seldom absent on occasions like thepresent. The sexton stood beside his grandson. Luke started. He eyedPeter from head to foot, almost expecting to find the cloven foot, supposed to be proper to the fiend. Peter grinned in ghastly derision. 

"Soh! you would summon hell to your aid; and lo! the devil is at yourelbow. Well, she is yours. "

"Make good your words, " cried Luke, impatiently. 

"Softly--softly, " returned Peter. "Moderate yourself, and your wishesshall be accomplished. Your own desires chime with those of others; nay, with those of Barbara. _She_ would wed you to Miss Mowbray. You stare. But it is so. This is a cover for some deeper plot; no matter. It shallgo hard, despite her cunning, if I foil her not at her own weapons. There is more mischief in that old woman's brain than was ever hatchedwithin the crocodile's egg; yet she shall find her match. Do not thwarther; leave all to me. She is about it now, " added he, noticing Barbaraand Mrs. Mowbray in conference together. "Be patient--I will watch her. "And he quitted his grandson for the purpose of scanning more closely themanœuvres of the old gipsy. 

Barbara, meanwhile, had not remained inactive. 

"You need fear no relapse in your daughter; I will answer for that, "said the old gipsy to Mrs. Mowbray; "Sybil will tend her. Quit not themaiden's side, " continued she, addressing her grandchild, adding, in awhisper, "Be cautious--alarm her not--mine eye will be upon you--dropnot a word. "

So saying, she shuffled to a little distance with Mrs. Mowbray, keepingSybil in view, and watching every motion, as the panther watches thegambols of a fawn. 

"Know you who speaks to you?" said the old crone, in the peculiar lowand confidential tone assumed by her tribe to strangers. "Have youforgotten the name of Barbara Lovel?"

"I have no distinct remembrance of it, " returned Mrs. Mowbray. 

"Think again, " said Barbara; "and though years are flown, you mayperchance recall the black gipsy woman, who, when you were surroundedwith gay gallants, with dancing plumes, perused your palm, and whisperedin your ear the favored suitor's name. Bide with me a moment, madam, "said Barbara, seeing that Mrs. Mowbray shrank from the recollection thusconjured up; "I am old--very old; I have survived the shows of flattery, and being vested with a power over my people, am apt, perchance, to taketoo much upon myself with others. " The old gipsy paused here, and then, assuming a more familiar tone, exclaimed, "The estates of Rookwood areample----"

"Woman, what mean you?"

"They should have been yours, lady, and would have been, but for thatmarriage. You would have beseemed them bravely. Sir Reginald was wilful, and erased the daughter's name to substitute that of his son. Pity it isthat so fair a creature as Miss Mowbray should lack the dower her beautyand her birth entitle her to expect. Pity that Ranulph Rookwood shouldlose his title, at the moment when he deemed it was dropping into hispossession. Pity that those broad lands should pass away from you andyour children, as they will do, if Ranulph and Eleanor are united. "

"They never shall be united, " replied Mrs. Mowbray, hastily. 

"'Twere indeed to wed your child to beggary, " said Barbara. 

Mrs. Mowbray sighed deeply. 

"There is a way, " continued the old crone, in a deep whisper, "by whichthe estates might still be hers and yours. "

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mowbray, eagerly. 

"Sir Piers Rookwood had two sons. "

"Ha!"

"The elder is here. "

"Luke--Sir Luke. He brought us hither. "

"He loves your daughter. I saw his gaze of passion just now. I am oldnow, but I have some skill in lovers' glances. Why not wed her to him? Iread hands--read hearts, you know. They were born for each other. Now, madam, do you understand me?"

"But, " returned Mrs. Mowbray, with hesitation, "though I might wishfor--though I might sanction this, Eleanor is betrothed to Ranulph--sheloves him. "

"Think not of _her_, if _you_ are satisfied. She cannot judge so wellfor herself as you can for her. She is a child, and knows not what sheloves. Her affection will soon be Luke's. He is a noble youth--the imageof his grandfather, your father, Sir Reginald; and if your daughter bebetrothed to any one, 'twas to the heir of Rookwood. That was anessential part of the contract. Why should the marriage not take placeat once, and here?"

"Here! How were that possible?"

"You are within sacred walls. I will take you where an altar stands. There is no lack of holy priest to join their hands together. Yourcompanion, Father Ambrose, as you call him, will do the officefittingly. He has essayed his clerkly skill already on others of yourhouse. "

"To what do you allude, mysterious woman?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, withanxiety. 

"To Sir Piers and Susan Bradley, " returned Barbara. "That priest unitedthem. "

"Indeed! He never told me this. "

"He dared not do so; he had an oath which bound him to concealment. Thetime is coming when greater mysteries will be revealed. "

"'Tis strange I should not have heard of this before, " said Mrs. Mowbray, musingly; "and yet I might have guessed as much from hisobscure hints respecting Ranulph. I see it all now. I see the gulf intowhich I might have been plunged; but I am warned in time. FatherAmbrose, " continued she, to the priest, who was pacing the chamber atsome little distance from them, "is it true that my brother was weddedby you to Susan Bradley?"

Ere the priest could reply the sexton presented himself. 

"Ha, the very father of the girl!" said Mrs. Mowbray, "whom I met withinour family vault, and who was so strangely moved when I spoke to him ofAlan Rookwood. Is he here likewise?"

"Alan Rookwood!" echoed Barbara, upon whom a light seemed suddenly tobreak; "ha! what said he of him?"

"Ill-boding raven, " interposed Peter, fiercely, "be content with whatthou knowest of the living, and trouble not the repose of the dead. Letthem rest in their infamy. "

"The dead!" echoed Barbara, with a chuckling laugh; "ha! ha! he is dead, then; and what became of his fair wife--his brother's minion? 'Twas afoul deed, I grant, and yet there was expiation. Blood flowed--blood----"

"Silence, thou night hag!" thundered Peter, "or I will have thee burnedat the stake for the sorcery thou practisest. Beware, " added he, in adeep tone--"I am thy friend. "

Barbara's withered countenance exhibited for an instant the deepestindignation at the sexton's threat. The malediction trembled on hertongue; she raised her staff to smite him, but she checked the action. In the same tone, and with a sharp, suspicious look, she replied, "My_friend_, sayest thou? See that it prove so, or beware of _me_. "

And, with a malignant scowl, the gipsy queen slowly shuffled towards hersatellites, who were stationed at the door. 

_CHAPTER VIII_

_THE PARTING_

 No marriage I esteem it, where the friends Force love upon their children; where the virgin Is not so truly given as betrayed. I would not have betrothed people--for I can by no means call them lovers--make Their rites no wedlock, but a sacrifice. 

 _Combat of Love and Friendship. _

Eleanor Mowbray had witnessed her mother's withdrawal from her side withmuch uneasiness, and was with difficulty prevented by Sybil frombreaking upon her conference with the gipsy queen. Barbara's dark eyewas fixed upon them during the whole of the interview, and communicatedan indefinite sense of dread to Eleanor. 

"Who--who is that old woman?" asked Eleanor, under her breath. "Never, even in my wildest dreams, have I seen aught so terrible. Why does shelook so at us? She terrifies me; and yet she cannot mean me ill, or mymother--we have never injured her?"

"Alas!" sighed Sybil. 

"You sigh!" exclaimed Eleanor, in alarm. "Is there any real danger, then? Help us to avoid it. Quick, warn my mother; she seems agitated. Oh, let me go to her. "

"Hush!" whispered Sybil, maintaining an unmoved demeanor under thelynx-like gaze of Barbara. "Stir not, as you value your life; you knownot where you are, or what may befall you. Your safety depends upon yourcomposure. Your life is not in danger; but what is dearer than life, your love, is threatened with a fatal blow. There is a dark design towed you to another. "

"Heavens!" ejaculated Eleanor, "and to whom?"

"To Sir Luke Rookwood. "

"I would die sooner! Marry _him_? They shall kill me ere they force meto it!"

"Could you not love him?"

"Love him! I have only seen him within this hour. I knew not of hisexistence. He rescued me from peril. I would thank him. I would lovehim, if I could, for Ranulph's sake; and yet for Ranulph's sake I hatehim. "

"Speak not of him thus to me, " said Sybil, angrily. "If _you_ love himnot, _I_ love him. Oh! forgive me, lady; pardon my impatience--my heartis breaking, yet it has not ceased to beat for him. You say you will diesooner than consent to this forced union. Your faith shall not be socruelly attested. If there must be a victim, I will be the sacrifice. God grant I may be the only one. Be happy! as happy as I am wretched. You shall see what the love of a gipsy can do. "

As she spoke, Sybil burst into a flood of passionate tears. Eleanorregarded her with the deepest commiseration; but the feeling wastransient; for Barbara, now advancing, exclaimed: "Hence to your mother. The bridegroom is waiting: to your mother, girl!" And she motionedEleanor fiercely away. "What means this?" continued the old gipsy. "Whathave you said to that girl? Did I not caution you against speech withher? and you have dared to disobey me. You, my grandchild--the daughterof my Agatha, with whom my slightest wish was law. I abandon you! Icurse you!"

"Oh, curse me not!" cried Sybil. "Add not to my despair. "

"Then follow my advice implicitly. Cast off this weakness; all is inreadiness. Luke shall descend into the vaulted chapel, the ceremonyshall there take place--there also shall Eleanor _die_--and there againshall you be wedded. Take this phial, place it within the folds of yourgirdle. When all is over, I will tell you how to use it. Are youprepared? Shall we set out?"

"I am prepared, " replied Sybil, in accents hollow as despair; "but letme speak with Luke before we go. "

"Be brief, then--each moment is precious. Keep a guard upon your tongue. I will to Mrs. Mowbray. You have placed the phial in safety. A drop willfree you from your troubles. "

"'Tis in that hope I guard it, " replied Sybil, as she departed in thedirection of Luke. Barbara watched her join him, and then turned shortlytowards Mrs. Mowbray and her daughter. 

"You are ill, dear Luke, " said Sybil, who had silently approached herfaithless lover; "very ill. "

"Ill!" echoed Luke, breaking into frantic laughter. "Ill! Ha, ha!--uponmy wedding-day. No, I am well--well. Your eyes are jaundiced byjealousy. "

"Luke, dear Luke, laugh not thus. It terrifies me. I shall think youinsane. There, you are calmer--you are more like yourself--more human. You looked just now--oh God! that I should say it of you--as if you werepossessed by demons. "

"And if I were possessed, what then?"

"Horrible! hint not at it. You almost make me credit the dreadful talesI have heard, that on their wedding-day the Rookwoods are subject to thepower of the 'Evil One. '"

"Upon their wedding-day--and _I_ look thus?"

"You do--you do. Oh! cast this frenzy from you. "

"She is mine--she is mine! I care not though fiends possess me, if it ismy wedding-day, and Eleanor is my bride. And you say I look like aRookwood. Ha, ha!"

"That wild laughter again. Luke, I implore you, hear me one word--mylast----"

"I will not bear reproaches. "

"I mean not to reproach you. I come to bless you--to forgive you--to bidyou farewell. Will you not say farewell?"

"Farewell. "

"Not so--not so. Mercy! my God! compassionate him and me! My heart willbreak with agony. Luke, if you would not kill me, recall that word. Letnot the guilt of my death be yours. 'Tis to save you from that remorsethat I die!"

"Sybil, you have said rightly, I am not myself. I know not what demonshave possession of my soul, that I can behold your agonies withoutremorse; that your matchless affection should awaken no return. Yet soit is. Since the fatal moment when I beheld yon maid, I have loved her. "

"No more. _Now_ I can part with you. Farewell!"

"Stay, stay! wretch that I am. Stay, Sybil! If we must part--and that it_must_ be so I feel--let me receive your pardon, if you can bestow it. Let me clasp you once more within my arms. May you live to happierdays--may you----"

"Oh, to die thus!" sobbed Sybil, disengaging herself from his embrace. "Live to happier days, said you? When have _I_ given you reason todoubt, for an instant, the sincerity of _my_ love, that you shouldinsult me thus?"

"Then live with me--live for me. "

"If you can love me still, I will live as your slave, your minion, yourwife; aught you will have me be. You have raised me from wretchedness. Oh!" continued she in an altered tone, "have I mistaken your meaning?Did you utter those words in false compassion for my sufferings?--Speak, it is not yet too late--all may be well. My fate--my life is in yourhands. If you love me yet--if you can forsake Eleanor, speak--if not, besilent. "

Luke averted his head. 

"Enough!" continued Sybil, in a voice of agony; "I understand. May Godforgive you! Fare you well! We shall meet no more. "

"Do we part for ever?" asked Luke, without daring to regard her. 

"FOR EVER!" answered Sybil. 

Before her lover could reply, she shot from his side, and plungingamidst the dark and dense assemblage near the door, disappeared fromview. An instant after, she emerged into the open air. She stood withinthe roofless hall. It was filled with sunshine--with the fresh breath ofmorn. The ivied ruins, the grassy floor, the blue vault of heaven, seemed to greet her with a benignant smile. All was _riant_ andrejoicing--all, save her heart. Amid such brightness, her sorrow seemedharsh and unnatural; as she felt the glad influence of day, she wasscarcely able to refrain from tears. It was terrible to leave thisbeautiful world, that blue sky, that sunshine, and all she loved--soyoung, so soon. 

Entering a low arch that yawned within the wall, she vanished like aghost at the approach of morn. 

_CHAPTER IX_

_THE PHILTER_

 Thou hast practised on her with foul charms-- Abused her delicate youth with drugs and minerals. 

 SHAKSPEARE: _Othello_. 

To return to Eleanor Mowbray. In a state of mind bordering upondistraction, she rushed to her mother, and, flinging her arms wildlyround her neck, besought her to protect her. Mrs. Mowbray gazedanxiously upon the altered countenance of her daughter, but a fewmoments relieved her from much of her uneasiness. --The expression ofpain gradually subsided, and the look of vacuity was succeeded by one offrenzied excitement. A film had, for an instant or two, dimmed her eyes;they now gleamed with unnatural lustre. She smiled--the smile wassingular; it was not the playful, pleasurable lighting up of the facethat it used to be; but it _was_ a smile, and the mother's heart wassatisfied. 

Mrs. Mowbray knew not to what circumstance she could attribute thiswondrous change. She looked at the priest. He was more apt in diviningthe probable cause of the sudden alteration in Eleanor's manner. 

"What if she has swallowed a love-powder?" said he, approaching Mrs. Mowbray, and speaking in a whisper. "I have heard of such abominablemixtures; indeed, the holy St. Jerome himself relates an instance ofsimilar sorcery, in his life of Hilarius; and these people are said tocompound them. "

"It may be so, " replied Mrs. Mowbray, in the same tone. "I think thatthe peculiar softness in the eye is more than natural. "

"I will at least hazard an experiment, to attest the truth or fallacy ofmy supposition, " returned the father. "Do you see your destinedbridegroom yonder?" continued he, addressing Eleanor. 

She followed with her eyes in the direction which Father Ambrosepointed. She beheld Luke. We know not how to describe the sensationswhich now possessed her. She thought not of Ranulph; or, if she did, itwas with vague indifference. Wrapped in a kind of mental trance, sheyielded to the pleasurable impulse that directed her unsettled fanciestowards Luke. For some moments she did not take her eyes from him. Thepriest and Mrs. Mowbray watched her in silence. 

Nothing passed between the party till Luke joined them. Eleanorcontinued gazing at him, and the seeming tenderness of her glanceemboldened Luke to advance towards her. The soft fire that dwelt inthose orbs was, however, cold as the shining wing of the luciola. 

Luke approached her; he took her hand--she withdrew it not. He kissedit. Still she withdrew it not, but gazed at him with gently-glimmeringeyes. 

"My daughter is yours, Sir Luke Rookwood, " exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. 

"What says the maid herself?" asked Luke. 

Eleanor answered not. Her eyes were still fixed on him. 

"She will not refuse me her hand, " said Luke. 

The victim resisted not. 

"To the subterranean shrine, " cried Barbara. And she gave thepreconcerted signal to the band. 

The signal was repeated by the gipsy crew. We may here casually note, that the crew had been by no means uninterested or silent spectators ofpassing events, but had, on the contrary, indulged themselves in avariety of conjectures as to their probable issue. Several bets werepending as to whether it would be a match or not after all. Zoroastertook long odds that the match was off--offering a _bean_ to_half-a-quid_--in other words, a guinea to a half-guinea--that Sybilwould be the bride. His offer was taken at once by Jerry Juniper, andbacked by the knight of Malta. 

"Ha! there's the signal, " cried the knight; "I'll trouble you for thebean. "

"And I, " added Jerry Juniper, "for another. "

"See 'em fairly spliced first, " replied the Magus; "that's vot Ibetted. "

"Vell, vell, a few minutes will settle that. Come, pals, to the autemken. Avay. Mind and obey orders. "

"Ay, ay, " answered the crew. 

"Here's a torch for the altar of Hymen, " said the knight, flashing historch in the eyes of the patrico as he passed him. 

"For the halter of Haman, you might say, " returned Balthazar, sulkily. "It's well if some of us don't swing for it. "

"You don't say, " rejoined the perplexed Magus, "swing! Egad I fear it'sa ticklish business. But there's no fighting shy, I fear, with Barbarapresent; and then there's that infernal autem-bawler; it will be socursedly regular. If you had done the job, Balty, it would not havesignified a brass farden. Luckily there will be no vitnesses to snitchupon us. There will be no one in the vault besides ourselves. "

"There will be a silent and a solemn witness, " returned Balthazar, "andone whom you expect not. "

"Eh! Vot's that you say? a spy?"

But the patrico was gone. 

"Make way there--make way, pals, for the bride and bridegroom, " criedthe knight of Malta, drawing Excalibur, and preparing to lead the way tothe vault. 

The train began to move. Eleanor leaned upon the arm of her mother. Beside them stalked Barbara, with an aspect of triumph. Luke followedwith the priest. One by one the assemblage quitted the apartment. 

The sexton alone lingered. "The moment is at hand, " said he, musingly, "when all shall be consummated. "

A few steps brought him into the court. The crowd was there still. Abrief delay had taken place. The knight of Malta then entered the mouthof the vault. He held his torch so as to reveal a broken flight ofsteps, conducting, it would seem, to regions of perpetual night. Sothought Eleanor, as she shudderingly gazed into the abyss. Shehesitated; she trembled; she refused. But her mother's entreaties, andBarbara's threatening looks, induced, in the end, reluctant compliance. At length the place was empty. Peter was about to follow, when the soundof a horse's hoofs broke upon his ear. He tarried for an instant, andthe mounted figure of the highwayman burst within the limits of thecourt. 

"Ha, ha! old earthworm, " cried Dick, "my Nestor of the churchyard, alone! Where the devil are all the folks gone? Where's Sir Luke and hisnew-found cousin, eh?"

Peter hastily explained. 

"A wedding under ground? famous! the thing of all others I should liketo see. I'll hang Bess to this ivy tod, and grub my way with youthither, old mole. "

"You must stay here, and keep guard, " returned Peter. 

"May I be hanged if I do, when such fun is going on. "

"Hanged, in all probability, you will be, " returned Peter; "but I shouldnot, were I you, desire to anticipate my destiny. Stay here you must, and shall--that's peremptory. You will be the gainer by it. Sir Lukewill reward you nobly. I will answer for him. You can serve him mosteffectually. Ranulph Rookwood and Major Mowbray are expected here. "

"The devil they are. But how, or why----"

"I have not time to explain. In case of a surprise, discharge a pistol;they must not enter the vault. Have you a whistle? for you must play adouble part, and we may need your assistance below. "

"Sir Luke may command me. Here's a pipe as shrill as the devil's owncat-call. "

"If it will summon you to our assistance below, 'tis all I need. May werely on you?"

"When did Dick Turpin desert his friends? Anywhere on this side the Styxthe sound of that whistle will reach me. I'll ride about the court, andstand sentry. "

"Enough, " replied the sexton, as he dived under ground. 

"Take care of your shins, " shouted Dick. "That's a cursed ugly turn, buthe's used to the dark. A surprise, eh! I'll just give a look to mysnappers--flints all safe. Now I'm ready for them, come when they like. "And, having made the circuit of the place, he halted near the mouth ofthe subterranean chapel, to be within hearing of Peter's whistle, and, throwing his right leg lazily over his saddle, proceeded coolly to lighta short pipe--the luxury of the cigar being then unknown, --humming thewhile snatches of a ballad, the theme of which was his own calling. 

 THE SCAMPSMAN

 Quis verè rex? SENECA. 

 There is not a king, should you search the world round, So blithe as the king of the road to be found; His pistol's his sceptre, his saddle's his throne, Whence he levies supplies, or enforces a loan. _Derry down. _

 To this monarch the highway presents a wide field, Where each passing subject a tribute must yield; His palace--the tavern!--receives him at night, Where sweet lips and sound liquor crown all with delight. _Derry down. _

 The soldier and sailor, both robbers by trade, Full soon on the shelf, if disabled, are laid; The one gets a patch, and the other a peg, But, while luck lasts, the highwayman shakes a loose leg! _Derry down. _

 Most fowl rise at dawn, but the owl wakes at e'en, And a jollier bird can there nowhere be seen; Like the owl, our snug scampsman his snooze takes by day, And, when night draws her curtain, scuds after his prey! _Derry down. _

 As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest, So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best; He dies not as other men die, by _degrees_! But AT ONCE! without wincing, and quite at his ease! _Derry down. _

And thus, for the present, we leave him. O rare Dick Turpin!

_CHAPTER X_

_SAINT CYPRIAN'S CELL_

 Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate. 

 DANTE. 

Cyprian de Mulverton, fifth prior of the monastery of Saint Francis, aprelate of singular sanctity, being afflicted, in his latter days, witha despondency so deep that neither penance nor fasting could remove it, vowed never again to behold, with earthly eyes, the blessed light ofheaven, nor to dwell longer with his fellowmen; but, relinquishing hisspiritual dignity, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot, " toimmure himself, while living, within the tomb. 

He kept his vow. Out of the living rock that sustained the saintlystructure, beneath the chapel of the monastery, was another chapelwrought, and thither, after bidding an eternal farewell to the world, and bestowing his benediction upon his flock, whom he committed to thecare of his successor, the holy man retired. 

Never, save at midnight, and then only during the performance of massesfor his soul's repose, did he ascend from his cell: and as the solelight allowed within the dismal dungeon of his choice was that of asepulchral lamp, as none spoke with him when in his retreat, save inmuttered syllables, what effect must the lustre emanating from athousand tapers, the warm and pungent odors of the incense-breathingshrine, contrasted with the earthy vapors of his prison-house, and thesolemn swell of the Sanctus, have had upon his excited senses? Surelythey must have seemed like a foretaste of the heaven he sought to gain!

Ascetic to the severest point to which nature's endurance could bestretched, Cyprian even denied himself repose. He sought not sleep, andknew it only when it stole on him unawares. His couch was the flintyrock; and long afterwards, when the zealous resorted to the saintedprior's cell, and were shown those sharp and jagged stones, theymarvelled how one like unto themselves could rest, or even recline upontheir points without anguish, until it was explained to them that, doubtless, He who tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb had made thatflinty couch soft to the holy sufferer as a bed of down. His limbs wereclothed in a garb of horsehair of the coarsest fabric; his drink was thedank drops that oozed from the porous walls of his cell; and hissustenance, such morsels as were bestowed upon him by the poor--the onlystrangers permitted to approach him. No fire was suffered, whereperpetual winter reigned. None were admitted to his nightly vigils;none witnessed any act of penance; nor were any groans heard to issuefrom that dreary cave; but the knotted, blood-stained thong, discoverednear his couch, too plainly betrayed in what manner those long lonenights were spent. Thus did a year roll on. Traces of his sufferingswere visible in his failing strength. He could scarcely crawl; but hemeekly declined assistance. He appeared not, as had been his wont, atthe midnight mass; the door of his cell was thrown open at that hour;the light streamed down like a glory upon his reverend head; he heardthe distant reverberations of the deep _Miserere_; and breathed odors asif wafted from Paradise. 

One morn it chanced that they who sought his cell found him with hishead upon his bosom, kneeling before the image of the virgin patronessof his shrine. Fearing to disturb his devotions, they stood reverentlylooking on; and thus silently did they tarry for an hour; but, as inthat space he had shown no signs of motion, fearing the worst, theyventured to approach him. He was cold as the marble before which heknelt. In the act of humblest intercession--it may be, in the hope ofgrace--had Cyprian's spirit fled. 

"Blessed are they who die in the Lord, " exclaimed his brethren, regarding his remains with deepest awe. On being touched, the body fellto the ground. It was little more than a skeleton. 

Under the cloisters of the holy pile were his bones interred, with adegree of pomp and ostentation that little accorded with the lowlinessand self-abasement of this man of many sorrows. 

This chapel, at the time of which we treat, was pretty much in the samecondition as it existed in the days of its holy inmate. Hewn out of theentrails of the rock, the roof, the vaults, the floor, were of solidgranite. Three huge cylindrical pillars, carved out of the native rock, rough as the stems of gnarled oak-trees, lent support to the ceiling. Support, however, was unneeded; an earthquake would scarce have shakendown those solid rafters. Only in one corner, where the water welledthrough a crevice of the rock, in drops that fell like tears, was decaymanifest. Here the stone, worn by the constant dripping, had, in someplaces, given way. In shape, the vault was circular. The integralbetween each massive pillar formed a pointed arch. Again, from eachpillar sprang other arches, which, crossed by diagonal, ogive branches, weaving one into the other, and radiating from the centre, formed thosebeautifully intricate combinations upon which the eye of thearchitectural enthusiast loves to linger. Within the ring formed bythese triple columns, in which again the pillars had their own web ofarches, was placed an altar of stone, and beside it a crucifix of thesame rude material. Here also stood the sainted image of her who hadfilled the prior with holy aspirations, now a shapeless stone. The dimlamp, that, like a star struggling with the thick gloom of a wintrycell, had shed its slender radiance over the brow of the Virgin Thecla, was gone. But around the keystone of the central arches, whence a chainhad once depended, might be traced in ancient characters, half effacedby time, the inscription:

 STA. THECLA ORA PRO NOBIS. 

One outlet only was there from the chapel--that which led by windingsteps to the monastery; one only recess--the prior's cell. The formerfaced the altar; the latter yawned like the mouth of a tomb at its back. Altogether it was a dreary place. Dumb were its walls as when theyrefused to return the murmured orisons of the anchorite. One uniform sadcoloring prevailed throughout. The gray granite was grown hoar with age, and had a ghostly look; the columns were ponderous, and projected heavyshadows. Sorrow and superstition had their tale, and a moral gloomdeepened the darkness of the spot. Despair, which had inspired itsconstruction, seemed to brood therein. Hope shunned its inexorablerecesses. 

Alone, within this dismal sanctuary, with hands outstretched towards thedesecrated image of its tutelar saint, knelt Sybil. All was darkness. Neither the heavy vapors that surrounded her, nor the shrine beforewhich she bent, were visible; but, familiar with the dreary spot, sheknew that she had placed herself aright. Her touch had satisfied herthat she bowed before the altar of stone; that her benighted vision wasturned towards the broken image of the saint, though now involved ingloom the most profound; and with clasped hands and streaming eyes, inlow and mournful tones, she addressed herself in the following hymn tothe tutelar saint of the spot:

 HYMN TO SAINT THECLA

 In my trouble, in my anguish, In the depths of my despair, As in grief and pain I languish, Unto thee I raise my prayer. Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine; That in agony, in terror, In her blind perplexity, Wandering weak in doubt and error, Calleth feebly upon thee. Sinful thoughts, sweet saint, oppress me, Thoughts that will not be dismissed; Temptations dark possess me, Which my strength may not resist. I am full of pain, and weary Of my life; I fain would die: Unto me the world is dreary; To the grave for rest I fly. For rest!--oh! could I borrow Thy bright wings, celestial dove! They should waft me from my sorrow, Where peace dwells in bowers above. Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine; Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline! _Mei miserere Virgo, Requiem æternam dona!_

 By thy loveliness, thy purity, Unpolluted, undefiled, That in serene security Upon earth's temptations smiled;-- By the fetters that constrain'd thee, By thy flame-attested faith, By the fervor that sustain'd thee, By thine angel-ushered death;-- By thy soul's divine elation, 'Mid thine agonies assuring Of thy sanctified translation To beatitude enduring;-- By the mystic interfusion Of thy spirit with the rays, That in ever bright profusion Round the Throne Eternal blaze;-- By thy portion now partaken, With the pain-perfected just; Look on one of hope forsaken, From the gates, of mercy thrust. Upon one with woes o'erladen, Kneeling lowly at thy shrine, Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden! Let thy countenance incline! _Ora pro me mortis horâ! Sancta Virgo, oro te! Kyrie Eleison!_

The sweet, sad voice of the singer died faintly away. The sharpness ofher sorrow was assuaged. Seldom, indeed, is it that ferventsupplication fails to call down solace to the afflicted. Sybil becamemore composed. She still, however, trembled at the thoughts of whatremained to be done. 

"They will be here ere my prayer is finished, " murmured she--"ere theend is accomplished for which I came hither alone. Let me, oh! let memake my peace with my Creator, ere I surrender my being to His hands, and then let them deal with me as they will. " And she bowed her head inlowly prayer. 

Again raising her hands, and casting her eyes towards the black ceiling, she implored, in song, the intercession of the saintly man who hadbequeathed his name to the cell. 

 HYMN TO SAINT CYPRIAN

 Hear! oh! hear me, sufferer holy, Who didst make thine habitation 'Mid these rocks, devoting wholly Life to one long expiation Of thy guiltiness, and solely By severe mortification Didst deliver thee. Oh! hear me! In my dying moments cheer me. By thy penance, self-denial, Aid me in the hour of trial. 

 May, through thee, my prayers prevailing On the Majesty of Heaven, O'er the hosts of hell, assailing My soul, in this dark hour be driven! So my spirit, when exhaling, May of sinfulness be shriven, And His gift unto the Giver May be rendered pure as ever! By thy own dark, dread possession, Aid me with thine intercession!

Scarcely had she concluded this hymn, when the torch of the knight ofMalta in part dissipated the gloom that hung around the chapel. 

_CHAPTER XI_

_THE BRIDAL_

 _Cari. _ I will not die; I must not. I am contracted To a young gentleman. 

 _Executioner. _ Here's your wedding-ring. 

 _Duchess of Malfy. _

Slowly did the train descend; solemnly and in silence, as if the ritesat which they were about to assist had been those of funereal, and notof nuptial, solemnization. Indeed, to look upon those wild and fiercefaces by the ruddily-flashing torchlight, which lent to each a stern andsavage expression; to see those scowling visages surrounding a bridefrom whose pallid cheeks every vestige of color, and almost ofanimation, had fled; and a bridegroom, with a countenance yet morehaggard, and demeanor yet more distracted--the beholder must haveimagined that the spectacle was some horrible ceremonial, practised bydemons rather than human beings. The arched vault, the pillars, thetorchlight, the deep shadows, and the wild figures, formed a pictureworthy of Rembrandt or Salvator. 

"Is Sybil within the chapel?" asked Barbara. 

"I am here, " returned a voice from the altar. 

"Why do we tarry?" said the gipsy queen. "We are all assembled. To thealtar. "

"To the altar!" shrieked Eleanor. "Oh! no--no----"

"Remember my threat, and obey, " muttered Barbara. "You are in my powernow. "

A convulsive sob was all the answer Eleanor could make. 

"Our number is not complete, " said the priest, who had looked in vainfor the sexton. "Peter Bradley is not with us. "

"Ha!" exclaimed Barbara. "Let him be sought for instantly. "

"Their search need not extend beyond this spot, " said Peter, steppingforward. 

The knight of Malta advanced towards the altar. The torchlight reddenedupon the huge stone pillars. It fell upon the shrine, and upon theghastly countenance of Sybil, who stood beside it. Suddenly, as thelight approached her, an object, hitherto hidden from view, wasrevealed. Sybil uttered a prolonged and fearful shriek; the knightrecoiled likewise in horror; and a simultaneous cry of astonishmentburst from the lips of the foremost of the group. All crowded forwards, and universal consternation prevailed amongst the assemblage. Each onegazed at his neighbor, anxious to learn the occasion of this tumult, andvague fears were communicated to those behind, from the terrifiedglances, which were the only answers returned by their comrades infront. 

"Who has dared to bring that body here?" demanded Barbara, in a tone inwhich anger struggled with apprehension, pointing at the same time tothe ghastly corpse of a female, with streaming hair, at the altar'sfeet. "Who has dared to do this, I say? Quick! remove it. What do youstare at? Cravens! is this the first time you have looked upon a corpse, that you should shrink aghast--that you tremble before it? It is aclod--ay, less than a clod. Away with it! away, I say. "

"Touch it not, " cried Luke, lifting a cloud of black hair from off thefeatures; "it is my mother's body. "

"My daughter!" exclaimed the sexton. 

"What!" vociferated Barbara, "is that your daughter--is that the firstLady Rookwood? Are the dead arisen to do honor to these nuptials? Speak!you can, perchance, explain how she came hither. "

"I know not, " returned Peter, glancing fiercely at Barbara; "I may, anon, demand that question of you. How came this body here?"

"Ask of Richard Checkley, " said Barbara, turning to the priest. "He can, perchance, inform you. Priest, " added she, in a low voice, "this is yourhandiwork. "

"Checkley!" screamed Peter. "Is that Richard Checkley? is that----"

"Peace!" thundered Barbara; "will none remove the body? Once more I askyou, do you fear the dead?"

A murmur arose. Balthazar alone ventured to approach the corpse. 

Luke started to his feet as he advanced, his eyes glaring with tigerfury. 

"Back, old man, " cried he, "and dare not, any of you, to lay asacrilegious finger on her corse, or I will stretch him that advances aslowly as lies my mother's head. When or how it came hither matters not. Here, at the altar, has it been placed, and none shall move it hence. The dead shall witness my nuptials. Fate has ordained it--_my_ fate!o'er which the dead preside. Her ring shall link me to my bride. I knewnot, when I snatched it from her death-cold finger, to what end Ipreserved it. I learn it now. It is here. " And he held forth a ring. 

"'Tis a fatal boon, that twice-used ring, " cried Sybil; "such a ring mymother, on her death-bed, said should be mine. Such a ring she saidshould wed me----"

"Unto whom?" fiercely demanded Luke. 

"UNTO DEATH!" she solemnly rejoined. 

Luke's countenance fell. He turned aside, deeply abashed, unable furtherto brook her gaze; while in accents of such wildly touching pathos assank into the hearts of each who heard her--hearts, few of them framedof penetrable stuff--the despairing maiden burst into the followingstrain:

 THE TWICE-USED RING

 "Beware thy bridal day!" On her death-bed sighed my mother; "Beware, beware, I say, Death shall wed thee, and no other. Cold the hand shall grasp thee, Cold the arms shall clasp thee, Colder lips thy kiss shall smother! Beware thy bridal kiss!

 "Thy wedding ring shall be From a clay-cold finger taken; From one that, like to thee, Was by her love forsaken. For a twice-used ring Is a fatal thing; Her griefs who wore it are partaken--, Beware that fatal ring!

 "The altar and the grave Many steps are not asunder; Bright banners o'er thee wave, Shrouded horror lieth under. Blithe may sound the bell, Yet 'twill toll thy knell; Scathed thy chaplet by the thunder-- Beware that blighted wreath!"

 Beware my bridal day! Dying lips my doom have spoken; Deep tones call me away; From the grave is sent a token. Cold, cold fingers bring That ill-omen'd ring; Soon will a _second_ heart be broken; _This_ is my bridal day. 

There was a deep, profound silence as the last melancholy cadence diedaway, and many a rugged heart was melted, even to tears. Eleanor, meanwhile, remained in a state of passive stupefaction, vacantly gazingat Sybil, upon whom alone her eyes were fixed, and appearingindistinctly to apprehend the meaning of her song. 

"This is my bridal day, " murmured she, in a low tone, when Sybil hadfinished. "Said not that sweet voice so? I know 'tis my bridal day. Whata church you have chosen, mother! A tomb--a sepulchre--but 'tis meet forsuch nuptials as mine--and what wedding guests! Was that pale woman inher shroud-like dress invited here by you? Tell me that, mother. "

"My God, her senses are gone!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "Why did I ventureinto this horrible place?"

"Ask not _why_ now, madam, " rejoined the priest. "The hour forconsideration is past. We must act. Let the marriage proceed, at allhazards; we will then take means to extricate ourselves from thisaccursed place. "

"Remove that horrible object, " said Mrs. Mowbray; "it fascinates thevision of my child. "

"Lend me your hand, Richard Checkley, " said Peter, sternly regarding thepriest. 

"No, no, " replied the priest, shuddering; "I will not, cannot touch it. Do you alone remove it. "

Peter approached Luke. The latter now offered no further opposition, andthe body was taken away. The eyes of Eleanor followed it into the darkrecesses of the vault; and when she could no longer distinguish thewhite flutter of the cereclothes, her laboring bosom seemed torn asunderwith the profound sigh that burst from it, and her head declined uponher shoulder. 

"Let me see that ring, " said the priest, addressing Luke, who still heldthe wedding-ring between his fingers. 

"I am not naturally superstitious, " said Mrs. Mowbray; "whether my mindbe affected with the horrors of this place, I know not; but I have adread of that ring. She shall not use it. "

"Where no other can be found, " said the priest, with a significant andpeculiar look at Mrs. Mowbray, "I see no reason why this should berejected. I should not have suspected you, madam, of such weakness. Grant there were evil spell, or charm, attached to it, which, trust me, there is _not_--as how should there be, to a harmless piece of gold?--mybenediction, and aspersion with holy lymph, will have sufficient powerto exorcise and expel it. To remove your fears it shall be done atonce. "

A cup containing water was brought, together with a plate of salt--whichcondiment the devil is said to abhor, and which is held to be a symbolof immortality and of eternity; in that, being itself incorruptible, itpreserves all else from corruption, --and, with the customary Romishformula of prayer and exorcism, the priest thrice mingled the crystalparticles with the pure fluid; after which, taking the ring in his handwith much solemnity, he sprinkled it with a few drops of the water whichhe had blessed; made the sign of the cross upon the golden circlet;uttered another and more potent exorcism to eradicate and expel everydevice of Satan, and delivered it back to Luke. 

"She may wear it now in safety, " said the sexton, with strong contempt. "Were the snake himself coiled round that consecrated bauble, theprayers of the devout Father Checkley would unclasp his lithest folds. But wherefore do we tarry now? Naught lies between us and the altar. Thepath is clear. The bridegroom grows impatient. "

"And the bride?" asked Barbara. 

"Is ready, " replied the priest. "Madam, delay not longer. Daughter, yourhand. "

Eleanor gave her hand. It was clammy and cold. Supported by her mother, she moved slowly towards the altar, which was but a few steps from wherethey stood. She offered no resistance, but did not raise her head. Lukewas by her side. Then for the first time did the enormity of the cruel, dishonorable act he was about to commit, strike him with its fullforce. He saw it in its darkest colors. It was one of those terriblemoments when the headlong wheel of passion stands suddenly still. 

"There is yet time, " groaned he. "Oh! let me not damn myselfperpetually! Let me save her; save Sybil; save myself. "

They were at the altar--that wild wedding train. High over head thetorch was raised. The red light flashed on bridegroom and on bride, giving to the pale features of each an almost livid look; it fell uponthe gaunt aspect of the sexton, and lit up the smile of triumphantmalice that played upon his face; it fell upon the fantasticalhabiliments of Barbara, and upon the haughty but perturbed physiognomyof Mrs. Mowbray; it fell upon the salient points of the Gothic arches;upon one molded pillar; upon the marble image of the virgin Thecla; andon the scarcely less marble countenance of Sybil who stood behind thealtar, silent, statue-like, immovable. The effect of light and shade onother parts of the scene, upon the wild drapery, and harsh lineaments ofmany of the group, was also eminently striking. 

Just as the priest was about to commence the marriage service, a yellingchorus, which the gipsies were accustomed to sing at the celebration ofthe nuptials of one of their own tribe, burst forth. Nothing could bemore horribly discordant than their song. 

 WEDDING CHORUS OF GIPSIES

 Scrape the catgut! pass the liquor! Let your quick feet move the quicker. Ta-ra-la!

 Dance and sing in jolly chorus, Bride and bridegroom are before us, And the patrico stands o'er us. Ta-ra-la!

 To unite their hands he's ready; For a moment, pals, be steady; Cease your quaffing, Dancing, laughing; Leave off riot, And be quiet, While 'tis doing. 'Tis begun, All is over! Two are ONE! The patrico has link'd 'em; Daddy Hymen's torch has blink'd 'em. Amen! To 't again! Now for quaffing, Now for laughing, Stocking-throwing, Liquor flowing; For our bridals are no bridles, and our altars never alter; From the flagon never flinch we, in the jig we never falter. No! that's not _our_ way, for _we_ Are staunch lads of Romany. For our wedding, then, hurrah! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

This uncouth chorus ended, the marriage proceeded. Sybil haddisappeared. Had she fled? No! she was by the bride. Eleanormechanically took her place. A faint voice syllabled the responses. Youcould scarcely have seen Miss Mowbray's lips move. But the answers weregiven, and the priest was satisfied. 

He took the ring, and sprinkled it once again with the holy water, inthe form of the cross. He pronounced the prayer: "_Benedic, Domine, annulum hunc, quem nos in tuo nomine benedicimus, ut quæ eum gestaverit, fidelitatem integram suo sponso tenens, in pace et voluntate tuapermaneat atque in mutua charitate semper vivat. _"

He was about to return the ring to Luke, when the torch, held by theknight of Malta, was dashed to the ground by some unseen hand, andinstantly extinguished. The wild pageant vanished as suddenly as thefigures cast by a magic-lantern upon a wall disappear when the glass isremoved. A wild hubbub succeeded. Hoarsely above the clamor arose thevoice of Barbara. 

"To the door, quickly!--to the door! Let no one pass, I will find outthe author of this mishap anon. Away!"

She was obeyed. Several of the crew stationed themselves at the door. 

"Proceed now with the ceremony, " continued Barbara. "By darkness, or bylight, the match shall be completed. "

The ring was then placed upon the finger of the bride; and as Luketouched it, he shuddered. It was cold as that of the corpse which he hadclasped but now. The prayer was said, the blessing given, the marriagewas complete. 

Suddenly there issued from the darkness deep dirge-like tones, and avoice solemnly chanted a strain, which all knew to be the death-song oftheir race, hymned by wailing women over an expiring sister. The musicseemed to float in the air. 

 THE SOUL-BELL

 Fast the sand of life is falling, Fast her latest sigh exhaling, Fast, fast, is she dying. 

 With death's chills her limbs are shivering, With death's gasp the lips are quivering, Fast her soul away is flying. 

 O'er the mountain-top it fleeteth, And the skyey wonders greeteth, Singing loud as stars it meeteth On its way. 

 Hark! the sullen Soul-bell tolling, Hollowly in echoes rolling, Seems to say--

 "She will ope her eyes--oh, never! Quenched their dark light--gone for ever! She is dead. "

The marriage group yet lingered near the altar, awaiting, it would seem, permission from the gipsy queen to quit the cell. Luke stirred not. Clasped in his own, the cold hand of his bride detained him; and when hewould have moved, her tightened grasp prevented his departure. 

Mrs. Mowbray's patience was exhausted by the delay. She was notaltogether free from apprehension. "Why do we linger here?" shewhispered to the priest. "Do you, father, lead the way. "

"The crowd is dense, " replied Checkley. "They resist my effort. "

"Are we prisoners here?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, in alarm. 

"Let me make the attempt, " cried Luke, with fiery impatience. "I willforce a passage out. "

"Quit not your bride, " whispered Peter, "as you value her safety. Heednot aught else. She alone is in danger. Suffer her not to be withdrawnfrom your hand, if you would not lose her. Remain here. I will bring thematter to a speedy issue. "

"Enough, " replied Luke; "I stir not hence. " And he drew his bride closertowards him. He stooped to imprint a kiss upon her lips. A cold shudderran through her frame as he touched them, but she resisted not hisembrace. 

Peter's attempt to effect an egress was as unsuccessful as that of thepriest. Presenting Excalibur at his bosom, the knight of Maltachallenged him to stand. 

"You cannot pass, " exclaimed the knight; "our orders are peremptory. "

"What am I to understand by this?" said Peter, angrily. "Why are wedetained?"

"You will learn all anon, " returned Barbara. "In the meantime you are myprisoners--or, if you like not the phrase, my wedding guests. "

"The wedding is complete, " returned the sexton; "the bride andbridegroom are impatient to depart, and we, the guests--albeit some ofus may be no foes to darkness--desire not to hold our nuptial revelshere. "

"Sybil's wedding has not taken place, " said Barbara; "you must tarry forthat. "

"Ha! now it comes, " thought Peter. "And who, may I ask, " said he, aloud, "amongst this goodly company, is to be her bridegroom?"

"The best amongst them, " returned Barbara--"Sir Luke Rookwood. "

"He has a bride already, " replied Peter. 

"She may be _removed_, " said Barbara, with bitter and peculiar emphasis. "Dost understand my meaning now?"

"I will not understand it, " said Peter. "You cannot mean to destroy herwho now stands at the altar?"

"She who now stands at the altar must make way for a successor. She whograsps the bridegroom's hand shall die. I swear it by the oath of mytribe. "

"And think you, you will be allowed to execute your murderous intentionwith impunity?" shrieked Mrs. Mowbray, in an agony of terror. "Think youthat I will stand by and see my child slaughtered before my face; thatmy friends will suffer it? Think you that even your own tribe will dareto execute your horrible purpose? They will not. They will side with us. Even now they murmur. What can you hope to gain by an act so wild anddreadful? What object can you have?"

"The same as your own, " reiterated Barbara--"the advancement of mychild. Sybil is as dear to me as Eleanor is to you. She is my child'schild, the daughter of my best beloved daughter. I have sworn to marryher to Sir Luke Rookwood. The means are in my power. I will keep my vow;I will wed her to him. You did not hesitate to tear your daughter fromthe man she loved, to give her to the man she hated; and for what? Forgold--for power--for rank. I have the same motive. I love my child, andshe loves Sir Luke--has loved him long and truly; therefore shall shehave him. What to me is _your_ child, or _your_ feelings, except theyare subservient to my wishes? She stands in my way. I remove her. "

"Who placed her in your path?" asked the sexton. "Did you not lend ahelping hand to create that obstacle yourself?"

"I did, " replied Barbara. "Would you know wherefore? I will tell you. Ihad a double motive for it. There is a curse upon the house of Rookwood, that kills the first fair bride each generation leads to the altar. Haveyou never heard of it?"

"I have! And did that idle legend sway you?"

"And do you call it idle? _You!_ Well--I had another motive--aprophecy. "

"By yourself uttered, " replied Peter. 

"Even so, " replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. The stray rookis found. The rook hath with rook mated. Luke hath wedded Eleanor. Hewill hold possession of his lands. The prophecy is fulfilled. "

"But _how_?" asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and why he shallnow hold possession? Can you tell me that?"

"My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It has come topass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be it mine to free him fromthat yoke. " And Barbara laughed exultingly. 

The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand with violenceupon her shoulder. 

"Hear _me_, " cried he, "and I will tell you that which your juggling artrefuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the lands of Rookwood! Theestates are _hers_! They were bequeathed to her by her grandsire, SirReginald. "

"She was unborn when he died, " cried Mrs. Mowbray. 

"True, " replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your issue _female_, should such issue be born. "

"And did Sir Piers, my brother, know of this? did he see this will, "asked Mrs. Mowbray, with trembling impatience. 

"He did; and withheld the knowledge of it from you and yours. "

"Ah! why knew I not this before? Why did you not tell me ere that wasdone which cannot be undone? I have sacrificed my child. "

"Because it did not chime with my purposes to tell you, " replied Peter, coldly. 

"It is false--it is false, " cried Mrs. Mowbray, her anger and vexationgetting the better of her fears. "I will not believe it. Who are you, that pretend to know the secrets of our house?"

"One of that house, " replied the sexton. 

"Your name?"

"Would you know my name?" answered Peter, sternly. "The time is comewhen I will no longer conceal it. I am Alan Rookwood. "

"My father's brother!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. 

"Ay, Alan Rookwood. The sworn enemy of your father--of you--of all ofye: your fate--your destiny--your curse. I am that Alan Rookwood whosename you breathed in the vault. I am he, the avenger--the avenged. I sawyour father die. I heard his groans--_his groans!_--ha, ha! I saw hissons die: one fell in battle--I was with him there. The other expired inhis bed. I was with Sir Piers when he breathed his last, and listened tohis death agonies. 'Twas I who counselled him to keep the lands from youand from your child, and he withheld them. One only amongst the race, whose name I have cast off, have I loved; and him--because, " added he, with something like emotion--"because he was my daughter's child--LukeRookwood. And even he shall minister to my vengeance. He will be yourcurse--your daughter's curse--for he loves her not. Yet he is herhusband, and hath her land;--ha, ha!" And he laughed till he becameconvulsed with the paroxysm of fiendish exultation. 

"Mine ears are stunned, " cried Mrs. Mowbray. 

"The bride is mine; relinquish her to me, " said Barbara. "Advance andseize her, my children. "

Alan Rookwood--for so we shall henceforth denominate thesexton--suddenly grew calm: he raised the whistle to his lips, and blewa call so loud and shrill, that those who were advancing hung backirresolute. 

There was a rush at the door of the vault. The sentinels were struckdown; and with pistols in each hand, and followed by two assistants, Dick Turpin sprang into the thick of the crew. 

"Here we are, " cried he, "ready for action. Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?where my churchyard pal, Peter?"

"Here, " cried the sexton and Luke simultaneously. 

"Then stand aside, " cried Dick, pushing in the direction of the sounds, and bearing down all opposition. "Have a care there--these triggers areticklish. Friend or foe, he who touches me shall have a bullet in hisgizzard. Here I am, pal Peter; and here are my two chums, Rust andWilder. Cut the whid. "

"Have we license to pass scathless now?" asked the sexton; "or shall wemake good our way?"

"You shall not pass, " cried Barbara, furiously. "Think you to rob me ofmy prey? What, cowards! do you hesitate? Ha!"

"Kindle the torches, " cried several voices. "We fight not in the dark. "

A pistol was flashed. The torch again blazed. Its light fell upon atumultuous group. 

"Seize the bride, " cried Barbara. 

"Hold!" exclaimed a voice from the altar. The voice was that of Sybil. 

Her hand was clasped in that of Luke. Eleanor had fainted in the arms ofthe gipsy girl Handassah. 

"Are you my bride?" ejaculated Luke, in dismay. 

"Behold the ring upon my finger! Your own hand placed it there. "

"Betrayed!" screamed Alan, in a voice of anguish. "My schemesannihilated--myself undone--my enemies triumphant--lost! lost! All isdestroyed--all!"

"Joy! joy!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray: "my child is saved. "

"And _mine_ destroyed, " groaned Barbara. "I have sworn by the cross toslay the bride--and Sybil is that bride. "

_CHAPTER XII_

_ALAN ROOKWOOD_

 The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up; Not to devour the corse, but to discover The horrid murther. 

 WEBSTER. 

"Bravo! capital!" cried Turpin, laughing loud and long as an Olympiandeity; "has this simple wench outwitted you all; turned the tables uponthe whole gang of plotters, eh? Excellent! ha, ha, ha! The next time youwed, Sir Luke, let me advise you not to choose a wife in the dark. A manshould have all his senses about him on these occasions. Make love whenthe liquor's in; marry when it's out, and, above all, with your eyesopen. This beats cock-fighting--ha, ha, ha!--you must excuse me; but, upon my soul, I can't help it. " And his laughter seemedinextinguishable. 

"Take your men without, " whispered Alan Rookwood; "keep watch as before, and let the discharge of a pistol bespeak the approach of danger asagreed upon; much yet remains to be done here. "

"How so?" asked Dick; "it seems to me the job's entirely settled--if notto _your_ satisfaction. I'm always ready to oblige my friend, Sir Luke;but curse me if I'd lend my help to any underhand work. Steer clear offoul play, or Dick Turpin holds no hand with you. As to that poor wench, if you mean her any harm, curse me if I will----"

"No harm is intended her, " replied Alan. "I applaud your magnanimity, "added he, sarcastically; "such sentiments are, it must be owned, inexcellent keeping with your conduct. "

"In keeping or not, " replied Turpin, gravely, "cold-blooded murder isaltogether out of my line, and I wash my hands of it. A shot or two inself defence is another matter; and when----"

"A truce to this, " interrupted Alan; "the girl is safe. Will you mountguard again?"

"If that be the case, certainly, " replied Dick. "I shall be glad to getback to Bess. I couldn't bring her with me into this black hole. Acouple of shots will tell you 'tis Ranulph Rookwood. But mind, no harmto the gipsy girl--to Lady Rookwood, I should say. She's a jewel, takemy word for it, which Sir Luke must be mad to throw away. " And callinghis companions, he departed. 

Alan Rookwood bent his steps towards the gipsy queen. Dark thoughtsgathered quickly o'er his brow. He smiled as he drew nigh to Barbara--asmile it was

 That wrinkled up his skin even to the hair. 

Barbara looked at him at first with distrust; but as he developed hissecret purposes, that smile became reflected upon her own features. Their conference took place apart. We willingly leave them to return tothe altar. 

Mrs. Mowbray and the priest were still there. Both were occupied inineffectual endeavors to restore Eleanor to consciousness. She recoveredfrom her swoon; but it was evident her senses still wandered; and vainlydid Mrs. Mowbray lavish her tenderest caresses upon her child. Eleanorreturned them not. 

Luke, meanwhile, had given vent to the wildest fury. He shook awaySybil's grasp; he dashed her from him; he regarded her with witheringglances; he loaded her with reproaches. She bore his violence withmeekest submission; she looked imploringly--but she replied not to histaunts. Again she clung to the hem of his garment when cast aside. Lukeappeared unmoved; what passed within we pause not to examine. He grewcalmer; his calmness was more terrible to Sybil than his previous wrathhad been. 

"You are my wife, " said he; "what then? By fraud, by stratagem, you haveobtained that title, and, perforce, must keep it. But the title _only_shall you retain. No rights of wife shall ever be yours. It will be inyour power to call yourself Lady Rookwood--you will be so in name--innothing else. "

"I shall not bear it long, " murmured Sybil. 

Luke laughed scornfully, "So you said before, " replied he; "and yet Isee not why you are likely to abandon it. The event will show. Thus faryou have deceived me, and I place no further faith in your assertions. My hand was yours; you refused it. When I would give it to another, yougrasp it clandestinely. Am I to believe you now? The wind willchange--the vane veer with it. "

"It will not veer from you, " she meekly answered. 

"Why did you step between me and my bride?"

"To save her life; to lay down mine for hers. "

"An idle subterfuge. You know well that you run no risk of being calledupon to do so. Your life is in no danger. The sacrifice was unnecessary. I could have dispensed with _your_ assistance; my own arm would havesufficed to protect Eleanor. "

"Your single arm would not have prevailed against numbers: they wouldhave killed you likewise. "

"Tush!" said Luke, fiercely. "Not only have you snatched from me mybride, you have robbed me of my fair estates, of all, save of my barrentitle, and that, even _that_, you have tarnished. "

"True, true, " sighed Sybil. "I knew not that the lands were hers, elsehad I never done it. "

"False, false, " cried Luke; "false as the rest. _They_ will beRanulph's. _She_ will be Ranulph's. I shall still be an outcast, whileRanulph will riot in my halls--will press her to his bosom. Cling not tome. Hence! or I will spurn you from me. I am undone, undone by you, accursed one. "

"Oh, curse me not! your words cut deep enough. "

"Would they could kill you, " cried Luke, with savage bitterness. "Youhave placed a bar between me and my prospects, which nothing can nowremove--nothing but--ha!" and his countenance assumed a deadly hue andfearful expression. "By Heaven, you almost rouse the fell spirit whichit is said dwells within the breast of my devoted race. I feel as if Icould stab thee. "

"No, no!" shrieked Sybil; "for mercy's sake, for your own sake, do notstab me. It is not too late. I will repair my wrong!"

"Ever deceiving! you would again delude me. You cannot repair it. Oneway alone remains, and that----"

"I will pursue, " responded Sybil, sadly, but firmly. 

"Never!" cried Luke; "you shall not. Ha!" exclaimed he, as he found hisarms suddenly pinioned behind him. "What new treachery is this? By whoseorders am I thus fettered?"

"By mine, " said Alan Rookwood, stepping forward. 

"By yours?" echoed Luke. "And wherefore? Release me. "

"Be patient, " replied Alan. "You will hear all anon. In the meantime youmust be content to remain my prisoner. Quit not your hold, " added he, addressing the gipsies, who kept charge of Luke. 

"Their lives shall answer for their obedience, " said Barbara. 

Upon a further signal from Alan, Eleanor was torn from her mother'sarms, and a bandage passed so suddenly over Mrs. Mowbray's face, that, before she could raise a cry of alarm, all possibility of utterance waseffectually prevented. The priest alone was left at liberty. 

Barbara snatched the hand of Eleanor. She dragged her to Sybil. 

"You are Lady Rookwood, " whispered she; "but she has your domains. Igive her to you. "

"She is the _only bar_ between thy husband and his rights, " whisperedAlan Rookwood, in a tone of horrible irony; "_it is not too late torepair your wrong_. "

"Away, tempter!" cried Sybil, horror-stricken. "I know you well. Yet, "continued she, in an altered tone, "I will risk all for him. I have donehim wrong. One mode of atonement remains; and, horrible though it be, Iwill embrace it. Let me not pause. Give her to me. " And she seized uponthe unresisting hand of Eleanor. 

"Do you need my aid?" asked Barbara. 

"No, " replied Sybil; "let none approach us. A clapping of hands will letyou know when all is over. " And she dragged her passive victim deeperinto the vault. 

"Sybil, Sybil!" cried Luke, struggling with frantic violence to liberatehimself; "hurt her not. I was rash. I was mad. I am calmer now. Shehears me not--she will not turn. God of heaven! she will murder her. Itwill be done while I speak. I am the cause of all. Release me, villains!Would that I had died ere I had seen this day. "

At a signal from the sexton, Luke also was blindfolded. He ceased tostruggle. But his laboring breast told of the strife within. 

"Miscreants!" exclaimed the priest, who had hitherto witnessed theproceedings in horror. "Why do not these rocks fall in, and crush youand your iniquities? Save her! oh, save her! Have you no pity for theinnocent?"

"Such pity have we, " replied Alan Rookwood, "as you showed my daughter. She was as innocent as Eleanor Mowbray, and yet you did not pity _her_. "

"Heaven is my witness, " exclaimed the priest, "that I never injuredher. "

"Take not Heaven's name in vain, " cried Alan. "Who stood by while it wasdoing? Whose firmer hand lent aid to the murderer's trembling efforts?Whose pressure stifled her thrilling screams, and choked her cries formercy? Yours--yours; and now you prate to me of pity--you, the slayer ofthe sleeping and the innocent!"

"'Tis false!" exclaimed the priest, in extremity of terror. 

"False!" echoed Alan. "I had Sir Piers's own confession. He told me all. You had designs upon Sir Piers, which his wife opposed; you hated her;you were in the confidence of both--how did you keep that confidence? Hetold me _how_, by awakening a spirit of jealousy and pride, thato'ermastered all his better feelings. False! He told me of your hellishmachinations; your Jesuitical plots; your schemes. He was too weak, toofeeble an instrument to serve you. You left him, but not before _she_had left him. False! ha, I have that shall instantly convict you. Thecorpse is here, within this cell. Who brought it hither?"

The priest was silent: he seemed confounded by Alan's violence. 

"I will answer that question, " said Barbara. "It was brought hither bythat false priest. His agent, Balthazar, has betrayed him. It wasbrought hither to prevent the discovery of Sir Luke Rookwood'slegitimacy. He meant to make his own terms about it. It has come hitherto proclaim his guilt--to be a fearful witness against him. " Then, turning to Checkley, she added, "You have called Heaven to witness yourinnocence: you shall attest it by oath upon that body; and should aughtindicate your guilt, I will hang you as I would a dog, and clear off onelong score with justice. Do you shrink from this?"

"No, " replied the priest, in a voice hollow and broken. "Bring me to thebody. "

"Seize each an arm, " said Barbara, addressing Zoroaster and the knightof Malta, "and lead him to the corse. "

"I will administer the oath, " said Alan Rookwood, sternly. 

"No, not you, " stammered the priest. 

"And wherefore not?" asked Alan. "If you are innocent, you need fearnothing from her. "

"I fear nothing from the _dead_, " replied Checkley; "lead on. "

We will now return to Sybil. She was alone with her victim. They werenear the mouth of the cell which had been Prior Cyprian's flintydormitory, and were almost involved in darkness. A broken stream oflight glanced through the pillars. Eleanor had not spoken. She sufferedherself to be dragged thither without resistance, scarcely conscious, itwould seem, of her danger. Sybil gazed upon her for some minutes withsorrow and surprise. "She comprehends not her perilous situation, "murmured Sybil. "She knows not that she stands upon the brink of thegrave. Oh! would that she could pray. Shall I, her murderess, pray forher? My prayers would not be heard. And yet, to kill her unshriven willbe a twofold crime. Let me not look on her. My hand trembles. I canscarce grasp the dagger. Let me think on all he has said. I have wrongedhim. I am his bane, his curse! I have robbed him of all: there is butone remedy--'tis _this_!--Oh, God! she recovers. I cannot do it now. "

It was a fearful moment for Eleanor's revival, when the bright steelflashed before her eyes. Terror at once restored her. She cast herselfat Sybil's feet. 

"Spare, spare me!" cried she. "Oh! what a dream I have had. And to wakenthus, with the dagger's point at my breast. You will not kill me--you, gentle maid, who promised to preserve me. Ah, no, I am sure you willnot. "

"Appeal no more to me, " said Sybil, fiercely. "Make your peace withHeaven. Your minutes are numbered. "

"I cannot pray, " said Eleanor, "while you are near me. "

"Will you pray if I retire and leave you?"

"No, no. I dare not--cannot, " shrieked Eleanor, in extremity of terror. "Oh! do not leave me, or let me go. "

"If you stir, " said Sybil, "I stab you to the heart. "

"I will not stir. I will kneel here forever. Stab me as I kneel--as Ipray to you. You cannot kill me while I cling to you thus--while I kissyour hands--while I bedew them with my tears. Those tears will not sullythem like my blood. "

"Maiden, " said Sybil, endeavoring to withdraw her hand, "let go yourhold--your sand is run. "

"Mercy!"

"It is in vain. Close your eyes. "

"No, I will fix them on you thus--you cannot strike then. I will clingto you--embrace you. Your nature is not cruel--your soul is full ofpity. It melts--those tears--you will be merciful. You cannotdeliberately kill me. "

"I cannot--I cannot!" said Sybil, with a passionate outburst of grief. "Take your life on one condition. "

"Name it. "

"That you wed Sir Luke Rookwood. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Eleanor, "all rushes back upon me at that name; thewhole of that fearful scene passes in review before me. "

"Do you reject my proposal?"

"I dare not. "

"I must have your oath. Swear by every hope of eternity that you willwed none other than him. "

"By every hope, I swear it. "

"Handassah, you will bear this maiden's oath in mind, and witness itsfulfilment. "

"I will, " replied the gipsy girl, stepping forward from a recess, inwhich she had hitherto remained unnoticed. 

"Enough. I am satisfied. Tarry with me. Stir not--scream not, whateveryou may see or hear. Your life depends upon your firmness. When I am nomore----"

"No more?" echoed Eleanor, in horror. 

"Be calm, " said Sybil. "When I am dead, clap your hands together. Theywill come to seek you--they will find me in your stead. Then rush tohim--to Sir Luke Rookwood. He will protect you. Say to him hereafterthat I died for the wrong I did him--that I died, and blessed him. "

"Can you not live, and save me?" sobbed Eleanor. 

"Ask it not. While I live, your life is in danger. When I am gone, nonewill seek to harm you. Fare you well! Remember your oath, and you, too, remember it, Handassah. Remember also--ha! that groan!"

All started, as a deep groan knelled in their ears. 

"Whence comes that sound?" cried Sybil. "Hist!--a voice?"

"It is that of the priest, " cried Eleanor. "Hark! he groans. They havemurdered him! Kind Heaven, receive his soul!"

"Pray for me, " cried Sybil: "pray fervently; avert your face; down onyour knees--down--down! Farewell, Handassah!" And breaking from them, she rushed into the darkest recesses of the vault. 

We must now quit this painful scene for another scarcely less painful, and return to the unfortunate priest. 

Checkley had been brought before the body of Susan Rookwood. Even in thegloom, the shimmer of the white cereclothes, and the pallid features ofthe corpse, were ghastly enough. The torchlight made them terrible. 

"Kneel!" said Alan Rookwood. The priest complied. Alan knelt beside him. 

"Do you know these features?" demanded he. "Regard them well. Fix youreyes full upon them. Do you know them?"

"I do. "

"Place your hand upon her breast. Does not the flesh creep and shrinkbeneath your touch? Now raise your hand--make the cross of your faithupon her bosom. By that faith you swear you are innocent. "

"I do, " returned the priest; "are you now satisfied?"

"No, " replied Alan. "Let the torch be removed. Your innocence must bemore deeply attested, " continued he, as the light was withdrawn. "Thisproof will not fail. Entwine your fingers round her throat. "

"Have I not done enough?"

"Your hesitation proves your guilt, " said Alan. 

"That proof is wanting, then?" returned the priest; "my hand is upon herthroat--what more?"

"As you hope for mercy in your hour of need, swear that you neverconspired against her life, or refused her mercy. "

"I swear it. "

"May the dead convict you of perjury if you have forsworn yourself, "said Alan; "you are free. Take away your hand!"

"Ha! what is this?" exclaimed the priest. "You have put some juggleryupon me. I cannot withdraw my hand. It sticks to her throat, as though'twere glued by blood. Tear me away. I have not force enough to liberatemyself. Why do you grin at me? The corpse grins likewise. It isjugglery. I am innocent. You would take away my life. Tear me away, Isay: the veins rise; they blacken; they are filling with new blood. Ifeel them swell; they coil like living things around my fingers. She isalive. "

"And you are innocent?"

"I am--I am. Let not my ravings convict me. For Jesu's sake, releaseme. "

"Blaspheme not, but arise. I hold you not. "

"You do, " groaned the priest. "Your grasp tightens round my throat; yourhard and skinny fingers are there--I strangle--help!"

"Your own fears strangle you. My hand is at my side, " returned Alancalmly. 

"Villain, you lie. Your grasp is like a vice. The strength of a thousanddevils is in your hand. Will none lend help? I never pressed so hard. Your daughter never suffered this torture--never--never. Ichoke--choke--oh!" And the priest rolled heavily backwards. 

There was a deep groan; a convulsive rattle in the throat; and all wasstill. 

"He is dead--strangled, " cried several voices, holding down the torch. The face of the priest was blackened and contorted; his eyeballsprotruded from their sockets; his tongue was nearly bitten through inthe desperate efforts he had made to release himself from Alan's gripe;his hair was erect with horror. It was a ghastly sight. 

A murmur arose amongst the gipsies. Barbara deemed it prudent to appeasethem. 

"He was guilty, " cried she. "He was the murderer of Susan Rookwood. "

"And I, _her father_, have avenged her, " said Alan, sternly. 

The dreadful silence that followed this speech was broken by the reportof a pistol. The sound, though startling, was felt almost as a relief. 

"We are beset, " cried Alan. "Some of you fly to reconnoitre. "

"To your posts, " cried Barbara. 

Several of the crew flocked to the entrance. 

"Unbind the prisoners, " shouted Alan. 

Mrs. Mowbray and Luke were accordingly set free. 

Two almost simultaneous reports of a pistol were now heard. 

"'Tis Ranulph Rookwood, " said Alan; "that was the preconcerted signal. "

"Ranulph Rookwood, " echoed Eleanor, who caught the exclamation: "hecomes to save me. "

"Remember your oath, " gasped a dying voice. "He is no longer yours. "

"Alas! alas!" sobbed Eleanor, tremblingly. 

A moment afterwards a faint clapping of hands reached the ears ofBarbara. 

"All is over, " muttered she. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Alan Rookwood, with a frightful look. "Is it done?"

Barbara motioned him towards the further end of the vault. 

_CHAPTER XIII_

_MR. COATES_

 _Grimm. _ Look, captain, here comes one of the bloodhounds of justice. 

 _Schw. _ Down with him. Don't let him utter a word. 

 _Moor. _ Silence, I will hear him. 

 SCHILLER: _The Robbers_. 

Gladly do we now exchange the dank atmosphere of Saint Cyprian's cell, and the horrors which have detained us there so long, for balmy air, genial sunshine, and the boon companionship of Dick Turpin. Uponregaining the verdant ruins of the ancient priory, all appeared prettymuch as our highwayman had left it. Dick wended towards his mare. BlackBess uttered an affectionate whinnying sound as he approached her, andyielded her sleek neck to his caresses. No Bedouin Arab ever loved hishorse more tenderly than Turpin. 

"'Twill be a hard day when thou and I part!" murmured he, affectionatelypatting her soft and silky cheeks. Bess thrust her nose into his hand, biting him playfully, as much as to say, "That day will never arrive. "Turpin, at least, understood the appeal in that sense; he was skilled inthe language of the Houyhnhnms. "I would rather lose my right hand than_that_ should happen, " sighed he; "but there's no saying: the best offriends must part; and thou and I may be one day separated: thydestination is the knacker--mine, perhaps, the gibbet. --We are neitherof us cut out for old age, that's certain. Curse me if I can tell how itis; since I've been in that vault, I've got some queer crotchet into myhead. I can't help likening thee to that poor gipsy wench, Sybil; butmay I be scragged if I'd use thee as her lover has used her. Ha!"exclaimed he, drawing a pistol with a suddenness that made hiscompanions, Rust and Wilder, start, "we are watched. See you not how yonshadow falls from behind the wall?"

"I do, " replied Rust. 

"The varmint shall be speedily unearthed, " said Wilder, rushing to thespot. 

In another instant the shadow manifested itself in a substantial littlepersonage, booted, spurred, and mud-bespattered. He was brought beforeour highwayman, who had, meanwhile, vaulted into his saddle. 

"Mr. Coates!" cried Dick, bursting into a loud laugh at the ridiculousfigure presented to his view, "or the mud deceives me. "

"It does not deceive you, Captain Turpin, " replied the attorney; "youdo, indeed, behold that twice unfortunate person. "

"What brings you here?" asked Dick. "Ah! I see, you are come to pay memy wager. "

"I thought you gave me a _discharge_ for that, " rejoined Coates, unable, even in his distress, to resist the too-tempting quibble. 

"True, but it was _in blank_, " replied Turpin readily; "and that don'thold good in law, you know. You have thrown away a second chance. Playor pay, all the world over. I shan't _let you off_ so easily this time, depend upon it. Come, post the pony, or take your measure on that sod. No more replications or rejoinders, sir, down with the dust. Fake hisclies, pals. Let us see what he has about him. "

"In the twinkling of a bed-post, " replied Rust. "We'll turn him insideout. What's here?" cried he, searching the attorney's pockets. "A braceof barkers, " handing a pair of pistols to Turpin, "a haddock, stuffedwith nothing, I'm thinking; one quid, two coach-wheels, half a bull, three hogs, and a kick; a d--d dicky concern, captain. "

"Three hogs and a kick, " muttered Coates; "the knave says true enough. "

"Is there nothing else?" demanded Dick. 

"Only an old snuffy fogle and a pewter sneezer. "

"No reader?[90] Try his hoxter. "[91]

"Here's a pit-man, [92] captain. "

"Give it me. Ah! this will do, " cried Dick, examining the contents ofthe pocket-book. "This is a glorious windfall indeed; a bill of exchangefor 500_l. _, payable _on demand_, eh, Mr. Coates? Quick! indorse it, sir. Here's pen and ink. Rascal! if you attempt to tear the bill, I'llblow your brains out. Steady, sir, sign. Good!" added he, as Coates mostreluctantly indorsed the bill. "Good! good! I'll be off with this billto London to-night, before you can stop it. No courier can beatBess--ha, ha! Eh! what's this?" continued Dick, as, unfolding anotherleaf of the pocket-book, he chanced upon a letter; "My Lady Rookwood'ssuperscription! Excuse me, Mr. Coates, I must have a peep at herladyship's billet-doux. All's safe with me--man of honor. I must detainyour _reader_ a moment longer. "

"You should take charge of yourself, then, " replied Coates, sulkily. "_You_ appear to be my reader. "

"Bravo!" cried Turpin. "You may jest now with impunity, Mr. Coates. Youhave paid dear enough for your jokes; and when should a man be allowedto be pleasant, if not at his own expense?--ha, ha! What's this?"exclaimed he, opening the letter. "A ring, as I'm awake! and from herladyship's own fair finger, I'll be sworn, for it bears her cipher, ineffaceably impressed as your image upon her heart--eh, Coates? Egad!you are a lucky dog, after all, to receive _such_ a favor from _such_ alady--ha, ha! Meantime, I'll take care of it for you, " continued Dick, slipping the ring on his little finger. 

Turpin, we have before remarked, had a turn for mimicry; and it was withan irresistible feeling of deferential awe creeping over him that Coatesheard the contents of Lady Rookwood's epistle delivered with anenunciation as peremptory and imperious as that of her ladyship's self. The letter was hastily indited, in a clear, firm hand, and partook ofits writer's decision of character. Dick found no difficulty indeciphering it. Thus ran the missive:

 "Assured of your devotion and secrecy, I commit my own honor, and that of my son, to your charge. Time will not permit me to see you, or I would not write. But I place myself entirely in your hands. You will not dare to betray my confidence. To the point:--A Major Mowbray has just arrived here with intelligence that the body of Susan Bradley--you will know to whom I allude--has been removed from our family vault by a Romish priest and his assistants. How it came there, or why it has been removed, I know not; it is not my present purpose to inquire. Suffice it, that it now lies in a vault beneath the ruins of Davenham Priory. My son, Sir Ranulph, who has lent a credulous ear to the artful tales of the impostor who calls this woman mother, is at present engaged in arming certain of the household, and of the tenantry, to seize upon and bring away this body, as resistance is apprehended from a horde of gipsies who infest the ruins. Now, mark me. THAT BODY MUST NOT BE FOUND! Be it your business to prevent its discovery. Take the fleetest horse you can procure; spare neither whip nor spur. Haste to the priory; procure by any means, and at any expense, the assistance of the gipsies. Find out the body; conceal it, destroy it--do what you will, so my son find it not. Fear not his resentment; I will bear you harmless of the consequences with him. You will act upon my responsibility. I pledge my honor for your safety. Use all despatch, and calculate upon due requital from

 "MAUD ROOKWOOD. 

 "Haste, and God speed you!"

"God speed you!" echoed Dick, in his own voice, contemptuously. "Thedevil drive you! would have been a fitter postscript. And it was uponthis precious errand you came, Mr. Coates?"

"Precisely, " replied the attorney; "but I find the premises preoccupied. Fast as I have ridden, you are here before me. "

"And what do you now propose to do?" asked Turpin. 

"Bargain with you for the body, " replied Coates, in an insinuating tone. 

"With _me_!" said Dick; "do you take me for a resurrection cove; for adealer in dead stock, eh! sirrah?"

"I take you for one sufficiently _alive_, in a general way, to his owninterests, " returned Coates. "These gentlemen may not, perhaps, be quiteso scrupulous, when they hear my proposals. "

"Be silent, sir, " interrupted Turpin. "Hist! I hear the tramp of horses'hoofs without. Hark! that shout. "

"Make your own terms before they come, " said Coates. "Leave all to me. I'll put 'em on a wrong scent. "

"To the devil with your terms, " cried Turpin; "the signal!" And hepulled the trigger of one of Coates's pistols, the shot of which rang inthe ears of the astounded attorney as it whizzed past him. "Drag himinto the mouth of the vault, " thundered Turpin: "he will be a capitalcover in case of attack. Look to your sticks, and be on thealert;--away!"

Vainly did the unfortunate attorney kick and struggle, swear and scream;his hat was pushed over his eyes; his bob-wig thrust into his mouth; andhis legs tripped from under him. Thus blind, dumb, and half-suffocated, he was hurried into the entrance of the cell. 

Dick, meanwhile, dashed to the arched outlet of the ruin. He there drewin the rein, and Black Bess stood motionless as a statue. 

_CHAPTER XIV_

_DICK TURPIN_

 Many a fine fellow with a genius extensive enough to have effected universal reformation has been doomed to perish by the halter. But does not such a man's renown extend through centuries and tens of centuries, while many a prince would be overlooked in history were it not the historian's interest to increase the number of his pages? Nay, when the traveller sees a gibbet, does he not exclaim, "That fellow was no fool!" and lament the hardship of the times?--SCHILLER: _The Robbers_. 

Turpin's quick eye ranged over the spreading sward in front of theancient priory, and his brow became contracted. The feeling, however, was transient. The next instant saw him the same easy, reckless being hehad been before. There was a little more paleness in his cheek thanusual; but his look was keener, and his knees involuntarily clasped thesaddle more firmly. No other symptom of anxiety was perceptible. Itwould be no impeachment to Dick's valor were it necessary to admit thata slight tremor crossed him as he scanned the formidable array of hisopponents. The admission is needless. Dick himself would have been thelast man to own it; nor shall we do the memory of our undauntedhighwayman any such injustice. Turpin was intrepid to a fault. He wasrash; apt to run into risks for the mere pleasure of getting out ofthem: danger was his delight, and the degree of excitement was always inproportion to the peril incurred. After the first glance, he became, touse his own expressive phrase, "as cool as a cucumber;" and continued, as long as they permitted him, like a skilful commander, calmly tocalculate the numerical strength of his adversaries, and to arrange hisown plan of resistance. 

This troop of horsemen, for such it was, might probably amount in theaggregate to twenty men, and presented an appearance like that of astrong muster at a rustic fox-chase, due allowance being made for thevarious weapons of offence; to-wit: naked sabers, firelocks, and a worldof huge horse-pistols, which the present _field_ carried along withthem. This resemblance was heightened by the presence of an old huntsmanand a gamekeeper or two, in scarlet and green jackets, and a few yelpinghounds that had followed after them. The majority of the crew consistedof sturdy yeomen; some of whom, mounted upon wild, unbroken colts, hadpretty lives of it to maintain their seats, and curvetted about in "mostadmired disorder;" others were seated upon more docile, but quite asprovoking specimens of the cart-horse breed, whose sluggish sides, reckless alike of hobnailed heel or ash sapling, refused to obey theirriders' intimations to move; while others again, brought stiff, wrong-headed ponies to the charge--obstinate, impracticable littlebrutes, who seemed to prefer revolving on their own axis, and describingabsurd rotatory motions, to proceeding in the direct and proper coursepointed out to them. Dick could scarcely forbear laughing at theseridiculous manœuvres; but his attention was chiefly attracted towardsthree individuals, who were evidently the leaders of this warlikeexpedition. In the thin, tall figure of the first of these he recognizedRanulph Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of thegroup he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied--nor incorrectlyfancied--that his military bearing, or, as he would have expressed it, "the soldier-like cut of his jib, " could belong to no other than MajorMowbray, whom he had once eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In theround, rosy countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio hediscovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel. 

"Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there?" exclaimed Dick, as hedistinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have _one_ friend among them whom Imay welcome. So, they see me now. Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess, back!--slowly, wench, slowly--there--stand!" And Bess again remainedmotionless. 

The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; and as allwere upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself at the gateway, when a loud shout was raised, and the whole cavalcade galloped towardshim, creating, as may be imagined, the wildest disorder; each horsemanyelling, as he neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasionedby the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while oaths andblows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such hearty good-will, that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, or heard of the discordof King Agramante's camp, this _mêlée_ must have struck him as itsrealization. As it was, entertaining little apprehension of the result, he shouted encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremosthorseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling to thedoor, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's head, when awell-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, and horse and manrolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, a second succeeded, and was inlike manner compelled to bite the dust. 

"That will let Old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at hand, "exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot. "

The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. Terrified bythe shots, some of the boors would have drawn back, while others, inmid career, advanced, and propelled them forwards. It was like themeeting of two tides. Here and there, regardless of the bit, and scaredby the firing, a wild colt broke all bounds, and, hurling his rider inthe air, darted off into the green; or, in another case, rushed forward, and encountering the prostrate cattle cumbering the entrance to thepriory hall, stumbled, and precipitated his master neck-over-heels atthe very feet of his enemy. During all this tumult, a few shots werefired at the highwayman, which, without doing him a jot of mischief, tended materially to increase their own confusion. 

The voice of Turpin was now heard above the din and turmoil to sound aparley; and as he appeared disposed to offer no opposition, some of hisantagonists ventured to raise themselves from the ground, and toapproach him. 

"I demand to be led to Sir Ranulph Rookwood, " said Turpin. 

"He is here, " said Ranulph, riding up. "Villain, you are my prisoner. "

"As you list, Sir Ranulph, " returned Dick, coolly; "but let me have aword in private with you ere you do aught you may repent hereafter. "

"No words, sir--deliver up your arms, or----"

"My pistols are at your service, " replied Dick. "I have just dischargedthem. "

"You may have others. We must search you. "

"Hold!" cried Dick; "if you will not listen to me, read that paper. " Andhe handed Ranulph his mother's letter to Mr. Coates. It was without thesuperscription, which he had thrown aside. 

"My mother's hand!" exclaimed Ranulph, reddening with anger, as hehastily perused its contents. "And she sent this to you? You lie, villain--'tis a forgery. "

"Let this speak for me, " returned Dick, holding out the finger uponwhich Lady Rookwood's ring was placed. "Know you that cipher?"

"You have stolen it, " retorted Ranulph. "My mother, " added he, in adeep, stern whisper, articulated only for Turpin's hearing, "would neverhave entrusted her honor to a highwayman's keeping. "

"She has entrusted more--her life, " replied Dick, in a careless tone. "She would have bribed me to do murder. "

"Murder!" echoed Ranulph, aghast. 

"Ay, to murder your brother, " returned Dick; "but let that pass. Youhave read that note. I have acted solely upon your mother'sresponsibility. Lady Rookwood's _honor_ is pledged for my safety. Ofcourse her son will set me free. "

"Never!"

"Well, as you please. Your mother is in my power. Betray me, and youbetray her. "

"No more!" returned Ranulph, sternly. "Go your ways. You are free. "

"Pledge me your word of honor I am safe. " Ranulph had scarcely given hispledge, when Major Mowbray rode furiously up. A deep flush of angerburnt upon his cheeks; his sword was drawn in his hand. He glanced atTurpin, as if he would have felled him from his saddle. 

"This is the ruffian, " cried the major, fiercely, "by whom I wasattacked some months ago, and for whose apprehension the reward of threehundred pounds is offered by his majesty's proclamation, with a freepardon to his accomplices. This is Richard Turpin. He has just addedanother crime to his many offences. He has robbed my mother and sister. The postboy knew him the moment he came up. Where are they, villain?Whither are they gone?--answer!"

"I know not, " replied Turpin, calmly. "Did not the lad tell you theywere rescued?"

"Rescued!--by whom?" asked Ranulph, with great emotion. 

"By one who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood, " answered Turpin, with ameaning smile. 

"By him!" ejaculated Ranulph. "Where are they now?"

"I have already answered that question, " said Dick. "I repeat, I knownot. "

"You are my prisoner, " cried the major, seizing Turpin's bridle. 

"I have Sir Ranulph's word for my safety, " rejoined Turpin. "Let go myrein. "

"How is this?" asked Major Mowbray, incredulously. 

"Ask me not. Release him, " replied Ranulph. 

"Ranulph, " said the major, "you ask an impossibility. My honor--myduty--is implicated in this man's capture. "

"The honor of all of us is involved in his deliverance, " returnedRanulph, in a whisper. "Let him go. I will explain all hereafter. Let ussearch for them--for Eleanor. Surely, after this, you will help us tofind them, " added he, addressing Turpin. 

"I wish, with all my soul, I could do so, " replied the highwayman. 

"I see'd the ladies cross the brook, and enter these old ruins, "interposed the postboy, who had now joined the party. "I see'd 'em fromwhere I stood on the hill-side; and as I kept a pretty sharp look-out, and have a tolerably bright eye of my own, I don't think as how theyever comed out again. "

"Some one is hidden within yon fissure in the wall, " exclaimed Ranulph;"I see a figure move. "

And he flung himself from his horse, rushing towards the mouth of thecell. Imitating his example, Major Mowbray followed his friend, sword inhand. 

"The game begins now in right earnest, " said Dick to himself; "the oldfox will be soon unearthed. I must look to my snappers. " And he thrusthis hand quietly into his pocket in search of a pistol. 

Just as Ranulph and the major reached the recess they were startled bythe sudden apparition of the ill-fated attorney. 

"Mr. Coates!" exclaimed Ranulph, in surprise. "What do you here, sir?"

"I--I--that is--Sir Ranulph--you must excuse me, sir--particularbusiness--can't say, " returned the trembling attorney; for at thisinstant his eye caught that of Turpin, and the ominous reflexion of apolished-steel barrel, held carelessly towards him. He was aware, also, that on the other hand he was, in like manner, the mark of Rust andWilder; those polite gentlemen having threatened him with a brace ofslugs in his brain if he dared to betray their hiding-place. "It isnecessary that I should be _guarded_ in my answers, " murmured he. 

"Is there any one within that place besides yourself?" said the major, making a movement thither. 

"No, sir, nobody at all, " answered Coates, hastily, fancying at the sametime that he heard the click of the pistol that was to be hisdeath-warrant. 

"How came you here, sir?" demanded Ranulph. 

"Do you mean in this identical spot?" replied Coates, evasively. 

"You can have no difficulty in answering that question, " said the major, sternly. 

"Pardon me, sir. I find considerable difficulty in answering anyquestion, situated as I am. "

"Have you seen Miss Mowbray?" asked Ranulph, eagerly. 

"Or my mother?" said the major, in the same breath. 

"Neither, " replied Coates, rather relieved by these questions. 

"I suspect you are deceiving us, sir, " said the major. "Your manner isconfused. I am convinced you know more of this matter than you choose toexplain; and if you do not satisfy me at once, fully and explicitly, Ivow to Heaven----" and the major's sword described a glittering circleround his head. 

"Are you privy to their concealment?" asked Ranulph. "Have you seenaught of them, or of Luke Bradley?"

"Speak, or this moment is your last, " said the major. 

"If it _is_ my last, I _cannot_ speak, " returned Coates. "I can makeneither head nor tail of your questions, gentlemen. "

"And you positively assure me you have not seen Mrs. Mowbray and herdaughter?" said Ranulph. 

Turpin here winked at Coates. The attorney understood him. 

"I don't positively assert that, " faltered he. 

"How!--you _have_ seen them?" shouted Ranulph. 

"Where are they?--in safety--speak!" added the major. 

Another expressive gesture from the highwayman communicated to theattorney the nature of his reply. 

"Without, sir--without--yonder, " he replied. "I will show you myself. Follow, gentlemen, follow. " And away scampered Coates, without onceventuring to look behind him. 

In an instant the ruined hall was deserted, and Turpin alone leftbehind. In the excitement of the moment his presence had been forgotten. In an instant afterwards the _arena_ was again occupied by a companyequally numerous. Rust and Wilder issued from their hiding-places, followed by a throng of the gipsy crew. 

"Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked Turpin. 

"He remains below, " was the answer returned. 

"And Peter Bradley?"

"Stays there likewise. "

"No matter. Now make ready, pals. Give 'em one shout--Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" replied the crowd, at the top of their voices. 

Ranulph Rookwood and his companions heard this shout. Mr. Coates hadalready explained the stratagem practised upon them by the wilyhighwayman, as well as the perilous situation in which he himself hadbeen placed; and they were in the act of returning to make good hiscapture, when the loud shouts of the crew arrested them. From theclamor, it was evident that considerable reinforcement must have arrivedfrom some unlooked-for quarter; and, although burning to be avengedupon the audacious highwayman, the major felt it would be a task ofdifficulty, and that extreme caution could alone ensure success. Withdifficulty restraining the impatience of Ranulph, who could scarcelybrook these few minutes of needful delay, Major Mowbray gave particularinstructions to each of the men in detail, and caused several of them todismount. By this arrangement Mr. Coates found himself accommodated witha steed and a pair of pistols, with which latter he vowed to wreak hisvengeance upon some of his recent tormentors. After a short space oftime occupied in this manner, the troop slowly advanced towards thepostern, in much better order than upon the previous occasion; but thestoutest of them quailed as they caught sight of the numerous gipsy-gangdrawn out in battle array within the abbey walls. Each party scanned theother's movements in silence and wonder, anxiously awaiting, yet in ameasure dreading, their leader's signal to begin. That signal was notlong delayed. A shot from the ranks of Rookwood did instant and bitterexecution. Rob Rust was stretched lifeless upon the ground. Nothing morewas needed. The action now became general. Fire arms were discharged onboth sides, without much damage to either party. But a rush being madeby a detachment of horse, headed by Major Mowbray, the conflict soonbecame more serious. The gipsies, after the first fire, threw asidetheir pistols, and fought with long knives, with which they inflicteddesperate gashes, both on men and horses. Major Mowbray was slightlywounded in the thigh, and his steed receiving the blow intended forhimself, stumbled and threw his rider. Luckily for the major, RanulphRookwood was at hand, and with the butt-end of a heavy-handled pistolfelled the ruffian to the earth, just as he was upon the point ofrepeating the thrust. 

Turpin, meanwhile, had taken comparatively a small share in theconflict. He seemed to content himself with acting upon the defensive, and except in the case of Titus Tyrconnel, whom, espying amidst thecrowd, he had considerably alarmed by sending a bullet through his wig, he did not fire a single shot. He also succeeded in unhorsing Coates, byhurling, with great dexterity, the empty pistol at his head. Thoughapparently unconcerned in the skirmish, he did not flinch from it, butkept his ground unyieldingly. "A charmed life" he seemed to bear; foramid the shower of bullets, many of which were especially aimed athimself, he came off unhurt. 

"He that's born to be hanged will never be drowned, that's certain, "said Titus. "It's no use trying to bring him down. But, by Jasus! he'sspoiled my best hat and wig, anyhow. There's a hole in my beaver as bigas a crown piece. "

"Your own crown's safe, and that's some satisfaction, " said Coates;"whereas mine has a bump on it as large as a swan's egg. Ah! if we couldonly get behind him. "

The strife continued to rage without intermission; and though there werenow several ghastly evidences of its fury, in the shape of wounded menand slaughtered or disabled horses, whose gaping wounds flooded the turfwith gore, it was still difficult to see upon which side victory wouldeventually declare herself. The gipsies, though by far the greatersufferers of the two, firmly maintained their ground. Drenched in theblood of the horses they had wounded, and brandishing their long knives, they presented a formidable and terrific appearance, the effect of whichwas not at all diminished by their wild yells and savage gesticulations. On the other hand, headed by Major Mowbray and Ranulph, the troop ofyeomen pressed on undauntedly; and where the sturdy farmers could get afirm gripe of their lithe antagonists, or deliver a blow with theirox-like fists, they seldom failed to make good the advantages whichsuperior weight and strength gave them. It will thus be seen that as yetthey were pretty well matched. Numbers were in favor of the gipsies, butcourage was equally distributed, and, perhaps, what is emphaticallycalled "bottom, " was in favor of the rustics. Be this as it may, fromwhat had already occurred, there was every prospect of a very serioustermination to the fray. 

From time to time Turpin glanced to the entrance of the cell, in theexpectation of seeing Sir Luke Rookwood make his appearance; and, as hewas constantly disappointed in his expectation, he could not conceal hischagrin. At length he resolved to despatch a messenger to him, and oneof the crew accordingly departed upon this errand. He returned presentlywith a look of blank dismay. 

In our hasty narrative of the fight we have not paused to particularize, neither have we enumerated, the list of the combatants. Amongst them, however, were Jerry Juniper, the knight of Malta, and Zoroaster. Excalibur, as may be conceived, had not been idle; but that trenchantblade had been shivered by Ranulph Rookwood in the early stage of thebusiness, and the knight left weaponless. Zoroaster, who was not merelya worshipper of fire, but a thorough milling-cove, had engaged to somepurpose in a pugilistic encounter with the rustics; and, having foughtseveral rounds, now "bore his blushing honors thick upon him. " Jerry, like Turpin, had remained tolerably quiescent. "The proper moment, " hesaid, "had not arrived. " A fatality seemed to attend Turpin's immediatecompanions. Rust was the first who fell; Wilder also was now among theslain. Things were precisely in this condition when the messengerreturned. A marked change was instantly perceptible in Turpin's manner. He no longer looked on with indifference. He seemed angry anddistrustful. He gnawed his lip, ever a sign with him of vexation. Addressing a few words to those about him, he then spoke more loudly tothe rest of the crew. Being in the jargon of the tawny tribe, his wordswere not intelligible to the opposite party; but their import was soonmade known by the almost instant and total relinquishment of the fieldby the gipsies. They took to their heels at once, to a man, leaving onlya few desperately wounded behind them; and, flying along the intricateruins of the priory, baffled all pursuit, wherever it was attempted. Jerry Juniper was the last in the retreat; but, upon receiving a hintfrom Dick, he vaulted like a roe over the heads of his adversaries, andmade good his escape. Turpin alone remained. He stood like a lion atbay, quietly regarding the huntsmen hurtling around him. RanulphRookwood rode up and bade him surrender. 

"Detain me not, " cried he, in a voice of thunder. "If you would save herwho is dear to you, descend into that vault. Off, I say. "

And Turpin shook away, with ease, the grasp that Ranulph had laid uponhim. 

"Villain! you do not escape me this time, " said Major Mowbray, interposing himself between Turpin and the outlet. 

"Major Mowbray, I would not have your blood upon my head, " said Dick. "Let me pass, " and he levelled a pistol. 

"Fire, if you dare!" said the major, raising his sword. "You pass not. Iwill die rather than allow you to escape. Barricade the door. Strike himdown if he attempts to pass. Richard Turpin, I arrest you in the king'sname. You hear, my lads, in his majesty's name. I command you to assistme in this highwayman's capture. Two hundred pounds for his head. "

"Two hundred devils!" exclaimed Dick, with a laugh of disdain. "Go, seekyour mother and sister within yon vault, Major Mowbray; you will findemployment enough there. "

Saying which, he suddenly forced Bess to back a few yards; then, striking his heels sharply into her sides, ere his purpose could bedivined by the spectators, charged, and cleared the lower part of themouldering priory walls. This feat was apparently accomplished with nogreat effort by his admirable and unequalled mare. 

"By the powers!" cried Titus, "and he's given us the slip after all. Andjust when we thought to make sure of him, too. Why, Mr. Coates, thatwall must be higher than a five-barred gate, or any stone wall in my owncountry. It's just the most extraordinary lepp I ever set eyes on!"

"The devil's in the fellow, certainly, or in his mare, " returned Coates;"but if he escapes me, I'll forgive him. I know whither he's bound. He'soff to London with my bill of exchange. I'll be up with him. I'll trackhim like a bloodhound, slowly and surely, as my father, the thief-taker, used to follow up a scent. Recollect the hare and the tortoise. The raceis not always to the swift. What say you? 'Tis a match for five hundredpounds; nay, for five thousand: for there is a certain marriagecertificate in the way--a glorious golden venture! You shall go halves, if we win. We'll have him, dead or alive. What say you for London, Mr. Tyrconnel? Shall we start at once?"

"With all my sowl, " replied Titus. "I'm with you. " And away this _parnobile_ scoured. 

Ranulph, meantime, plunged into the vault. The floor was slippery, andhe had nigh stumbled. Loud and deep lamentations, and a wailing sound, like that of a lament for the dead, resounded in his ears. A light atthe further extremity of the vault attracted his attention. He wasfilled with terrible forebodings; but the worst reality was not soterrible as suspense. He rushed towards the light. He passed the massivepillars, and there, by the ruddy torch flame, discovered two femalefigures. One was an old woman, fantastically attired, wringing herhands, and moaning, or gibbering wild strains in broken, discordant, yetpathetic tones. The other was Mrs. Mowbray. Both were images of despair. Before them lay some motionless object. He noticed not that old woman;he scarcely saw Mrs. Mowbray; he beheld only that object of horror. Itwas the lifeless body of a female. The light fell imperfectly upon theface; he could not discern the features, but the veil in which it wasswathed: that veil was Eleanor's! He asked no more. 

With a wild cry he rushed forward. "Eleanor, my beloved!" shrieked he. 

Mrs. Mowbray started at his voice, but appeared stunned and helpless. 

"She is dead, " said Ranulph, stooping towards the body. "Dead--dead!"

"Ay, " echoed the old woman, in accents of equal anguish--"dead--dead!"

"But this is _not_ Eleanor, " exclaimed he, as he viewed the featuresmore closely. "This face, though beautiful, is not hers. Thisdishevelled hair is black. The long lashes that shade her cheek are ofthe same hue. She is scarce dead. The hand I clasp is yet warm--thefingers are pliant. "

"Yet she is dead, " said the old woman, in a broken voice, "she isslain. "

"Who hath slain her?" asked Ranulph. 

"I--I--her mother, slew her. "

"You!" exclaimed Ranulph, horror-stricken. "And where is Eleanor?" askedhe. "Was she not here?"

"Better she were here now, even though she were as that poor maid, "groaned Mrs. Mowbray, "than where she is. "

"Where is she, then?" asked Ranulph, with frantic eagerness. 

"Fled. Whither I know not. "

"With whom?"

"With Sir Luke Rookwood--with Alan Rookwood. They have borne her hence. Ranulph, you are too late. "

"Gone!" cried Ranulph, fiercely springing to his feet. "How escapedthey? There appears to be but one entrance to this vault. I will searcheach nook and cranny. "

"'Tis vain, " replied Mrs. Mowbray. "There is another outlet through yoncell. By that passage they escaped. "

"Too true, too true, " shouted Ranulph, who flew to examine the cell. "And wherefore followed you not?"

"The stone rolled to its mouth, and resisted my efforts. I could notfollow. "

"Torture and death! She is lost to me for ever!" cried Ranulph, bitterly. 

"No!" exclaimed Barbara, clutching his arm. "Place your trust in me, andI will find her for you. "

"You!" ejaculated Ranulph. 

"Even I, " replied Barbara. "Your wrongs shall be righted--my Sybil beavenged. "

_BOOK IV_

_THE RIDE TO YORK_

 Then one halloo, boys! one loud cheering halloo! To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true, For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess. 

 RICHARD TURPIN. 

_CHAPTER I_

_THE RENDEZVOUS AT KILBURN_

 _Hind. _ Drink deep, my brave boys, of the bastinado; Of stramazons, tinctures, and slié passatas; Of the carricado, and rare embrocado; Of blades, and rapier-hilts of surest guard; Of the Vincentio and Burgundian ward. Have we not bravely tossed this bombast foil-button? Win gold and wear gold, boys, 'tis we that merit it. 

 _Prince of Prigs' Revels. _

 _An excellent Comedy, replete with various conceits and Tarltonian mirth. _

The present straggling suburb at the north-west of the metropolis, knownas Kilburn, had scarcely been called into existence a century ago, andan ancient hostel, with a few detached farmhouses, were the solehabitations to be found in the present populous vicinage. The place ofrefreshment for the ruralizing cockney of 1737 was a substantial-lookingtenement of the good old stamp, with great bay windows, and a balcony infront, bearing as its ensign the jovial visage of the lusty knight, JackFalstaff. Shaded by a spreading elm, a circular bench embraced the agedtrunk of the tree, sufficiently tempting, no doubt, to incline thewanderer on those dusty ways to "rest and be thankful, " and to cry_encore_ to a frothing tankard of the best ale to be obtained within thechimes of Bow bells. 

Upon a table, green as the privet and holly that formed the walls of thebower in which it was placed, stood a great china bowl, one of thoseleviathan memorials of bygone wassailry which we may sometimesespy--reversed in token of its desuetude--perched on the top of an oldjapanned closet, but seldom, if ever, encountered in its proper positionat the genial board. All the appliances of festivity were at hand. Pipes and rummers strewed the board. Perfume, subtle, yet mellow, as ofpine and lime, exhaled from out the bowl, and, mingling with the scentof a neighboring bed of mignonette and the subdued odor of the Indianweed, formed altogether as delectable an atmosphere of sweets as onecould wish to inhale on a melting August afternoon. So, at least, thought the inmates of the arbor; nor did they by any means confinethemselves to the gratification of a single sense. The ambrosialcontents of the china bowl proved as delicious to the taste as itsbouquet was grateful to the smell; while the eyesight was soothed byreposing on the smooth sward of a bowling-green spread out immediatelybefore it, or in dwelling upon gently undulating meads, terminating, atabout a mile's distance, in the woody, spire-crowned heights ofHampstead. 

At the left of the table was seated, or rather lounged, a slender, elegant-looking young man, with dark, languid eyes, sallow complexion, and features wearing that peculiarly pensive expression oftencommunicated by dissipation; an expression which, we regret to say, issometimes found more pleasing than it ought to be in the eyes of thegentle sex. Habited in a light summer riding-dress, fashioned accordingto the taste of the time, of plain and unpretending material, and ratherunder than overdressed, he had, perhaps, on that very account, perfectlythe air of a gentleman. There was, altogether, an absence of pretensionabout him, which, combined with great apparent self-possession, contrasted very forcibly with the vulgar assurance of his showycompanions. The figure of the youth was slight, even to fragility, giving little outward manifestation of the vigor of frame he in realitypossessed. This spark was a no less distinguished personage than TomKing, a noted high-tobygloak of his time, who obtained, from hisappearance and address, the _sobriquet_ of the "Gentleman Highwayman. "

Tom was indeed a pleasant fellow in his day. His career was brief, butbrilliant: your meteors are ever momentary. He was a younger son of agood family; had good blood in his veins, though not a groat in hispockets. According to the old song--

 When he arrived at man's estate, It was _all the estate_ he had;

and all the estate he was ever likely to have. Nevertheless, if he hadno income, he contrived, as he said, to live as if he had the mines ofPeru at his control--a miracle not solely confined to himself. For amoneyless man, he had rather expensive habits. He kept his three nags;and, if fame does not belie him, a like number of mistresses; nay, if weare to place any faith in certain scandalous chronicles to which we havehad access, he was for some time the favored lover of a celebratedactress, who, for the time, supplied him with the means of keeping uphis showy establishment. But things could not long hold thus. Tom was amodel of infidelity, and that was the only failing his mistress couldnot overlook. She dismissed him at a moment's notice. Unluckily, too, hehad other propensities which contributed to involve him. He had a tastefor the turf--a taste for play--was well known in the hundreds of Drury, and cut no mean figure at Howell's, and the faro tables there-anent. Hewas the glory of the Smyrna, D'Osyndar's, and other chocolate houses ofthe day; and it was at this time he fell into the hands of certaindexterous sharpers, by whom he was at first plucked and subsequentlypatronized. Under their tuition he improved wonderfully. He turned hiswit and talent to some account. He began to open his eyes. His ninedays' blindness was over. The dog saw. But, in spite of his quickness, he was at length discovered, and ejected from Howell's in a manner thatleft him no alternative. He must either have called out his adversary, or have gone out himself. He preferred the latter, and took to the road;and in his new line he was eminently successful. Fortunately, he had noscruples to get over. Tom had what Sir Walter Scott happily denominates"an indistinct notion of _meum_ and _tuum_, " and became confirmed in theopinion that everything he could lay hands upon constituted lawfulspoil. And then, even those he robbed, admitted that he was the mostgentlemanlike highwayman they had ever the fortune to meet with, andtrusted they might always be so lucky. So popular did he become upon theroad, that it was accounted a distinction to be stopped by him; he madea point of robbing none but gentlemen, and--Tom's shade would quarrelwith us were we to omit them--ladies. His acquaintance with Turpin wassingular, and originated in a rencontre. Struck with his appearance, Dick presented a pistol, and bade King deliver. The latter burst into alaugh, and an explanation immediately ensued. Thenceforward they becamesworn brothers--the Pylades and Orestes of the road; and though seldomseen together in public, had many a merry moonlight ride in company. 

Tom still maintained three mistresses, his valet, his groom--tiger, weshould have called him, --"and many a change of clothes besides, " sayshis biographer, "with which he appeared more like a lord than ahighwayman. " And what more, we should like to know, would a lord wish tohave? Few younger sons, we believe, can boast so much; and it is chieflyon their account, with some remote view to the benefit of the unemployedyouth of all professions, that we have enlarged so much upon Tom King'shistory. The road, we must beg to repeat, is still open; the chances aregreater than they ever were; we fully believe it is _their_ only road topreferment, and we are sadly in want of highwaymen!

Fancy Tom lounging at D'Osyndar's, carelessly tapping his boots on thesteps; there he stands! Is he not a devilish good-looking, gentlemanlikesort of fellow? You could never have taken him for a highwayman but forour information. A waiter appears--supper is ordered at twelve--abroiled chicken and a bottle of Burgundy--his groom brings his nags tothe door--he mounts. It is his custom to ride out on an evening--he isless liable to interruption. [93] At Marylebone Fields--now the Regent'sPark, --his groom leaves him. He has a mistress in the neighborhood. Heis absent for a couple of hours, and returns gay or dispirited, as hisluck may have turned out. At twelve he is at supper, and has the nightbefore him. How very easy all this seems. Can it be possible we have noTom Kings?

To return to Tom as he was in the arbor. Judging from his manner, heappeared to be almost insensible to the presence of his companions, andto be scarcely a partaker in their revelry. His back was towards hisimmediate neighbor; his glass sparkled untouched at his elbow; and onehand, beautifully white and small, a mark of his birth andbreeding--_crede_ Byron--rested upon the edge of the table, while histhin, delicate digits, palpably demonstrative of his faculty ofadaptation--_crede_ James Hardy Vaux--were employed with a silvertoothpick. In other respects, he seemed to be lost in reverie, and was, in all probability, meditating new exploits. 

Next to King sat our old friend Jerry Juniper; not, however, the Jerryof the gipsies, but a much more showy-looking personage. Jerry was nolonger a gentleman of "three _outs_"--the difficulty would now have beento say what he was "without. " Snakelike he had cast his slough, andrejoiced in new and brilliant investiture. His were "speaking garments, speaking pockets too. " His linen was of the finest, his hose of thesmartest. Gay rings glittered on his fingers; a crystal snuff-boxunderwent graceful manipulation; a handsome gold repeater was sometimesdrawn from its location with a monstrous bunch of onions--_anglicè_, seals--depending from its massive chain. Lace adorned his wrists, andshoes--of which they had been long unconscious, --with buckles nearly aslarge as themselves, confined his feet. A rich-powdered peruke andsilver-hilted sword completed the gear of the transmogrified Jerry, or, as he now chose to be designated, Count Albert Conyers. The fact was, that Jerry, after the _fracas_, apprehensive that the country would betoo hot for him, had, in company with Zoroaster, quitted the ranks ofthe Canting Crew, and made the best of his way to town. A lucky _spice_on the road set them up; and having some acquaintance with Tom King, theparty, on their arrival, sought him out at his customary haunt, D'Osyndar's, and enlisted under his banners. 

Tom received them with open arms, gave them unlimited use of hiswardrobe, and only required a little trifling assistance in return. Hehad a grand scheme _in petto_, in the execution of which they couldmainly assist him. Jerry was a _Greek_ by nature, and could _land_ aflat as well as the best of them. Zoroaster was just the man to _lose_ afight; or, in the language of the _Fancy_, to _play a cross_. No two_legs_ could serve Tom's purposes better. He welcomed them withfraternal affection. 

We will now proceed to reconnoitre Jerry's opposite neighbor, who was, however, no other than that Upright Man, The Magus Zoroaster, that great name. 

Changed as was Juniper, the Magus was yet more whimsicallymetamorphosed. Some traces of Jerry still remained, but not a vestigewas left of the original Dimber Damber. His tawny mother had not knownher son. This alteration, however, was not owing to change of dress; itwas the result of the punishment he had received at the "_set-to_" atthe priory. Not a feature was in its place; his swollen lip trespassedupon the precincts of his nose; his nose trod hard upon his cheek; whilehis cheek again, not to be behind the rest, rose up like anapple-dumpling under his single eye, --single, we say--for, alas! therewas no speculation in the other. His dexter daylight was utterlydarkened, and, indeed, the orb that remained was as sanguinary aluminary as ever struggled through a London fog at noonday. To borrow acouplet or so from the laureate of the _Fancy_:

 --------One of his peepers was put On the bankruptcy list, with his shop windows shut, While the other made nearly as tag-rag a show, All rimmed round with black like the _Courier_ in woe. 

One black patch decorated his rainbow-colored cheek; another adorned hischin; a grinder having been dislodged, his pipe took possession of theaperture. His toggery was that of a member of the prize-ring; what wenow call a "belcher" bound his throat; a spotted _fogle_ bandaged his_jobbernowl_, and shaded his right peeper, while a white beaver crownedthe occiput of the Magus. And though, at first sight, there would appearto be some incongruity in the association of such a battered characteras the Upright Man with his smart companions, the reader's wonder willrapidly diminish, when he reflects that any distinguished P. C. Man canever find a ready passport to the most exclusive society. Viewed in thislight, Zoroaster's familiarity with his _swell_ acquaintance occasionedno surprise to old Simon Carr, the bottle-nosed landlord of theFalstaff, who was a man of discernment in his way, and knew a thing ortwo. Despite such striking evidences to the contrary, the Magus wasperfectly at his ease, and sacrificing as usual to the god of flame. Hismithra, or pipe, the symbol of his faith, was zealously placed betweenhis lips, and never did his Chaldean, Bactrian, Persian, Pamphylian, Proconnesian, or Babylonian namesake, whichever of the six was the trueZoroaster--_vide_ Bayle, --respire more fervently at the altar of fire, than our Magus at the end of his enkindled tube. In his creed we believeZoroaster was a dualist, and believed in the co-existence and mysticalrelation of the principles of good and ill; his pipe being his Yezdan, or benign influence; his empty pouch his Ahreman, or the devil. We shallnot pause to examine his tenets; we meddle with no man's religiousopinions, and shall leave the Magus to the enjoyment of his ownsentiments, be they what they may. 

One guest alone remains, and him we shall briefly dismiss. The reader, we imagine, will scarcely need to be told who was the owner of thosekeen gray eyes; those exuberant red whiskers; that airy azure frock. Itwas

 Our brave co-partner of the roads. Skilful surveyor of highways and hedges;

in a word--Dick Turpin!

Dick had been called upon to act as president of the board, and anexcellent president he made, sedulously devoting himself to the dueadministration of the punch-bowl. Not a rummer was allowed to standempty for an instant. Toast, sentiment, and anacreontic song, succeededeach other at speedy intervals; but there was no speechifying--nopolitics. He left church and state to take care of themselves. Whateverhis politics might be, Dick never allowed them to interfere with hispleasures. His maxim was to make the most of the passing moment; the_dum vivimus vivamus_ was never out of his mind; a precautionary measurewhich we recommend to the adoption of all gentlemen of the like, or anyother precarious profession. 

Notwithstanding all Dick's efforts to promote conviviality, seconded bythe excellence of the beverage itself, conversation, somehow or other, began to flag; from being general it became particular. Tom King, whowas no punch-bibber, especially at that time of day, fell into a deepreverie; your gamesters often do so; while the Magus, who had smokedhimself drowsy, was composing himself to a doze. Turpin seized thisopportunity of addressing a few words on matters of business to JerryJuniper, or, as he now chose to be called, Count Conyers. 

"My dear count, " said Dick, in a low and confidential tone, "you areaware that my errand to town is accomplished. I have _smashed_ LawyerCoates's _screen_, pocketed the _dimmock_--here 'tis, " continued he, parenthetically, slapping his pockets, --"and done t'other trick in primetwig for Tom King. With a cool thousand in hand, I might, if I chose, rest awhile on my oars. But a quiet life don't suit me. I must bemoving. So I shall start to Yorkshire to-night. "

"Indeed!" said the _soi-disant_ count, in a languid tone--"so soon?"

"I have nothing to detain me, " replied Dick. "And, to tell you thetruth, I want to see how matters stand with Sir Luke Rookwood. I shouldbe sorry if he went to the wall for want of any assistance I can renderhim. "

"True, " returned the count; "one would regret such an occurrence, certainly. But I fear your assistance may arrive a little too late. Heis pretty well done up, I should imagine, by this time. "

"That remains to be seen, " said Turpin. "His case is a bad one, to besure, but I trust not utterly hopeless. With all his impetuosity andpride, I like the fellow, and will help him, if I can. It will be adifficult game to set him on his legs, but I think it may be done. Thatunderground marriage was sheer madness, and turned out as ill as such ascheme might have been expected to do. Poor Sybil! if I could pipe aneye for anything, it should be for her. I can't get her out of my head. Give me a pinch of snuff. Such thoughts unman one. As to the priest, that's a totally different affair. If he strangled his daughter, oldAlan did right to take the law into his own hands, and throttle him inreturn. I'd have done the same thing myself; and, being a proscribedJesuit, returned, as I understand, without the king's license for sodoing, why Father Checkley's murder--if it must be so called, I can'tabide hard terms--won't lie very heavy at Alan's door. That, however, has nothing to do with Sir Luke. He was neither accessory norprincipal. Still he will be in danger, at least from Lady Rookwood. Thewhole county of York, I make no doubt, is up in arms by this time. "

"Then why go thither?" asked the count, somewhat ironically; "for mypart, I've a strange fancy for keeping out of harm's way as long aspossible. "

"Every man to his taste, " returned Turpin; "I love to confront danger. Run away! pshaw! always meet your foe. "

"True, " replied the count, "half-way! but you go the whole distance. What prudent man would beard the lion in his den?"

"I never was a prudent man, " rejoined Dick, smiling; "I have nosuperfluous caution about me. Come what will, I shall try to find outthis Luke Rookwood, and offer him my purse, such as it is, and it is nowbetter lined than usual; a hand free to act as he lists; and a headwhich, imprudent though it be, can often think better for others thanfor its own master. "

"Vastly fine!" exclaimed the count, with an ill-disguised sneer. "I hopeyou don't forget that the marriage certificate which you hold isperfectly valueless now. The estates, you are aware----"

"Are no longer Sir Luke's. I see what you are driving at, count, "returned Dick, coldly. "But he will need it to establish his claim tothe title, and he shall have it. While he was Sir Luke, with tenthousand a year, I drove a hard bargain, and would have stood out forthe last stiver. Now that he is one of '_us_', a mere Knight of theRoad, he shall have it and welcome. "

"Perhaps Lady Rookwood, or Mrs. Mowbray, might be inclined to treat, "maliciously insinuated the count; "the title may be worth something toRanulph. "

"It is worth more to Luke; and if it were _not_, he gets it. Are yousatisfied?"

"Perfectly, " replied the count, with affected _bonhomie_; "and I willnow let you into a secret respecting Miss Mowbray, from which you maygather something for your guidance in this matter; and if the word of awoman is at all to be trusted, though individually I cannot say I havemuch faith in it, Sir Luke's planetary hour is not yet completelyovercast. "

"That's exactly what I wish to know, my dear fellow, " said Turpin, eagerly. "You have already told me you were witness to a singularinterview between Miss Mowbray and Sir Luke after my departure from thepriory. If I mistook you not, the whole business will hinge upon that. What occurred? Let me have every particular. The whole history andmystery. "

"You shall have it with pleasure, " said the count; "and I hope it maytend to your benefit. After I had quitted the scene of action at thepriory, and at your desire left the Rookwood party masters of the field, I fled with the rest of the crew towards the rocks. There we held acouncil of war for a short time. Some were for returning to the fight;but this was negatived entirely, and in the end it was agreed that thosewho had wives, daughters, and sisters, should join them as speedily aspossible at their retreat in the Grange. As I happened to have none ofthese attractive ties, and had only a troublesome mistress, who Ithought could take care of herself, I did not care to follow them, butstruck deeper into the wood, and made my way, guided by destiny, Isuppose, towards the cave. "

"The cave!" cried Dick, rubbing his hands; "I delight in a cave. TomKing and I once had a cave of our own at Epping, and I'll have anotherone of these fine days. A cave is as proper to a high-tobyman as acastle to a baron. Pray go on. "

"The cave I speak of, " continued the count, "was seldom used, exceptupon great emergencies, by any of the Stop Hole Abbey crew. It was asort of retiring den of our old lioness Barbara, and, like allbelonging to her, respected by her dupes. However, the cave is a goodcave for all that; is well concealed by brushwood, and comfortablylighted from a crevice in the rock above; it lies near the brink of thestream, amongst the woods just above the waterfall, and is somewhatdifficult of approach. "

"I know something of the situation, " said Turpin. 

"Well, " returned the count, "not to lose time, into this den I crept, and, expecting to find it vacant, you may imagine my surprise ondiscovering that it was already occupied, and that Sir Luke Rookwood, his granddad, old Alan, Miss Mowbray, and, worst of all, the very personI wished most to avoid, my old flame Handassah, constituted the party. Fortunately, they did not perceive my entrance, and I took especial carenot to introduce myself. Retreat, however, was for the momentimpracticable, and I was compelled to be a listener. I cannot tell whathad passed between the parties before my arrival, but I heard MissMowbray implore Sir Luke to conduct her to her mother. He seemed halfinclined to comply with her entreaties; but old Alan shook his head. Itwas then Handassah put in a word; the minx was ever ready at that. 'Fearnot, ' said she, 'that she will wed Sir Ranulph. Deliver her to herfriends, I beseech you, Sir Luke, and woo her honorably. She will acceptyou. ' Sir Luke stared incredulously, and grim old Alan smiled. 'She hassworn to be yours, ' continued Handassah; 'sworn it by every hope ofheaven, and the oath has been sealed by blood--by Sybil's blood. '--'Doesshe speak the truth?' asked Sir Luke, trembling with agitation. MissMowbray answered not. 'You will not deny it, lady, ' said Handassah. 'Iheard that oath proposed. I saw it registered. You cannot deny it. '--'Ido not, ' replied Miss Mowbray, with much anguish of manner; 'if he claimme, I am his. '--'And he will claim you, ' said Alan Rookwood, triumphantly. 'He has your oath, no matter how extorted--you must fulfilyour vow. '--'I am prepared to do so, ' said Eleanor. 'But if you wouldnot utterly destroy me, let this maid conduct me to my mother, to myfriends. '--'To Ranulph?' asked Sir Luke, bitterly. --'No, no, ' returnedMiss Mowbray, in accents of deepest despair, 'to my mother--I wish notto behold him again. '--'Be it so, ' cried Sir Luke; 'but remember, inlove or hate, you are mine; I shall claim the fulfilment of your oath. Farewell. Handassah will lead you to your mother. ' Miss Mowbray bowedher head, but returned no answer, while, followed by old Alan, Sir Lukedeparted from the cavern. "

"Whither went they?" demanded Turpin. 

"That I know not, " replied Jerry. "I was about to follow, when I wasprevented by the abrupt entrance of another party. Scarcely, I think, could the two Rookwoods have made good their retreat, when shouts wereheard without, and young Ranulph and Major Mowbray forced their way, sword in hand, into the cave. Here was a situation--for _me_, I mean--tothe young lady, I make no doubt, it was pleasant enough. But my neck wasin jeopardy. However, you know I am not deficient in strength, and, uponthe present occasion, I made the best use of the agility with whichnature has endowed me. Amidst the joyous confusion--the sobbings, andembracings, and congratulations that ensued--I contrived, like a wildcat, to climb the rocky sides of the cave, and concealed myself behind ajutting fragment of stone. It was well I did so, for scarcely was Ihidden, when in came old Barbara, followed by Mrs. Mowbray, and a dozenothers. "

"Barbara!" ejaculated Dick. "Was she a prisoner?"

"No, " replied Jerry; "the old hell-cat is too deep for that. She hadbetrayed Sir Luke, and hoped they would seize him and his granddad. Butthe birds were flown. "

"I'm glad she was baulked, " said Dick. "Was any search made after them?"

"Can't say, " replied Jerry. "I could only indistinctly catch the soundsof their voices from my lofty retreat. Before they left the cavern, Imade out that Mrs. Mowbray resolved to go to Rookwood, and to take herdaughter thither--a proceeding to which the latter demurred. "

"To Rookwood, " said Dick, musingly. "Will she keep her oath, I wonder?"

"That's more than I can say, " said Jerry, sipping his punch. "'Tis adeceitful sex!"

"'Tis a deceitful sex, indeed, " echoed Dick, tossing off a tumbler. "Forone Sybil we meet with twenty Handassahs, eh, count?"

"Twenty!--say rather a hundred, " replied Jerry. "'Tis a vile sex. "

_CHAPTER II_

_TOM KING_

 _Grimm. _ How gloriously the sun sets to-night. 

 _Moor. _ When I was a boy, my favorite thought was, that I should live and die like yonder glorious orb. It was a boyish thought. 

 _Grimm. _ True, captain. 

 _The Robbers. _

"Peace, base calumniators, " exclaimed Tom King, aroused from histoothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part of creation. "Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear devoted sex in thehearing of their champion, without pricking a lance with him in theirbehalf. What do you, either of you, who abuse woman in that wholesalestyle, know of her? Nothing--less than nothing; and yet you venture, upon your paltry experience, to lift up your voices and decry the sex. Now I _do_ know her; and upon my own experience avouch, that, as a sex, woman, compared with man, is as an angel to a devil. As a sex, woman isfaithful, loving, self-sacrificing. _We_ 'tis that make her otherwise;_we_, selfish, exacting, neglectful men; we teach her indifference, andthen blame her apt scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blamethe cards. No abuse of women in my hearing. Give me a glass of grog, Dick. 'The sex!--three times three!'--and here's a song for you into thebargain. " Saying which, in a mellow, plaintive tone, Tom gave thefollowing:

 PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN

 Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters, Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free; Toast the sweethearts of DUDLEY, HIND, WILMOT, and WATERS, [94] Whate'er their attraction, whate'er their degree. Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden, Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall; Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen, Bemoaning the fate of the gallant DU-VAL!

 Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one, Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop; And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one, In terms of entreaty _the question_ we pop. How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring; While that _one other_ kiss has brought off a _repeater_, And a bead as a _favor_--the _favorite_ string. 

 With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle, With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts; Life's risk for our _mistress's praise_ is a trifle; And each purse as a _trophy_ our _homage_ attests. Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit, Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex; Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit, And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the WHOLE SEX. 

"Well, " replied Dick, replenishing King's rummer, while he laughedheartily at his ditty, "I shan't refuse your toast, though my heartdon't respond to your sentiments. Ah, Tom! the sex you praise so muchwill, I fear, prove your undoing. Do as you please, but curse me if everI pin my life to a petticoat. I'd as soon think of neglecting the fourcautions. "

"The four cautions, " said King; "what are they?"

"Did you never hear them?" replied Dick. "Attend, then, and be edified. "

 THE FOUR CAUTIONS

 Pay attention to these cautions four, And through life you will need little more, Should you dole out your days to threescore Beware of a pistol before! Before! before! Beware of a pistol before!

 And when backward his ears are inclined, And his tail with his ham is combined, Caution two you will bear in your mind: Beware of a prancer behind! Behind! behind! Beware of a prancer behind!

 Thirdly, when in the park you may ride, On your best bit of blood, sir, astride, Chatting gay to your old friend's young bride: Beware of a coach at the side! At the side! at the side! Beware of a coach at the side!

 Lastly, whether in purple or gray, Canter, ranter, grave, solemn, or gay, Whate'er he may do or may say, Beware of a priest every way! Every way! every way! Beware of a priest every way!

"Well, " said Tom King, "all you can sing or say don't alter my goodopinion of the women. Not a secret have I from the girl of my heart. Shecould have sold me over and over again if she had chosen, but my sweetSue is not the wench to do that. "

"It is not too late, " said Dick. "Your Delilah may yet hand you over tothe Philistines. "

"Then I shall die in a good cause, " said King; "but

 The Tyburn Tree Has no terrors for me, Let better men swing--I'm at liberty. 

I shall never come to the scragging-post, unless you turn topsman, DickTurpin. My nativity has been cast, and the stars have declared I am todie by the hand of my best friend--and that's you--eh? Dick?"

"It sounds like it, " replied Turpin; "but I advise you not to become toointimate with Jack Ketch. He may prove your best friend, after all. "

"Why, faith, that's true, " replied King, laughing; "and if I must ridebackwards up Holborn Hill, I'll do the thing in style, and honest JackKetch shall never want his dues. A man should always die game. We noneof us know how soon our turn may come; but come when it will, _I_ shallnever flinch from it. 

 As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest, So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best; He dies not as other men die, by degrees, But at once! without flinching--and quite at his ease!

as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be ofconsumption. And if the surgeon's knife must come near me, it will beafter death. There's some comfort in that reflection, at all events. "

"True, " replied Turpin, "and, with a little alteration, my song wouldsuit you capitally:

 There is not a king, should you search the world round, So blithe as the king's king, TOM KING, to be found; Dear woman's his empire, each girl is his own, And he'd have a long reign if he'd let 'em alone. 

Ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Tom. "And now, Dick, to change the subject. You areoff, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. 'Pon my soul, you are awonderful fellow--an _alibi_ personified!--here and everywhere at thesame time--no wonder you are called the flying highwayman. To-day intown--to-morrow at York--the day after at Chester. The devil only knowswhere you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumors of youin all counties at the same moment. This man swears you robbed him atHounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; while another avers you monopolizeCheshire and Yorkshire, and that it isn't safe even to _hunt_ withoutpops in your pocket. I heard some devilish good stories of you atD'Osyndar's t'other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought Iwas a brother blade. "

"You flatter me, " said Dick, smiling complacently; "but it's no merit ofmine. Black Bess alone enables me to do it, and hers be the credit. Talking of being everywhere at the same time, you shall hear what sheonce did for me in Cheshire. Meantime, a glass to the best mare inEngland. You won't refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is onlyas true to you as my nag to me, you might set at naught the tightesthempen cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurtyou. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the song. " Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted the following rhymes:

 BLACK BESS

 Let the lover his mistress's beauty rehearse, And laud her attractions in languishing verse; Be it mine in rude strains, but with truth to express, The love that I bear to my bonny Black Bess. 

 From the west was her dam, from the east was her sire, From the one came her swiftness, the other her fire; No peer of the realm better blood can possess Than flows in the veins of my bonny Black Bess. 

 Look! Look! how that eyeball grows bright as a brand! That neck proudly arches, those nostrils expand! Mark! that wide flowing mane! of which each silky tress Might adorn prouder beauties--though none like Black Bess. 

 Mark! that skin sleek as velvet, and dusky as night, With its jet undisfigured by one lock of white; That throat branched with veins, prompt to charge or caress Now is she not beautiful?--bonny Black Bess!

 Over highway and by-way, in rough and smooth weather, Some thousands of miles have we journeyed together; Our couch the same straw, and our meal the same mess No couple more constant than I and Black Bess. 

 By moonlight, in darkness, by night, or by day, Her headlong career there is nothing can stay; She cares not for distance, she knows not distress: Can you show me a courser to match with Black Bess?

"Egad! I should think not, " exclaimed King; "you are as sentimental onthe subject of your mare, as I am when I think of my darling Susan. Butpardon my interruption. Pray proceed. "

"Let me first clear my throat, " returned Dick; "and now to resume:"

 Once it happened in Cheshire, near Dunham, I popped On a horseman alone, whom I speedily stopped; That I lightened his pockets you'll readily guess-- Quick work makes Dick Turpin when mounted on Bess. 

 Now it seems the man knew me; "Dick Turpin, " said he, "You shall swing for this job, as you live, d'ye see;" I laughed at his threats and his vows of redress; I was sure of an _alibi_ then with Black Bess. 

 The road was a hollow, a sunken ravine, [95] Overshadowed completely by wood like a screen; I clambered the bank, and I needs must confess, That one touch of the spur grazed the side of Black Bess. 

 Brake, brook, meadow, and plough'd field, Bess fleetly bestrode, As the crow wings her flight we selected our road; We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes, or less-- My neck it was saved by the speed of Black Bess. 

 Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green, Taking excellent care that by all I am seen; Some remarks on time's flight to the squires I address, But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess. 

 I mention the hour--it was just about four-- Play a rubber at bowls--think the danger is o'er; When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess, Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess. 

 What matter details? Off with triumph I came; He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same; I had robbed him at _four_!--while at four _they_ profess I was quietly bowling--all thanks to Black Bess!

 Then one halloo, boys, one loud cheering halloo! To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true! For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess!

Loud acclamations rewarded Dick's performance. Awakened from his doze, Zoroaster beat time to the melody, the only thing, Jerry said, he wascapable of _beating_ in his present shattered condition. After somelittle persuasion, the Magus was prevailed upon to enliven the companywith a strain, which he trolled forth after a maudlin manner:

 THE DOUBLE CROSS

 Though all of us have heard of _crost_ fights, And certain _gains_, by certain _lost_ fights, I rather fancies that it's news, How in a mill, _both_ men should _lose_; For vere the _odds_ are thus made _even_, It plays the dickens with the _steven_;[96] Besides, against all rule they're sinning, Vere _neither_ has _no_ chance of vinning. _Ri, tol, lol, &c. _

 Two _milling coves_, each vide avake, Vere backed to fight for heavy stake: But in the mean time, so it vos, Both _kids_ agreed to _play a cross_; Bold came each _buffer_[97] to the _scratch_, To make it look a _tightish match_; They _peeled_[98] in style, and bets vere making, 'Tvos six to four, but few vere _taking_. _Ri, tol, lol, &c. _

 Quite cautiously the mill began, For neither knew the other's plan; Each _cull_[99] completely in the _dark_, Of vot might be his neighbor's _mark_; Resolved his _fibbing_[100] not to mind, Nor yet to _pay him back in kind_; So on each other _kept they tout_, [101] And _sparred_ a bit, and _dodged_ about, _Ri, tol, lol, &c. _

 Vith _mawleys_[102] raised, Tom bent his back, As if to _plant_ a heavy thwack: Vile Jem, with neat left-handed _stopper_, Straight threatened Tommy with a _topper_; 'Tis all my eye! no _claret_ flows, No _facers_ sound--no smashing blows-- Five minutes pass, yet not a _hit_, How can it end, pals?--vait a bit. _Ri, tol, lol, &c. _

 Each cove vas _teazed_ with double duty, To please his backers, yet _play booty_;[103] Ven, luckily for Jem, a _teller_ Vos planted right upon his _smeller_; Down dropped he, stunned; ven time vas called, Seconds in vain the _seconds_ bawled; The _mill_ is o'er, the crosser _crost_, The loser's _von_, the vinner's _lost_! _Ri, tol, lol, &c. _

The party assumed once more a lively air, and the glass was circulatedso freely, that at last a final charge drained the ample bowl of itscontents. 

"The best of friends must part, " said Dick; "and I would willingly orderanother whiff of punch, but I think we have all had _enough to satisfyus_, as you milling coves have it, Zory! Your one eye has got a drop init already, old fellow; and, to speak the truth, I must be getting intothe saddle without more delay, for I have a long ride before me. Andnow, friend Jerry, before I start, suppose you tip us one of your merrystaves; we haven't heard your pipe to-day, and never a cross cove of usall can throw off so prime a chant as yourself. A song! a song!"

"Ay, a song!" reiterated King and the Magus. 

"You do me too much honor, gemmen, " said Jerry, modestly, taking a pinchof snuff; "I am sure I shall be most happy. My chants are all of a sort. You must make all due allowances--hem!" And, clearing his throat, heforthwith warbled

 THE MODERN GREEK

 (_Not_ translated from the Romaic. )

 Come, gemmen, name, and make your game, See, round the ball is spinning. Black, red, or blue, the colors view, _Une_, _deux_, _cinque_, 'tis beginning, Then make your game, The color name, While round the ball is spinning. 

 This sleight of hand my _flat_ shall _land_ While _covered_ by my _bonnet_, [104] I _plant_ my ball, and boldly call, Come make your game upon it! Thus rat-a-tat! I land my flat! 'Tis black--not red--is winning. 

 At gay _roulette_ was never met A lance like mine for _bleeding_! I'm ne'er _at fault_, at nothing halt, All other _legs_ preceding. To all awake, I never shake A _mag_[105] unless I nip it. 

 _Blind-hookey_ sees how well I squeeze The _well-packed_ cards in shuffling. Ecarté, whist, I never missed, A nick the _broads_[106] while ruffling. Mogul or loo, The same I do, I am down to trumps as trippet!

 _French hazard_ ta'en, _I nick the main_, Was ne'er so prime a _caster_. No _crabs_ for me, I'm fly, d'ye see; The bank shall change its master. Seven _quatre_, _trois_, The stakes are high! Ten _mains_! ten _mains_ are mine, pals!

 At _Rouge et Noir_, you _hellite_[107] choir I'll make no bones of stripping; One glorious _coup_ for me shall _do_, While they may deal each _pip_ in. _Trente-un-après_ Ne'er clogs my way; The game--the game's divine, pals. 

 At billiards set, I make my bet, I'll _score_ and win the _rub_, pals; I miss my _cue_, my _hazard_, too, But yet my foe I'll drub, pals. That _cannon-twist_, I ne'er had missed, Unless to suit my views, pals. 

 To make all right, the match look _tight_, This trick, you know, is done, pals; But now be gay, I'll _show_ my play-- Hurrah! the game is won, pals. No hand so fine, No wrist like mine, No odds I e'er refuse, pals. 

 Then choose your game; whate'er you name, To me alike all offers; Chic-hazard, whist, whate'er you list, Replenish quick your coffers. Thus, rat-a-tat! I _land_ my _flat_! To every purse I _speak_, pals. 

 _Cramped boxes_ 'ware, all's right and fair, _Barred balls_ I _bar_ when goaded; The deuce an ace is out of place! The deuce a die is _loaded_! Then make your game, Your color name; Success attend the _Greek_, pals. 

"Bravo, Jerry--bravissimo!" chorused the party. 

"And now, pals, farewell!--a long farewell!" said Dick, in a tone oftheatrical valediction. "As I said before, the best friends mustseparate. We may soon meet again, or we now may part forever. We cannotcommand our luck; but we can make the best of the span allotted to us. You have your game to play. I have mine. May each of us meet with thesuccess he deserves. "

"Egad! I hope not, " said King. "I'm afraid, in that case, the chanceswould be against us. "

"Well, then, the success we anticipate, if you prefer it, " rejoinedDick. "I have only to observe one thing more, namely, that I must insistupon standing Sam upon the present occasion. Not a word. I won't hear asyllable. Landlord, I say--what oh!" continued Dick, stepping out of thearbor. "Here, my old Admiral of the White, what's the reckoning?--what'sto pay, I say?"

"Let ye know directly, sir, " replied mine host of the Falstaff. 

"Order my horse--the black mare, " added Dick. 

"And mine, " said King, "the sorrel colt. I'll ride with you a mile ortwo on the road, Dick; perhaps we may stumble upon something. "

"Very likely. "

"We meet at twelve, at D'Osyndar's, Jerry, " said King, "if nothinghappens. "

"Agreed, " responded Juniper. 

"What say you to a rubber at bowls, in the mean time?" said the Magus, taking his everlasting pipe from his lips. 

Jerry nodded acquiescence. And while they went in search of theimplements of the game, Turpin and King sauntered gently on the green. 

It was a delicious evening. The sun was slowly declining, and glowedlike a ball of fire amid the thick foliage of a neighboring elm. Whether, like the robber Moor, Tom King was touched by this glorioussunset, we pretend not to determine. Certain it was that a shade ofinexpressible melancholy passed across his handsome countenance, as hegazed in the direction of Harrow-on-the Hill, which, lying to the westof the green upon which they walked, stood out with its pointed spireand lofty college against the ruddy sky. He spoke not. But Dick noticedthe passing emotion. 

"What ails you, Tom?" said he, with much kindness of manner--"are younot well, lad?"

"Yes, I am well enough, " said King; "I know not what came over me, butlooking at Harrow, I thought of my school days, and what I was _then_, and that bright prospect reminded me of my boyish hopes. "

"Tut--tut, " said Dick, "this is idle--you are a man now. "

"I know I am, " replied Tom, "but I _have_ been a boy. Had I any faith inpresentiments, I should say this is the last sunset I shall ever see. "

"Here comes our host, " said Dick, smiling. "I've no presentiment thatthis is the last bill I shall ever pay. "

The bill was brought and settled. As Turpin paid it, the man's conductwas singular, and awakened his suspicions. 

"Are our horses ready?" asked Dick, quickly. 

"They are, sir, " said the landlord. 

"Let us be gone, " whispered Dick to King; "I don't like this fellow'smanner. I thought I heard a carriage draw up at the inn door justnow--there may be danger. Be fly!" added he to Jerry and the Magus. "Now, sir, " said he to the landlord, "lead the way. Keep on the alert, Tom. "

Dick's hint was not lost upon the two bowlers. They watched theircomrades; and listened intently for any manifestation of alarm. 

_CHAPTER III_

_A SURPRISE_

 Was this well done, Jenny?--_Captain Macheath. _

While Turpin and King are walking across the bowling-green, we will seewhat has taken place outside the inn. Tom's presentiments of danger werenot, it appeared, without foundation. Scarcely had the ostler broughtforth our two highwaymen's steeds, when a post-chaise, escorted by twoor three horsemen, drove furiously up to the door. The sole occupant ofthe carriage was a lady, whose slight and pretty figure was all thatcould be distinguished, her face being closely veiled. The landlord, whowas busied in casting up Turpin's account, rushed forth at the summons. A word or two passed between him and the horsemen, upon which theformer's countenance fell. He posted in the direction of the garden; andthe horsemen instantly dismounted. 

"We have him now, sure enough, " said one of them, a very small man, wholooked, in his boots, like Buckle equipped for the Oaks. 

"By the powers! I begin to think so, " replied the other horseman. "Butdon't spoil all, Mr. Coates, by being too precipitate. "

"Never fear that, Mr. Tyrconnel, " said Coates; for it was the gallantattorney: "he's sure to come for his mare. That's a _trap_ certain tocatch him, eh, Mr. Paterson? With the chief constable of Westminster toback us, the devil's in it if we are not a match for him. "

"And for Tom King, too, " replied the chief constable; "since hisblowen's peached, the game's up with him, too. We've long had an eyeupon him, and now we'll have a finger. He's one of your dashing troutsto whom we always give a long line, but we'll _land_ him this time, anyhow. If you'll look after Dick Turpin, gemmen, I'll make sure ofTom. "

"I'd rather you would help _us_, Mr. Paterson, " said Coates; "never mindTom King; another time will do for him. "

"No such thing, " said Paterson; "one _weighs_ just as much for thatmatter as t'other. I'll take Tom to myself, and surely you two, with thelandlord and ostler, can manage Turpin amongst you. "

"I don't know that, " said Coates, doubtfully; "he's a devil of a fellowto deal with. "

"Take him quietly, " said Paterson. "Draw the chaise out of the way, lad. Take our tits to one side, and place their nags near the door, ostler. Shall you be able to see him, ma'am, where you are?" asked the chiefconstable, walking to the carriage, and touching his hat to the ladywithin. Having received a satisfactory nod from the bonnet and veil, hereturned to his companions. "And now, gemmen, " added he, "let's stepaside a little. Don't use your fire-arms too soon. "

As if conscious of what was passing around her, and of the danger thatawaited her master, Black Bess exhibited so much impatience, and plungedso violently, that it was with difficulty the ostler could hold her. "The devil's in the mare, " said he; "what's the matter with her? She wasquiet enough a few minutes since. Soho! lass, stand. "

Turpin and King, meanwhile, walked quickly through the house, precededby the host, who conducted them, and not without some inwardtrepidation, towards the door. Arrived there, each man rushed swiftly tohis horse. Dick was in the saddle in an instant, and stamping her footon the ostler's leg, Black Bess compelled the man, yelling with pain, toquit his hold of the bridle. Tom King was not equally fortunate. Beforehe could mount his horse, a loud shout was raised, which startled theanimal, and caused him to swerve, so that Tom lost his footing in thestirrup, and fell to the ground. He was instantly seized by Paterson, and a struggle commenced, King endeavoring, but in vain, to draw apistol. 

"Flip him, [108] Dick; fire, or I'm taken, " cried King. "Fire! damn you, why don't you fire?" shouted he, in desperation, still strugglingvehemently with Paterson, who was a strong man, and more than a matchfor a light weight like King. 

"I can't, " cried Dick; "I shall hit you, if I fire. "

"Take your chance, " shouted King. "Is _this_ your friendship?"

Thus urged, Turpin fired. The ball ripped up the sleeve of Paterson'scoat, but did not wound him. 

"Again!" cried King. "Shoot him, I say. Don't you hear me? Fire again!"

Pressed as he was by foes on every side, himself their mark, for bothCoates and Tyrconnel had fired upon him, and were now mounting theirsteeds to give chase, it was impossible that Turpin could take sure aim;added to which, in the struggle, Paterson and King were each momentchanging their relative positions. He, however, would no longerhesitate, but again, at his friend's request, fired. The ball lodgeditself in King's breast! He fell at once. At this instant a shriek washeard from the chaise: the window was thrown open, and her thick veilbeing drawn aside, the features of a very pretty female, now impressedwith terror and contrition, were suddenly exhibited. 

King fixed his glazing eyes upon her. 

"Susan!" sighed he, "is it you that I behold?"

"Yes, yes, 'tis she, sure enough, " said Paterson. "You see, ma'am, whatyou and such like have brought him to. However, you'll lose your reward;he's going fast enough. "

"Reward!" gasped King; "reward! Did she betray me?"

"Ay, ay, sir, " said Paterson, "she blowed the gaff, if it's anyconsolation to you to know it. "

"Consolation!" repeated the dying man; "perfidious!--oh!--theprophecy--my best friend--Turpin--I die by his hand. "

And vainly striving to raise himself, he fell backwards and expired. Alas, poor Tom!

"Mr. Paterson! Mr. Paterson!" cried Coates; "leave the landlord to lookafter the body of that dying ruffian, and mount with us in pursuit ofthe living rascal. Come, sir; quick! mount! despatch! You see he isyonder; he seems to hesitate; we shall have him now. "

"Well, gemmen, I'm ready, " said Paterson; "but how the devil came you tolet him escape?"

"Saint Patrick only knows!" said Titus; "he's as slippery as aneel--and, like a cat, turn him which way you will, he is always sure toalight upon his legs. I wouldn't wonder but we lose him now, after all, though he has such a small start. That mare flies like the wind. "

"He shall have a tight run for it, at all events, " said Paterson, putting spurs into his horse. "I've got a good nag under me, and you areneither of you badly mounted. He's only three hundred yards before us, and the devil's in it if we can't run him down. It's a three hundredpound job, Mr. Coates, and well worth a race. "

"You shall have another hundred from me, sir, if you take him, " saidCoates, urging his steed forward. 

"Thank you, sir, thank you. Follow my directions, and we'll make sure ofhim, " said the constable. "Gently, gently, not so fast up the hill--yousee he's breathing his horse. All in good time, Mr. Coates--all in goodtime, sir. "

And maintaining an equal distance, both parties cantered leisurely upthe ascent now called Windmill Hill. We shall now return to Turpin. 

Aghast at the deed he had accidentally committed, Dick remained for afew moments irresolute; he perceived that King was mortally wounded, andthat all attempts at rescue would be fruitless; he perceived, likewise, that Jerry and the Magus had effected their escape from thebowling-green, as he could detect their figures stealing along thehedge-side. He hesitated no longer. Turning his horse, he gallopedslowly off, little heeding the pursuit with which he was threatened. 

"Every bullet has its billet, " said Dick; "but little did I think that Ireally should turn poor Tom's executioner. To the devil with thisrascally snapper, " cried he, throwing the pistol over the hedge. "Icould never have used it again. 'Tis strange, too, that he should haveforetold his own fate--devilish strange! And then that he should havebeen betrayed by the very blowen he trusted! that's a lesson, if Iwanted any. But trust a woman!--not I, the length of my little finger. "

_CHAPTER IV_

_THE HUE AND CRY_

 Six gentlemen upon the road Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry:

 Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. 

 _John Gilpin. _

Arrived at the brow of the hill, whence such a beautiful view of thecountry surrounding the metropolis is obtained, [109] Turpin turned foran instant to reconnoitre his pursuers. Coates and Titus he utterlydisregarded; but Paterson was a more formidable foe, and he well knewthat he had to deal with a man of experience and resolution. It wasthen, for the first time, that the thoughts of executing hisextraordinary ride to York first flashed across him; his bosom throbbedhigh with rapture, and he involuntarily exclaimed aloud, as he raisedhimself in the saddle, "By God! I will do it!"

He took one last look at the great Babel that lay buried in a world oftrees beneath him; and as his quick eye ranged over the magnificentprospect, lit up by that gorgeous sunset, he could not help thinking ofTom King's last words. "Poor fellow!" thought Dick, "he said truly. Hewill never see another sunset. " Aroused by the approaching clatter ofhis pursuers, Dick struck into a lane which lies on the right of theroad, now called Shoot-up-hill Lane, and set off at a good pace in thedirection of Hampstead. 

"Now, " cried Paterson, "put your tits to it, my boys. We must not losesight of him for a second in these lanes. "

Accordingly, as Turpin was by no means desirous of inconveniencing hismare in this early stage of the business, and as the ground was stillupon an ascent, the parties preserved their relative distances. 

At length, after various twistings and turnings in that deep and deviouslane; after scaring one or two farmers, and riding over a brood or twoof ducks; dipping into the verdant valley of West End, and ascendinganother hill, Turpin burst upon the gorsy, sandy, and beautiful heath ofHampstead. Shaping his course to the left, Dick then made for the lowerpart of the heath, and skirted a path that leads towards North End, passing the furze-crowned summit which is now crested by a clump oflofty pines. 

It was here that the chase first assumed a character of interest. Beingopen ground, the pursued and pursuers were in full view of each other;and as Dick rode swiftly across the heath, with the shouting trio hardat his heels, the scene had a very animated appearance. He crossed thehill--the Hendon Road--passed Crackskull Common--and dashed along thecross road to Highgate. 

Hitherto no advantage had been gained by the pursuers; they had not lostground, but still they had not gained an inch, and much spurring wasrequired to maintain their position. As they approached Highgate, Dickslackened his pace, and the other party redoubled their efforts. Toavoid the town, Dick struck into a narrow path at the right, and rodeeasily down the hill. 

His pursuers were now within a hundred yards, and shouted to him tostand. Pointing to a gate which seemed to bar their further progress, Dick unhesitatingly charged it, clearing it in beautiful style. Not sowith Coates's party; and the time they lost in unfastening the gate, which none of them chose to leap, enabled Dick to put additional spacebetwixt them. It did not, however, appear to be his intention altogetherto outstrip his pursuers: the chase seemed to give him excitement, whichhe was willing to prolong as much as was consistent with his safety. Scudding rapidly past Highgate, like a swift-sailing schooner, withthree lumbering Indiamen in her wake, Dick now took the lead along anarrow lane that threads the fields in the direction of Hornsey. Theshouts of his followers had brought others to join them, and as heneared Crouch End, traversing the lane which takes its name from Du-Val, and in which a house frequented by that gayest of robbers stands, orstood, "A highwayman! a highwayman!" rang in his ears, in a discordantchorus of many voices. 

The whole neighborhood was alarmed by the cries, and by the tramp ofhorses: the men of Hornsey rushed into the road to seize the fugitive, and women held up their babes to catch a glimpse of the flyingcavalcade, which seemed to gain number and animation as it advanced. Suddenly three horsemen appear in the road--they hear the uproar and thedin. "A highwayman! a highwayman!" cry the voices: "stop him, stop him!"But it is no such easy matter. With a pistol in each hand, and hisbridle in his teeth, Turpin passed boldly on. His fierce looks--hisfurious steed--the impetus with which he pressed forward, bore down allbefore him. The horsemen gave way, and only served to swell the list ofhis pursuers. 

"We have him now--we have him now!" cried Paterson, exultingly. "Shoutfor your lives. The turnpike man will hear us. Shout again--again! Thefellow has heard it. The gate is shut. We have him. Ha, ha!"

The old Hornsey toll-bar was a high gate, with chevaux-de-frise on theupper rail. It may be so still. The gate was swung into its lock, and, like a tiger in his lair, the prompt custodian of the turnpike trusts, ensconced within his doorway, held himself in readiness to spring uponthe runaway. But Dick kept steadily on. He coolly calculated the heightof the gate; he looked to the right and to the left--nothing betteroffered; he spoke a few words of encouragement to Bess, gently pattedher neck, then struck his spurs into her sides, and cleared the spikesby an inch. Out rushed the amazed turnpike man, thus unmercifullybilked, and was nearly trampled to death under the feet of Paterson'shorse. 

"Open the gate, fellow, and be expeditious, " shouted the chiefconstable. 

"Not I, " said the man, sturdily, "unless I gets my dues. I've been doneonce already. But strike me stupid if I'm done a second time. "

"Don't you perceive that's a highwayman? Don't you know that I'm chiefconstable of Westminster?" said Paterson, showing his staff. "How dareyou oppose me in the discharge of my duty?"

"That may be, or it may not be, " said the man, doggedly. "But you don'tpass, unless I gets the blunt, and that's the long and short on it. "

Amidst a storm of oaths, Coates flung down a crown piece, and the gatewas thrown open. 

Turpin took advantage of this delay to breathe his mare; and, strikinginto a by-lane at Duckett's Green, cantered easily along in thedirection of Tottenham. Little repose was allowed him. Yelling like apack of hounds in full cry, his pursuers were again at his heels. He hadnow to run the gauntlet of the long straggling town of Tottenham, andvarious were the devices of the populace to entrap him. The whole placewas up in arms, shouting, screaming, running, dancing, and hurling everypossible description of missile at the horse and her rider. Dick merrilyresponded to their clamor as he flew past, and laughed at the brickbatsthat were showered thick as hail, and quite as harmlessly, around him. 

A few more miles' hard riding tired the volunteers, and before the chasereached Edmonton most of them were "_nowhere_. " Here fresh relays weregathered, and a strong field was again mustered. John Gilpin himselfcould not have excited more astonishment amongst the good folks ofEdmonton, than did our highwayman as he galloped through their town. Unlike the men of Tottenham, the mob received him with acclamations, thinking, no doubt, that, like "the citizens of famous London town, " herode for a wager. Presently, however, borne on the wings of the blast, came the cries of "Turpin! Dick Turpin!" and the hurrahs were changed tohootings; but such was the rate at which our highwayman rode, that noserious opposition could be offered to him. 

A man in a donkey-cart, unable to get out of the way, drew himself up inthe middle of the road. Turpin treated him as he had done the _dub_ atthe _knapping jigger_, and cleared the driver and his little wain withease. This was a capital stroke, and well adapted to please themultitude, who are ever taken with a brilliant action. "Hark away, Dick!" resounded on all hands, while hisses were as liberally bestowedupon his pursuers. 

_CHAPTER V_

_THE SHORT PIPE_

 The Peons are capital horsemen, and several times we saw them, at a gallop, throw the rein on the horse's neck, take from one pocket a bag of loose tobacco, and, with a piece of paper, or a leaf of Indian corn, make a cigar, and then take out a flint and steel and light it. 

 HEAD'S _Rough Notes_. 

Away they fly past scattered cottages, swiftly and skimmingly, likeeagles on the wing, along the Enfield highway. All were well mounted, and the horses, now thoroughly warmed, had got into their paces, and didtheir work beautifully. None of Coates's party lost ground, but theymaintained it at the expense of their steeds, which were streaming likewater-carts, while Black Bess had scarcely turned a hair. 

Turpin, the reader already knows, was a crack rider; he was _the_ crackrider of England of his time, and, perhaps, of any time. The craft andmystery of jockeyship was not so well understood in the eighteenth as itis in the nineteenth century; men treated their horses differently, andfew rode them as well as many ride now, when every youngster takes tothe field as naturally as if he had been bred a Guacho. Dick Turpin wasa glorious exception to the rule, and anticipated a later age. He rodewonderfully lightly, yet sat his saddle to perfection, distributing theweight so exquisitely that his horse scarcely felt his pressure; heyielded to every movement made by the animal, and became, as it were, part and parcel of itself; he took care Bess should be neither strainednor wrung. Freely, and as lightly as a feather, was she borne along;beautiful was it to see her action--to watch her style and temper ofcovering the ground; and many a first-rate Meltonian might have got awrinkle from Turpin's seat and conduct. 

We have before stated that it was not Dick's object to _ride away_ fromhis pursuers--he could have done that at any moment. He liked the fun ofthe chase, and would have been sorry to put a period to his ownexcitement. Confident in his mare, he just kept her at such speed asshould put his pursuers completely _to it_, without in the slightestdegree inconveniencing himself. Some judgment of the speed at which theywent may be formed, when we state that little better than an hour hadelapsed and nearly twenty miles had been ridden over. "Not badtravelling that, " methinks we hear the reader exclaim. 

"By the mother that bore me, " said Titus, as they went along in thisslapping style--Titus, by-the-by, rode a big, Roman-nosed, powerfulhorse, well adapted to his weight, but which required a plentifulexercise both of leg and arm to call forth all his action, and keep hisrider alongside his companions--"by the mother that bore me, " said he, almost thumping the wind out of his flea-bitten Bucephalus with hiscalves, after the Irish fashion, "if the fellow isn't lighting his pipe!I saw the sparks fly on each side of him, and there he goes like a smokychimney on a frosty morning! See, he turns his impudent phiz, with thepipe in his mouth! Are we to stand that, Mr. Coates?"

"Wait awhile, sir--wait awhile, " said Coates; "we'll smoke _him_by-and-by. "

Pæans have been sung in honor of the Peons of the Pampas by the_Head_long Sir Francis; but what the gallant major extols so loudly inthe South American horsemen, viz. , the lighting of a cigar when in midcareer, was accomplished with equal ease by our English highwayman ahundred years ago, nor was it esteemed by him any extravagant feateither. Flint, steel, and tinder were bestowed within Dick's amplepouch, the short pipe was at hand, and within a few seconds there was astream of vapor exhaling from his lips, like the smoke from a steamboatshooting down the river, and tracking his still rapid course through theair. 

"I'll let 'em see what I think of 'em!" said Dick, coolly, as he turnedhis head. 

It was now gray twilight. The mists of coming night were weaving a thincurtain over the rich surrounding landscape. All the sounds and hum ofthat delicious hour were heard, broken only by the regular clatter ofthe horses' hoofs. Tired of shouting, the chasers now kept on their wayin deep silence; each man held his breath, and plunged his spurs, roweldeep, into his horse; but the animals were already at the top of theirspeed, and incapable of greater exertion. Paterson, who was a hardrider, and perhaps a thought better mounted, kept the lead. The restfollowed as they might. 

Had it been undisturbed by the rush of the cavalcade, the scene wouldhave been still and soothing. Overhead a cloud of rooks were wingingtheir garrulous flight to the ancestral avenue of an ancient mansion tothe right; the bat was on the wing; the distant lowing of a herd of kinesaluted the ear at intervals; the blithe whistle of the rustic herdsman, and the merry chime of waggon bells, rang pleasantly from afar. Butthese cheerful sounds, which make the still twilight hour delightful, were lost in the tramp of the horsemen, now three abreast. The hind fledto the hedge for shelter, and the waggoner pricked up his ears, andfancied he heard the distant rumbling of an earthquake. 

On rush the pack, whipping, spurring, tugging for very life. Again theygave voice, in hopes the waggoner might succeed in stopping thefugitive. But Dick was already by his side. "Harkee, my tulip, " criedhe, taking the pipe from his mouth as he passed, "tell my friends behindthey will hear of me at York. "

"What did he say?" asked Paterson, coming up the next moment. 

"That you'll find him at York, " replied the waggoner. 

"At York!" echoed Coates, in amaze. 

Turpin was now out of sight, and although our trio flogged with mightand main, they could never catch a glimpse of him until, within a shortdistance of Ware, they beheld him at the door of a little public house, standing with his bridle in his hand, coolly quaffing a tankard of ale. No sooner were they in sight, than Dick vaulted into the saddle, androde off. 

"Devil seize you, sir! why didn't you stop him?" exclaimed Paterson, ashe rode up. "My horse is dead lame. I cannot go any further. Do you knowwhat a prize you have missed? Do you know who that was?"

"No, sir, I don't, " said the publican. "But I know he gave his mare moreale than he took himself, and he has given me a guinea instead of ashilling. He's a regular good 'un. "

"A good 'un!" said Paterson; "it was Turpin, the notorious highwayman. We are in pursuit of him. Have you any horses? our cattle are allblown. "

"You'll find the post-house in the town, gentlemen. I'm sorry I can'taccommodate you. But I keeps no stabling. I wish you a very goodevening, sir. " Saying which, the publican retreated to his domicile. 

"That's a flash crib, I'll be bound, " said Paterson. "I'll chalk youdown, my friend, you may rely upon it. Thus far we're done, Mr. Coates. But curse me if I give it in. I'll follow him to the world's end first. "

"Right, sir--right, " said the attorney. "A very proper spirit, Mr. Constable. You would be guilty of neglecting your duty were you to actotherwise. You must recollect my father, Mr. Paterson--Christopher, orKit Coates; a name as well known at the Old Bailey as Jonathan Wild's. You recollect him--eh?"

"Perfectly well, sir, " replied the chief constable. 

"The greatest thief-taker, though I say it, " continued Coates, "onrecord. I inherit all his zeal--all his ardor. Come along, sir. We shallhave a fine moon in an hour--bright as day. To the post-house! to thepost-house!"

Accordingly to the post-house they went; and, with as little delay ascircumstances admitted, fresh hacks being procured, accompanied by apostilion, the party again pursued their onward course, encouraged tobelieve they were still in the right scent. 

Night had now spread her mantle over the earth; still it was not whollydark. A few stars were twinkling in the deep, cloudless heavens, and apearly radiance in the eastern horizon heralded the rising of the orb ofnight. A gentle breeze was stirring; the dews of evening had alreadyfallen; and the air felt bland and dry. It was just the night one wouldhave chosen for a ride, if one ever rode by choice at such an hour; andto Turpin, whose chief excursions were conducted by night, it appearedlittle less than heavenly. 

Full of ardor and excitement, determined to execute what he had mentallyundertaken, Turpin held on his solitary course. Everything was favorableto his project; the roads were in admirable condition, his mare was inlike order; she was inured to hard work, had rested sufficiently in townto recover from the fatigue of her recent journey, and had never been inmore perfect training. "She has now got her wind in her, " said Dick;"I'll see what she can do--hark away, lass--hark away! I wish they couldsee her now, " added he, as he felt her almost fly away with him. 

Encouraged by her master's voice and hand, Black Bess started forward ata pace which few horses could have equalled, and scarcely any havesustained so long. Even Dick, accustomed as he was to her magnificentaction, felt electrified at the speed with which he was borne along. "Bravo! bravo!" shouted he, "hark away, Bess!"

The deep and solemn woods through which they were rushing rang with hisshouts, and the sharp rattle of Bess's hoofs; and thus he held his way, while, in the words of the ballad, Fled past, on right and left, how fast, Each forest, grove, and bower; On right and left, fled past, how fast, Each city, town, and tower. 

_CHAPTER VI_

_BLACK BESS_

 _Dauphin. _ I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. _Ca, ha!_ He bounds from the earth as if his entrails were hairs; _le cheval volant_, the Pegasus _qui a les narines de feu_! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 

 SHAKESPEARE: _Henry V. , Act III. _

Black Bess being undoubtedly the heroine of the Fourth Book of thisRomance, we may, perhaps, be pardoned for expatiating a little in thisplace upon her birth, parentage, breeding, appearance, and attractions. And first as to her pedigree; for in the horse, unlike the humanspecies, nature has strongly impressed the noble or ignoble caste. He isthe real aristocrat, and the pure blood that flows in the veins of thegallant steed will infallibly be transmitted, if his mate be suitable, throughout all his line. Bess was no _cock-tail_. She was thorough-bred;she boasted blood in every bright and branching vein:

 If blood can give nobility, A noble steed was she; Her sire was blood, and blood her dam, And all her pedigree. 

As to her pedigree. Her sire was a desert Arab, renowned in his day, andbrought to this country by a wealthy traveller; her dam was an Englishracer, coal-black as her child. Bess united all the fire and gentleness, the strength and hardihood, the abstinence and endurance of fatigue ofthe one, with the spirit and extraordinary fleetness of the other. HowTurpin became possessed of her is of little consequence. We never heardthat he paid a heavy price for her; though we doubt if any sum wouldhave induced him to part with her. In color, she was perfectly black, with a skin smooth on the surface as polished jet; not a single whitehair could be detected in her satin coat. In make she was magnificent. Every point was perfect, beautiful, compact; modelled, in little, forstrength and speed. Arched was her neck, as that of the swan; clean andfine were her lower limbs, as those of the gazelle; round and sound as adrum was her carcase, and as broad as a cloth-yard shaft her width ofchest. Hers were the "_pulchræ clunes, breve caput, arduaque cervix_, "of the Roman bard. There was no redundancy of flesh, 'tis true; herflanks might, to please some tastes, have been rounder, and hershoulders fuller; but look at the nerve and sinew, palpable through theveined limbs! She was built more for strength than beauty, and yet she_was_ beautiful. Look at that elegant little head; those thin, taperingears, closely placed together; that broad, snorting nostril, which seemsto snuff the gale with disdain; that eye, glowing and large as thediamond of Giamschid! Is she not beautiful? Behold her paces! howgracefully she moves! She is off!--no eagle on the wing could skim theair more swiftly. Is she not superb? As to her temper, the lamb is notmore gentle. A child might guide her. 

But hark back to Dick Turpin. We left him rattling along in superbstyle, and in the highest possible glee. He could not, in fact, beotherwise than exhilarated; nothing being so wildly intoxicating as amad gallop. We seem to start out of ourselves--to be endued, for thetime, with new energies. Our thoughts take wings rapid as our steed. Wefeel as if his fleetness and boundless impulses were for the moment ourown. We laugh; we exult; we shout for very joy. We cry out withMephistopheles, but in anything but a sardonic mood, "What I enjoy withspirit, is it the less my own on that account? If I can pay for sixhorses, are not their powers mine! I drive along, and am a proper man, as if I had four-and-twenty legs!" These were Turpin's sentimentsprecisely. Give him four legs and a wide plain, and he needed noMephistopheles to bid him ride to perdition as fast as his nag couldcarry him. Away, away!--the road is level, the path is clear. Press on, thou gallant steed, no obstacle is in thy way!--and, lo! the moon breaksforth! Her silvery light is thrown over the woody landscape. Darkshadows are cast athwart the road, and the flying figures of thy riderand thyself are traced, like giant phantoms, in the dust!

Away, away! our breath is gone in keeping up with this tremendous run. Yet Dick Turpin has not lost his wind, for we hear his cheeringcry--hark! he sings. The reader will bear in mind that Oliver means themoon--to "whiddle" is to blab. 

 OLIVER WHIDDLES!

 Oliver whiddles--the tattler old! Telling what best had been left untold. Oliver ne'er was a friend of mine; All glims I hate that so brightly shine. Give me a night black as hell, and then See what I'll show to you, my merry men. 

 Oliver whiddles!--who cares--who cares, If down upon us he peers and stares? Mind him who will, with his great white face, Boldly _I'll_ ride by his glim to the chase; Give him a Rowland, and loudly as ever Shout, as I show myself, "Stand and deliver!"

"Egad, " soliloquized Dick, as he concluded his song, looking up at themoon. "Old Noll's no bad fellow, either. I wouldn't be without his whiteface to-night for a trifle. He's as good as a lamp to guide one, and letBess only hold on as she goes now, and I'll do it with ease. Softly, wench, softly--dost not see it's a hill we're rising. The devil's in themare, she cares for nothing. " And as they ascended the hill, Dick'svoice once more awoke the echoes of night. 

 WILL DAVIES AND DICK TURPIN

 Hodiè mihi, cràs tibi. --SAINT AUGUSTIN. 

 One night, when mounted on my mare, To Bagshot Heath I did repair, And saw Will Davies hanging there, Upon the gibbet bleak and bare, _With a rustified, fustified, mustified air!_

 Within his chains bold Will looked blue, Gone were his sword and snappers too, Which served their master well and true; Says I, "Will Davies, how are you? _With your rustified, fustified, mustified air!_"

 Says he, "Dick Turpin, here I be, Upon the gibbet, as you see; I take the matter easily; _You'll_ have your turn as well as me, _With your whistle-me, pistol-me, cut-my-throat air!_"

 Says I, "That's very true, my lad; Meantime, with pistol and with prad, I'm quite contented as I am, And heed the gibbet not a d--n! _With its rustified, fustified, mustified air!_"

"Poor Will Davies!" sighed Dick; "Bagshot ought never to forgethim. "[110]

 For never more shall Bagshot see A highwayman of such degree, Appearance, and gentility, As Will, who hangs upon the tree, _With his rustified, fustified, mustified air!_

"Well, " mused Turpin, "I suppose one day it will be with me like all therest of 'em, and that I shall dance a long lavolta to the music of thefour whistling winds, as my betters have done before me; but I trust, whenever the chanter-culls and last-speech scribblers get hold of me, they'll at least put no cursed nonsense into my mouth, but make mespeak, as I have ever felt, like a man who never either feared death, orturned his back upon his friend. In the mean time I'll give themsomething to talk about. This ride of mine shall ring in their ears longafter I'm done for--put to bed with a mattock, and tucked up with aspade. 

 And when I am gone, boys, each huntsman shall say, None rode like Dick Turpin, so far in a day. 

And thou, too, brave Bess!--thy name shall be linked with mine, andwe'll go down to posterity together; and what, " added he, despondingly, "if it should be too much for thee? what if----but no matter! Better dienow, while I am with thee, than fall into the knacker's hands. Betterdie with all thy honors upon thy head, than drag out thy old age at thesand-cart. Hark forward, lass--hark forward!"

By what peculiar instinct is it that this noble animal, the horse, willat once perceive the slightest change in his rider's physicaltemperament, and allow himself so to be influenced by it, that, according as his master's spirits fluctuate, will his own energies riseand fall, wavering

 From walk to trot, from canter to full speed?

How is it, we ask of those more intimately acquainted with themetaphysics of the Houyhnhnm than we pretend to be? Do the saddle orthe rein convey, like metallic tractors, vibrations of the spiritbetwixt the two? We know not, but this much is certain, that no servantpartakes so much of the character of his master as the horse. The steedwe are wont to ride becomes a portion of ourselves. He thinks and feelswith us. As we are lively, he is sprightly; as we are depressed, hiscourage droops. In proof of this, let the reader see what horses somemen make--_make_, we say, because in such hands their character iswholly altered. Partaking, in a measure, of the courage and the firmnessof the hand that guides them, and of the resolution of the frame thatsways them--what their rider wills, they do, or strive to do. When thatgoverning power is relaxed, their energies are relaxed likewise; andtheir fine sensibilities supply them with an instant knowledge of thedisposition and capacity of the rider. A gift of the gods is the gallantsteed, which, like any other faculty we possess, to use or to abuse--tocommand or to neglect--rests with ourselves; he is the best general testof our own self-government. 

Black Bess's action amply verified what we have just asserted; forduring Turpin's momentary despondency, her pace was perceptiblydiminished and her force retarded; but as he revived, she ralliedinstantly, and, seized apparently with a kindred enthusiasm, snortedjoyously as she recovered her speed. Now was it that the child of thedesert showed herself the undoubted offspring of the hardy loins fromwhence she sprung. Full fifty miles had she sped, yet she showed nosymptoms of distress. If possible, she appeared fresher than when shestarted. She had breathed; her limbs were suppler; her action was freer, easier, lighter. Her sire, who, upon his trackless wilds, could haveoutstripped the pestilent simoom; and with throat unslaked, and hungerunappeased, could thrice have seen the scorching sun go down, had notgreater powers of endurance. His vigor was her heritage. Her dam, whoupon the velvet sod was of almost unapproachable swiftness, and who hadoften brought her owner golden assurances of her worth, could scarcehave kept pace with her, and would have sunk under a third of herfatigue. But Bess was a paragon. We ne'er shall look upon her likeagain, unless we can prevail upon some Bedouin chief to present us witha brood mare, and then the racing world shall see what a breed we willintroduce into this country. Eclipse, Childers, or Hambletonian, shallbe nothing to our colts, and even the railroad slow travelling, comparedwith the speed of our new nags!

But to return to Bess, or rather to go along with her, for there is nohalting now; we are going at the rate of twenty knots an hour--sailingbefore the wind; and the reader must either keep pace with us, or dropastern. Bess is now in her speed, and Dick happy. Happy! he isenraptured--maddened--furious--intoxicated as with wine. Pshaw! winecould never throw him into such a burning delirium. Its choicest juiceshave no inspiration like this. Its fumes are slow and heady. This isethereal, transporting. His blood spins through his veins; winds roundhis heart; mounts to his brain. Away! away! He is wild with joy. Hall, cot, tree, tower, glade, mead, waste, or woodland, are seen, passed, left behind, and vanish as in a dream. Motion is scarcelyperceptible--it is impetus! volition! The horse and her rider are drivenforward, as it were, by self-accelerated speed. A hamlet is visible inthe moonlight. It is scarcely discovered ere the flints sparkle beneaththe mare's hoofs. A moment's clatter upon the stones, and it is leftbehind. Again it is the silent, smiling country. Now they are buried inthe darkness of woods; now sweeping along on the wide plain; nowclearing the unopened toll-bar; now trampling over the hollow-soundingbridge, their shadows momently reflected in the placid mirror of thestream; now scaling the hill-side a thought more slowly; now plunging, as the horses of Phœbus into the ocean, down its precipitous sides. 

The limits of two shires are already past. They are within the confinesof a third. They have entered the merry county of Huntingdon; they havesurmounted the gentle hill that slips into Godmanchester. They are bythe banks of the rapid Ouse. The bridge is past; and as Turpin rodethrough the deserted streets of Huntingdon, he heard the eleventh hourgiven from the iron tongue of St. Mary's spire. In four hours--it wasabout seven when he started--Dick had accomplished full sixty miles!

A few reeling topers in the streets saw the horseman flit past, and oneor two windows were thrown open; but Peeping Tom of Coventry would havehad small chance of beholding the unveiled beauties of Queen Godiva hadshe ridden at the rate of Dick Turpin. He was gone, like a meteor, almost as soon as he appeared. 

Huntingdon is left behind, and he is once more surrounded by dew-gemmedhedges and silent slumbering trees. Broad meadows, or pasture land, withdrowsy cattle, or low bleating sheep, lie on either side. But what toTurpin, at that moment, is nature, animate or inanimate? He thinks onlyof his mare--his future fame. None are by to see him ride; nostimulating plaudits ring in his ears; no thousand hands are clapping;no thousand voices huzzaing; no handkerchiefs are waved; no necksstrained; no bright eyes rain influence upon him; no eagle orbs watchhis motions; no bells are rung; no cup awaits his achievement; nosweepstakes--no plate. But his will be renown--everlasting renown; hiswill be fame which will not die with him--which will keep hisreputation, albeit a tarnished one, still in the mouths of men. He wantsall these adventitious excitements, but he has that within which is agreater excitement than all these. He is conscious that he is doing adeed to live by. If not riding for _life_, he is riding for_immortality_; and as the hero may perchance feel--for even a highwaymanmay feel like a hero, --when he willingly throws away his existence inthe hope of earning a glorious name, Turpin cared not what might befallhimself, so he could proudly signalize himself as the first of his land, _And witch the world with noble horsemanship!_

What need had he of spectators? The eye of posterity was upon him; hefelt the influence of that Argus glance which has made many a poor wightspur on his Pegasus with not half so good a chance of reaching the goalas Dick Turpin. Multitudes, yet unborn, he knew would hear and laud hisdeeds. He trembled with excitement, and Bess trembled under him. But theemotion was transient. On, on they fly! The torrent leaping from thecrag--the bolt from the bow--the air-cleaving eagle--thoughts themselvesare scarce more winged in their flight!

_CHAPTER VII_

_THE YORK STAGE_

 YORK, FOUR DAYS!--_Stage Coach begins on Friday, the 18th of April, 1706. _ All that are desirous to pass from London to York, or from York to London, or any other place on that road, let them repair to the Black Swan, in Holborn, in London, or to the Black Swan, in Coney Street, in York. At both which places they may be received in a _Stage Coach_, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which performs the journey in four days--if God permits!--and sets forth at five in the morning. And returns from York to Stamford in two days, and from Stamford, by Huntingdon, in two days more. And the like stages in their return. Allowing each passenger fourteen pounds' weight, and all above, three pence per pound. Performed by Benjamin Kingman, Henry Harrison, and Waller Baynes. --_Placard, preserved in the coffee-room, of the Black Swan Inn at York. _

The night had hitherto been balmy and beautiful, with a bright array ofstars, and a golden harvest moon, which seemed to diffuse even warmthwith its radiance; but now Turpin was approaching the region of fog andfen, and he began to feel the influence of that dank atmosphere. Theintersecting dykes, yawners, gullies, or whatever they are called, beganto send forth their steaming vapors, and chilled the soft and wholesomeair, obscuring the void, and in some instances, as it were, choking upthe road itself with vapor. But fog or fen was the same to Bess; herhoofs rattled merrily along the road, and she burst from a cloud, likeEöus at the break of dawn. 

It chanced, as he issued from a fog of this kind, that Turpin burst uponthe York stage coach. It was no uncommon thing for the coach to bestopped; and so furious was the career of our highwayman, that the maninvoluntarily drew up his horses. Turpin had also to draw in the rein, atask of no little difficulty, as charging a huge, lumbering coach, withits full complement of passengers, was more than even Bess couldaccomplish. The moon shone brightly on Turpin and his mare. He wasunmasked, and his features were distinctly visible. An exclamation wasuttered by a gentleman on the box, who, it appeared, instantlyrecognized him. 

"Pull up--draw your horses across the road!" cried the gentleman;"that's Dick Turpin, the highwayman. His capture would be worth threehundred pounds to you, " added he, addressing the coachman, "and is ofequal importance to me. Stand!" shouted he, presenting a cocked pistol. 

This resolution of the gentleman was not apparently agreeable, either tothe coachman or the majority of the passengers--the name of Turpinacting like magic upon them. One man jumped off behind, and was withdifficulty afterwards recovered, having tumbled into a deep ditch at theroadside. An old gentleman with a cotton nightcap, who had popped outhis head to swear at the coachman, drew it suddenly back. A faint screamin a female key issued from within, and there was a considerable hubbubon the roof. Amongst other ominous sounds, the guard was heard to clickhis long horse-pistols. "Stop the York four-day stage!" said he, forcinghis smoky voice through a world of throat-embracing shawl; "the fastestcoach in the kingdom: vos ever such atrocity heard of? I say, Joe, keepthem ere leaders steady; we shall all be in the ditch. Don't you seewhere the hind wheels are? Who--whoop, I say. "

The gentleman on the box now discharged his pistol, and the confusionwithin was redoubled. The white nightcap was popped out like a rabbit'shead, and as quickly popped back on hearing the highwayman's voice. Owing to the plunging of the horses, the gentleman had missed his aim. 

Prepared for such emergencies as the present, and seldom at any timetaken aback, Dick received the fire without flinching. He then lashedthe horses out of his course, and rode up, pistol in hand, to thegentleman who had fired. 

"Major Mowbray, " said he, in a stern tone, "I know you. I meant noteither to assault you or these gentlemen. Yet you have attempted mylife, sir, a second time. But you are now in my power, and by hell! ifyou do not answer the questions I put to you, nothing earthly shall saveyou. "

"If you ask aught I may not answer, fire!" said the major; "I will neverask life from such as you. "

"Have you seen aught of Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked Dick. 

"The villain you mean is not yet secured, " replied the major, "but wehave traces of him. 'Tis with a view of procuring more efficientassistance that I ride to town. "

"They have not met then, since?" said Dick, carelessly. 

"Met! whom do you mean?"

"Your sister and Sir Luke, " said Dick. 

"My sister meet him!" cried the major, angrily--"think you he dares showhimself at Rookwood?"

"Ho! ho!" laughed Dick--"she _is_ at Rookwood, then? A thousand thanks, major. Good night to you, gentlemen. "

"Take that with you, and remember the guard, " cried the fellow, who, unable to take aim from where he sat, had crept along the coach roof, and discharged thence one of his large horse-pistols at what he took tobe the highwayman's head, but which, luckily for Dick, was his hat, which he had raised to salute the passengers. 

"Remember you, " said Dick, coolly replacing his perforated beaver on hisbrow; "you may rely upon it, my fine fellow, I'll not forget you thenext time we meet. "

And off he went like the breath of the whirlwind. 

_CHAPTER VIII_

_ROADSIDE INN_

 _Moor. _ Take my horse, and dash a bottle of wine over him. 'Twas hot work. 

 SCHILLER: _The Robbers_. 

We will now make inquiries after Mr. Coates and his party, of whom bothwe and Dick Turpin have for some time lost sight. With unabated ardorthe vindictive man of law and his myrmidons pressed forward. A tacitcompact seemed to have been entered into between the highwayman and hispursuers, that he was to fly while they were to follow. Likebloodhounds, they kept steadily upon his trail; nor were they so farbehind as Dick imagined. At each post-house they passed they obtainedfresh horses, and, while these were saddling, a postboy was despatched_en courrier_ to order relays at the next station. In this manner theyproceeded after the first stoppage without interruption. Horses were inwaiting for them, as they, "bloody with spurring, fiery hot with haste, "and their jaded hacks arrived. Turpin had been heard or seen in allquarters. Turnpike-men, waggoners, carters, trampers, all had seen him. Besides, strange as it may sound, they placed some faith in his word. York they believed would be his destination. 

At length the coach which Dick had encountered hove in sight. There wasanother stoppage and another hubbub. The old gentleman's nightcap wasagain manifested, and suffered a sudden occultation, as upon the formeroccasion. The postboy, who was in advance, had halted, and given up hishorse to Major Mowbray, who exchanged his seat on the box for one on thesaddle, deeming it more expedient, after his interview with Turpin, toreturn to Rookwood, rather than to proceed to town. The postboy wasplaced behind Coates, as being the lightest weight; and, thusreinforced, the party pushed forward as rapidly as heretofore. 

Eighty and odd miles had now been traversed--the boundary of anothercounty, Northampton, passed; yet no rest nor respite had Dick Turpin orhis unflinching mare enjoyed. But here he deemed it fitting to make abrief halt. 

Bordering the beautiful domains of Burleigh House stood a little retiredhostelry of some antiquity, which bore the great Lord Treasurer's arms. With this house Dick was not altogether unacquainted. The lad who actedas ostler was known to him. It was now midnight, but a bright andbeaming night. To the door of the stable then did he ride, and knockedin a peculiar manner. Reconnoitering Dick through a broken pane of glassin the lintel, and apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, the ladthrust forth a head of hair as full of straw as Mad Tom's is representedto be upon the stage. A chuckle of welcome followed his sleepysalutation. "Glad to see you, Captain Turpin, " said he; "can I doanything for you?"

"Get me a couple of bottles of brandy and a beefsteak, " said Dick. 

"As to the brandy, you can have that in a jiffy--but the steak, Lordlove you, the old ooman won't stand it at this time; but there's a coldround, mayhap a slice of that might do--or a knuckle of ham?"

"A pest on your knuckles, Ralph, " cried Dick; "have you any raw meat inthe house?"

"Raw meat!" echoed Ralph, in surprise. "Oh, yes, there's a rare rump ofbeef. You can have a cut off that, if you like. "

"That's the thing I want, " said Dick, ungirthing his mare. "Give me thescraper. There, I can get a whisp of straw from your head. Now run andget the brandy. Better bring three bottles. Uncork 'em, and let me havehalf a pail of water to mix with the spirit. "

"A pail full of brandy and water to wash down a raw steak! My eyes!"exclaimed Ralph, opening wide his sleepy peepers; adding, as he wentabout the execution of his task, "I always thought them Rum-padders, asthey call themselves, rum fellows, but now I'm sartin sure on it. "

The most sedulous groom could not have bestowed more attention upon thehorse of his heart than Dick Turpin now paid to his mare. He scraped, chafed, and dried her, sounded each muscle, traced each sinew, pulledher ears, examined the state of her feet, and, ascertaining that her"withers were un-wrung, " finally washed her from head to foot in thediluted spirit, not, however, before he had conveyed a thimbleful of theliquid to his own parched throat, and replenished what Falstaff calls a"pocket-pistol, " which he had about him. While Ralph was engaged inrubbing her down after her bath, Dick occupied himself, not in dressingthe raw steak in the manner the stable-boy had anticipated, but inrolling it round the bit of his bridle. 

"She will now go as long as there's breath in her body, " said he, putting the flesh-covered iron within her mouth. 

The saddle being once more replaced, after champing a moment or two atthe bit, Bess began to snort and paw the earth, as if impatient ofdelay; and, acquainted as he was with her indomitable spirit and power, her condition was a surprise even to Dick himself. Her vigor seemedinexhaustible, her vivacity was not a whit diminished, but, as she wasled into the open space, her step became as light and free as when shestarted on her ride, and her sense of sound as quick as ever. Suddenlyshe pricked her ears, and uttered a low neigh. A dull tramp wasaudible. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Dick, springing into his saddle; "they come. "

"Who come, captain?" asked Ralph. 

"The road takes a turn here, don't it?" asked Dick--"sweeps round to theright by the plantations in the hollow?"

"Ay, ay, captain, " answered Ralph; "it's plain you knows the ground. "

"What lies behind yon shed?"

"A stiff fence, captain--a reg'lar rasper. Beyond that a hill-side steepas a house, no oss as was ever shoed can go down it. "

"Indeed!" laughed Dick. 

A loud halloo from Major Mowbray, who seemed advancing upon the wings ofthe wind, told Dick that he was discovered. The major was a superbhorseman, and took the lead of his party. Striking his spurs deeply intohis horse, and giving him bridle enough, the major seemed to shootforward like a shell through the air. The Burleigh Arms retired somehundred yards from the road, the space in front being occupied by a neatgarden, with low, clipped edges. No tall timber intervened between Dickand his pursuers, so that the motions of both parties were visible toeach other. Dick saw in an instant that if he now started he should comeinto collision with the major exactly at the angle of the road, and hewas by no means desirous of hazarding such a rencontre. He lookedwistfully back at the double fence. 

"Come into the stable. Quick, captain, quick!" exclaimed Ralph. 

"The stable!" echoed Dick, hesitating. 

"Ay, the stable; it's your only chance. Don't you see he's turning thecorner, and they are all coming? Quick, sir, quick!"

Dick, lowering his head, rode into the tenement, the door of which wasunceremoniously slapped in the major's face, and bolted on the otherside. 

"Villain!" cried Major Mowbray, thundering at the door, "come forth! Youare now fairly trapped at last--caught like the woodcock in your ownspringe. We have you. Open the door, I say, and save us the trouble offorcing it. You cannot escape us. We will burn the building down but wewill have you. "

"What dun you want, measter?" cried Ralph, from the lintel, whence hereconnoitered the major, and kept the door fast. "You're clean mista'en. There be none here. "

"We'll soon see that, " said Paterson, who had now arrived; and, leapingfrom his horse, the chief constable took a short run to give himselfimpetus, and with his foot burst open the door. This being accomplished, in dashed the major and Paterson, but the stable was vacant. A door wasopen at the back; they rushed to it. The sharply sloping sides of a hillslipped abruptly downwards, within a yard of the door. It was a perilousdescent to the horseman, yet the print of a horse's heels were visiblein the dislodged turf and scattered soil. 

"Confusion!" cried the major, "he has escaped us. "

"He is yonder, " said Paterson, pointing out Turpin moving swiftlythrough the steaming meadow. "See, he makes again for the road--heclears the fence. A regular throw he has given us, by the Lord!"

"Nobly done, by Heaven!" cried the major. "With all his faults, I honorthe fellow's courage and admire his prowess. He's already riddento-night as I believe never man rode before. I would not have venturedto slide down that wall, for it's nothing else, with the enemy at myheels. What say you, gentlemen, have you had enough? Shall we let himgo, or----?"

"As far as chase goes, I don't care if we bring the matter to aconclusion, " said Titus. "I don't think, as it is, that I shall have asate to sit on this week to come. I've lost leather most confoundedly. "

"What says Mr. Coates?" asked Paterson. "I look to him. "

"Then mount, and off, " cried Coates. "Public duty requires that weshould take him. "

"And private pique, " returned the major. "No matter! The end is thesame. Justice shall be satisfied. To your steeds, my merry men all. Hark, and away. "

Once more upon the move, Titus forgot his distress, and addressedhimself to the attorney, by whose side he rode. 

"What place is that we're coming to?" asked he, pointing to a cluster ofmoonlit spires belonging to a town they were rapidly approaching. 

"Stamford, " replied Coates. 

"Stamford!" exclaimed Titus; "by the powers! then we've ridden a matterof ninety miles. Why, the great deeds of Redmond O'Hanlon were nothingto this! I'll remember it to my dying day, and with reason, " added he, uneasily shifting his position on the saddle. 

_CHAPTER IX_

_EXCITEMENT_

 How fled what moonshine faintly showed! How fled what darkness hid! How fled the earth beneath their feet, The heaven above their head. 

 _William and Helen. _

Dick Turpin, meanwhile, held bravely on his course. Bess was neitherstrained by her gliding passage down the slippery hill-side nor shakenby _larking_ the fence in the meadow. As Dick said, "It took a devilishdeal to take it out of her. " On regaining the high road she resumed herold pace, and once more they were distancing Time's swift chariot inits whirling passage o'er the earth. Stamford, and the tongue ofLincoln's fenny shire, upon which it is situated, were passed almost ina breath. Rutland is won and passed, and Lincolnshire once more entered. The road now verged within a bowshot of that sporting Athens--Corinth, perhaps, we should say--Melton Mowbray. Melton was then unknown to fame, but, as if inspired by that _furor venaticus_ which now inspires all whocome within twenty miles of this Charybdis of the chase, Bess here _letout_ in a style with which it would have puzzled the best Leicestershiresquire's best prad to have kept pace. The spirit she imbibed through thepores of her skin, and the juices of the meat she had champed, seemed tohave communicated preternatural excitement to her. Her pace wasabsolutely terrific. Her eyeballs were dilated, and glowed like flamingcarbuncles; while her widely-distended nostril seemed, in the coldmoonshine, to snort forth smoke, as from a hidden fire. Fain wouldTurpin have controlled her; but, without bringing into play all histremendous nerve, no check could be given her headlong course, and foronce, and the only time in her submissive career, Bess resolved to haveher own way--and she had it. Like a sensible fellow, Dick conceded thepoint. There was something even of conjugal philosophy in hisself-communion upon the occasion. "E'en let her take her own way and behanged to her, for an obstinate, self-willed jade as she is, " said he:"now her back is up there'll be no stopping her, I'm sure: she rattlesaway like a woman's tongue, and when that once begins, we all know whatchance the curb has. Best to let her have it out, or rather to lend hera lift. 'Twill be over the sooner. Tantivy, lass! tantivy! I know whichof us will tire first. "

We have before said that the vehement excitement of continued swiftriding produces a paroxysm in the sensorium amounting to delirium. Dick's blood was again on fire. He was first giddy, as after a deepdraught of kindling spirit; this passed off, but the spirit was stillin his veins--the _estro_ was working in his brain. All his ardor, hiseagerness, his fury, returned. He rode like one insane, and his courserpartook of his frenzy. She bounded; she leaped; she tore up the groundbeneath her; while Dick gave vent to his exultation in one wild, prolonged halloo. More than half his race is run. He has triumphed overevery difficulty. He will have no further occasion to halt. Bess carriesher forage along with her. The course is straightforward--success seemscertain--the goal already reached--the path of glory won. Another wildhalloo, to which the echoing woods reply, and away!

Away! away! thou matchless steed! yet brace fast thy sinews--hold, holdthy breath, for, alas! the goal is not yet attained!

 But forward! forward, on they go, High snorts the straining steed, Thick pants the rider's laboring breath, As headlong on they speed!

_CHAPTER X_

_THE GIBBET_

 See there, see there, what yonder swings And creaks 'mid whistling rain, Gibbet and steel--the accursed wheel-- A murderer in his chain. 

 _William and Helen. _

As the eddying currents sweep over its plains in howling, bleakDecember, the horse and her rider passed over what remained ofLincolnshire. Grantham is gone, and they are now more slowly looking upthe ascent of Gonerby Hill, a path well known to Turpin; where often, inbygone nights, many a purse had changed its owner. With that feeling ofindependence and exhilaration which every one feels, we believe, onhaving climbed the hill-side, Turpin turned to gaze around. There wastriumph in his eye. But the triumph was checked as his glance fell upona gibbet near him to the right, on the round point of hill which is alandmark to the wide vale of Belvoir. Pressed as he was for time, Dickimmediately struck out of the road, and approached the spot where itstood. Two scarecrow objects, covered with rags and rusty links ofchains, depended from the tree. A night crow screaming around thecarcases added to the hideous effect of the scene. Nothing but theliving highwayman and his skeleton brethren was visible upon thesolitary spot. Around him was the lonesome waste of hill, o'erlookingthe moonlit valley: beneath his feet, a patch of bare andlightning-blasted sod: above, the wan, declining moon and skies, flakedwith ghostly clouds; before him, the bleached bodies of the murderers, for such they were. 

"Will this be my lot, I marvel?" said Dick, looking upwards, with aninvoluntary shudder. 

"Ay, marry will it, " rejoined a crouching figure, suddenly springingfrom beside a tuft of briars that skirted the blasted ground. 

Dick started in his saddle, while Bess reared and plunged at the sightof this unexpected apparition. 

"What, ho! thou devil's dam, Barbara, is it thou?" exclaimed Dick, reassured upon discovering it was the gipsy queen, and no spectre whomhe beheld. "Stand still, Bess--stand, lass. What dost thou here, motherof darkness? Art gathering mandrakes for thy poisonous messes, orpilfering flesh from the dead? Meddle not with their bones, or I willdrive thee hence. What dost thou here, I say, old dam of the gibbet?"

"I came to die here, " replied Barbara, in a feeble tone; and, throwingback her hood, she displayed features well-nigh as ghastly as those ofthe skeletons above her. 

"Indeed, " replied Dick. "You've made choice of a pleasant spot, it mustbe owned. But you'll not die yet?"

"Do you know whose bodies these are?" asked Barbara, pointing upwards. 

"Two of your race, " replied Dick; "right brethren of the blade. "

"Two of my sons, " returned Barbara; "my twin children. I am come to laymy bones beneath their bones--my sepulchre shall be their sepulchre; mybody shall feed the fowls of the air as theirs have fed them. And ifghosts can walk, we'll scour this heath together. I tell you what, DickTurpin, " said the hag, drawing as near to the highwayman as Bess wouldpermit her; "dead men walk and ride--ay, _ride_!--there's a comfort foryou. I've seen these do it. I have seen them fling off their chains, anddance--ay, dance with me--with their mother. No revels like dead men'srevels, Dick. I shall soon join 'em. "

"You will not lay violent hands upon yourself, mother?" said Dick, withdifficulty mastering his terror. 

"No, " replied Barbara, in an altered tone. "But I will let nature do hertask. Would she could do it more quickly. Such a life as mine won't goout without a long struggle. What have I to live for now? All aregone--she and her child! But what is this to you? You have no child; andif you had, you could not feel like a father. No matter--I rave. Listento me. I have crawled hither to die. 'Tis five days since I beheld you, and during that time food has not passed these lips, nor aught ofmoisture, save Heaven's dew, cooled this parched throat, nor shall theyto the last. That time cannot be far off; and now can you not guess_how_ I mean to die? Begone and leave me; your presence troubles me. Iwould breathe my last breath alone, with none to witness the partingpang. "

"I will not trouble you longer, mother, " said Dick, turning his mare;"nor will I ask your blessing. "

"My blessing!" scornfully ejaculated Barbara. "You shall have it if youwill, but you will find it a curse. Stay! a thought strikes me. Whitherare you going?"

"To seek Sir Luke Rookwood, " replied Dick. "Know you aught of him?"

"Sir Luke Rookwood! You seek him, and would find him?" screamed Barbara. 

"I would, " said Dick. 

"And you _will_ find him, " said Barbara; "and that ere long. I shallne'er again behold him. Would I could. I have a message for him--one oflife and death. Will you convey it to him?"

"I will, " said the highwayman. 

"Swear by those bones to do so, " cried Barbara, pointing with her skinnyfingers to the gibbet; "that you will do my bidding. "

"I swear, " cried Dick. 

"Fail not, or _we_ will haunt thee to thy life's end, " cried Barbara;adding, as she handed a sealed package to the highwayman, "Give this toSir Luke--to him alone. I would have sent it to him by other hands erethis, but my people have deserted me--have pillaged my stores--haverifled me of all save this. Give this, I say, to Sir Luke, with your ownhands. You have sworn it, and will obey. Give it to him, and bid himthink of Sybil as he opens it. But this must not be till Eleanor is inhis power; and she must be present when the seal is broken. It relatesto both. Dare not to tamper with it, or my curse shall pursue you. Thatpacket is guarded with a triple spell, which to you were fatal. Obey me, and my dying breath shall bless thee. "

"Never fear, " said Dick, taking the packet; "I'll not disappoint you, mother, depend upon it. "

"Hence!" cried the crone; and as she watched Dick's figure lesseningupon the Waste, and at length beheld him finally disappear down thehill-side, she sank to the ground, her frail strength being entirelyexhausted. "Body and soul may now part in peace, " gasped she. "All Ilive for is accomplished. " And ere one hour had elapsed, the night crowwas perched upon her still breathing frame. 

Long pondering upon this singular interview, Dick pursued his way. Atlength he thought fit to examine the packet with which the old gipsy hadentrusted him. 

"It feels like a casket, " thought he. "It can't be gold. But then it maybe jewels, though they don't rattle, and it ain't quite heavy enough. What can it be? I should like to know. There is some mystery, that'scertain, about it; but I will not break the seal, not I. As to herspell, that I don't value a rush; but I've sworn to give it to Sir Luke, and deliver her message, and I'll keep my word if I can. He shall haveit. " So saying, he replaced it in his pocket. 

_CHAPTER XI_

_THE PHANTOM STEED_

 I'll speak to thee, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. 

 _Hamlet. _

Time presses. We may not linger in our course. We must fly on before ourflying highwayman. Full forty miles shall we pass over in a breath. Twomore hours have elapsed, and he still urges his headlong career, withheart resolute as ever, and purpose yet unchanged. Fair Newark, and thedashing Trent, "most loved of England's streams, " are gathered to hislaurels. Broad Notts, and its heavy paths and sweeping glades; itswaste--forest no more--of Sherwood past; bold Robin Hood and his merrymen, his Marian and his moonlight rides, recalled, forgotten, leftbehind. Hurrah! hurrah! That wild halloo, that waving arm, thatenlivening shout--what means it? He is once more upon Yorkshire ground;his horse's hoof beats once more the soil of that noble shire. Sotransported was Dick, that he could almost have flung himself from thesaddle to kiss the dust beneath his feet. Thrice fifty miles has he run, nor has the morn yet dawned upon his labors. Hurrah! the end draws nigh;the goal is in view. Halloo! halloo! on!

Bawtrey is past. He takes the lower road by Thorne and Selby. He isskirting the waters of the deep-channelled Don. 

Bess now began to manifest some slight symptoms of distress. There was astrain in the carriage of her throat, a dulness in her eye, a laxity inher ear, and a slight stagger in her gait, which Turpin noticed withapprehension. Still she went on, though not at the same gallant pace asheretofore. But, as the tired bird still battles with the blast upon theocean, as the swimmer still stems the stream, though spent, on went she:nor did Turpin dare to check her, fearing that, if she stopped, shemight lose her force, or, if she fell, she would rise no more. 

It was now that gray and grimly hour ere one flicker of orange or rosehas gemmed the east, and when unwearying Nature herself seems to snatchbrief repose. In the roar of restless cities, this is the only time whentheir strife is hushed. Midnight is awake--alive; the streets ring withlaughter and with rattling wheels. At the third hour, a dead, deepsilence prevails; the loud-voiced streets grow dumb. They are desertedof all, save the few guardians of the night and the skulking robber. Buteven far removed from the haunts of men and hum of towns it is the same. "Nature's best nurse" seems to weigh nature down, and stillness reignsthroughout. Our feelings are, in a great measure, influenced by thehour. Exposed to the raw, crude atmosphere, which has neither thenipping, wholesome shrewdness of morn, nor the profound chillness ofnight, the frame vainly struggles against the dull, miserable sensationsengendered by the damps, and at once communicates them to the spirits. Hope forsakes us. We are weary, exhausted. Our energy is dispirited. Sleep does "not weigh our eyelids down. " We stare upon the vacancy. Weconjure up a thousand restless, disheartening images. We abandonprojects we have formed, and which, viewed through this medium, appearfantastical, chimerical, absurd. We want rest, refreshment, energy. 

We will not say that Turpin had all these misgivings. But he had tostruggle hard with himself to set sleep and exhaustion at defiance. 

The moon had set. The stars, Pinnacled deep in the intense main, had all--save one, the herald of the dawn--withdrawn their luster. Adull mist lay on the stream, and the air became piercing cold. Turpin'schilled fingers could scarcely grasp the slackening rein, while hiseyes, irritated by the keen atmosphere, hardly enabled him todistinguish surrounding objects, or even to guide his steed. It wasowing, probably, to this latter circumstance, that Bess suddenlyfloundered and fell, throwing her master over her head. 

Turpin instantly recovered himself. His first thought was for his horse. But Bess was instantly upon her legs--covered with dust and foam, sidesand cheeks--and with her large eyes glaring wildly, almost piteously, upon her master. 

"Art hurt, lass?" asked Dick, as she shook herself, and slightlyshivered. And he proceeded to the horseman's scrutiny. "Nothing but ashake; though that dull eye--those quivering flanks----" added he, looking earnestly at her. "She won't go much further, and I must give itup--what! give up the race just when it's won? No, that can't be. Ha!well thought on. I've a bottle of liquid, given me by an old fellow, whowas a knowing cove and famous jockey in his day, which he swore wouldmake a horse go as long as he'd a leg to carry him, and bade me keep itfor some great occasion. I've never used it; but I'll try it now. Itshould be in this pocket. Ah! Bess, wench, I fear I'm using thee, afterall, as Sir Luke did his mistress, that I thought so like thee. Nomatter! It will be a glorious end. "

Raising her head upon his shoulder, Dick poured the contents of thebottle down the throat of his mare. Nor had he to wait long before itsinvigorating effects were instantaneous. The fire was kindled in theglassy orb; her crest was once more erected; her flank ceased to quiver;and she neighed loud and joyously. 

"Egad, the old fellow was right, " cried Dick. "The drink has workedwonders. What the devil could it have been? It smells like spirit, "added he, examining the bottle. "I wish I'd left a taste for myself. Buthere's that will do as well. " And he drained his flask of the last dropof brandy. 

Dick's limbs were now become so excessively stiff, that it was withdifficulty he could remount his horse. But this necessary preliminarybeing achieved by the help of a stile, he found no difficulty inresuming his accustomed position upon the saddle. We know not whetherthere was any likeness between our Turpin and that modern Hercules ofthe sporting world, Mr. Osbaldeston. Far be it from us to institute anycomparison, though we cannot help thinking that, in one particular, heresembled that famous "copper-bottomed" squire. This we will leave toour reader's discrimination. Dick bore his fatigues wonderfully. Hesuffered somewhat of that martyrdom which, according to Tom Moore, occurs "to weavers and M. P. 's, from sitting too long;" but again on hiscourser's back, he cared not for anything. 

Once more, at a gallant pace, he traversed the banks of the Don, skirting the fields of flax that bound its sides, and hurried far moreswiftly than its current to its confluence with the Aire. 

Snaith was past. He was on the road to Selby when dawn first began tobreak. Here and there a twitter was heard in the hedge; a hare ranacross his path, gray-looking as the morning self; and the mists beganto rise from the earth. A bar of gold was drawn against the east, likethe roof of a gorgeous palace. But the mists were heavy in this world ofrivers and their tributary streams. The Ouse was before him, the Trentand Aire behind; the Don and Derwent on either hand, all in their way tocommingle their currents ere they formed the giant Humber. Amid a regionso prodigal of water, no wonder the dews fell thick as rain. Here andthere the ground was clear; but then again came a volley of vapor, dimand palpable as smoke. 

While involved in one of these fogs, Turpin became aware of anotherhorseman by his side. It was impossible to discern the features of therider, but his figure in the mist seemed gigantic; neither was the colorof his steed distinguishable. Nothing was visible except themeagre-looking, phantom-like outline of a horse and his rider, and, asthe unknown rode upon the turf that edged the way, even the sound of thehorse's hoofs was scarcely audible. Turpin gazed, not withoutsuperstitious awe. Once or twice he essayed to address the strangehorseman, but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. He fancied hediscovered in the mist-exaggerated lineaments of the stranger a wild andfantastic resemblance to his friend Tom King. "It must be Tom, " thoughtTurpin; "he is come to warn me of my approaching end. I will speak tohim. "

But terror o'ermastered his speech. He could not force out a word, andthus side by side they rode in silence. Quaking with fears he wouldscarcely acknowledge to himself, Dick watched every motion of hiscompanion. He was still, stern, spectre-like, erect; and looked for allthe world like a demon on his phantom steed. His courser seemed, in theindistinct outline, to be huge and bony, and, as he snorted furiouslyin the fog, Dick's heated imagination supplied his breath with a dueproportion of flame. Not a word was spoken--not a sound heard, save thesullen dead beat of his hoofs upon the grass. It was intolerable to ridethus cheek by jowl with a goblin. Dick could stand it no longer. He putspurs to his horse, and endeavored to escape. But it might not be. Thestranger, apparently without effort, was still by his side, and Bess'sfeet, in her master's apprehensions, were nailed to the ground. By-and-by, however, the atmosphere became clearer. Bright quiveringbeams burst through the vaporous shroud, and then it was that Dickdiscovered that the apparition of Tom King was no other than LukeRookwood. He was mounted on his old horse, Rook, and looked grim andhaggard as a ghost vanishing at the crowing of the cock. 

"Sir Luke Rookwood, by this light!" exclaimed Dick, in astonishment. "Why, I took you for----"

"The devil, no doubt?" returned Luke, smiling sternly, "and were sorryto find yourself so hard pressed. Don't disquiet yourself; I am stillflesh and blood. "

"Had I taken you for one of mortal mould, " said Dick, "you should havesoon seen where I'd have put you in the race. That confounded fogdeceived me, and Bess acted the fool as well as myself. However, now Iknow you, Sir Luke, you must spur alongside, for the hawks are on thewing; and though I've much to say, I've not a second to lose. " And Dickbriefly detailed the particulars of his ride, concluding with hisrencontre with Barbara. "Here's the packet, " said he, "just as I got it. You must keep it till the proper moment. And here, " added he, fumblingin his pocket for another paper, "is the marriage document. You are nowyour father's lawful son, let who will say you nay. Take it and welcome. If you are ever master of Miss Mowbray's hand, you will not forget DickTurpin. "

"I will not, " said Luke, eagerly grasping the certificate; "but shenever may be mine. "

"You have her oath?"

"I have. "

"What more is needed?"

"Her hand. "

"That will follow. "

"It _shall_ follow, " replied Sir Luke, wildly. "You are right. She is myaffianced bride--affianced before hell, if not before heaven. I havesealed the contract with blood--with Sybil's blood--and it shall befulfilled. I have her oath--her oath--ha, ha! Though I perish in theattempt, I will wrest her from Ranulph's grasp. She shall never be his. I would stab her first. Twice have I failed in my endeavors to bear heroff. I am from Rookwood even now. To-morrow night I shall renew theattack. Will you assist me?"

"To-morrow night!" interrupted Dick. 

"Nay, I should say to-night. A new day has already dawned, " repliedLuke. 

"I will: she is at Rookwood?"

"She languishes there at present, attended by her mother and her lover. The hall is watched and guarded. Ranulph is ever on the alert. But wewill storm their garrison. I have a spy within its walls--a gipsy girl, faithful to my interests. From her I have learnt that there is a plot towed Eleanor to Ranulph, and that the marriage is to take place privatelyto-morrow. This must be prevented. "

"It must. But why not boldly appear in person at the hall, and claimher?"

"Why not? I am a proscribed felon. A price is set upon my head. I amhunted through the country--driven to concealment, and dare not showmyself for fear of capture. What could I do now? They would load me withfetters, bury me in a dungeon, and wed Eleanor to Ranulph. What would myrights avail? What would her oath signify to them? No; she must be mineby force. _His_ she shall never be. Again, I ask you, will you aid me?"

"I have said--I will. Where is Alan Rookwood?"

"Concealed within the hut on Thorne Waste. You know it--it was one ofyour haunts. "

"I know it well, " said Dick, "and Conkey Jem, its keeper, into thebargain: he is a knowing file. I'll join you at the hut at midnight, ifall goes well. We'll bring off the wench, in spite of them all--just thething I like. But in case of a break-down on my part, suppose you takecharge of my purse in the mean time. "

Luke would have declined this offer. 

"Pshaw!" said Dick. "Who knows what may happen? and it's not ill-linedeither. You'll find an odd hundred or so in that silken bag--it's notoften your highwayman gives away a purse. Take it, man--we'll settle allto-night; and if I don't come, keep it--it will help you to your bride. And now off with you to the hut, for you are only hindering me. Adieu!My love to old Alan. We'll do the trick to-night. Away with you to thehut. Keep yourself snug there till midnight, and we'll ride over toRookwood. "

"At midnight, " replied Sir Luke, wheeling off, "I shall expect you. "

"'Ware hawks!" hallooed Dick. 

But Luke had vanished. In another instant Dick was scouring the plain asrapidly as ever. In the mean time, as Dick has casually alluded to thehawks, it may not be amiss to inquire how they had flown throughout thenight, and whether they were still in chase of their quarry. 

With the exception of Titus, who was completely done up at Grantham, "having got, " as he said, "a complete bellyful of it, " they were stillon the wing, and resolved sooner or later to pounce upon their prey, pursuing the same system as heretofore in regard to the post-horses. Major Mowbray and Paterson took the lead, but the irascible andinvincible attorney was not far in their rear, his wrath having been byno means allayed by the fatigue he had undergone. At Bawtrey they helda council of war for a few minutes, being doubtful which course he hadtaken. Their incertitude was relieved by a foot traveller, who had heardDick's loud halloo on passing the boundary of Nottinghamshire, and hadseen him take the lower road. They struck, therefore, into the path atThorne at a hazard, and were soon satisfied they were right. Furiouslydid they now spur on. They reached Selby, changed horses at the inn infront of the venerable cathedral church, and learnt from the postboythat a toilworn horseman, on a jaded steed, had ridden through the townabout five minutes before them, and could not be more than a quarter ofa mile in advance. "His horse was so dead beat, " said the lad, "that I'msure he cannot have got far; and, if you look sharp, I'll be boundyou'll overtake him before he reaches Cawood Ferry. "

Mr. Coates was transported. "We'll lodge him snug in York Castle beforean hour, Paterson, " cried he, rubbing his hands. 

"I hope so, sir, " said the chief constable, "but I begin to have somequalms. "

"Now, gentlemen, " shouted the postboy, "come along. I'll soon bring youto him. "

_CHAPTER XII_

_CAWOOD FERRY_

 The sight renewed my courser's feet, A moment, staggering feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, He answered, and then fell. With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immovable, -- His first, and last career was done. 

 _Mazeppa. _

The sun had just o'ertopped the "high eastern hill, " as Turpin reachedthe Ferry of Cawood, and his beams were reflected upon the deep andsluggish waters of the Ouse. Wearily had he dragged his coursethither--wearily and slow. The powers of his gallant steed were spent, and he could scarcely keep her from sinking. It was now midway 'twixtthe hours of five and six. Nine miles only lay before him, and thatthought again revived him. He reached the water's edge, and hailed theferryboat, which was then on the other side of the river. At thatinstant a loud shout smote his ear; it was the halloo of his pursuers. Despair was in his look. He shouted to the boatman, and bade him pullfast. The man obeyed; but he had to breast a strong stream, and had alazy bark and heavy sculls to contend with. He had scarcely left theshore when, another shout was raised from the pursuers. The tramp oftheir steeds grew louder and louder. 

The boat had scarcely reached the middle of the stream. His captors wereat hand. Quietly did he walk down the bank, and as cautiously enter thewater. There was a plunge, and steed and rider were swimming down theriver. 

Major Mowbray was at the brink of the stream. He hesitated an instant, and stemmed the tide. Seized, as it were, by a mania for equestriandistinction, Mr. Coates braved the torrent. Not so Paterson. He verycoolly took out his bulldogs, and, watching Turpin, cast up in his ownmind the _pros_ and _cons_ of shooting him as he was crossing. "I couldcertainly hit him, " thought, or said, the constable; "but what of that?A dead highwayman is worth nothing--alive, he _weighs_ 300_l_. I won'tshoot him, but I'll make a pretence. " And he fired accordingly. 

The shot skimmed over the water, but did not, as it was intended, domuch mischief. It, however, occasioned a mishap, which had nearly provedfatal to our aquatic attorney. Alarmed at the report of the pistol, inthe nervous agitation of the moment Coates drew in his rein so tightlythat his steed instantly sank. A moment or two afterwards he rose, shaking his ears, and floundering heavily towards the shore; and suchwas the chilling effect of this sudden immersion, that Mr. Coates nowthought much more of saving himself than of capturing Turpin. Dick, meanwhile, had reached the opposite bank, and, refreshed by her bath, Bess scrambled up the sides of the stream, and speedily regained theroad. "I shall do it yet, " shouted Dick; "that stream has saved her. Hark away, lass! Hark away!"

Bess heard the cheering cry, and she answered to the call. She rousedall her energies; strained every sinew, and put forth all her remainingstrength. Once more, on wings of swiftness, she bore him away from hispursuers, and Major Mowbray, who had now gained the shore, and madecertain of securing him, beheld him spring, like a wounded hare, frombeneath his very hand. 

"It cannot hold out, " said the major; "it is but an expiring flash; thatgallant steed must soon drop. "

"She be regularly booked, that's certain, " said the postboy. 

"We shall find her on the road. "

Contrary to all expectation, however, Bess held on, and set pursuit atdefiance. Her pace was swift as when she started. But it wasunconscious and mechanical action. It wanted the ease, the lightness, the life of her former riding. She seemed screwed up to a task which shemust execute. There was no flogging, no gory heel; but the heart wasthrobbing, tugging at the sides within. Her spirit spurred her onwards. Her eye was glazing; her chest heaving; her flank quivering; her crestagain fallen. Yet she held on. "She is dying!" said Dick. "I feelit----" No, she held on. 

Fulford is past. The towers and pinnacles of York burst upon him in allthe freshness, the beauty, and the glory of a bright, clear, autumnalmorn. The ancient city seemed to smile a welcome--a greeting. The nobleMinster and its serene and massive pinnacles, crocketed, lantern-like, and beautiful; St. Mary's lofty spire, All-Hallows Tower, the massivemouldering walls of the adjacent postern, the grim castle, andClifford's neighboring keep--all beamed upon him, like a bright-eyedface, that laughs out openly. 

"It is done--it is won, " cried Dick. "Hurrah! hurrah!" And the sunny airwas cleft with his shouts. 

Bess was not insensible to her master's exultation. She neighed feeblyin answer to his call, and reeled forwards. It was a piteous sight tosee her, --to mark her staring, protruding eyeball, --her shaking flanks;but, while life and limb held together, she held on. 

Another mile is past. York is near. 

"Hurrah!" shouted Dick; but his voice was hushed. Bess tottered--fell. There was a dreadful gasp--a parting moan--a snort; her eye gazed, foran instant, upon her master, with a dying glare; then grew glassy, rayless, fixed. A shiver ran through her frame. Her heart had burst. 

Dick's eyes were blinded, as with rain. His triumph, though achieved, was forgotten--his own safety was disregarded. He stood weeping andswearing, like one beside himself. 

"And art thou gone, Bess?" cried he, in a voice of agony, lifting up hiscourser's head, and kissing her lips, covered with blood-flecked foam. "Gone, gone! and I have killed the best steed that was ever crossed! Andfor what?" added Dick, beating his brow with his clenched hand--"forwhat? for what?"

At this moment the deep bell of the Minster clock tolled out the hour ofsix. 

"I am answered, " gasped Dick; "_it was to hear those strokes_. "

Turpin was roused from the state of stupefaction into which he hadfallen by a smart slap on the shoulder. Recalled to himself by the blow, he started at once to his feet, while his hands sought his pistols: buthe was spared the necessity of using them, by discovering in theintruder the bearded visage of the gipsy Balthazar. The patrico washabited in mendicant weeds, and sustained a large wallet upon hisshoulders. 

"So it's all over with the best mare in England, I see, " said Balthazar;"I can guess how it has happened--you are pursued?"

"I am, " said Dick, roughly. 

"Your pursuers are at hand?"

"Within a few hundred yards. "

"Then, why stay here? Fly while you can. "

"Never--never, " cried Turpin; "I'll fight it out here by Bess's side. Poor lass! I've killed her--but she has done it--ha, ha!--we havewon--what?" And his utterance was again choked. 

"Hark! I hear the tramp of horse, and shouts, " cried the patrico. "Takethis wallet. You will find a change of dress within it. Dart into thatthick copse--save yourself. "

"But Bess--I cannot leave her, " exclaimed Dick, with an agonizing lookat his horse. 

"And what did Bess die for, but to save you?" rejoined the patrico. 

"True, true, " said Dick; "but take care of her, don't let those dogs ofhell meddle with her carcase. "

"Away, " cried the patrico, "leave Bess to me. "

Possessing himself of the wallet, Dick disappeared in the adjoiningcopse. 

He had not been gone many seconds when Major Mowbray rode up. 

"Who is this?" exclaimed the Major, flinging himself from his horse, andseizing the patrico; "this is not Turpin. "

"Certainly not, " replied Balthazar, coolly. "I am not exactly the figurefor a highwayman. "

"Where is he? What has become of him?" asked Coates, in despair, as heand Paterson joined the major. 

"Escaped, I fear, " replied the major. "Have you seen any one, fellow?"added he, addressing the patrico. 

"I have seen no one, " replied Balthazar. "I am only this instantarrived. This dead horse lying in the road attracted my attention. "

"Ha!" exclaimed Paterson, leaping from his steed, "this may be Turpinafter all. He has as many disguises as the devil himself, and may havecarried that goat's hair in his pocket. " Saying which, he seized thepatrico by the beard, and shook it with as little reverence as the Gaulhandled the hirsute chin of the Roman senator. 

"The devil! hands off, " roared Balthazar. "By Salamon, I won't standsuch usage. Do you think a beard like mine is the growth of a fewminutes? Hands off! I say. "

"Regularly done!" said Paterson, removing his hold of the patrico'schin, and looking as blank as a cartridge. 

"Ay, " exclaimed Coates; "all owing to this worthless piece of carrion. If it were not that I hope to see him dangling from thosewalls"--pointing towards the Castle--"I should wish her master were byher side now. To the dogs with her. " And he was about to spurn thebreathless carcase of poor Bess, when a sudden blow, dealt by thepatrico's staff, felled him to the ground. 

"I'll teach you to molest me, " said Balthazar, about to attack Paterson. 

"Come, come, " said the discomfited chief constable, "no more of this. It's plain we're in the wrong box. Every bone in my body achessufficiently without the aid of your cudgel, old fellow. Come, Mr. Coates, take my arm, and let's be moving. We've had an infernal longride for nothing. "

"Not so, " replied Coates; "I've paid pretty dearly for it. However, letus see if we can get any breakfast at the Bowling-green, yonder; thoughI've already had my morning draught, " added the facetious man of law, looking at his dripping apparel. 

"Poor Black Bess!" said Major Mowbray, wistfully regarding the body ofthe mare, as it lay stretched at his feet. "Thou deservedst a betterfate, and a better master. In thee, Dick Turpin has lost his bestfriend. His exploits will, henceforth, want the coloring of romance, which thy unfailing energies threw over them. Light lie the ground overthee, thou matchless mare!"

To the Bowling-green the party proceeded, leaving the patrico inundisturbed possession of the lifeless body of Black Bess. Major Mowbrayordered a substantial repast to be prepared with all possibleexpedition. 

A countryman, in a smock-frock, was busily engaged at his morning'smeal. 

"To see that fellow bolt down his breakfast, one would think he hadfasted for a month, " said Coates; "see the wholesome effects of anhonest, industrious life, Paterson. I envy him his appetite--I shouldfall to with more zest were Dick Turpin in his place. "

The countryman looked up. He was an odd-looking fellow, with a terriblesquint, and a strange, contorted countenance. 

"An ugly dog!" exclaimed Paterson: "what a devil of a twist he hasgot!"

"What's that you says about Dick Taarpin, measter?" asked thecountryman, with his mouth half full of bread. 

"Have you seen aught of him?" asked Coates. 

"Not I, " mumbled the rustic; "but I hears aw the folks hereabouts talkon him. They say as how he sets all the lawyers and constables atdefiance, and laughs in his sleeve at their efforts to cotch him--ha, ha! He gets over more ground in a day than they do in a week--ho, ho!"

"That's all over now, " said Coates, peevishly. "He has cut his ownthroat--ridden his famous mare to death. "

The countryman almost choked himself, in the attempt to bolt a hugemouthful. "Ay--indeed, measter! How happened that?" asked he, so soon ashe recovered speech. 

"The fool rode her from London to York last night, " returned Coates;"such a feat was never performed before. What horse could be expected tolive through such work as that?"

"Ah, he were a foo' to attempt that, " observed the countryman; "but youfollowed belike?"

"We did. "

"And took him arter all, I reckon?" asked the rustic, squinting morehorribly than ever. 

"No, " returned Coates, "I can't say we did; but we'll have him yet. I'mpretty sure he can't be far off. We may be nearer him than we imagine. "

"May be so, measter, " returned the countryman; "but might I be so boldas to ax how many horses you used i' the chase--some half-dozen, maybe?"

"Half a dozen!" growled Paterson; "we had twenty at the least. "

"And I ONE!" mentally ejaculated Turpin, for he was the countryman. 

_BOOK V_

_THE OATH_

 It was an ill oath better broke than kept-- The laws of nature, and of nations, do Dispense with matters of divinity In such a case. 

 TATEHAM. 

_CHAPTER I_

_THE HUT ON THORNE WASTE_

 _Hind. _ Are all our horses and our arms in safety?

 _Furbo. _ They feed, like Pluto's palfreys, under ground. Our pistols, swords, and other furniture, Are safely locked up at our rendezvous. 

 _Prince of Prigs' Revels. _

The hut on Thorne Waste, to which we have before incidentally alluded, and whither we are now about to repair, was a low, lone hovel, situateon the banks of the deep and oozy Don, at the eastern extremity of thatextensive moor. Ostensibly its owner fulfilled the duties of ferryman tothat part of the river; but as the road which skirted his tenement waslittle frequented, his craft was, for the most part, allowed to sleepundisturbed in her moorings. 

In reality, however, he was the inland agent of a horde of smugglers whoinfested the neighboring coast; his cabin was their rendezvous; and notunfrequently, it was said, the depository of their contraband goods. Conkey Jem--so was he called by his associates, on account of theSlawkenbergian promontory which decorated his countenance--had been anold hand at the same trade; but having returned from a seven years'leave of absence from his own country, procured by his lawless life, nowmanaged matters with more circumspection and prudence, and had neversince been detected in his former illicit traffic; nor, though somarvellously gifted in that particular himself, was he ever known to_nose_ upon any of his accomplices; or, in other words, to betray them. On the contrary, his hut was a sort of asylum for all fugitives fromjustice; and although the sanctity of his walls would, in allprobability, have been little regarded, had any one been, detectedwithin them, yet, strange to say, even if a robber had been tracked--asit often chanced--to Jem's immediate neighborhood, all traces of himwere sure to be lost at the ferryman's hut; and further search wasuseless. 

Within, the hut presented such an appearance as might be expected, fromits owner's pursuits and its own unpromising exterior. Consisting oflittle more than a couple of rooms, the rude whitewashed wallsexhibited, in lieu of prints of more pretension, a gallery ofchoicely-illustrated ballads, celebrating the exploits of varioushighwaymen, renowned in song, amongst which our friend Dick Turpinfigured conspicuously upon his sable steed, Bess being represented by ahuge rampant black patch, and Dick, with a pistol considerably longerthan the arm that sustained it. Next to this curious collection was adrum-net, a fishing-rod, a landing-net, an eel-spear, and otherpiscatorial apparatus, with a couple of sculls and a boat-hook, indicative of Jem's ferryman's office, suspended by various hooks; thewhole blackened and begrimed by peat-smoke, there being no legitimatemeans of _exit_ permitted to the vapor generated by the turf-coveredhearthstone. The only window, indeed, in the hut, was to the front; theback apartment, which served Jem for dormitory, had no aperture whateverfor the admission of light, except such as was afforded through the doorof communication between the rooms. A few broken rush-bottomed chairs, with a couple of dirty tables, formed the sum total of the ferryman'sfurniture. 

Notwithstanding the grotesque effect of his exaggerated nasal organ, Jem's aspect was at once savage and repulsive; his lank black hair hungabout his inflamed visage in wild elf locks, the animal predominatingthroughout; his eyes were small, red, and wolfish, and glaredsuspiciously from beneath his scarred and tufted eyebrows; while certainof his teeth projected, like the tusks of a boar, from out hiscoarse-lipped, sensual mouth. Dwarfish in stature, and deformed inperson, Jem was built for strength; and what with his width of shoulderand shortness of neck, his figure looked as square and as solid as acube. His throat and hirsute chest, constantly exposed to the weather, had acquired a glowing tan, while his arms, uncovered to the shoulders, and clothed with fur, like a bear's hide, down, almost, to the tips ofhis fingers, presented a knot of folded muscles, the concentrated forceof which few would have desired to encounter in action. 

It was now on the stroke of midnight; and Jem, who had been lyingextended upon the floor of his hovel, suddenly aroused by that warningimpulse which never fails to awaken one of his calling at the exactmoment when they require to be upon the alert, now set about fanninginto flame the expiring fuel upon his hearth. Having succeeded inigniting further portions of the turf, Jem proceeded to examine thesecurity of his door and window, and satisfied that lock and bolt wereshot, and that the shutter was carefully closed, he kindled a light athis fire, and walked towards his bedroom. But it was not to retire forthe night that the ferryman entered his dormitory. Beside his crazycouch stood a litter of empty bottles and a beer cask, crowding thechamber. The latter he rolled aside, and pressing his foot upon theplank beneath it, the board gave way, and a trap-door opening, discovered a ladder, conducting, apparently, into the bowels of theearth. Jem leaned over the abyss, and called in hoarse accents to someone below. 

An answer was immediately returned, and a light became soon afterwardsvisible at the foot of the ladder. Two figures next ascended; the firstwho set foot within the ferryman's chamber was Alan Rookwood: the other, as the reader may perhaps conjecture, was his grandson. 

"Is it the hour?" asked Luke, as he sprang from out the trap-door. 

"Ay, " replied Jem, with a coarse laugh, "or I had not disturbed myselfto call you. But, maybe, " added he, softening his manner a little, "you'll like some refreshments before you start? A stoup of Nantz willput you in cue for the job, ha, ha!"

"Not I, " replied Luke, who could ill tolerate his companion'sfamiliarity. 

"Give me to drink, " said Alan, walking feebly towards the fire, andextending his skinny fingers before it. "I am chilled by the damps ofthat swampy cave--the natural heat within me is nigh extinguished. "

"Here is that shall put fresh marrow into your old bones, " returned Jem, handing him a tumbler of brandy; "never stint it. I'll be sworn you'llbe the better on't, for you look desperate queer, man, about themazard. "

Alan was, in sooth, a ghastly spectacle. The events of the last few dayshad wrought a fearful change. His countenance was almost exanimate; andwhen, with shaking hand and trembling lips, he had drained the fierypotion to the dregs, a terrible grimace was excited upon his features, such as is produced upon the corpse by the action of the galvanicmachine. Even Jem regarded him with a sort of apprehension. After he hadtaken breath for a moment, Alan broke out into a fit of wild andimmoderate laughter. 

"Why, ay, " said he, "this is indeed to grow young again, and to feelfresh fire within one's veins. Who would have thought so much of lifeand energy could reside in this little vessel? I am myself once more, and not the same soulless, pulseless lump of clay I was a moment or twoback. The damps of that den had destroyed me--and the solitude--the_waking dreams_ I've had--the visions! horrible! I will not think ofthem. I am better now--ready to execute my plans--_your_ plans I shouldsay, grandson Luke. Are our horses in readiness? Why do we tarry? Thehour is arrived, and I would not that my new-blown courage shouldevaporate ere the great work for which I live be accomplished. Thatdone, I ask no further stimulant. Let us away. "

"We tarry but for Turpin, " said Luke; "I am as impatient as yourself. Ifear some mischance must have befallen him, or he would have been trueto his appointment. Do you not think so?" he added, addressing theferryman. 

"Why, " replied Jem, reluctantly, "since you put it home to me, and Ican't conceal it no longer, I'll tell you what I didn't tell afore, forfear you should be down in the mouth about it. Dick Turpin can donothing for you--he's grabb'd. "

"Turpin apprehended!" ejaculated Luke. 

"Ay, " returned Jem. "I learnt from a farmer who crossed the ferry atnightfall, that he were grabb'd this morning at York, after havingridden his famous cherry-colored prad to death--that's what hurts memore not all the rest; though I fear Dick will scarce cheat the nubbingcheat this go. His time's up, I calculate. "

"Will you supply his place and accompany us?" asked Luke of theferryman. 

"No, no, " replied Jem, shaking his head; "there's too much risk, and toolittle profit, in the business for me--it won't pay. "

"And what might tempt you to undertake the enterprise?" asked Alan. 

"More than you have to offer, Master Peter, " replied Jem, who had notbeen enlightened upon the subject of Alan's real name or condition. 

"How know you that?" demanded Alan. "Name your demand. "

"Well, then, I'll not say but a hundred pounds, if you had it, mightbribe me----"

"To part with your soul to the devil, I doubt not, " said Luke, fiercelystamping the ground. "Let us be gone. We need not his mercenary aid. Wewill do without him. "

"Stay, " said Alan, "you shall have the hundred, provided you will assureus of your services. "

"Cut no more blarneyfied whids, Master Sexton, " replied Jem, in a grufftone. "If I'm to go, I must have the chink down, and that's more noreither of you can do, I'm thinking. "

"Give me your purse, " whispered Alan to his grandson. "Pshaw, " continuedhe, "do you hesitate? This man can do much for us. Think upon Eleanor, and be prudent. You cannot accomplish your task unaided. " Taking theamount from the purse, he gave it to the ferryman, adding, "If wesucceed, the sum shall be doubled; and now let us set out. "

During Alan's speech, Jem's sharp eyes had been fastened upon the purse, while he mechanically clutched the bank-notes which were given to him. He could not remove his gaze, but continued staring at the treasurebefore him, as if he would willingly, by force, have made it all hisown. 

Alan saw the error he had committed in exposing the contents of thepurse to the avaricious ferryman, and was about to restore it to Luke, when the bag was suddenly snatched from his grasp, and himself levelledby a blow upon the floor. Conkey Jem found the temptation irresistible. Knowing himself to be a match for both his companions, and imagining hewas secure from interruption, he conceived the idea of making away withthem, and possessing himself of their wealth. No sooner had he disposedof Alan, than he assailed Luke, who met his charge half way. With thevigor and alacrity of the latter the reader is already acquainted, buthe was no match for the herculean strength of the double-jointedferryman, who, with the ferocity of the boar he so much resembled, thusfuriously attacked him. Nevertheless, as may be imagined, he was notdisposed to yield up his life tamely. He saw at once the villain'smurderous intentions, and, well aware of his prodigious power, would nothave risked a close struggle could he have avoided it. Snatching theeel-spear from the wall, he had hurled it at the head of his adversary, but without effect. In the next instant he was locked in a claspterrible as that of a Polar bear. In spite of all his struggles, Lukewas speedily hurled to the ground: and Jem, who had thrown himself uponhim, was apparently searching about for some weapon to put a bloodytermination to the conflict, when the trampling of a horse was heard atthe door, three taps were repeated slowly, one after the other, and acall resounded from a whistle. 

"Damnation!" ejaculated Jem, gruffly, "interrupted!" And he seemedirresolute, slightly altering his position on Luke's body. 

The moment was fortunate for Luke, and, in all probability, saved hislife. He extricated himself from the ferryman's grasp, regained hisfeet, and, what was of more importance, the weapon he had thrown away. 

"Villain!" cried he, about to plunge the spear with all his force intohis enemy's side, "you shall----"

The whistle was again heard without. 

"Don't you hear that?" cried Jem: "'Tis Turpin's call. "

"Turpin!" echoed Luke, dropping the point of his weapon. "Unbar thedoor, you treacherous rascal, and admit him. "

"Well, say no more about it, Sir Luke, " said Jem, fawningly; "I knows Iowes you my life, and I thank you for it. Take back the lowre. He shouldnot have shown it me--it was that as did all the mischief. "

"Unbar the door, and parley not, " said Luke contemptuously. 

Jem complied with pretended alacrity, but real reluctance, castingsuspicious glances at Luke as he withdrew the bolts. The door at lengthbeing opened, haggard, exhausted, and covered with dust, Dick Turpinstaggered into the hut. 

"Well, I am here, " said he, with a hollow laugh. "I've kept my word--ha, ha! I've been damnably put to it; but here I am, ha, ha!" And he sankupon one of the stools. 

"We heard you were apprehended, " said Luke. "I am glad to find theinformation was false, " added he, glancing angrily at the ferryman. 

"Whoever told you that, told you a lie, Sir Luke, " replied Dick; "butwhat are you scowling at, old Charon?--and you, Sir Luke? Why do youglower at each other? Make fast the door--bolt it, Cerberus--right! Nowgive me a glass of brandy, and then I'll talk--a bumper--so--another. What's that I see--a dead man? Old Peter--Alan I mean--has anythinghappened to him, that he has taken his measure there so quietly?"

"Nothing, I trust, " said Luke, stooping to raise up his grandsire. "Theblow has stunned him. "

"The blow?" repeated Turpin. "What! there _has_ been a quarrel then? Ithought as much from your amiable looks at each other. Come, come, wemust have no differences. Give the old earthworm a taste of this--I'llengage it will bring him to fast enough. Ay, rub his temples with it ifyou'd rather; but it's a better remedy down the gullet--the naturalcourse; and hark ye, Jem, search your crib quickly, and see if you haveany _grub_ within it, and any more _bub_ in the cellar: I'm as hungry asa hunter, and as thirsty as a camel. "

_CHAPTER II_

_MAJOR MOWBRAY_

 _Mephistopheles. _ Out with your toasting iron! Thrust away!

 HAYWARD'S _Translation of Faust_. 

Conkey Jem went in search of such provisions as his hovel afforded. Turpin, meantime, lent his assistance towards the revival of AlanRookwood; and it was not long before his efforts, united with those ofLuke, were successful, and Alan restored to consciousness. He wasgreatly surprised to find the highwayman had joined them, and expressedan earnest desire to quit the hut as speedily as possible. 

"That shall be done forthwith, my dear fellow, " said Dick. "But if youhad fasted as long as I have done, and gone through a few of my fatiguesinto the bargain, you would perceive, without difficulty, the proprietyof supping before you started. Here comes Old Nosey, with a flitch ofbacon and a loaf. Egad, I can scarce wait for the toasting. In mypresent mood, I could almost devour a grunter in the sty. " Whereupon heapplied himself to the loaf, and to a bottle of stout March ale, whichJem placed upon the table, quaffing copious draughts of the latter, while the ferryman employed himself in toasting certain rashers of theflitch upon the hissing embers. 

Luke, meanwhile, stalked impatiently about the room. He had laid asidehis tridental spear, having first, however, placed a pistol within hisbreast to be ready for instant service, should occasion demand it, as hecould now put little reliance upon the ferryman's fidelity. He glancedwith impatience at Turpin, who pursued his meal with steady voracity, worthy of a half-famished soldier; but the highwayman returned no answerto his looks, except such as was conveyed by the incessant clatter ofhis masticating jaws, during the progress of his, apparently, interminable repast. 

"Ready for you in a second, Sir Luke, " said Dick; "all rightnow--capital ale, Charon--strong as Styx--ha, ha!--one other rasher, andI've done. Sorry to keep you--can't conceive how cleverly I put thewinkers upon 'em at York, in the dress of a countryman; all owing to oldBalty, the patrico, an old pal--ha, ha! My old pals never _nose_ uponme--eh, Nosey--always help one out of the water--always staunch. Here'shealth to you, old crony. "

Jem returned a sulky response, as he placed the last rasher on thetable, which was speedily discussed. 

"Poor Bess!" muttered Dick, as he quaffed off the final glass of ale. "Poor lass! we buried her by the roadside, beneath the trees--deep--deep. Her remains shall never be disturbed. Alas! alas! my bonny Black Bess!But no matter, her name is yet alive--her deeds will survive her--thetrial is over. And now, " continued he, rising from his seat, "I'm withyou. Where are the tits?"

"In the stable, under ground, " growled Jem. 

Alan Rookwood, in the mean time, had joined his grandson, and theyconversed an instant or two apart. 

"My strength will not bear me through the night, " said he. "That fellowhas thoroughly disabled me. You must go without me to the hall. Here isthe key of the secret passage. You know the entrance. I will await youin the tomb. "

"The tomb!" echoed Luke. 

"Ay, our family vault, " returned Alan, with a ghastly grin--"it is theonly place of security for me now. Let me see _her_ there. Let me knowthat my vengeance is complete, that I triumph in my death over him, theaccursed _brother_, through you, my grandson. _You_ have a rivalbrother--a successful one; you know now what hatred is. "

"I do, " returned Luke, fiercely. 

"But not such hate as mine, which, through a life, a long life, hathendured, intense as when 'twas first engendered in my bosom; which _fromone_ hath spread o'er all my race--o'er all save _you_--and which evennow, when death stares me in the face--when the spirit pants to fly fromits prison-house, burns fiercely as ever. You cannot know what hate likethat may be. You must have wrongs--such wrongs as _mine_ first. "

"My hate to Ranulph is bitter as your own to Sir Reginald. "

"Name him not, " shrieked Alan. "But, oh! to think upon the bride herobbed me of--the young--the beautiful!--whom I loved to madness; whosememory is a barbed shaft, yet rankling keen as ever at my heart. God ofJustice! how is it that I have thus long survived? But some men die byinches. My dying lips shall name him once again, and then 'twill be butto blend his name with curses. "

"I speak of him no more, " said Luke. "I will meet you in the vault. "

"Remember, to-morrow is her wedding day with Ranulph. "

"Think you I forget it?"

"Bear it constantly in mind. To-morrow's dawn must see her _yours_ or_his_. You have her oath. To you or to death she is affianced. If sheshould hesitate in her election, do not you hesitate. Woman's will isfickle; her scruples of conscience will be readily overcome; she willnot heed her vows--but let her not escape you. Cast off all yourweakness. You are young, and not as I am, age-enfeebled. Be firm, and, "added he, with a look of terrible meaning, "if all else should fail--ifyou are surrounded--if you cannot bear her off--use this, " and he placeda dagger in Luke's hands. "It has avenged me, ere now, on a perjuredwife, it will avenge you of a forsworn mistress, and remove all obstacleto Rookwood. "

Luke took the weapon. 

"Would you have me kill her?" demanded he. 

"Sooner than she should be Ranulph's. "

"Ay, aught sooner than that. But I would not murder both. "

"Both!" echoed Alan. "I understand you not. "

"Sybil and Eleanor, " replied Luke; "for, as surely as I live, Sybil'sdeath will lie at my door. "

"How so?" asked Alan; "the poison was self-ministered. "

"True, " replied Luke, with terrible emphasis, "but I _spoke daggers_. Hearken to me, " said he, hollowly whispering in his grandsire's ears. "Methinks I am not long for this world. I have seen her since herdeath!"

"Tut, tut, " replied Alan. "'Tis not for you--a man--to talk thus. Atruce to these womanish fancies. "

"Womanish or not, " returned Luke; "either my fancy has deceived me, or Ibeheld her, distinctly as I now behold you, within yon cave, while youwere sleeping by my side. "

"It is disordered fancy, " said Alan Rookwood. "You will live--live toinherit Rookwood--live to see them fall crushed beneath your feet. Formyself, if I but see you master of Eleanor's hand, or know that she nolonger lives to bless your rival, or to mar your prospects, I care nothow soon I brave my threatened doom. "

"Of one or other you shall be resolved to-night, " said Luke, placing thedagger within his vest. 

At this moment a trampling of a horse was heard before the hovel, and inanother instant a loud knocking resounded from the door. The ferrymaninstantly extinguished the light, motioning his companions to remainsilent. 

"What, ho!" shouted a voice. "Ferry wanted. "

"Gad zooks!" exclaimed Dick. "As I live, 'tis Major Mowbray!"

"Major Mowbray!" echoed Alan, in amazement "What doth he here?"

"He must be on his way from York to Rookwood, I conclude, " said Dick. "If he's here, I'll engage the others are not far off. "

Scarcely were the words out of Dick's mouth, when further clatter washeard at the door, and the tones of Coates were heard, in _altissimo_key, demanding admittance. 

"Let us retire into the next room, " whispered Turpin, "and then admitthem by all means, Conkey. And, hark ye, manage to detain them a fewseconds. "

"I'll do it, " said Jem. "There's a bit of a hole you can peep through. "

Another loud rat-tat was heard at the door, threatening to burst it fromits hinges. 

"Well, I be coming, " said Jem, seeing the coast was clear, in a drowsy, yawning tone, as if just awakened from sleep. "You'll cross the rivernone the faster for making so much noise. "

With these words he unbarred the door, and Coates and Paterson, who, itappeared, were proceeding to Rookwood, entered the hovel. Major Mowbrayremained on horseback at the door. 

"Can you find us a glass of brandy to keep out the fog?" said Coates, who knew something of our ferryman's vocations. "I know you are a lad ofamazing _spirit_. "

"May be I can, master, if I choose. But won't the other gemman walkin-doors likewise?"

"No, no, " said Coates; "Major Mowbray don't choose to dismount. "

"Well, as you please, " said Jem. "It'll take me a minute or two to getthe punt in order for all them prads. "

"The brandy in the first place, " said Coates. "What's here?" added theloquacious attorney, noticing the remnants of Turpin's repast. "But thatwe're hurried, I should like a little frizzled bacon myself. "

Jem opened the door of his dormitory with the greatest caution, thoughapparent indifference, and almost instantly returned with the brandy. Coates filled a glass for Paterson, and then another for himself. Theferryman left the house apparently to prepare his boat, half closing thedoor after him. 

"By my faith! this is the right thing, Paterson, " said the attorney. "Wemay be sure the strength of this was never tested by a gauger's proof. Take another thimbleful. We've twelve miles and a heavy pull to gothrough ere we reach Rookwood. After all, we made but a poor night'swork of it, Master Constable. Cursed stupid in us to let him escape. Ionly wish we had such another chance. Ah, if we had him within reachnow, how we would spring upon him--secure him in an instant. I shouldglory in the encounter. I tell you what, Paterson, if ever he is taken, I shall make a point of attending his execution, and see whether he diesgame. Ha, ha! You think he's sure to swing, Paterson, eh?"

"Why, yes, " replied the chief constable. "I wish I was as certain of myreward as that Turpin will eventually figure at the scragging-post. "

"Your reward!" replied Coates. "Make yourself easy on that score, myboy; you shall have your dues, depend upon it. Nay, for the matter ofthat, I'll give you the money now, if you think proper. "

"Nothing like time present, " said Paterson. "We'll make all square atonce. "

"Well, then, " said Coates, taking out a pocket-book, "you shall have thehundred I promised. You won't get Turpin's reward, the three hundredpounds; but that can't be helped. You shall have mine--always a man ofmy word, Paterson, " continued the attorney, counting out the money. "Myfather, the thief-taker, was a man of his word before me. "

"No doubt, " said the chief constable; "I shall always be happy to serveyou. "

"And then there's that other affair, " said the attorney, mysteriously, still occupied in doling out his bank-notes, "that Luke Bradley's case;the fellow, I mean, who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood--ha, ha! A rankimpostor! Two fives, that makes fifty: you want another fifty, Paterson. As I was saying, we may make a good job of that--we must ferret him out. I know who will come down properly for that; and if we could only tuckhim up with his brother blade, why it would be worth double. He's allalong been a thorn in my Lady Rookwood's side; he's an artfulscoundrel. "

"Leave him to me, " said Paterson; "I'll have him in less than a week. What's your charge against him?"

"Felony, burglary, murder, every description of crime under theheavens, " said Coates. "He's a very devil incarnate. Dick Turpin is asmild as milk compared with him. By-the-by, now I think of it, this Jem, Conkey Jem, as folks call him, may know something about him; he's a keenfile; I'll sound him. Thirty, forty, fifty--there's the exact amount. Somuch for Dick Turpin. "

"Dick Turpin thanks you for it in person, " said Dick, suddenly snatchingthe whole sum from Paterson's hands, and felling the chief constablewith a blow of one of his pistols. "I wish I was as sure of escaping thegallows as I am certain that Paterson has got his reward. You stare, sir. You are once more in the hands of the Philistines. See who is atyour elbow. "

Coates, who was terrified almost out of his senses at the sight ofTurpin, scarcely ventured to turn his head; but when he did so, he wasperfectly horror-stricken at the threatening aspect of Luke, who held acutlass in his hand, which he had picked up in the ferryman's bedroom. 

"So you would condemn me for crimes I have never committed, " said Luke. "I am tempted, I own, to add the destruction of your worthless existenceto their number. "

"Mercy, for God's sake, mercy!" cried Coates, throwing himself at Luke'sfeet. "I meant not what I said. "

"Hence, reptile, " said Luke, pushing him aside; "I leave you to be dealtupon by others. "

At this juncture, the door of the hut was flung open, and in rushedMajor Mowbray, sword in hand, followed by Conkey Jem. 

"There he stands, sir, " cried the latter; "upon him!"

"What! Conkey Jem turned snitch upon his pals?" cried Dick; "I scarcebelieve my own ears. "

"Make yourself scarce, Dick, " growled Jem; "the jigger's open, and theboat loose. Leave Luke to his fate. He's sold. "

"Never! vile traitor, " shouted Dick; "'tis thou art _sold_, not he;"and, almost ere the words were spoken, a ball was lodged in the brain ofthe treacherous ferryman. 

Major Mowbray, meanwhile, had rushed furiously upon Luke, who met hisassault with determined calmness. The strife was sharp, and threatened aspeedy and fatal issue. On the Major's side it was a desperate attack ofcut and thrust, which Luke had some difficulty in parrying; but as yetno wounds were inflicted. Soldier as was the Major, Luke was not a whitinferior to him in his knowledge of the science of defence, and in theexercise of the broadsword he was perhaps the more skilful of the two:upon the present occasion his coolness stood him in admirable stead. Seeing him hard pressed, Turpin would have come to his assistance; butLuke shouted to him to stand aside, and all that Dick could do, amid theterrific clash of steel, was to kick the tables out of the way of thecombatants. Luke's aim was now slightly grazed by a cut made by theMajor, which he had parried. The smart of the wound roused his ire. Heattacked his adversary in his turn, with so much vigor and good will, that, driven backwards by the irresistible assault, Major Mowbraystumbled over the ferryman's body, which happened to lie in his way; andhis sword being struck from his grasp, his life became at once at hisassailant's disposal. 

Luke sheathed his sword. "Major Mowbray, " said he, sternly, "your lifeis in my power. I spare it for the blood that is between us--for yoursister's sake. I would not raise my hand against her brother. "

"I disclaim your kindred with me, villain!" wrathfully exclaimed theMajor. "I hold you no otherwise than as a wretched impostor, who has setup claims he cannot justify; and as to my sister, if you dare to coupleher name----" and the Major made an ineffectual attempt to raisehimself, and to regain his sword, which Turpin, however, removed. 

"Dare!" echoed Luke, scornfully; "hereafter, you may learn to fear mythreats, and acknowledge the extent of my daring; and in that confidenceI give you life. Listen to me, sir. I am bound for Rookwood. I haveprivate access to the house--to your sister's chamber--_herchamber_--mark you that! I shall go armed--attended. This night sheshall be mine. From you--from Ranulph--from Lady Rookwood, from all willI bear her off. She shall be mine, and you, before the dawn, my brother, or----" And Luke paused. 

"What further villainy remains untold?" inquired the Major, fiercely. 

"You shall bewail your sister's memory, " replied Luke, gloomily. 

"I embrace the latter alternative with rapture, " replied the Major--"Godgrant her firmness to resist you. But I tremble for her. " And the sternsoldier groaned aloud in his agony. 

"Here is a cord to bind him, " said Turpin; "he must remain a prisonerhere. "

"Right, " said Alan Rookwood, "unless--but enough blood has been shedalready. "

"Ay, marry has there, " said Dick, "and I had rather not have givenConkey Jem a taste of blue plumb, had there been any other mode ofsilencing the snitching scoundrel, which there was not. As to the Major, he's a gallant enemy, and shall have fair play as long as Dick Turpinstands by. Come, sir, " added he, to the Major, as he bound him hand andfoot with the rope, "I'll do it as gently as I can. You had bettersubmit with a good grace. There's no help for it. And now for my friendPaterson, who was so anxious to furnish me with a hempen cravat, beforemy neck was in order, he shall have an extra twist of the rope himself, to teach him the inconvenience of a tight neckcloth when he recovers. "Saying which, he bound Paterson in such a manner, that any attempt atliberation on the chief constable's part would infallibly strangle him. "As to you, Mr. Coates, " said he, addressing the trembling man of law, "you shall proceed to Rookwood with us. You may yet be useful, and I'llaccommodate you with a seat behind my own saddle--a distinction I neveryet conferred upon any of your tribe. Recollect the countryman at theBowling-green at York--ha, ha! Come along, sir. " And having kicked outthe turf fire, Dick prepared to depart. 

It would be vain to describe the feelings of rage and despair whichagitated the major's bosom, as he saw the party quit the hovel, accompanied by Coates. Aware as he was of their destination, after oneor two desperate but ineffectual attempts to liberate himself, by whichhe only increased the painful constriction of his bonds, without in theslightest degree ameliorating his condition, he resigned himself, withbitterest forebodings, to his fate. There was no one even to sympathizewith his sufferings. Beside him lay the gory corpse of the ferryman, and, at a little distance, the scarcely more animate frame of the chiefconstable. And here we must leave him, to follow, for a short space, thecourse of Luke and his companions. 

Concerning themselves little about their own steeds, the party tookthose which first offered, and embarking man and horse in the boat, soonpushed across the waters of the lutulent Don. Arrived at the oppositebanks of the river, they mounted, and, guided by Luke, after half anhour's sharp riding, arrived at the skirts of Rookwood Park. Enteringthis beautiful sylvan domain, they rode for some time silently among thetrees, till they reached the knoll whence Luke beheld the hall on theeventful night of his discovery of his mother's wedding ring. A few daysonly had elapsed, but during that brief space what storms had swept overhis bosom--what ravages had they not made! He was then all ardor--allimpetuosity--all independence. The future presented a bright uncloudedprospect. Wealth, honors, and happiness apparently awaited him. It wasstill the same exquisite scene, hushed, holy, tranquil--even solemn, asupon that glorious night. The moon was out, silvering wood and water, and shining on the white walls of the tranquil mansion. Nature was calm, serene, peaceful as ever. Beneath the trees, he saw the boundingdeer--upon the water, the misty wreaths of vapor--all, all was dreamy, delightful, soothing, all save his heart--_there_ was theconflict--_there_ the change. Was it a troubled dream, with the darkoppression of which he was struggling, or was it stern, waking, actuallife? That moment's review of his wild career was terrible. He saw towhat extremes his ungovernable passions had hurried him; he saw theirinevitable consequences; he saw also his own fate; but he rushed madlyon. 

He swept round the park, keeping under the covert of the wood, till hearrived at the avenue leading to the mansion. The stems of the agedlimes gleamed silvery white in the moonshine. Luke drew in the reinbeneath one of the largest of the trees. 

"A branch has fallen, " said he, as his grandsire joined him. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Alan, "a branch from that tree?"

"It bodes ill to Ranulph, " whispered Luke, "does it not?"

"Perchance, " muttered Alan. "'Tis a vast bough!"

"We meet within an hour, " said Luke, abruptly. 

"Within the tomb of our ancestry, " replied Alan; "I will await youthere. "

And as he rode away, Alan murmured to himself the following verse fromone of his own ballads:

 But whether gale or calm prevail, or threatening cloud hath fled, By hand of Fate, predestinate, a limb that tree will shed-- A verdant bough, untouched, I trow, by axe or tempest's breath-- To Rookwood's head an omen dread of fast approaching death. 

_CHAPTER III_

_HANDASSAH_

 I have heard it rumored for these many years, None of our family dies but there is seen The shape of an old woman, which is given By tradition to us to have been murthered By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure One night, as the prince sat up late at 's book, Appeared to him; when, crying out for help, The gentleman of his chamber found his Grace All in a cold sweat, altered much in face And language, since which apparition He hath grown worse and worse, and much I fear He cannot live. 

 _Duchess of Malfy. _

In one of those large antique rooms, belonging to the suite ofapartments constituting the eastern wing of Rookwood Place--upon thesame night as that in which the events just detailed took place, and itmight be about the same time, sat Eleanor, and her new attendant, thegipsy Handassah. The eyes of the former were fixed, with a mixture oftenderness and pity, upon the lineaments of another lovely femalecountenance, bearing a striking resemblance to her own, thoughevidently, from its attire, and bygone costume, not intended for her, depicted upon a tablet, and placed upon a raised frame. It was nigh thewitching hour of night. The room was sombre and dusky, partiallydismantled of its once flowing arras, and the lights set upon the tablefeebly illumined its dreary extent. Tradition marked it out as thechamber in which many of the hapless dames of Rookwood had expired; andhence Superstition claimed it as her peculiar domain. The room wasreputed to be haunted, and had for a long space shared the fate ofhaunted rooms--complete desertion. It was now tenanted by one too young, too pure, to fear aught unearthly. Eleanor seemed, nevertheless, affected by the profound melancholy of the picture upon which she gazed. At length, Handassah observed her start, and avert her eye shudderinglyfrom the picture. 

"Take it hence, " exclaimed Eleanor; "I have looked at that image of myancestors, till it has seemed endowed with life--till its eyes haveappeared to return my gaze, and weep. Remove it, Handassah. "

Handassah silently withdrew the tablet, placing it against the wall ofthe chamber. 

"Not there--not there, " cried Eleanor; "turn it with its face to thewall. I cannot bear those eyes. And now come hither, girl--drawnearer--for I know not what of sudden dread has crossed me. This was_her_ room, Handassah--the chamber of my ancestress--of all the LadiesRookwood--where they say----Ha! did you not hear a noise?--a rustle inthe tapestry--a footstep near the wall? Why, you look as startled as Ilook, wench; stay by me--I will not have you stir from my side--'twasmere fancy. "

"No doubt, lady, " said Handassah, with her eyes fixed upon the arras. 

"Hist!" exclaimed Eleanor, "there 'tis again. "

"'Tis nothing, " replied Handassah. But her looks belied her words. 

"Well, I will command myself, " said Eleanor, endeavoring to regain hercalmness; "but the thoughts of the Lady Eleanor--for _she_ was anEleanor like to me, Handassah--and ah! even more ill-fated andunhappy--have brought a whole train of melancholy fancies into my mind. I cannot banish them: nay, though painful to me, I recur to these imagesof dread with a species of fascination, as if in their fate Icontemplated mine own. Not one, who hath wedded a Rookwood, but hathrued it. "

"Yet you will wed one, " said Handassah. 

"He is not like the rest, " said Eleanor. 

"How know you that, lady?" asked Handassah. "His time may not yet become. See what to-morrow will bring forth. "

"You are averse to my marriage with Ranulph, Handassah. "

"I was Sybil's handmaid ere I was yours, lady. I bear in mind a solemncompact with the dead, which this marriage will violate. You areplighted by oath to another, if he should demand your hand. "

"But he has not demanded it. "

"Would you accept him were he to do so?" asked Handassah, suddenly. 

"I meant not that, " replied Eleanor. "My oath is annulled. "

"Say not so, lady, " cried Handassah--"'twas not for this that Sybilspared your life. I love you, but I loved Sybil, and I would see herdying behests complied with. "

"It may not be, Handassah, " replied Eleanor. "Why, from a phantom senseof honor, am I to sacrifice my whole existence to one who neither canlove me, nor whom I myself could love? Am I to wed this man because, inher blind idolatry of him, Sybil enforced an oath upon me which I had nopower to resist, and which was mentally cancelled while taken? Recallnot the horrors of that dreadful cell--urge not the subject more. 'Tisin the hope that I may be freed for ever from this persecution that Ihave consented thus early to wed with Ranulph. This will set Luke'sfancied claims at rest for ever. "

Handassah answered not, but bent her head, as if in acquiescence. 

Steps were now heard near the door, and a servant ushered in Dr. Smalland Mrs. Mowbray. 

"I am come to take leave of you for the night, my dear young lady, " saidthe doctor; "but before I start for the Vicarage, I have a word or twoto say, in addition to the advice you were so obliging as to receivefrom me this morning. Suppose you allow your attendant to retire for afew minutes. What I have got to say concerns yourself solely. Yourmother will bear us company. There, " continued the doctor, as Handassahwas dismissed--"I am glad that dark-faced gipsy has taken her departure. I can't say I like her sharp suspicious manner, and the first exercise Ishould make at my powers, were I to be your husband, should be todischarge the handmaiden. To the point of my visit. We are alone, Ithink. This is a queer old house, Miss Mowbray; and this is the queerestpart of it. Walls have ears, they say; and there are so many holes andcorners in this mansion, that one ought never to talk secrets aboveone's breath. "

"I am yet to learn, sir, " said Eleanor, "that there is any secret to becommunicated. "

"Why, not much, I own, " replied the doctor; "at least what has occurredis no secret in the house by this time. What do you think _has_happened?"

"It is impossible for me to conjecture. Nothing to Ranulph, I hope. "

"Nothing of consequence, I trust, --though he is part concerned with it. "

"What is it?" asked Eleanor. 

"Pray satisfy her curiosity, doctor, " interposed Mrs. Mowbray. 

"Well, then, " said Small, rather more gravely, "the fact of the matterstands thus:--Lady Rookwood, who, as you know, was not the meekest wifein the world, now turns out by no means the gentlest mother, and haswithin this hour found out that she has some objection to your unionwith her son. "

"You alarm me, doctor. "

"Don't alarm yourself at all. It will be got over without difficulty, and only requires a little management. Ranulph is with her now, and Idoubt not will arrange all to her satisfaction. "

"What was her objection?" asked Eleanor; "was it any one founded upon myobligation to Luke--my oath?"

"Tut, tut! dismiss that subject from your mind entirely, " said thedoctor. "That oath is no more binding on your conscience than would havebeen the ties of marriage had you been wedded by yon recusant Romishpriest, Father Checkley, upon whose guilty head the Lord be merciful!Bestow not a thought upon it. My anxiety, together with that of yourmother, is to see you now, as speedily as may be, wedded to Ranulph, andthen that idle question is set at rest for ever; and therefore, even ifsuch a thing were to occur as that Lady Rookwood should not yield herconsent to your marriage, as that consent is totally unnecessary, wemust go through the ceremonial without it. "

"The grounds of Lady Rookwood's objections----" said Mrs. Mowbray. 

"Ay, the grounds of her ladyship's objections, " interposed Small, who, when he had once got the lead, liked nobody to talk but himself, "aresimply these, and exactly the sort of objections one would expect her toraise. She cannot bear the idea of abandoning the control of the houseand estates to other hands. She cannot, and will not relinquish herstation, as head of the establishment, which Ranulph has insisted uponas your right. I thought, when I conversed with her on this subject, that she was changed, but

 Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret. 

I beg your pardon. She is, and always will be, the same. "

"Why did not Ranulph concede the point to her? I wish not to dwell here. I care not for these domains--for this mansion. They have no charms forme. I could be happy with Ranulph anywhere--happier anywhere thanhere. "

The kind-hearted doctor squeezed her hand in reply, brushing a tear fromhis eyes. 

"Why did he not concede it?" said Mrs. Mowbray, proudly. "Because thechoice remained not with him. It was not his to concede. Thishouse--these lands--all--all are yours; and it were poor requital, indeed, if, after they have so long been wrongfully withheld from us, you should be a dependant on Lady Rookwood. "

"Without going quite so far as that, madam, " said the doctor, "it is butjustice to your daughter that she should be put in full possession ofher rights; nor should I for one instant advise, or even allow her toinhabit the same house with Lady Rookwood. Her ladyship's peculiaritiesof temper are such as to preclude all possibility of happiness. At thesame time, I trust by management--always by management, madam--that herladyship's quiet departure may be ensured. I understand that all suchlegal arrangements in the way of settlements as could be entered intobetween your daughter and her future husband are completed. I have onlyto regret the absence of my friend, Mr. Coates, at this momentousconjuncture. It will be a loss to him. But he inherits from his father ataste for thief-taking, which he is at present indulging, to themanifest injury of his legitimate practice. Hark! I hear Ranulph's stepin the gallery. He will tell us the result of his final interview. Icame to give you advice, my dear, " added the doctor in a low tone toEleanor; "but I find you need it not. 'Whoso humbleth himself, shall beexalted. ' I am glad you do not split upon the rock which has strandedhalf your generation. "

At this moment Ranulph Rookwood entered the room, followed by Handassah, who took her station at the back of the room, unperceived by the rest ofthe party, whose attention was attracted by Ranulph's agitated manner. 

"What has happened?" asked Dr. Small and Mrs. Mowbray in the samebreath. 

Ranulph hesitated for a moment in his answer, during which space heregarded Eleanor with the deepest anxiety, and seemed revolving withinhimself how he could frame his reply in such way as should be leastpainful to her feelings; while, with instinctive apprehension of comingmisfortune, Miss Mowbray eagerly seconded the inquiries of her friends. 

"It is with great pain, " said he, at length, in a tone of despondency, not unmingled with displeasure, "that I am obliged to descant upon theinfirmities of a parent, and to censure her conduct as severely as I maydo now. I feel the impropriety of such a step, and I would willinglyavoid it, could I do so in justice to my own feelings--and especially ata moment like the present--when every hope of my life is fixed uponuniting myself to you, dear Eleanor, by ties as near as my own to thatparent. But the interview which I have just had with LadyRookwood--bitter and heart-breaking as it has been--compels me toreprobate her conduct in the strongest terms, as harsh, unjust, anddishonorable; and if I could wholly throw off the son, as she avows shehas thrown off the mother, I should unhesitatingly pronounce it aslittle short of----"

"Dear Ranulph, " said Eleanor, palpitating with apprehension, "I neversaw you so much moved. "

"Nor with so much reason, " rejoined Ranulph. "For myself, I could endureanything--but for _you_----"

"And does your dispute relate to _me_?" asked Eleanor. "Is it for _my_sake you have braved your mother's displeasure? Is it because LadyRookwood is unwilling to resign the control of this house and theselands to _me_, that you have parted in anger with her? Was this thecause of your quarrel?"

"It was the origin of it, " replied Ranulph. 

"Mother, " said Eleanor, firmly, to Mrs. Mowbray, "go with me to LadyRookwood's chamber. "

"Wherefore?" demanded Mrs. Mowbray. 

"Question me not, dear mother, or let me go alone. "

"Daughter, I guess your meaning, " said Mrs. Mowbray, sternly. "You wouldrelinquish your claims in favor of Lady Rookwood. Is it not so?"

"Since you oblige me to answer you, mother, " said Eleanor, crimsoning, "I must admit that you have guessed my meaning. To Lady Rookwood, as toyourself, I would be a daughter as far as is consistent with my duty, "added she, blushing still more deeply, "but my first consideration shallbe my husband. And if Lady Rookwood can be content----But pray questionme not further--accompany me to her chamber. "

"Eleanor, " interposed Ranulph, "dearest Eleanor, the sacrifice you wouldmake is unnecessary--uncalled for. You do not know my mother. She wouldnot, I grieve to say, appreciate the generosity of your motives. Shewould not give you credit for your feelings. She would only resent yourvisit as an intrusion. "

"My daughter comprehends you, sir, " said Mrs. Mowbray, haughtily. "Iwill take care that, in her own house, Miss Mowbray shall remain freefrom insult. "

"Mother, dear mother, " said Eleanor, "do not wilfully misunderstandhim. "

"You can be little aware, madam, " said Ranulph, calmly, yet sadly, "howmuch I have recently endured--how much of parental anger--how much ofparental malediction I have incurred, to save you and your daughter fromthe indignity you apprehend. As I before said, you do not know mymother; nor could it enter into any well-regulated imagination toconceive the extremities to which the violence of her passion will, whenher schemes are thwarted, hurry her. The terms upon which you mettogether will not escape your recollection; nor shall I need to recallto your mind her haughtiness, her coldness. That coldness has sinceripened into distrust; and the match which she was at first all anxietyto promote, she would now utterly set aside, were it in her power to doso. Whence this alteration in her views has arisen, I have no means ofascertaining; it is not my mother's custom to give a reason for heractions, or her wishes: it is all-sufficient to express them. I haveperceived, as the time has drawn nigh for the fulfilment of my dearesthopes, that her unwillingness has increased; until to-day, what hadhitherto been confined to hints, has been openly expressed, and absoluteobjections raised. Such, however, is the peculiarity of her temper, thatI trusted, even at the eleventh hour, I should be able to work a change. Alas! our last meeting was decisive. She commanded me to break off thematch. At once, and peremptorily, I refused. Pardon me, madam, pardonme, dearest Eleanor, if I thus enter into particulars; it is absolutelynecessary I should be explicit. Enraged at my opposition to her wishes, her fury became ungovernable. With appalling imprecations upon thememory of my poor father, and upon _your_ father, madam, whose chiefoffence in her eyes was, it seems, the disposition of his property toEleanor, she bade me be gone, and take her curses as my wedding portion. Beneath this roof--beneath _her_ roof, she added--no marriage of mineshould e'er take place. I might go hence, or might stay, as I thoughtfitting; but you and your daughter, whom she characterized as intruders, should not remain another hour within her house. To this wild raving Ianswered, with as much composure as I could command, that she entirelymistook her own position, and that, so far from the odium of intrusionresting with you, if applicable to any one, the term must necessarilyaffix itself on those who, through ignorance, had for years unjustlydeprived the rightful owners of this place of their inheritance. Uponthis her wrath was boundless. She disowned me as her son; disclaimed allmaternal regard, and heaped upon my head a frightful malediction, at therecollection of which I still tremble. I will spare you further detailsof this dreadful scene. To me it is most distressing; for, howeverfirmly resolved I may be to pursue a line of conduct which every soundprinciple within me dictates as the correct one, yet I cannot beinsensible to the awful responsibility I shall incur in bringing down amother's curse upon my head, nor to the jeopardy in which her ownexcessive violence may place her. "

Mrs. Mowbray listened to Ranulph's explanation in haughty displeasure;Eleanor with throbbing, tearful interest; Dr. Small, with mixed feelingsof anger and astonishment. 

"Lady Rookwood's conduct, " said the doctor, "is--you must forgive me, mydear Sir Ranulph, for using strong expressions--outrageous beyond allprecedent, and only excusable on the ground of insanity, to which I wishit were possible we could attribute it. There is, however, too muchmethod in her madness to allow us to indulge any such notion; she isshrewd, dangerous, and designing; and, since she has resolved to opposethis match, she will leave no means untried to do so. I scarcely knowhow to advise you under the circumstances--that is, if my advice wereasked. "

"Which I scarcely think it likely to be, sir, " said Mrs. Mowbray, coldly. "After what has occurred, _I_ shall think it my duty to breakoff this alliance, which I have never considered to be so desirable thatits rupture will occasion me an instant's uneasiness. "

"A plague on all these Rookwoods!" muttered Small. "One would think allthe pride of the Prince of Darkness were centered in their bosoms. But, madam, " continued the benevolent doctor, "have you no consideration forthe feelings of your daughter, or for those of one who is no distantrelation to you--your nephew? Your son, Major Mowbray, is, if I mistakenot, most eager for this union to take place between his sister and hisfriend. "

"My children have been accustomed to yield implicit obedience to mywishes, " said Mrs. Mowbray, "and Major Mowbray, I am sure, will see thepropriety of the step I am about to take. I am content, at least, toabide by _his_ opinion. "

"Snubbed again!" mentally ejaculated the doctor, with a shrug ofdespair. "It is useless attempting to work upon such impracticablematerial. "

Ranulph remained mute, in an attitude of profound melancholy. Aneloquent interchange of glances had passed between him and Eleanor, communicating to each the anxious state of the other's feelings. 

At this crisis the door was suddenly opened, and old Agnes, LadyRookwood's aged attendant, rushed into the room, and sank upon her kneeson the floor, her limbs shaking, her teeth chattering, and every featureexpressive of intense terror. Ranulph went instantly towards her todemand the cause of her alarm. 

"No, let me pray, " cried Agnes, as he took her hand in the attempt toraise her; "let me pray while there is yet time--let the worthy doctorpray beside me. Pray for an overladen soul, sir; pray heartily, as youwould hope for mercy yourself. Ah! little know the righteous of theterrors of those that are beyond the pale of mercy. The Lord pardon memy iniquities, and absolve _her_. "

"Whom do you mean?" asked Ranulph, in agitation. "You do not allude tomy mother?"

"You have no longer a mother, young man, " said Agnes, solemnly. 

"What!" exclaimed Ranulph, terror-stricken; "is she dead?"

"She is gone. "

"Gone! How? Whither?" exclaimed all, their amazement increasing eachinstant at the terror of the old woman, and the apparently terribleoccasion of it. 

"Speak!" exclaimed Ranulph; "but why do I loiter? my mother, perchance, is dying--let me go. "

The old woman maintained her clutching grasp, which was strong andconvulsive as that of one struggling betwixt life and death. "It's of nouse, I tell you; it's all over, " said she--"the dead are come--the deadare come--and she is gone. "

"Whither?--whither?"

"To the grave--to the tomb, " said Agnes, in a deep and hollow tone, andwith a look that froze Ranulph's soul. "Listen to me, Ranulph Rookwood, my child, my nursling--listen while I _can_ speak. We were alone, yourmother and I, after that scene between you; after the dark denunciationsshe had heaped upon the dead, when I heard a low and gasping kind ofsob, and there I saw your mother staring wildly upon the vacancy, as ifshe saw that of which I dare not think. "

"What think you she beheld?" asked Ranulph, quaking with apprehension. 

"That which had been your father, " returned Agnes, in a hollow tone. "Don't doubt me, sir--you'll find the truth of what I say anon. I amsure he was there. There was a thrilling, speechless horror in the verysight of her countenance that froze my old blood to ice--to the ice inwhich 'tis now--ough! ough! Well, at length she arose, with her eyesstill fixed, and passed through the paneled door without a word. She isgone!"

"What madness is this?" cried Ranulph. "Let me go, woman--'tis thatruffian in disguise--she may be murdered. "

"No, no, " shrieked Agnes; "it was no disguise. She is gone, I tellyou--the room was empty, all the rooms were empty--the passage wasvoid--through the door they went together--silently, silently--ghostlike, slow. Ha! that tomb--they are there together now--he has her in hisarms--see, they are here--they glide through the door--do you not seethem now? Did I not speak the truth? She is dead--ha, ha!" And with afrantic and bewildering laugh the old woman fell upon her face. 

Ranulph raised her from the floor; but the shock of what she had beheldhad been too much for her. She was dead!

_CHAPTER IV_

_THE DOWER OF SYBIL_

 _Card. _ Now art thou come? Thou look'st ghastly; There sits in thy face some great determination, Mixed with some fear. 

 _Bos. _ Thus it lightens into action: I am come to kill thee. 

 _Duchess of Malfy. _

Ranulph Rookwood was for some moments so much stunned by the ghastlyfate of Agnes, connected, as it appeared to be, with a supernaturalsummons similar to that which he imagined he had himself received, thathe was incapable of stirring from the spot, or removing his gaze fromthe rigid features of the corpse, which, even in death, wore the strongimpress of horror and despair. Through life he knew that Agnes, his ownnurse, had been his mother's constant and faithful attendant; theunhesitating agent of her schemes, and it was to be feared, from theremorse she had exhibited, the participator of her crimes; and Ranulphfelt, he knew not why, that in having witnessed her terrible end, hebeheld the ultimate condition of his own parent. Conquering, not withoutgreat effort, the horror which had riveted him to the spot, he turned tolook towards Eleanor. She had sunk upon a chair, a silent witness of thescene, Mrs. Mowbray and Dr. Small having, upon the first alarm given byAgnes respecting Lady Rookwood's departure from the house quitted theroom to ascertain the truth of her statement. Ranulph immediately flewto Eleanor. 

"Ranulph, " said she, though almost overcome by her alarm, "stay not aninstant here with me. I am sure, from that poor woman's dreadful death, that something terrible has occurred, perhaps to Lady Rookwood. Go toher chamber. Tarry not, I entreat of you. "

"But will you, can you remain here alone with that body?" asked Ranulph. 

"I shall not be alone. Handassah is within call--nay, she is here. Oh, what an eve of our espousals has this been, dear Ranulph. Our whole lifeis a troubled volume, of which each successive leaf grows darker. Fateis opposed to us. It is useless to contend with our destiny. I fear weshall never be united. "

"Dismiss me not with words like those, dear Eleanor, " returned Ranulph. "Fate cannot have greater woes in store for us than those by which weare now opposed. Let us hope that we are now at that point whence allmust brighten. Once possessed of you, assured of thus much happiness, Iwould set even fate at defiance. And you will be mine to-morrow. "

"Ranulph, dear Ranulph, your suit at this moment is desperate. I darenot, cannot pledge myself. You yourself heard, even now, my mother'ssentiments, and I cannot marry without her consent. "

"Your mother, like my own, regards not the feelings of her children. Forgive my boldness, Eleanor; forgive me if I linger now, when dutycalls me hence; but I cannot tear myself away. Your mother mayreturn--my hopes be crushed; for even your love for me seems annihilatedin her presence. "

"Ranulph, your vehemence terrifies me, " rejoined Eleanor. "I imploreyou, by the tender affection which you know I bear you, not to urge mefurther at this moment. Recall your firmer feelings, and obtain somemastery over yourself. I repeat, I am yours only, if I am bride of anyone. But when our union can take place rests not with myself. And now, Ientreat of you, leave me. "

"You are mine, " said Ranulph, with fervor; "mine only. "

"Yours only, " replied Eleanor. 

"Be this the earnest of my happiness!" exclaimed Ranulph, imprinting along and impassioned kiss upon her lips. 

The lovers were startled from their embrace by a profound sigh; itproceeded from Handassah, who, unbidden, had replaced the picture of theLady Eleanor upon its frame. The augury seemed sinister. Every one whohas gazed steadfastly upon a portrait must have noticed the peculiar andlifelike character which, under certain aspects, the eyes will assume. Seen by the imperfect light upon the table, the whole character of thecountenance of the Lady Eleanor seemed changed; the features appeared tobe stamped with melancholy, and the eyes to be fixed with pityingtenderness upon her descendants. Both gazed at each other and at thepicture, struck with the same sentiment of undefined awe. Beside themstood the dark figure of the gipsy girl, watching, with ill-concealedsatisfaction, the effect of her handiwork. Ranulph was aroused from hisabstraction by hearing a loud outcry in Mrs. Mowbray's voice. Hastilycommitting Eleanor to the care of her attendant, he left the room. Handassah followed him to the door, closed it after him, and then lockedit within side. This done, she walked back hastily towards Eleanor, exclaiming, in a tone of exultation, "You have parted with him forever. "

"What mean you, girl?" cried Eleanor, alarmed at her manner. "Why haveyou fastened the door? Open it, I command you. "

"Command _me_!" laughed Handassah, scornfully. "What if I refuse yourmandate? What, if, in my turn, I bid _you_ obey _me_? I never owned butone mistress. If I have bowed my neck to you for a time, 'twas to fulfilher dying wishes. If I have submitted to your control, it was toaccomplish what I have now accomplished. Your oath! Remember your oath. The hour is come for its fulfilment. "

With these words Handassah clapped her hands. A panel in the wallopened, and Luke stood suddenly before them. Silently and with sterndeliberation he strode towards Eleanor, and seizing one of her hands, drew her forcibly towards him. Eleanor resisted not; she had not thepower; neither did she scream, for so paralyzing was her terror, thatfor the moment it took away all power of utterance. Luke neither stirrednor spoke, but, still maintaining his hold, gazed searchingly upon herfeatures, while Eleanor, as if spell-bound, could not withdraw her eyesfrom him. Nothing more terribly impressive could be conceived thanLuke's whole appearance. Harassed and exhausted by the life he hadrecently led; deprived almost of natural rest; goaded by remorse, hisframe was almost worn to the bone, while his countenance, once dark andswarthy, was now blanched and colorless as marble. This pallid anddeathlike hue was, in all probability, owing to the loss of blood he hadsustained from the wound inflicted by Major Mowbray, with the stains ofwhich his apparel was dyed; for, though staunched, the effusion had beensufficient to cause great faintness. His dark eyes blazed with theirwonted fire--nay, they looked darker and larger from his exceedingpaleness, and such intense mental and bodily suffering was imprintedupon his countenance, that, despite its fierceness and desperation, fewcould have regarded him without sympathy. Real desperation has so muchof agony in its character, that no one can witness it unmoved. His garbwas not that in which the reader first beheld him, but a rich, dark, simple suit of velvet, corresponding more with his real rank in lifethan his former peasant's attire; but it was disordered by his recentconflict, and stained with bloody testimonials of the fray; while hislong, sable curls, once his pride and ornament, now hung in intertangledelf-locks, like a coil of wreathed water-snakes. Even in her terror, asshe dwelt upon his noble features, Eleanor could not help admitting thatshe beheld the undoubted descendant, and the living likeness of thehandsomest and most distinguished of her house--the profligate andcriminal Sir Reginald. As her eye, mechanically following this train ofthought, wandered for an instant to the haughty portraiture of SirReginald, which formed part of the family pictures, and thence to thoseof his unfortunate lady, she was struck with the fancy that, by someterrible fatality, the tragic horrors of bygone days were to be againenacted in their persons, and that they were in some way strangelyidentified with their unfortunate progenitors. So forcibly was this ideaimpressed upon her features that Luke, who had followed the direction ofher glances, became instantly aware of it. Drawing her nearer to theportrait of the Lady Eleanor, he traced the resemblance in mute wonder;thence, turning towards that of Sir Reginald, he proudly exclaimed: "Youdoubted once my lineage, maiden--can you gaze on those features, whichwould almost seem to be a reflection of mine own, and longer hesitatewhose descendant I am? I glory in my likeness. There is a wild delightin setting human emotions at naught, which he was said to feel--which Ifeel now. Within these halls I seem to breathe an atmosphere congenialto me. I visit what I oft have visited in my dreams; or as in a state ofpre-existence. Methinks, as I gaze on you, I could almost deem myselfSir Reginald, and you his bride, the Lady Eleanor. Our fates wereparallel: _she_ was united to her lord by ties of hatred--by a _vow_--_abridal vow_! So are you to me. And she could ne'er escape him--couldne'er throw off her bondage--nor shall you. I claim the fulfilment of_your_ oath; you are _mine_. "

"Never, never!" shrieked Eleanor, struggling to disengage herself. ButLuke laughed at her feeble efforts. Handassah stood by, a passivespectatress of the scene, with her arms folded upon her bosom. 

"You refuse compliance, " said Luke, scornfully. "Have you no hopes ofHeaven, no fears of perdition, that you dare to violate your vow?Bethink you of the awful nature of that obligation; of the life that waslaid down to purchase it; of the blood which will cry out for vengeance'gainst the _murderess_, should you hesitate. By that blood-cementedsacrament, I claim you as my own. You are mine. " And he dragged hertowards the opening. 

Eleanor uttered a long and terrific scream. 

"Be silent, on your life, " added he, searching for the dagger given tohim by Alan Rookwood, when, as his hand sought the weapon, Eleanorescaped from his grasp, and fled towards the door. But Handassah hadanticipated her intention. The key was withdrawn from the lock, and thewretched maiden vainly tried to open it. 

At this instant Turpin appeared at the sliding panel. 

"Quick, quick!" cried he, impatiently--"despatch, in the devil's name. The house is alarmed. I hear young Ranulph's voice in the gallery. "

"Ranulph!" shrieked Eleanor--"then I am saved, " and she redoubled heroutcries for assistance. 

Luke again seized his victim. Her hands clutched so convulsively fast inher despairing energy against the handle of the door that he could nottear her thence. By this time Ranulph Rookwood, who had caught herreiterated screams for help, was at the entrance. He heard herstruggles; he heard Luke's threats--his mockery--his derisivelaughter--but vainly, vainly did he attempt to force it open. It was ofthe strongest oak, and the bolts resisted all his efforts. A board alonedivided him from his mistress. He could hear her sobs and gasps. He saw, from the action of the handle, with what tenacity she clung to it; and, stung to frenzy by the sight, he hurled himself against the sturdyplank, but all in vain. At length the handle was still. There was aheavy fall upon the floor--a stifled scream--and a sound as of a bodybeing dragged along. The thought was madness. 

"To the panel! to the panel!" cried a voice--it was that of Turpin--fromwithin. 

"The panel!--ha!" echoed Ranulph, with a sudden gleam of hope. "I mayyet save her. " And he darted along the corridor with the swiftness ofthought. 

Luke, meanwhile, had for some minutes fruitlessly exhausted all hisforce to drag Eleanor from the door. Despair gave her strength; sheclutched at the door; but she felt her strength failing her--her graspwas relaxing. And then the maddening thought that she would be shortlyhis--that he would slay her--while the idea that Ranulph was so near, and yet unable to protect her, added gall even to her bitterness. Withsavage delight Luke exulted in the lovers' tortures. He heard Ranulph'sineffectual attempts; he heard his groans; he heard their mutual cries. Inflamed by jealousy, he triumphed in his power of vengeance, and evenprolonged the torture which accident had given him the means ofinflicting. He stood like the inquisitor who marks his victim's anguishon the rack, and calculates his powers of further endurance. But hecould no longer dally, even with this horrible gratification. Hiscompanion grew impatient. Eleanor's fair long tresses had escaped fromtheir confinement in the struggle, and fell down her neck in disorder. Twining his fingers amidst its folds, Luke dragged her backwards fromher hold, and, incapable of further resistance, her strength completelyexhausted, the wretched girl fell to the ground. 

Luke now raised her almost inanimate form in his arms, and had nighreached the aperture, when a crash was heard in the panel opposite tothat by which he was about to escape, and communicating with a furtherapartment. It was thrown open, and Ranulph Rookwood presented himself atthe narrow partition. An exclamation of joy, that he was yet in time, escaped his lips; and he was about to clear the partition at a bound, and to precipitate himself upon Luke, when, as suddenly as his ownaction, was the person of the unfortunate Mr. Coates wedged into theaperture. 

"Traitor!" cried Ranulph, regarding Coates with concentrated fury, "dareyou to oppose me?--hence! or, by Heaven, I will cut you down!"

"'Tis impossible, " ejaculated the attorney. "For your own sake, SirRanulph--for my sake--I entreat--implore of you--not to attempt to passthis way. Try the other door. "

Ranulph said no more. He passed his sword through the body of themiserable attorney, who, with a deep groan, fell. The only obstacle tohis passage being thus removed, he at once leaped into the room. 

The brothers were now confronted, together, but little of brotherly lovemingled with the glances which they threw upon each other. Ranulph'sgentle, but withal enthusiastic temperament, had kindled, under hispresent excitement, like flax at the sudden approach of flame. He waswild with frenzy. Luke was calmer, but his fury was deadly andinextinguishable. The meeting was terrible on both sides. 

With one arm Luke enfolded Eleanor, with the other he uplifted thedagger. Its point was towards her bosom. Scowling grim defiance atRanulph, he exclaimed, in a determined tone, "Advance a footstep, and mydagger descends into her heart. "

Ranulph hesitated, uncertain how to act; foaming with rage, yettrembling with apprehension. 

"Ranulph, " gasped Eleanor, "life without you were valueless. Advance--avenge me!"

Ranulph still hesitated. He could not, by any act of his own, compromiseEleanor's safety. 

Luke saw his advantage, and was not slow to profit by it. "You seal herdestruction if you stir, " said he. 

"Villain, " returned Ranulph, between his ground teeth, and withdifficulty commanding sufficient coolness to speak with deliberation, "you perceive your power. Injure her, and nothing earthly shall protectyou. Free her, and take your life and liberty; nay, reward if you will. You cannot otherwise escape me. "

"Escape you!" laughed Luke, disdainfully. "Stand aside, and let me pass. Beware, " added he, sternly, "how you oppose me. I would not have abrother's blood upon my soul. "

"Nor I, " cried Ranulph; "but you pass not. " And he placed himself fullin Luke's path. 

Luke, however, steadily moved forward, holding Eleanor between himselfand Ranulph, so as to shield his own person; but, fancying he saw anopportunity of dealing a blow without injury to his mistress, the latterwas about to hazard the thrust, when his arms were seized behind, and hewas rendered powerless. 

"Lost, lost, " groaned he; "she is lost to me forever!"

"I fear that's but too true, " said Turpin, for it was the highwaymanwhose grasp confined Ranulph. 

"Must I see her borne away before my eyes?" cried Ranulph. "Releaseme--set me free!"

"Quite impossible at present, " returned Dick. "Mount and away, SirLuke, " continued he; "never mind me. Leave me to shift for myself. "

"Eleanor!" cried Ranulph, as she passed close by his side. 

"Ranulph!" shrieked Eleanor, with a loud scream, recalled toconsciousness by his voice, "farewell for ever. "

"Ay, for ever, " responded Luke, triumphantly. "You meet no more onearth. "

He was about to pass through the panel, when Eleanor exerted all herremaining strength in a last futile attempt at liberation. In thestruggle, a packet fell from Luke's bosom. 

Handassah stooped to pick it up. 

"From Sybil!" exclaimed she, glancing at the superscription. 

"Remember my promise to old Barbara, " roared Dick, who had somecuriosity, as the reader knows, to learn what the package contained. "The time is arrived. Eleanor is in your power--in your presence. "

"Give me the packet, " said Luke, resigning Eleanor for the instant toHandassah's custody--"take the steel, and grasp her firmly. "

Handassah, who, though slight of figure, was of singular personalstrength, twined her arms about Miss Mowbray in such a manner as topreclude all possibility of motion. 

Luke tore open the package. It was a box carefully enclosed in severalfolds of linen, and lastly within a sheet of paper, on which wereinscribed these words:

 THE DOWER OF SYBIL

Hastily, and with much curiosity, Luke raised the lid of the box. Itcontained one long silken tress of blackest hair enviously braided. Itwas Sybil's. His first impulse was to cast it from him; his next, reproachfully to raise it to his lips. He started as if a snake hadstung him. 

At this moment a loud clamor was heard in the gallery. In the next, thedoor was assailed by violent strokes, evidently proceeding from someweighty instrument, impelled by the united strength of severalassailants. 

The voice of Turpin rose above the deafening din. "A bullet for thefirst who enters, " shouted he. "Quick, Sir Luke, and the prize issafe--away, and----"

But as he seconded his exhortation with a glance at Luke, he broke offthe half-uttered sentence, and started with horror and amazement. Erethe cause of his alarm could be expressed, the door was burst open, anda crowd of domestics, headed by Major Mowbray and Titus Tyrconnel, rushed into the room. 

"Nay, then, the game's up!" exclaimed Dick; "I have done with Rookwood. "And, springing through the panel, he was seen no more. 

When the newcomers first looked round, they could perceive only twofigures besides themselves--those of the two lovers--Eleanor havingsunk pale, exhausted, and almost senseless, into the arms of Ranulph. Presently, however, a ghastly object attracted their attention. Allrushed towards it--all recoiled, as soon as they discovered that it wasthe lifeless body of Luke Rookwood. His limbs were stiff, like those ofa corpse which has for hours been such; his eyes protruded from theirsockets; his face was livid and blotched. All bespoke, with terriblecertainty, the efficacy of the poison, and the full accomplishment ofBarbara's revenge. 

Handassah was gone. Probably she had escaped ere Turpin fled. At allevents, she was heard of no more at Rookwood. 

It required little to recall the senses of Eleanor. Shortly she revived, and as she gazed around, and became conscious of her escape, she utteredexclamations of thanksgiving, and sank into the embraces of her brother. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Mowbray and Dr. Small had joined the assemblage. 

The worthy doctor had been full of alarm; but his meditated condolenceswere now changed to congratulations, as he heard the particulars of theterrible scene that had occurred, and of Eleanor's singular and almostprovidential deliverance. 

"After what has befallen, madam, " said the doctor to Mrs. Mowbray, slightly coughing, "you can no longer raise any objection to a certainunion, eh?"

"I will answer for my mother in that particular, " said Major Mowbray, stepping forward. 

"She will answer for herself, my son, " said Mrs. Mowbray. "The match hasher full and entire consent. But to what am I to attribute theunexpected happiness of your return?"

"To a chain of singular circumstances, " replied the Major, "which I willhereafter detail to you. Suffice it to say, that but for thisgentleman's fortunate arrival, " added he, looking at Titus Tyrconnel, "at the hut on Thorne Waste, I might have been detained a prisoner, without _parole_, and, what is worse, without provision perhaps fordays; and to add to my distress, fully acquainted with the meditatedabduction of my sister. It was excessively lucky for me, Mr. Tyrconnel, that you happened to pass that way, and for poor Paterson likewise. "

"Arrah, by my sowl, major, and you may say that with safety; and it wasparticularly fortunate that we stumbled upon the tits in the cellar, orwe'd never have been here just in the nick of it. I begin to think we'velost all chance of taking Dick Turpin this time. He's got clean away. "

"I am not sorry for his escape, " said the major. "He's a brave fellow;and I respect courage wherever I find it, even in a highwayman. I shouldbe sorry to appear as a witness against him; and I trust it will neverbe my fate to do so. "

We shall not pause to describe the affectionate meeting which now ensuedbetween the brother and sister--the congratulations upon Eleanor'sescape from peril, intermingled with the tenderest embraces, and thewarmest thanks offered to Ranulph for his gallant service. "She isyours, my dear boy, " said the major; "and though you are a Rookwood, andshe bears the ill-fated name of Eleanor, I predict that, contrary to theusual custom of our families in such cases, all your misfortunes willhave occurred _before_ marriage. "

"There is only one thing, " said Small, with a very peculiar expression, which might almost be construed into serio-comic, could we suspect thebenevolent doctor of any such waggery, "that can possibly throw a shadeover our present felicity. Lady Rookwood is not to be found. "

"My poor mother, " said Ranulph, starting. 

"Make yourself easy, " said the doctor; "I doubt not we shall hear of herto-morrow. My only apprehension, " added he, half aside, "is, that shemay be heard of before. "

"One other circumstance afflicts me, " said Ranulph. "Poor Mr. Coates!"

"What's that you say of Mr. Coates, Sir Ranulph?" exclaimed Titus. 

"I fear he was killed in the recent affray, " said Ranulph. "Let some onesearch for the body. "

"Kilt!" echoed Titus. "Is it kilt that Mr. Coates is? Ah! _ullagone_, and is it over with him entirely? Is he gone to rejoin his father, thethief-taker? Bring me to his remains. "

"He will bring them to you himself, " said the attorney, steppingforward. "Luckily, Sir Ranulph, " said the incurable punster, "it wasmerely the _outer coats_ that your sword passed through; the _inner_remains uninjured, so that you did not act as my _conveyancer_ toeternity. Body o' me! I've as many lives as a cat--ha, ha!"

Ranulph welcomed the facetious man of law with no little satisfaction. 

We think it unnecessary to enter into further detail. Another chamberwas prepared for Eleanor's reception, to which she was almostimmediately transported. The remains of the once fierce and haughtyLuke, now stiff and stark, but still wearing, even in death, their proudcharacter, were placed upon the self-same bier, and covered with theself-same pall which, but a week ago, had furnished forth his father'sfuneral. And as the domestics crowded round the corpse, there was notone of them but commented upon his startling resemblance to hisgrandsire, Sir Reginald; nor, amongst the superstitious, was the fallingof the fatal bough forgotten. 

Tranquillity was at length restored at the hall. Throughout the nightand during the next day, Ranulph made every search for his mother, butno tidings could be learned of her. Seriously alarmed, he then causedmore strict and general inquiry to be instituted, but with likeunsuccessful effect. It was not, indeed, till some years afterwards thather fate was ascertained. 

_CHAPTER V_

_THE SARCOPHAGUS_

 So now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story. --WEBSTER. 

Notwithstanding the obscurity which hung over the fate of Lady Rookwood, the celebration of the nuptials of Sir Ranulph and Eleanor was not longdelayed; the ceremony took place at the parish church, and the worthyvicar officiated upon the occasion. It was a joyous sight to all whowitnessed it, and not few were they who did so, for the wholeneighborhood was bidden to the festival. The old avenue was throngedwith bright and beaming faces, rustic maidens decked out in ribbons ofmany-colored splendor, and stout youths in their best holiday trim; norwas the lusty yeoman and his buxom spouse--nor yet the patriarch of thevillage, nor prattling child, wanting. Even the ancestral rooks seemedto participate in the universal merriment, and returned, from theireyries, a hoarse greeting, like a lusty chorus of laughter, to thefrolic train. The churchyard path was strewn with flowers--the churchitself a complete garland. Never was there seen a blither wedding: thesun smiled upon the bride--accounted a fortunate omen, as dark loweringskies and stormy weather had, within the memory of the oldest of thetenantry, inauspiciously ushered in all former espousals. The bride hadrecovered her bloom and beauty, while the melancholy which had seeminglysettled for ever upon the open brow of the bridegroom, had now givenplace to a pensive shade that only added interest to his expressivefeatures; and, as in simple state, after the completion of the sacredrites, the youthful pair walked, arm in arm, amongst their thronging andadmiring tenants towards the Hall, many a fervent prayer was breathedthat the curse of the house of Rookwood might be averted from theirheads; and, not to leave a doubt upon the subject, we can add that theseaspirations were not in vain, but that the day, which dawned sobrightly, was one of serene and unclouded happiness to its close. 

After the ceremonial, the day was devoted to festivity. Crowded withcompany, from the ample hall to the kitchen ingle, the old mansion couldscarce contain its numerous guests, while the walls resounded withhearty peals of laughter, to which they had been long unaccustomed. Thetables groaned beneath the lordly baron of beef, the weighty chine, thecastled pasty flanked on the one hand with neat's tongue, and on theother defended by a mountainous ham, an excellent _pièce de résistance_, and every other substantial appliance of ancient hospitality. Barrels ofmighty ale were broached, and their nut-brown contents widelydistributed, and the health of the bride and bridegroom wasenthusiastically drunk in a brimming wassail cup of spicy wine withfloating toast. Titus Tyrconnel acted as master of the ceremonies, andwas, Mr. Coates declared, "_quite in his element_. " So much was heelated, that he ventured to cut some of his old jokes upon the vicar, and, strange to say, without incurring the resentment of Small. 

To retrace the darker course of our narrative, we must state that someweeks before this happy event the remains of the unfortunate Sir LukeRookwood had been gathered to those of his fathers. The document thatattested his legitimacy being found upon his person, the claims deniedto him in life were conceded in death; and he was interred, with all thepomp and peculiar solemnity proper to one of the house, within the tombof his ancestry. 

It was then that a discovery was made respecting Alan Rookwood, in orderto explain which we must again revert to the night of the meditated_enlèvement_ of Eleanor. 

After quitting his grandson in the avenue, Alan shaped his course amongthe fields in the direction to the church. He sought his own humble, but now deserted dwelling. The door had been forced; some of its meagrefurniture was removed; and the dog, his sole companion, had fled. "PoorMole!" said he, "thou hast found, I trust, a better master. " And havingpossessed himself of what he came in search--namely, a bunch of keys andhis lantern, deposited in an out-of-the-way cupboard, that had escapednotice, he quickly departed. 

He was once more within the churchyard; once more upon that awful stagewhereon he had chosen to enact, for a long season, his late fantasticalcharacter; and he gazed upon the church tower, glistening in themoonshine, the green and undulating hillocks, the "chequeredcross-sticks, " the clustered headstones, and the black and portentousyew-trees, as upon "old familiar faces. " He mused, for a few moments, upon the scene, apparently with deep interest. He then walked beneaththe shadows of one of the yews, chanting an odd stanza or so of one ofhis wild staves, wrapped the while, it would seem, in affectionatecontemplation of the subject-matter of his song:

 THE CHURCHYARD YEW

 ---- Metuendaque succo Taxus. 

 STATIUS. 

 A noxious tree is the churchyard yew, As if from the dead its sap it drew; Dark are its branches, and dismal to see, Like plumes at Death's latest solemnity. Spectral and jagged, and black as the wings Which some spirit of ill o'er a sepulchre flings: Oh! a terrible tree is the churchyard yew; Like it is nothing so grimly to view. 

 Yet this baleful tree hath a core so sound, Can nought so tough in the grove be found; From it were fashioned brave English bows, The boast of our isle, and the dread of its foes. For our sturdy sires cut their stoutest staves From the branch that hung o'er their fathers' graves; And though it be dreary and dismal to view, Staunch at the heart is the churchyard yew. 

His ditty concluded, Alan entered the churchyard, taking care to leavethe door slightly ajar, in order to facilitate his grandson's entrance. For an instant he lingered in the chancel. The yellow moonlight fellupon the monuments of his race; and, directed by the instinct of hate, Alan's eye rested upon the gilded entablature of his perfidious brother, Reginald, and, muttering curses, "not loud but deep, " he passed on. Having lighted his lantern in no tranquil mood, he descended into thevault, observing a similar caution with respect to the portal of thecemetery, which he left partially unclosed, with the key in the lock. Here he resolved to abide Luke's coming. The reader knows whatprobability there was of his expectations being realized. 

For a while he paced the tomb, wrapped in gloomy meditation, andpondering, it might be, upon the result of Luke's expedition, and thefulfilment of his own dark schemes, scowling from time to time beneathhis bent eyebrows, counting the grim array of coffins, and noticing, with something like satisfaction, that the shell which contained theremains of his daughter had been restored to its former position. Hethen bethought him of Father Checkley's midnight intrusion upon hisconference with Luke, and their apprehension of a supernaturalvisitation, and his curiosity was stimulated to ascertain by what meansthe priest had gained admission to the spot unperceived and unheard. Heresolved to sound the floor, and see whether any secret entranceexisted; and hollowly and dully did the hard flagging return the strokeof his heel as he pursued his scrutiny. At length the metallic ringingof an iron plate, immediately behind the marble effigy of Sir Ranulph, resolved the point. There it was that the priest had found access tothe vault; but Alan's disappointment was excessive, when he discoveredthat the plate was fastened on the underside, and all communicationthence with the churchyard, or to wherever else it might conduct him, cut off: but the present was not the season for further investigation, and tolerably pleased with the discovery he had already made, hereturned to his silent march round the sepulchre. 

At length a sound, like the sudden shutting of the church door, brokeupon the profound stillness of the holy edifice. In the hush thatsucceeded, a footstep was distinctly heard threading the aisle. 

"He comes--he comes!" exclaimed Alan, joyfully; adding, an instantafter, in an altered voice, "but he comes alone. "

The footstep drew near to the mouth of the vault--it was upon thestairs. Alan stepped forward to greet, as he supposed, his grandson, butstarted back in astonishment and dismay as he encountered in his steadLady Rookwood. Alan retreated, while the lady advanced, swinging theiron door after her, which closed with a tremendous clang. Approachingthe statue of the first Sir Ranulph, she paused, and Alan then remarkedthe singular and terrible expression of her eyes, which appeared to befixed upon the statue, or upon some invisible object near it. There wassomething in her whole attitude and manner calculated to impress thedeepest terror on the beholder. And Alan gazed upon her with an awewhich momently increased. Lady Rookwood's bearing was as proud and erectas we have formerly described it to have been--her brow was haughtilybent--her chiselled lip as disdainfully curled; but the staring, changeless eye, and the deep-heaved sob which occasionally escaped her, betrayed how much she was under the influence of mortal terror. Alanwatched her in amazement. He knew not how the scene was likely toterminate, nor what could have induced her to visit this ghostly spot atsuch an hour, and alone; but he resolved to abide the issue insilence--profound as her own. After a time, however, his impatience gotthe better of his fears and scruples, and he spoke. 

"What doth Lady Rookwood in the abode of the dead?" asked he, at length. 

She started at the sound of his voice, but still kept her eye fixed uponthe vacancy. 

"Hast thou not beckoned me hither, and am I not come?" returned she, ina hollow tone. "And now thou asketh wherefore I am here--I am herebecause, as in thy life I feared thee not, neither in death do I fearthee. I am here because----"

"What seest thou?" interrupted Peter, with ill-suppressed terror. 

"What see I--ha--ha!" shouted Lady Rookwood, amidst discordant laughter;"that which might appal a heart less stout than mine--a figureanguish-writhen, with veins that glow as with a subtle and consumingflame. A substance yet a shadow, in thy living likeness. Ha--frown ifthou wilt; I can return thy glances. "

"Where dost thou see this vision?" demanded Alan. 

"Where!" echoed Lady Rookwood, becoming for the first time sensible ofthe presence of a stranger. "Ha--who are you that question me?--what areyou?--speak!"

"No matter who or what I am, " returned Alan, "I ask you what youbehold. "

"Can you see nothing?"

"Nothing, " replied Alan. 

"You knew Sir Piers Rookwood?"

"Is it he?" asked Alan, drawing near her. 

"It is, " replied Lady Rookwood; "I have followed him hither, and I willfollow him whithersoever he leads me, were it to----"

"What doth he now?" asked Alan; "do you see him still?"

"The figure points to that sarcophagus, " returned Lady Rookwood--"canyou raise up the lid?"

"No, " replied Alan; "my strength will not avail to lift it. "

"Yet let the trial be made, " said Lady Rookwood; "the figure pointsthere still--my own arm shall aid you. "

Alan watched her in dumb wonder. She advanced towards the marblemonument, and beckoned him to follow. He reluctantly complied. Withoutany expectation of being able to move the ponderous lid of thesarcophagus, at Lady Rookwood's renewed request he applied himself tothe task. What was his surprise, when, beneath their united efforts, hefound the ponderous slab slowly revolve upon its vast hinges, and, withlittle further difficulty, it was completely elevated; though it stillrequired the exertion of all Alan's strength to prop it open, andprevent its falling back. 

"What does it contain?" asked Lady Rookwood. 

"A warrior's ashes, " returned Alan. 

"There is a rusty dagger upon a fold of faded linen, " cried LadyRookwood, holding down the light. 

"It is the weapon with which the first dame of the house of Rookwood wasstabbed, " said Alan, with a grim smile:

 "Which whoso findeth in the tomb Shall clutch until the hour of doom; And when 'tis grasped by hand of clay, The curse of blood shall pass away. 

So saith the rhyme. Have you seen enough?"

"No, " said Lady Rookwood, precipitating herself into the marble coffin. "That weapon shall be mine. "

"Come forth--come forth, " cried Alan. "My arm trembles--I cannot supportthe lid. "

"I will have it, though I grasp it to eternity, " shrieked Lady Rookwood, vainly endeavoring to wrest away the dagger, which was fastened, together with the linen upon which it lay, by some adhesive substanceto the bottom of the shell. 

At this moment Alan Rookwood happened to cast his eye upward, and hethen beheld what filled him with new terror. The axe of the sable statuewas poised above its head, as in the act to strike him. Some secretmachinery, it was evident, existed between the sarcophagus lid and thismysterious image. But in the first impulse of his alarm Alan abandonedhis hold of the slab, and it sunk slowly downwards. He uttered a loudcry as it moved. Lady Rookwood heard this cry. She raised herself at thesame moment--the dagger was in her hand--she pressed it against the lid, but its downward force was too great to be withstood. The light waswithin the sarcophagus, and Alan could discern her features. Theexpression was terrible. She uttered one shriek and the lid closed forever. 

Alan was in total darkness. The light had been enclosed with LadyRookwood. There was something so horrible in her probable fate, thateven _he_ shuddered as he thought upon it. Exerting all his remainingstrength, he essayed to raise the lid, but now it was more firmly closedthan ever. It defied all his power. Once, for an instant, he fanciedthat it yielded to his straining sinews, but it was only his hand thatslided upon the surface of the marble. It was fixed--immovable. Thesides and lid rang with the strokes which the unfortunate lady bestowedupon them with the dagger's point; but those sounds were not long heard. Presently all was still; the marble ceased to vibrate with her blows. Alan struck the lid with his knuckles, but no response was returned. Allwas silent. 

He now turned his attention to his own situation, which had becomesufficiently alarming. An hour must have elapsed, yet Luke had notarrived. The door of the vault was closed--the key was in the lock, andon the outside. He was himself a prisoner within the tomb. What if Lukeshould _not_ return? What if he were slain, as it might chance, in theenterprise? That thought flashed across his brain like an electricshock. None knew of his retreat but his grandson. He might perish offamine within this desolate vault. 

He checked this notion as soon as it was formed--it was too dreadful tobe indulged in. A thousand circumstances might conspire to detain Luke. He was sure to come. Yet the solitude--the darkness was awful, almostintolerable. The dying and the dead were around him. He dared not stir. 

Another hour--an age it seemed to him--had passed. Still Luke came not. Horrible forebodings crossed him; but he would not surrender himself tothem. He rose, and crawled in the direction, as he supposed, of thedoor--fearful, even of the stealthy sound of his own footsteps. Hereached it, and his heart once more throbbed with hope. He bent his earto the key; he drew in his breath; he listened for some sound, butnothing was to be heard. A groan would have been almost music in hisears. 

Another hour was gone! He was now a prey to the most frightfulapprehensions, agitated in turns by the wildest emotions of rage andterror. He at one moment imagined that Luke had abandoned him, andheaped curses upon his head; at the next, convinced that he had fallen, he bewailed with equal bitterness his grandson's fate and his own. Hepaced the tomb like one distracted; he stamped upon the iron plate; hesmote with his hands upon the door; he shouted, and the vault hollowlyechoed his lamentations. But Time's sand ran on, and Luke arrived not. 

Alan now abandoned himself wholly to despair. He could no longeranticipate his grandson's coming, no longer hope for deliverance. Hisfate was sealed. Death awaited him. He must anticipate his slow butinevitable stroke, enduring all the grinding horrors of starvation. Thecontemplation of such an end was madness, but he was forced tocontemplate it now; and so appalling did it appear to his imagination, that he half resolved to dash out his brains against the walls of thesepulchre, and put an end at once to his tortures; and nothing, except adoubt whether he might not, by imperfectly accomplishing his purpose, increase his own suffering, prevented him from putting this dreadfulidea into execution. His dagger was gone, and he had no other weapon. Terrors of a new kind now assailed him. The dead, he fancied, werebursting from their coffins, and he peopled the darkness with grislyphantoms. They were around about him on each side, whirling andrustling, gibbering, groaning, shrieking, laughing, and lamenting. Hewas stunned, stifled. The air seemed to grow suffocating, pestilential;the wild laughter was redoubled; the horrible troop assailed him; theydragged him along the tomb, and amid their howls he fell, and becameinsensible. 

When he returned to himself, it was some time before he could collecthis scattered faculties; and when the agonizing consciousness of histerrible situation forced itself upon his mind, he had nigh relapsedinto oblivion. He arose. He rushed towards the door; he knocked againstit with his knuckles till the blood streamed from them; he scratchedagainst it with his nails till they were torn off by the roots. Withinsane fury he hurled himself against the iron frame; it was in vain. Again he had recourse to the trap-door. He searched for it; he found it. He laid himself upon the ground. There was no interval of space in whichhe could insert a finger's point. He beat it with his clenched hand; hetore it with his teeth; he jumped upon it; he smote it with his heel. The iron returned a sullen sound. 

He again essayed the lid of the sarcophagus. Despair nerved hisstrength. He raised the slab a few inches. He shouted, screamed, but noanswer was returned; and again the lid fell. 

"She is dead!" cried Alan. "Why have I not shared her fate? But mine isto come. And such a death!--oh, oh!" And, frenzied at the thought, heagain hurried to the door, and renewed his fruitless attempts toescape, till nature gave way, and he sank upon the floor, groaning andexhausted. 

Physical suffering now began to take the place of his mental tortures. Parched and consumed with a fierce internal fever, he was tormented byunappeasable thirst--of all human ills the most unendurable. His tonguewas dry and dusty, his throat inflamed; his lips had lost all moisture. He licked the humid floor; he sought to imbibe the nitrous drops fromthe walls; but, instead of allaying his thirst, they increased it. Hewould have given the world, had he possessed it, for a draught of coldspring-water. Oh, to have died with his lips upon some bubblingfountain's marge! But to perish thus----!

Nor were the pangs of hunger wanting. He had to endure all the horrorsof famine, as well as the agonies of quenchless thirst. 

In this dreadful state three days and nights passed over Alan's fatedhead. Nor night nor day had he. Time, with him, was only measured by itsduration, and that seemed interminable. Each hour added to hissuffering, and brought with it no relief. During this period ofprolonged misery reason often tottered on her throne. Sometimes he wasunder the influence of the wildest passions. He dragged coffins fromtheir recesses, hurled them upon the ground, striving to break them openand drag forth their loathsome contents. Upon other occasions he wouldweep bitterly and wildly; and once--only once--did he attempt to pray;but he started from his knees with an echo of infernal laughter, as hedeemed, ringing in his ears. Then, again, would he call downimprecations upon himself and his whole line, trampling upon the pile ofcoffins he had reared; and lastly, more subdued, would creep to theboards that contained the body of his child, kissing them with a franticoutbreak of affection. 

At length he became sensible of his approaching dissolution. To him thethought of death might well be terrible, but he quailed not before it, or rather seemed, in his latest moments, to resume all his wontedfirmness of character. Gathering together his remaining strength, hedragged himself towards the niche wherein his brother, Sir ReginaldRookwood, was deposited, and placing his hand upon the coffin, solemnlyexclaimed, "My curse--my dying curse--be upon thee evermore!"

Falling with his face upon the coffin, Alan instantly expired. In thisattitude his remains were discovered. 

_L'ENVOY_

Our tale is told. Yet, perhaps, we may be allowed to add a few wordsrespecting two of the subordinate characters of our drama--melodrama weought to say--namely Jerry Juniper and the knight of Malta. What becameof the Caper Merchant's son after his flight from Kilburn Wells we havenever been able distinctly to ascertain. Juniper, however, would seem tobe a sort of Wandering Jew, for certain it is, that _somebody very likehim_ is extant still, and to be met with at Jerry's old haunts; indeed, we have no doubt of encountering him at the ensuing meetings of Ascotand Hampton. 

As regards the knight of Malta--Knight of _Roads_--"Rhodes"--he shouldhave been--we are sorry to state that the career of the Rufflerterminated in a madhouse, and thus the poor knight became in reality a_Hospitaller_! According to the custom observed in those establishments, the knight was deprived of his luxuriant locks, and the loss of hisbeard rendered his case incurable; but, in the mean time, the barber ofthe place made his fortune by retailing the materials of all the blackwigs he could collect to the impostor's dupes. 

Such is the latest piece of intelligence that has reached us of the_Arch-hoaxer_ of Canterbury!

Turpin--why disguise it?--was hanged at York in 1739. His firmnessdeserted him not at the last. When he mounted the fatal tree his leftleg trembled; he stamped it impatiently down, and, after a brief chatwith the hangman, threw himself suddenly and resolutely from the ladder. His sufferings would appear to have been slight: as he himself sang, He died, not as other men, by _degrees_, But _at once_, without wincing, and quite at his ease!

We may, in some other place, lay before the reader the particulars--andthey are not incurious--of the "night before Larry was stretched. "

The remains of the vagrant highwayman found a final resting-place in thedesecrated churchyard of Saint George, without the Fishergate postern, agreen and grassy cemetery, but withal a melancholy one. A few recenttombs mark out the spots where some of the victims of the pestilence of1832-33 have been interred; but we have made vain search for Turpin'sgrave--unless--as is more than probable--the plain stone with the simpleinitials R. T. Belongs to him. 

The gyves by which he was fettered are still shown at York Castle, andare of prodigious weight and strength; and though the herculean robberis said to have moved in them with ease, the present turnkey wasscarcely able to lift the ponderous irons. An old woman of the same cityhas a lock of hair, said to have been Turpin's, which she avouches hergrandfather cut off from the body after the execution, and which thebelievers look upon with great reverence. O rare Dick Turpin!

We shall, perhaps, be accused of dilating too much upon the character ofthe highwayman, and we plead guilty to the charge. But we found itimpossible to avoid running a little into extremes. Our earliestassociations are connected with sunny scenes in Cheshire, said to havebeen haunted by Turpin; and with one very dear to us--from whose lips, now, alas! silent, we have listened to many stories of his exploits--hewas a sort of hero. We have had a singular delight in recounting hisfeats and hairbreadth escapes; and if the reader derives only half asmuch pleasure from the perusal of his adventures as we have had innarrating them, our satisfaction will be complete. Perhaps, we may haveplaced him in too favorable a point of view--and yet we know not. Asupon those of more important personages, many doubts rest upon hishistory. Such as we conceive him to have been, we have drawn him--hopingthat the benevolent reader, upon finishing our Tale, will arrive at thesame conclusion; and, in the words of the quaint old Prologue to thePrince of Prigs' Revels, ------------Thank that man, Can make each thief a complete Roscian!

NOTES

[1] See the celebrated recipe for the Hand of Glory in "_Les Secrets duPetit Albert_. "

[2] The seven planets, so called by Mercurius Trismegistus. 

[3] Payne Knight, the scourge of Repton and his school, speaking of thelicense indulged in by the modern landscape-gardeners, thus vents hisindignation:

 But here, once more, ye rural muses weep The ivy'd balustrade, and terrace steep; Walls, mellowed into harmony by time, On which fantastic creepers used to climb; While statues, labyrinths, and alleys pent Within their bounds, at least were innocent!-- _Our modern taste--alas!--no limit knows; O'er hill, o'er dale, through wood and field it flows; Spreading o'er all its unprolific spawn, In never-ending sheets of vapid lawn. _

 _The Landscape, a didactic Poem, addressed to Uvedale Price, Esq. _

[4] Mason's English Garden. 

[5] Cowley. 

[6] Query, Damocles?--_Printer's Devil. _

[7] James Hind--the "Prince of Prigs"--a royalist captain of somedistinction, was hanged, drawn, and quartered, in 1652. Some goodstories are told of him. He had the credit of robbing Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Peters. His discourse to Peters is particularly edifying. 

[8] See Du-Val's life by Doctor Pope, or Leigh Hunt's brilliant sketchof him in _The Indicator_. 

[9] We cannot say much in favor of this worthy, whose name was ThomasSimpson. The reason of his _sobriquet_ does not appear. He was notparticularly scrupulous as to his mode of appropriation. One of hissayings is, however, on record. He told a widow whom he robbed, "thatthe end of a woman's husband begins in tears, but the end of her tearsis another husband. " "Upon which, " says his chronicler, "the gentlewomangave him about fifty guineas. "

[10] Tom was a sprightly fellow, and carried his sprightliness to thegallows; for just before he was turned off he kicked Mr. Smith, theordinary, and the hangman out of the cart--a piece of pleasantry whichcreated, as may be supposed, no small sensation. 

[11] Many agreeable stories are related of Holloway. His career, however, closed with a murder. He contrived to break out of Newgate butreturned to witness the trial of one of his associates; when, upon theattempt of a turnkey, one Richard Spurling, to seize him, Will knockedhim on the head in the presence of the whole court. For this offence hesuffered the extreme penalty of the law in 1712. 

[12] Wicks's adventures with Madame Toly are highly diverting. It wasthis hero--not Turpin, as has been erroneously stated--who stopped thecelebrated Lord Mohun. Of Gettings and Grey, and "the five or six, " theless said the better. 

[13] One of Jack's recorded _mots_. When a Bible was pressed upon hisacceptance by Mr. Wagstaff, the chaplain, Jack refused it, saying, "thatin his situation one file would be worth all the Bibles in the world. " Agentleman who visited Newgate asked him to dinner; Sheppard replied, "that he would take an early opportunity of waiting upon him. " And webelieve he kept his word. 

[14] The word Tory, as here applied, must not be confounded with theterm of party distinction now in general use in the political world. Itsimply means a thief on a grand scale, something more than "a snapper-upof unconsidered trifles, " or petty-larceny rascal. We have classicalauthority for this:--TORY: "An advocate for absolute monarchy; _also, anIrish vagabond, robber, or rapparee_. "--GROSE'S _Dictionary_. 

[15] A trio of famous High-Tobygloaks. Swiftneck was a captain of_Irish_ dragoons, by-the-bye. 

[16] REDMOND O'HANLON was the Rob Roy of Ireland, and his adventures, many of which are exceedingly curious, would furnish as rich _materials_for the novelist, as they have already done for the ballad-mongers: someof them are, however, sufficiently well narrated in a pleasant littletome, published at Belfast, entitled _The History of the Rapparees_. Weare also in possession of a funeral discourse, preached at the obsequiesof the "noble and renowned" Henry St. John, Esq. , who was unfortunatelykilled by the _Tories_--the _Destructives_ of those days--in theinduction to which we find some allusion to Redmond. After describingthe thriving condition of the north of Ireland, about 1680, the Rev. Lawrence Power, the author of the sermon, says, "One mischief there was, which indeed in a great measure destroyed all, and that was a pack ofinsolent bloody outlaws, whom they here call _Tories_. These had soriveted themselves in these parts, that by the interest they had amongthe natives, and some English, too, _to their shame be it spoken_, theyexercise a kind of separate sovereignty in three or four counties in thenorth of Ireland. REDMOND O'HANLON is their chief, and has been thesemany years; a cunning, dangerous fellow, who, though proclaimed anoutlaw with the rest of his crew, and sums of money set upon theirheads, yet he reigns still, and keeps all in subjection, so far that'tis credibly reported _he raises more in a year by contributionsà-la-mode de France than the king's land taxes and chimney-money cometo, and thereby is enabled to bribe clerks and officers_, IF NOT THEIRMASTERS, (!) _and makes all too much truckle to him_. " Agitation, itseems, was not confined to our own days--but the "finest country in theworld" has been, and ever will be, the same. The old game is playedunder a new color--the only difference being, that had Redmond lived inour time, he would, in all probability, not only have pillaged a county, but _represented_ it in parliament. The spirit of the Rapparee is stillabroad--though we fear there is little of the _Tory_ left about it. Werecommend this note to the serious consideration of the declaimersagainst the sufferings of the "six millions. "

[17] Here Titus was slightly in error. He mistook the cause for theeffect. "They were called Rapparees, " Mr. Malone says, "from being armedwith a half-pike, called by the Irish a _rapparee_. "--TODD'S JOHNSON. 

[18] _Tory_, so called from the Irish word _Toree_, give me yourmoney. --TODD'S JOHNSON. 

[19] As he was carried to the gallows, Jack played a fine tune of hisown composing on the bagpipe, which retains the name of Macpherson'stune to this day. --_History of the Rapparees_. 

[20] "Notwithstanding he was so great a rogue, Delany was a handsome, portly man, extremely diverting in company, and could behave himselfbefore gentlemen very agreeably. _He had a political genius_--notaltogether surprising in so eminent a _Tory_--and would have made greatproficiency in learning if he had rightly applied his time. He composedseveral songs, and put tunes to them; and by his skill in music gainedthe favor of some of the leading musicians in the country, whoendeavored to get him reprieved. "--_History of the Rapparees_. Theparticulars of the _Songster's_ execution are singular:--"When he wasbrought into court to receive sentence of death, the judge told him thathe was informed he should say 'that there was not a rope in Irelandsufficient to hang him. But, ' says he, 'I'll try if Kilkenny can'tafford one strong enough to do your business; and if that will not do, you shall have another, and another. ' Then he ordered the sheriff tochoose a rope, and Delany was ordered for execution the next day. Thesheriff having notice of his mother's boasting that no rope could hangher son--and pursuant to the judge's desire--provided two ropes, butDelany broke them one after the other! The sheriff was then in a rage, and went for three bed-cords, which he plaited threefold together, _andthey did his business_! Yet the sheriff was afraid he was not dead; andin a passion, to make trial, stabbed him with his sword in the soles ofhis feet, and at last cut the rope. After he was cut down, his body wascarried into the courthouse, where it remained in the coffin for twodays, standing up, till the judge and all the spectators were fullysatisfied that he was stiff and dead, and then permission was given tohis friends to remove the corpse and bury it. "-_History of theRapparees_. 

[21] Highwaymen, as contradistinguished from footpads. 

[22] Since Mr. Coates here avows himself the writer of this diatribeagainst Sir Robert Walpole, attacked under the guise of _Turpin_ in the_Common Sense_ of July 30, 1737, it is useless to inquire further intoits authorship. And it remains only to refer the reader to the _Gents. Mag. _, vol. Vii. P. 438, for the article above quoted; and for a replyto it from the _Daily Gazetteer_ contained in p. 499 of the same volume. 

[23] In reference to this imaginary charm, Sir Thomas Browne observes, in his "Vulgar Errors. " "What natural effects can reasonably beexpected, when, to prevent the Ephialtes, or Nightmare, we hang a hollowstone in our stables?" Grose also states, "that a stone with a hole init, hung at the bed's head, will prevent the nightmare, and is thereforecalled a hag-stone. " The belief in this charm still lingers in somedistricts, and maintains, like the horse-shoe affixed to the barn-door, a feeble stand against the superstition-destroying "march of intellect. "

[24] Brown's Pastorals. 

[25] The Merry Beggars. 

[26] The parties to be wedded find out a dead horse, or any other beast, and standing one on the one side, and the other on the other, thepatrico bids them live together till death do them part; and so shakinghands, the wedding dinner is kept at the next alehouse they stumbleinto, where the union is nothing but knocking of cannes, and the sauce, none but drunken brawles. --DEKKAR. 

[27] Receiver. 

[28] Memoirs, of the right villainous John Hall, the famous, andnotorious Robber, penned from his Mouth some Time before his Death, 1708. 

[29] A famous highwayman. 

[30] A real gentleman. 

[31] Breeches and boots. 

[32] Gipsy flask. 

[33] How he exposes his pistols. 

[34] For an account of these, see Grose. They are much too _gross_ to beset down here. 

[35] "The shalm, or shawm, was a wind instrument, like a pipe, with aswelling protuberance in the middle. "--_Earl of Northumberland'sHousehold Book_. 

[36] Perhaps the most whimsical laws that were ever prescribed to a gangof thieves were those framed by William Holliday, one of the priggingcommunity, who was hanged in 1695:

Art. I. Directs--That none of his company should presume to wear shirts, upon pain of being cashiered. 

II. --That none should lie in any other places than stables, emptyhouses, or other bulks. 

III. --That they should eat nothing but what they begged, and that theyshould give away all the money they got by cleaning boots among oneanother, for the good of the fraternity. 

IV. --That they should neither learn to read nor write, that he may havethem the better under command. 

V. --That they should appear every morning by nine, on the parade, toreceive necessary orders. 

VI. --That none should presume to follow the scent but such as he orderedon that party. 

VII. --That if any one gave them shoes or stockings, they should convertthem into money to play. 

VIII. --That they should steal nothing they could not come at, for fearof bringing a scandal upon the company. 

IX. --That they should cant better than the Newgate birds, pick pocketswithout bungling, outlie a Quaker, outswear a lord at a gaming-table, and brazen out all their villainies beyond an Irishman. 

[37] Cell. 

[38] Newgate. 

[39] A woman whose husband has been hanged. 

[40] A dancing-master. 

[41] "Nothing, comrades; on, on, " supposed to be addressed by a thief tohis confederates. 

[42] Thus Victor Hugo, in "Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné, " makes animprisoned felon sing:

 "J'le ferai danser une danse Où il n'y a pas de plancher. "

[43] Thieves in prison. 

[44] Shoplifter. 

[45] Pickpocket. 

[46] Handkerchiefs. 

[47] Rings. 

[48] To the pawnbroker. 

[49] Snuff-boxes. 

[50] Pickpocket. 

[51] The two forefingers used in picking a pocket. 

[52] Pickpocket. 

[53] Pick a pocket. 

[54] No inside coat-pocket; buttoned up. 

[55] Scissors. 

[56] Steal a pocket-book. 

[57] Best-made clothes. 

[58] Thief. 

[59] With my hair dressed in the first fashion. 

[60] With several rings on my hands. 

[61] Seals. 

[62] Gold watch. 

[63] Laced shirt. 

[64] Gentlemanlike. 

[65] Easily than forged notes could I pass. 

[66] Favorite mistress. 

[67] Police. 

[68] Taken at length. 

[69] Cast for transportation. 

[70] Fetters. 

[71] Turnkey. 

[72] Gipsy. 

[73] Pickpockets. 

[74] This song describes pretty accurately the career of anextraordinary individual, who, in the lucid intervals of a half-crazedunderstanding, imposed himself upon the credulous inhabitants ofCanterbury, in the year 1832, as a certain "SIR WILLIAM PERCY HONEYWOODCOURTENAY, KNIGHT OF MALTA;" and contrived--for there was considerable"method in his madness"--to support the deception during a long period. The anachronism of his character in a tale--the data of which is nearlya century back--will, perhaps, be overlooked, when it is considered ofhow much value, in the illustration of "wise saws, " are "_moderninstances_. " Imposture and credulity are of all ages; and the Courtenaysof the nineteenth are rivalled by the Tofts and Andrés of the eighteenthcentury. The subjoined account of the _soi-disant_ SIR WILLIAM COURTENAYis extracted from "An Essay on his Character, and Reflections on hisTrial, " published at the theatre of his exploits: "About Michaelmas lastit was rumored that an extraordinary man was staying at the Rose Inn ofthis city--Canterbury--who passed under the name of Count Rothschild, but had been recently known in London by the name of Thompson! Thiswould have been sufficient to excite attention, had no other incidentsmaterially added to the excitement. His costume and countenance denotedforeign extraction, while his language and conversation showed that hewas well acquainted with almost every part of this kingdom. He was saidto live with singular frugality, notwithstanding abundant samples ofwealth, and professions of an almost unlimited command of money. Heappeared to study retirement, if not concealment, although subsequentevents have proved that society of every grade, beneath the middleclass, is the element in which he most freely breathes. _He often deckedhis person with a fine suit of Italian clothing, and sometimes with themore gay and imposing costume of the Eastern nations; yet these foreignhabits were for months scarcely visible beyond the limits of the inn ofhis abode, and the chapel not far from it, in which he was accustomed tooffer his Sabbath devotions. _ This place was the first to which he madea public and frequent resort; and though he did not always attempt toadvance towards the uppermost seat in the synagogue, he attractedattention from the mere singularity of his appearance. 

"Such was the eccentric, incongruous individual who surprised our cityby proposing himself as a third candidate for its representation, andwho created an entertaining contest for the honor, long after thesitting candidates had composed themselves to the delightful vision ofan inexpensive and unopposed return. The notion of representing the cityoriginated beyond all doubt in the fertile brain of the man himself. Itwould seem to have been almost as sudden a thought in his mind, as itwas a sudden and surprising movement in the view of the city; nor havewe been able to ascertain whether his sojourn at the Rose was the causeor the effect of his offering to advocate our interests inParliament--whether he came to the city with that high-minded purpose, or subsequently formed the notion, when he saw, or thought he saw, anopening for a stranger of enterprise like himself. 

 * * * * *

"As the county election drew on, we believe between the nomination onBarham Downs and the voting in the cattle market of the city, thedraught of a certain handbill was sent to a printer of this city, with arequest that he would publish it without delay. Our readers will not besurprised that he instantly declined the task; but as we have obtainedpossession of the copy, and its publication can now do no injury to anyone, we entertain them with a sight of this delectable sample ofCourtenay prudence and politeness. 

"'O yes! O yes! O yes! I, Lord Viscount William Courtenay, of PowderhamCastle, Devon, do hereby proclaim Sir Thomas Tylden, Sir Brook Brydges, Sir Edward Knatchbull, and Sir William Cosway, four cowards, unfit torepresent, or to assist in returning members of Parliament to serve thebrave men of Kent. 

"'Percy Honeywood Courtenay, of Hales and Evington Place, Kent, andKnight of Malta. 

"'Any gentleman desiring to know the reasons why Lord Courtenay sopublicly exposes backbiters, any man of honor shall have satisfaction athis hands, and in a public way, according to the laws of our land--trialby combat; when the Almighty God, the Lord of Hosts is his name, candecide the "truth, " whether it is a libel or not. I worship truth as myGod, and will die for it--and upon this we will see who is strongest, God or man. '

"It is a coincidence too curious to be overlooked, that this doughtychampion of _truth_ should so soon have removed himself from public lifeby an act of deliberate and wanton perjury. We never read any of hisrhapsodies, periodical or occasional, till the publication of this essayimposed the self-denying task upon us; but now we find that they aboundin strong and solemn appeals to the _truth_; in bold proclamations that_truth_ is his palladium; in evidences that he writes and raves, that hedraws his sword and clenches his fist, that he expends his property andthe property of others committed to his hands, in no cause but that of_truth_! His famous periodical contains much vehement declamation indefence of certain doctrines of religion, which he terms the truth ofthe sublime system of Christianity, and for which alone he is content tolive, and also willing to die. All who deviate from his standard oftruth, whether theological or moral, philosophical or political, heappears to consider as neither fit for life nor death. Now it is alittle strange, his warmest followers being witness, that such anadvocate of truth should have become the willing victim of falsehood, the ready and eager martyr of the worst form of falsehood--perjury. 

"The decline of his influence between the city and county elections hasbeen partly attributed, and not without reason, to the sudden change inhis appearance from comparative youth to advancing, if not extreme age. _On the hustings of the city he shone forth in all the dazzling lustreof an Oriental chief; and such was the effect of gay clothing on themeridian of life, that his admirers, especially of the weaker sex, wouldinsist upon it that he had not passed the beautiful spring-time of May. There were, indeed, some suspicious appearances of a near approach toforty, if not two or three years beyond it; but these were fondlyascribed to his foreign travels in distant and insalubrious climes; hehad acquired his duskiness of complexion, and his strength of featureand violence of gesture, and his profusion of beard, in Egypt and Syria, in exploring the catacombs of the one country, and bowing at the shrinesof the other. On the other hand, the brilliancy of his eye, the melodyof his voice, and the elasticity of his muscles and limbs, weresufficient arguments in favor of his having scarcely passed the limitthat separates manhood from youth. _

"All doubts on these points were removed, when the crowd of his fairadmirers visited him at the retirement of his inn, and the intervals ofhis polling. These _sub-Rosa_ interviews--we allude to the name of theinn, and not to anything like privacy there, which the very place andnumber of the visitors altogether precluded--convinced them that he waseven a younger and lovelier man than his rather boisterous behavior inthe hall would allow them to hope. In fact, he was now installed byacclamation _Knight of Canterbury as well as Malta, and King of Kent aswell as Jerusalem_! It became dangerous then to whisper a syllable ofsuspicion against his wealth or rank, his wisdom or beauty; and all whowould not bow down before this golden image were deemed worthy of nobetter fate than Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego--to be cast into aburning fiery furnace. "

As a sequel to the above story, it may be added that the knight of Maltabecame the inmate of a lunatic asylum; and on his liberation was shot atthe head of a band of Kentish hinds, whom he had persuaded that he wasthe Messiah!

[75] A pipe of tobacco. 

[76] A drink composed of beer, eggs, and brandy. 

[77] The supposed malignant influence of this plant is frequentlyalluded to by our elder dramatists; and with one of the greatest ofthem, Webster--as might be expected from a muse revelling like a ghoulin graves and sepulchres--it is an especial favorite. But none haveplunged so deeply into the subject as Sir Thomas Browne. He tears up thefable root and branch. Concerning the danger ensuing from eradication ofthe mandrake, the learned physician thus writes: "The last assertion is, that there follows a hazard of life to them that pull it up, that someevil fate pursues them, and that they live not very long hereafter. Therefore the attempt hereof among the ancients was not in ordinary way;but, as Pliny informeth, when they intended to take up the root of thisplant, they took the wind thereof, and with a sword describing threecircles about it, they digged it up, looking toward the west. A conceitnot only injurious unto truth and confutable by daily experience, butsomewhat derogatory unto the providence of God; that is, not only toimpose so destructive a quality on any plant, but to conceive avegetable whose parts are so useful unto many, should, in the onlytaking up, prove mortal unto any. This were to introduce a secondforbidden fruit, and enhance the first malediction, making it not onlymortal for Adam to taste the one, but capital for his posterity toeradicate or dig up the other. "--_Vulgar Errors_, book ii. C. Vi. 

[78] The moon. 

[79] Light. 

[80] Highwayman. 

[81] "Cherry-colored--black; there being black cherries as well asred. "--GROSE. 

[82] Sword. 

[83] Pistols. 

[84] Highway robbery. 

[85] Pocket-book. 

[86] Money. 

[87] Bullets. 

[88] The gallows. 

[89] Ditto. 

[90] Pocket-book. 

[91] Inside coat-pocket. 

[92] A small pocket-book. 

[93] We have heard of a certain gentleman tobyman, we forget his name, taking the horses from his curricle for a similar purpose, but we own wethink King's the simpler plan, and quite practicable still. A cabrioletwould be quite out of the question, but particularly easy to _stop_. 

[94] Four celebrated highwaymen, all rejoicing in the honorabledistinction of captain. 

[95] The exact spot where Turpin committed this robbery, which has oftenbeen pointed out to us, lies in what is now a woody hollow, though oncethe old road from Altringham to Knutsford skirting the rich and sylvandomains of Dunham, and descending the hill that brings you to the bridgecrossing the little river Bollin. With some difficulty we penetratedthis ravine. It is just the place for an adventure of the kind. A smallbrook wells through it; and the steep banks are overhung with timber, and were, when we last visited the place, in April, 1834, a perfect nestof primroses and wild flowers. Hough (pronounced Hoo) Green lies aboutthree miles across the country--the way Turpin rode. The oldBowling-green is one of the pleasantest inns in Cheshire. 

[96] Money. 

[97] Man. 

[98] Stripped. 

[99] Fellow. 

[100] A particular kind of pugilistic punishment. 

[101] Kept each an eye upon the other. 

[102] Hands. 

[103] Deceive them. 

[104] Accomplice. 

[105] A farthing. 

[106] Cards. 

[107] Qy. _élite_. --PRINTER'S DEVIL. 

[108] Shoot him. 

[109] Since the earlier editions of this Romance were published, weregret to state--for to _us_, at least, it is matter of regret, thoughprobably not to the travellers along the Edgeware Road--that this gentleascent has been cut through, and the fair prospect from its brow utterlydestroyed. 

[110] This, we regret to say, is not the case. The memory of bold WillDavies, the "_Golden Farmer_"--so named from the circumstances of hisalways paying his rent in gold, --is fast declining upon his peculiardomain, Bagshot. The inn, which once bore his name, still remains topoint out to the traveller the dangers his forefathers had to encounterin crossing this extensive heath. Just beyond this house the commonspreads out for miles on all aides in a most gallop-inviting style; andthe passenger, as he gazes from the box of some flying coach, as we havedone, upon the gorse-covered waste, may, without much stretch of fancy, imagine he beholds Will Davies careering like the wind over its wild andundulating expanse. We are sorry to add that the "_Golden_ Farmer" hasaltered its designation to the "_Jolly_ Farmer. " This should be amended;and when next we pass that way, we hope to see the original signrestored. We cannot afford to lose our _golden_ farmers.