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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rookwood + +Author: William Harrison Ainsworth + +Release Date: November 20, 2007 [EBook #23564] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKWOOD *** + + + + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<p class="hd1">"The immortal Ainsworth." <i>Thackeray.</i></p> + + +<p class="hd2"><big>NOVELS</big></p> + +<h2 class="htitle"><small>BY</small><br /><br /> + +WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90px; margin-top: 4em;"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="90" height="22" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1><i>ROOKWOOD</i></h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90px; margin-bottom: 4em;"> +<img src="images/002.png" width="90" height="22" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 15em;"> +"Gives a vivid picture of the times<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">and places with which he dealt."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>The New York Herald.</i></span></div> + + +<p class="hd3">THE RITTENHOUSE PRESS<br /> +PHILADELPHIA</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 365px;"> +<img src="images/003.jpg" style="border: solid 2px;" width="365" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +DICK TURPIN CLEARS HORNSEY TOLL-GATE</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><small>PRINTED IN U.S.A. BY ARRANGEMENT WITH</small><br /> +GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="trans1"><p class="trnhd">Transcriber's Note</p> + +<p>Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. +Archaic and dialect spellings have been retained. +Greek text appears as originally printed, but with a mouse-hover transliteration, <span title="taphos">ταφος</span>.</p> + +<p>A table of contents, though not present in the original publication, +has been provided below:</p> + + +<ul> +<li><a href="#MEMOIR">MEMOIR</a></li> +<li><a href="#TO_MY_MOTHER">TO MY MOTHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a></li> +<li><a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I—THE WEDDING RING</a><ul class="toc"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I1">The Vault</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II1">The Skeleton Hand</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III1">The Park</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV1">The Hall</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V1">Sir Reginald Rookwood</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI1">Sir Piers Rookwood</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII1">The Return</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII1">An Irish Adventurer</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX1">An English Adventurer</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X1">Ranulph Rookwood</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI1">Lady Rookwood</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII1">The Chamber of Death</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII1">The Brothers</a></li></ul></li> + + +<li><a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II—THE SEXTON</a><ul class="toc"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I2">The Storm</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II2">The Funeral Oration</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III2">The Churchyard</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV2">The Funeral</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V2">The Captive</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI2">The Apparition</a></li></ul></li> + +<li><a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III—THE GIPSY</a><ul class="toc"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I3">A Morning Ride</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II3">A Gipsy Encampment</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III3">Sybil</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV3">Barbara Lovel</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V3">The Inauguration</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI3">Eleanor Mowbray</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII3">Mrs. Mowbray</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII3">The Parting</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX3">The Philter</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X3">Saint Cyprian's Cell</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI3">The Bridal</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII3">Alan Rookwood</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII3">Mr. Coates</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV3">Dick Turpin</a></li></ul></li> + +<li><a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV—THE RIDE TO YORK</a><ul class="toc"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I4">The Rendezvous at Kilburn</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II4">Tom King</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III4">A Surprise</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV4">The Hue and Cry</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V4">The Short Pipe</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI4">Black Bess</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII4">The York Stage</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII4">Roadside Inn</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX4">Excitement</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X4">The Gibbet</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI4">The Phantom Steed</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII4">Cawood Ferry</a></li></ul></li> + +<li><a href="#BOOK_V">BOOK V—THE OATH</a><ul class="toc"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I5">The Hut on Thorne Waste</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II5">Major Mowbray</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III5">Handassah</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV5">The Dower of Sybil</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V5">The Sarcophagus</a></li></ul></li> + +<li><a href="#LENVOY">L'ENVOY</a></li> + +<li><a href="#NOTES">NOTES</a></li> +</ul></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MEMOIR" id="MEMOIR"></a><i>MEMOIR</i></h2> + + +<p>William Harrison Ainsworth was born in King Street, Manchester, +February 4, 1805, in a house that has long since been +demolished. His father was a solicitor in good practice, and +the son had all the advantages that educational facilities could +afford. He was sent to the Manchester grammar-school, and +in one of his early novels has left an interesting and accurate +picture of its then condition, which may be contrasted with +that of an earlier period left by the "English opium-eater." +At sixteen, a brilliant, handsome youth, with more taste for +romance and the drama than for the dry details of the law, +he was articled to a leading solicitor of Manchester. The +closest friend of his youth was a Mr. James Crossley, who was +some years older, but shared his intellectual taste and literary +enthusiasm. A drama written for private theatricals, in his +father's house was printed in <i>Arliss's Magazine</i>, and he +also contributed to the <i>Manchester Iris</i>, the <i>Edinburgh +Magazine</i>, and the <i>London Magazine</i>. He even started a +periodical, which received the name of <i>The Bœotian</i>, and +died at the sixth number. Many of the fugitive pieces of +these early days were collected in volumes now exceedingly +rare: "December Tales" (London, 1823), which is not +wholly from his pen; the "Works of Cheviot Tichburn"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +(London, 1822; Manchester, 1825), dedicated to Charles +Lamb; and "A Summer Evening Tale" (London, 1825).</p> + +<p>"Sir John Chiverton" appeared in 1826, and for forty +years was regarded as one of his early works; but Mr. John +Partington Aston has also claimed to be its author. In all +probability, both of these young men joined in the production +of the novel which attracted the attention of Sir Walter Scott. +On the death of his father, in 1824, Ainsworth went to London +to finish his legal education, but whatever intentions he may +have formed of humdrum study and determined attention to +the details of a profession in which he had no interest, were +dissipated by contact with the literary world of the metropolis. +He made the acquaintance of Mr. John Ebers, who at +that time combined the duties of manager of the Opera +House with the business of a publisher. He it was who issued +"Sir John Chiverton," and the verses forming its dedication +are understood to have been addressed to Anne Frances +("Fanny") Ebers, whom Ainsworth married October 11, +1826. Ainsworth had then to decide upon a career, and, +acting upon the suggestion of Ebers, his father-in-law, he +began business as a publisher; but after an experience of +about eighteen months he abandoned it. In this brief interval +he introduced the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and Ude, the cook, to +the discerning though unequal admiration 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, but laughingly handed over to the little +daughter of Lockhart, in whose London house they had met. +Ainsworth's literary aspirations still burned with undiminished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +ardor, and several plans were formed only to be abandoned, +and when, in the summer of 1830, he visited Switzerland and +Italy, he was as far as ever from the fulfilment of his desires. +In 1831 he visited Chesterfield and began the novel of +"Rookwood," in which he successfully applied the method +of Mrs. Radcliffe to English scenes and characters. The +finest passage is that relating Turpin's ride to York, which is +a marvel of descriptive writing. It was written, apparently +in a glow of inspiration, in less than a day and a half. "The +feat," he says, "for feat it was, being the composition of a +hundred novel pages in less than twenty-four hours, was +achieved at 'The Elms,' a house I then occupied at Kilburn." +The success of "Rookwood" was marked and immediate. +Ainsworth at a bound reached popularity. This was in 1834, +and in 1837 he published "Crichton," which is a fine piece +of historical romance. The critics who had objected to the +romantic glamor cast over the career of Dick Turpin were +still further horrified at the manner in which that vulgar +rascal, Jack Sheppard, was elevated into a hero of romance. +The outcry was not entirely without justification, nor was it +without effect on the novelist, who thenceforward avoided this +perilous ground. "Jack Sheppard" appeared in <i>Bentley's +Miscellany</i>, of which Ainsworth became editor in March, +1840, at a monthly salary of £51. The story is powerfully +written. In 1841 he received £1000 from the <i>Sunday Times</i> +for "Old St. Paul's," and he, in 1848, had from the same +source another £1000 for the "Lancashire Witches." In +1841 he began the publication of <i>Ainsworth's Magazine</i>, +which came to an end in 1853, when he acquired the <i>New +Monthly Magazine</i>, which he edited for many years. This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> +was the heyday of Ainsworth's reputation alike in literature +and in society. His home at Kensal Manor House became +famous for its hospitality, and Dickens, Thackeray, Landseer, +Clarkson Stanfield, Talfourd, Jerrold, and Cruikshank were +among his guests. The list of his principal historical novels, +with their dates of issue, may now be given: "Rookwood," +1834; "Crichton," 1837; "Jack Sheppard," 1839; "Tower +of London," 1840; "Guy Fawkes," 1841; "Old St. Paul's, +a Tale of the 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 Constable de Bourbon," 1866; "Talbot Harland," +1870; "Boscobel," 1872; "The Manchester Rebels, or the +Fatal '45," 1873; and "The Goldsmith's Wife," 1874. +These novels all met with a certain amount of success, but +those of later years did not attain the striking popularity of +his earlier efforts. Many have been translated into various +modern languages, and the editions of his various works are +so numerous that some twenty-three pages of the British +Museum catalogue are devoted to his works. The scenery +and history of his native country had a perennial interest for +him, and a certain group of his novels—that is, the "Lancashire +Witches," "Guy Fawkes," "The Manchester Rebels," +etc.—may almost be said to form a novelist's history of Lancashire +from the pilgrimage of grace until the early part of +the present century.</p> + +<p>Probably no more vivid account has been written of the +great fire and plague of London than that given in "Old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> +St. Paul's." The charm of Ainsworth's novels is not at all +dependent upon the analysis of motives or subtle description +of character. Of this he has little or nothing, but he realizes +vividly a scene or an incident, and conveys the impression +with great force and directness to the reader's mind. Ainsworth +came upon the reading world at a happy moment. +People were weary of the inanities of the fashionable novel, +and were ready to listen to one who had a power of vivacious +narrative. In 1881, when he was in his seventy-seventh year, +a pleasant tribute of respect and admiration was paid to him +in his native town. The Mayor of Manchester entertained +him at a banquet in the town hall September 15, 1881, "as +an expression of the high esteem in which he is held by +his fellow-townsmen and of his services to literature." In +proposing Mr. Ainsworth's health, the mayor gave a curious +instance of the popularity of his writings. "In our Manchester +public free libraries there are two hundred and fifty +volumes of Mr. Ainsworth's different works. During the last +twelve months these volumes have been read seven thousand +six hundred and sixty times, mostly by the artisan class of +readers. And this means that twenty volumes of his works +are being perused in Manchester by readers of the free +libraries every day all the year through." It was well that +this pleasant recognition was not longer delayed. The contrast +was pathetically great between the tall, handsome, dandified +figure presented in the portraits of him by Pickersgill +and Maclise, and the bent and feeble old man who stood by +and acknowledged the plaudits of those who had assembled +to honor him. His last published work was "Stanley Brereton," +which he dedicated to his hospitable entertainer. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> +died at Reigate January 3, 1882, leaving a widow and also +three daughters by his first marriage. He was buried at +Kensal Green Cemetery. With the exception of George +Gleig, he was the last survivor of the brilliant group who +wrote for the early numbers of <i>Fraser's Magazine</i>, and, +though he died in harness, had outlived nearly all the associates +of the days when he first achieved fame.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_MY_MOTHER" id="TO_MY_MOTHER"></a><i>TO MY MOTHER</i></h2> + + +<p>When I inscribed this Romance to you, my dear Mother, +on its first appearance, I was satisfied that, whatever reception +it might meet with elsewhere, at your hands it would be sure +of indulgence. Since then, the approbation your partiality +would scarcely have withheld has been liberally accorded by +the public; and I have the satisfaction of reflecting, that in +following the dictates of affection, which prompted me to +select the dearest friend I had in the world as the subject of +a dedication, I have not overstepped the limits of prudence; +nor, in connecting your honored name with this trifling production, +involved you in a failure which, had it occurred, +would have given you infinitely more concern than myself. +After a lapse of three years, during which my little bark, +fanned by pleasant and prosperous breezes, has sailed, more +than once, securely into port, I again commit it to the waters, +with more confidence than heretofore, and with a firmer +reliance that, if it should be found "after many days," it +may prove a slight memorial of the warmest filial regard.</p> + +<p>Exposed to trials of no ordinary difficulty, and visited by +domestic affliction of no common severity, you, my dear +Mother, have borne up against the ills of life with a fortitude +and resignation which those who know you best can best +appreciate, but which none can so well understand, or so +thoroughly appreciate, as myself. Suffering is the lot of all. +Submission under the dispensation is permitted to few. And +it is my fervent hope that my own children may emulate your +virtues, if they are happily spared your sorrows.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a><i>PREFACE</i></h2> + + +<p>During a visit to Chesterfield, in the autumn of the year +1831, I first conceived the notion of writing this story. +Wishing to describe, somewhat minutely, the trim gardens, +the picturesque domains, the rook-haunted groves, the gloomy +chambers, and gloomier galleries, of an ancient Hall with +which I was acquainted, I resolved to attempt a story in the +bygone style of Mrs. Radcliffe,—which had always inexpressible +charms for me,—substituting an old English squire, an old +English manorial residence, and an old English highwayman, +for the Italian marchese, the castle, and the brigand of the +great mistress of Romance.</p> + +<p>While revolving this subject, I happened, one evening, to +enter the spacious cemetery attached to the church with the +queer, twisted steeple, which, like the uplifted tail of the renowned +Dragon of Wantley, to whom "houses and churches +were as capons and turkeys," seems to menace the good town +of Chesterfield with destruction. Here an incident occurred, +on the opening of a vault, which it is needless to relate, but +which supplied me with a hint for the commencement of my +romance, as well as for the ballad entitled "The Coffin." +Upon this hint I immediately acted; and the earlier chapters +of the book, together with the description of the ancestral +mansion of the Rookwoods, were completed before I quitted +Chesterfield.</p> + +<p>Another and much larger portion of the work was written +during a residence at Rottingdean, in Sussex, in the latter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span> +part of 1833, and owes its inspiration to many delightful +walks over the South Downs. Romance-writing was pleasant +occupation then.</p> + +<p>The Ride to York was completed in one day and one night. +This feat—for a feat it was, being the composition of a hundred +ordinary novel pages in less than twenty-four hours—was +achieved at "The Elms," a house I then occupied at Kilburn. +Well do I remember the fever into which I was thrown +during the time of composition. My pen literally scoured +over the pages. So thoroughly did I identify myself with the +flying highwayman, that, once started, I found it impossible +to halt. Animated by kindred enthusiasm, I cleared every +obstacle in my path with as much facility as Turpin disposed +of the impediments that beset his flight. In his company, I +mounted the hill-side, dashed through the bustling village, +swept over the desolate heath, threaded the silent street, +plunged into the eddying stream, and kept an onward course, +without pause, without hindrance, without fatigue. With him +I shouted, sang, laughed, exulted, wept. Nor did I retire to +rest till, in imagination, I heard the bell of York Minster toll +forth the knell of poor Black Bess.</p> + +<p>The supernatural occurrence, forming the groundwork of +one of the ballads which I have made the harbinger of doom +to the house of Rookwood, is ascribed, by popular superstition, +to a family resident in Sussex; upon whose estate the +fatal tree—a gigantic lime, with mighty arms and huge girth +of trunk, as described in the song—is still carefully preserved. +Cuckfield Place, to which this singular piece of timber is +attached, is, I may state, for the benefit of the curious, the +real Rookwood Hall; for I have not drawn upon imagination, +but upon memory, in describing the seat and domains of that +fated family. The general features of the venerable structure, +several of its chambers, the old garden, and, in particular, the +noble park, with its spreading prospects, its picturesque views +of the Hall, "like bits of Mrs. Radcliffe,"—as the poet Shelley<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span> +once observed of the same scene,—its deep glades, through +which the deer come lightly tripping down, its uplands, +slopes, brooks, brakes, coverts, and groves, are carefully +delineated.</p> + +<p>The superstition of a fallen branch affording a presage of +approaching death is not peculiar to the family I have mentioned. +Many other old houses have been equally favored: +in fact, there is scarcely an ancient family in the kingdom +without a boding sign. For instance, the Breretons of Brereton, +in Cheshire, were warned by the appearance of stocks of +trees floating, like the swollen bodies of long-drowned men, +upon the surface of a sombre lake—called Blackmere, from +the inky color of its waters—adjoining their residence; and +numerous other examples might be given. The death-presage +of the Breretons is alluded to by Drayton in the "<i>Polyolbion</i>."</p> + +<p>It has been well observed by Barry Cornwall, "that the +songs which occur in dramas are more natural than those +which proceed from the author in person." With equal force +does the reasoning apply to the romance, which may be +termed the drama of the closet. It would seem strange, on +a first view, that an author should be more at home in an +assumed character than his own. But experience shows the +position to be correct. Conscious he is no longer individually +associated with his work, the writer proceeds with all +the freedom of irresponsibility. His idiosyncrasy is merged +in that of the personages he represents. He thinks with their +thoughts, sees with their eyes, speaks with their tongues. His +strains are such as he himself—<i>per se</i>—would not, perhaps +could not, have originated. In this light he may be said to +bring to his subject not one mind, but several; he becomes +not one poet, but many; for each actor in his drama has a +share, and an important share, in the lyrical <i>estro</i> to which +he gives birth. This it is which has imparted any verve, +variety, or dramatic character they possess, to the ballads +contained in this production. Turpin I look upon as the real<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span> +songster of "Black Bess;" to Jerry Juniper I am unquestionably +indebted for a flash melody which, without his hint, +would never have been written, while to the sexton I owe the +solitary gleam of light I have been enabled to throw upon the +horrors and mystery of the churchyard.</p> + +<p>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 of versification. It is somewhat curious, with a +dialect so racy, idiomatic, and plastic as our own cant, that +its metrical capabilities should have been so little essayed. +The French have numerous <i>chansons d'argot</i>, ranging from +the time of Charles Bourdigné and Villon down to that of +Vidocq and Victor Hugo, the last of whom has enlivened the +horrors of his "<i>Dernier Jour d'un Condamné</i>" by a festive +song of this class. The Spaniards possess a large collection +of <i>Romances de Germania</i>, by various authors, amongst whom +Quevedo holds a distinguished place. We, on the contrary, +have scarcely any slang songs of merit. With a race of depredators +so melodious and convivial as our highwaymen, this is +the more to be wondered at. Had they no bards amongst +their bands? Was there no minstrel at hand to record their +exploits? I can only call to mind one robber who was a +poet,—Delany, and <i>he</i> was an Irishman. This barrenness, I +have shown, is not attributable to the poverty of the soil, but +to the want of due cultivation. Materials are at hand in +abundance, but there have been few operators. Dekker, +Beaumont and Fletcher, and Ben Jonson have all dealt +largely in this jargon, but not lyrically; and one of the +earliest and best specimens of a canting-song occurs in +Brome's "<i>Jovial Crew</i>;" and in the "<i>Adventures of Bamfylde +Moore Carew</i>" 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 genuine canting-song. +This ode brings us down to our own time; to the +effusions of the illustrious Pierce Egan; to Tom Moore's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</a></span> +Flights of "<i>Fancy</i>;" to John Jackson's famous chant, "<i>On +the High Toby Spice Flash the Muzzle</i>," cited by Lord Byron +in a note to "<i>Don Juan</i>;" and to the glorious Irish ballad, +worth them all put together, entitled "<i>The Night Before +Larry Was Stretched</i>." This facetious performance is attributed +to the late Dean Burrowes, of Cork. It is worthy of +note that almost all modern aspirants to the graces of the +<i>Musa Pedestris</i> are Irishmen. Of all rhymesters of the +"<i>Road</i>," however, Dean Burrowes is, as yet, most fully entitled +to the laurel. Larry is quite "the potato!"</p> + +<p>And here, as the candidates are so few, and their pretensions +so humble,</p> + +<p class="hd4">I can't help putting in my claim for praise.</p> + +<p>I venture to affirm that I have done something more than +has been accomplished by my predecessors, or contemporaries, +with the significant language under consideration. I have +written a purely flash song, of which the great and peculiar +merit consists in its being utterly incomprehensible to the +uninformed understanding, while its meaning must be perfectly +clear and perspicuous to the practised <i>patterer</i> of +<i>Romany</i>, or <i>Pedlar's French</i>. I have, moreover, been the +first to introduce and naturalize amongst us a measure which, +though common enough in the Argotic minstrelsy of France, +has been hitherto utterly unknown to our <i>pedestrian</i> poetry. +Some years afterwards, the song alluded to, better known under +the title of "<i>Nix My Dolly, Pals,—Fake Away!</i>" sprang into +extraordinary popularity, being set to music by Rodwell, and +chanted by glorious Paul Bedford and clever little Mrs. Keeley.</p> + +<p>Before quitting the subject of these songs, I may mention +that they probably would not have been written at all if one +of the earliest of them—a chance experiment—had not excited +the warm approbation of my friend, Charles Ollier, author +of the striking romance of "Ferrers." This induced me to +prosecute the vein accidentally opened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[xxii]</a></span></p> + +<p>Turpin was the hero of my boyhood. I had always a +strange passion for highwaymen, and have listened by the +hour to their exploits, as narrated by my father, and especially +to those of "Dauntless Dick," that "chief minion of +the moon." One of Turpin's adventures in particular, the +ride to Hough Green, which took deep hold of my fancy, I +have recorded in song. When a boy, I have often lingered +by the side of the deep old road where this robbery was committed, +to cast wistful glances into its mysterious windings; +and when night deepened the shadows of the trees, have +urged my horse on his journey, from a vague apprehension of +a visit from the ghostly highwayman. And then there was +the Bollin, with its shelvy banks, which Turpin cleared at a +bound; the broad meadows over which he winged his flight; +the pleasant bowling-green of the pleasant old inn at Hough, +where he produced his watch to the Cheshire squires, with +whom he was upon terms of intimacy; all brought something +of the gallant robber to mind. No wonder, in after-years, in +selecting a highwayman for a character in a tale, I should +choose my old favorite, Dick Turpin.</p> + +<p>In reference to two of the characters here introduced, and +drawn from personages living at the time the tale was written, +it may be mentioned that poor Jerry Juniper met his death +from an accident at Chichester, while he was proceeding to +Goodwood races; and that the knight of Malta,—Mr. Tom, a +brewer of Truro, the self-styled Sir William Courtenay, who +played the strange tricks at Canterbury chronicled in a song +given in these pages,—after his release from Banning Heath +Asylum, was shot through the head while leading on a mob of +riotous Kentish yeomen, whom he had persuaded that he was +the Messiah!</p> + +<p>If the design of Romance be, what it has been held, the +exposition of a useful truth by means of an interesting story, +I fear I have but imperfectly fulfilled the office imposed upon +me; having, as I will freely confess, had, throughout, an eye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[xxiii]</a></span> +rather to the reader's amusement than his edification. One +wholesome moral, however, may, I trust, be gathered from +the perusal of this Tale; namely, that, without due governance +of the passions, high aspirations and generous emotions +will little avail their possessor. The impersonations of the +Tempter, the Tempted, and the Better Influence may be +respectively discovered, by those who care to cull the honey +from the flower, in the Sexton, in Luke, and in Sybil.</p> + +<p>The chief object I had in view in making the present essay +was to see how far the infusion of a warmer and more genial +current into the veins of old Romance would succeed in reviving +her fluttering and feeble pulses. The attempt has succeeded +beyond my most sanguine expectation. Romance, if +I am not mistaken, is destined shortly to undergo an important +change. Modified by the German and French +writers—by Hoffman, Tieck, Hugo, Dumas, Balzac, and Paul +Lecroix (<i>le Bibliophile Jacob</i>)—the structure commenced in +our own land by Horace Walpole, Monk Lewis, 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 and perfection.</p> + +<p>And now, having said my say, I must bid you, worthy +reader, farewell. Beseeching you, in the words of old Rabelais, +"to interpret all my sayings and doings in the perfectest +sense. Reverence the cheese-like brain that feeds you with +all these jolly maggots; and do what lies in you to keep me +always merry. Be frolic now, my lads! Cheer up your +hearts, and joyfully read the rest, with all ease of your body, +and comfort of your reins."</p> + + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Kensal Manor-House</span>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>December 15, 1849</i>.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2 class="htitle"><big>ROOKWOOD</big></h2> + + + + +<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I</h2> + + +<h3>THE WEDDING RING</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span style="margin-right: 3em;"><i>Gallick Reports:</i></span><br /> +<i>Case of the Count Saint Geran.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I1" id="CHAPTER_I1"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE VAULT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let me know, therefore, fully the intent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this thy dismal preparation—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This talk fit for a charnel.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Webster.</span></p></div> + + +<p>Within a sepulchral vault, and at midnight, two persons +were seated. The chamber was of singular construction and +considerable extent. The roof was of solid stone masonry, and +rose in a wide semicircular arch to the height of about seventeen +feet, measured from the centre of the ceiling to the ground +floor, while the sides were divided by slight partition-walls into +ranges of low, narrow catacombs. The entrance to each cavity +was surrounded by an obtusely-pointed arch, resting upon +slender granite pillars; and the intervening space was filled up +with a variety of tablets, escutcheons, shields, and inscriptions, +recording the titles and heraldic honors of the departed. +There were no doors to the niches; and within might be seen +piles of coffins, packed one upon another, till the floor groaned +with the weight of lead. Against one of the pillars, upon a +hook, hung a rack of tattered, time-out-of-mind hatchments; +and in the centre of the tomb might be seen the effigies of Sir +Ranulph de Rokewode, the builder of the mausoleum, and the +founder of the race who slept within its walls. This statue, +wrought in black marble, differed from most monumental +carved-work, in that its posture was erect and lifelike. Sir +Ranulph was represented as sheathed in a complete suit of +mail, decorated with his emblazoned and gilded surcoat, his +arm leaning upon the pommel of a weighty curtal-axe. The +attitude was that of stern repose. A conically-formed helmet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +rested upon the brow; 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 as +the statue, rested the mortal remains of one of "the sternest +knights to his mortal foe that ever put speare in the rest."</p> + +<p>Streaming in a wavering line upon the roof, the sickly flame +of a candle partially fell upon the human figures before alluded +to, throwing them into darkest relief, and casting their opaque +and fantastical shadows along the ground. An old coffin upon +a bier, we have said, served the mysterious twain for a seat. +Between them stood a bottle and a glass, evidences that whatever +might be the ulterior object of their stealthy communion, +the immediate comfort of the creature had not been altogether +overlooked. At the feet of one of the personages were laid a +mattock, a horn lantern—from which the candle had been removed—, +a crowbar, and a bunch of keys. Near to these +implements of a vocation which the reader will readily surmise, +rested a strange superannuated terrier with a wiry back +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 lofty forehead, covered with a singularly shaped +nightcap, and clothed, as to his lower limbs, with tight, ribbed, +gray worsted hose, ascending externally, after a bygone fashion, +considerably above the knee. The old man's elbow rested +upon the handle of his spade, his wrist supported his chin, +and his gray glassy eyes, glimmering like marsh-meteors in +the candle-light, were fixed upon his companion with a glance +of searching scrutiny.</p> + +<p>The object of his investigation, a much more youthful and +interesting person, seemed lost in reverie, and alike insensible +to time, place, and the object of the meeting. With both +hands grasped round the barrel of a fowling-piece, and his face +leaning upon the same support, the features were entirely concealed +from view; the light, too, being at the back, and shedding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +its rays over, rather than upon his person, aided his disguise. +Yet, even thus imperfectly defined, the outline of the head, +and the proportions of the figure, were eminently striking and +symmetrical. Attired in a rough forester's costume, of the +mode of 1737, and of the roughest texture and rudest make, +his wild garb would have determined his rank as sufficiently +humble in the scale of society, had not a certain loftiness of +manner, and bold, though reckless deportment, argued pretensions +on the part of the wearer to a more elevated station +in life, and contradicted, in a great measure, the impression +produced by the homely appearance of his habiliments. A +cap of shaggy brown fur, fancifully, but not ungracefully fashioned, +covered his head, from beneath which, dropping, in +natural clusters over his neck and shoulders, a cloud of raven +hair escaped. Subsequently, when his face was more fully revealed, +it proved to be that of a young man, of dark aspect, +and grave, melancholy expression of countenance, approaching +even to the stern, when at rest; though sufficiently animated +and earnest when engaged in conversation, or otherwise excited. +His features were regular, delicately formed, and might be +characterized as singularly handsome, were it not for a want +of roundness in the contour of the face which gave the lineaments +a thin, worn look, totally distinct, however, from haggardness +or emaciation. The nose was delicate and fine; the +nostril especially so; the upper lip was short, curling, graceful, +and haughtily expressive. As to complexion, his skin had a +truly Spanish warmth and intensity of coloring. His figure, +when raised, was tall and masculine, and though slight, exhibited +great personal vigor.</p> + +<p>We will now turn to his companion, the old man with the +great gray glittering eyes. Peter Bradley, of Rookwood—comitatû +Ebor—, where he had exercised the vocation of sexton +for the best part of a life already drawn out to the full span +ordinarily allotted to mortality, was an odd caricature of +humanity. His figure was lean, and almost as lank as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +skeleton. His bald head reminded one of a bleached skull, +allowing for the overhanging and hoary brows. Deep-seated, +and sunken within their sockets, his gray orbs gleamed with +intolerable lustre. Few could endure his gaze; and, aware of +his power, Peter seldom failed to exercise it. He had likewise +another habit, which, as it savored of insanity, made him +an object of commiseration with some, while it rendered him +yet more obnoxious to others. The habit we allude to, was +the indulgence of wild screaming laughter at times when all +merriment should be checked; and when the exhibition of +levity must proceed from utter disregard of human grief and +suffering, or from mental alienation.</p> + +<p>Wearied with the prolonged silence, Peter at length condescended +to speak. His voice was harsh and grating as a rusty +hinge.</p> + +<p>"Another glass?" said he, pouring out a modicum of the +pale fluid.</p> + +<p>His companion shook his head.</p> + +<p>"It will keep out the cold," continued the sexton, pressing +the liquid upon him: "and you, who are not so much accustomed +as I am to the damps of a vault, may suffer from them. +Besides," added he, sneeringly, "it will give you courage."</p> + +<p>His companion answered not. But the flash of his eye +resented the implied reproach.</p> + +<p>"Nay, never stare at me so hard, Luke," continued the +sexton; "I doubt neither 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 to that pledge, or you +are neither grandson of mine, nor offspring of his loins."</p> + +<p>"Why should I reverence his memory," answered Luke, bitterly, +refusing the proffered potion, "who showed no fatherly +love for me? He disowned <i>me</i> in life: in death I disown <i>him</i>. +Sir Piers Rookwood was no father of mine."</p> + +<p>"He was as certainly your father, as Susan Bradley, your +mother, was my daughter," rejoined the sexton.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And, surely," cried Luke, impetuously, "<i>you</i> need not +boast of the connection! 'Tis not for you, old man, to couple +their names together—to exult in your daughter's disgrace +and your own dishonor. Shame! shame! Speak not of them +in the same breath, if you would not have me invoke curses on +the dead! <i>I</i> have no reverence—whatever <i>you</i> may have—for +the seducer—for the murderer of my mother."</p> + +<p>"You have choice store of epithets, in sooth, good grandson," +rejoined Peter, with a chuckling laugh. "Sir Piers a +murderer!"</p> + +<p>"Tush!" exclaimed Luke, indignantly, "affect not ignorance. +You have better knowledge than I have of the truth +or falsehood of the dark tale that has gone abroad respecting +my mother's fate; and unless report has belied you foully, had +substantial reasons for keeping sealed lips on the occasion. +But to change this painful subject," added he, with a sudden +alteration of manner, "at what hour did Sir Piers Rookwood +die?"</p> + +<p>"On Thursday last, in the night-time. The exact hour I +know not," replied the sexton.</p> + +<p>"Of what ailment?"</p> + +<p>"Neither do I know that. His end was sudden, yet not +without a warning sign."</p> + +<p>"What warning?" inquired Luke.</p> + +<p>"Neither more nor less than the death-omen of the house. +You look astonished. Is it possible you have never heard of +the ominous Lime-Tree, and the Fatal Bough? Why, 'tis a +common tale hereabouts, and has been for centuries. Any old +crone would tell it you. Peradventure, you <i>have</i> seen the old +avenue of lime-trees leading to the hall, nearly a quarter of a +mile in length, and as noble a row of timber as any in the West +Riding of Yorkshire. Well, there is one tree—the last on the +left hand before you come to the clock-house—larger than all +the rest—a huge piece of timber, with broad spreading branches, +and of I know not what girth in the trunk. That tree is, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +some mysterious manner, connected with the family of Rookwood, +and immediately previous to the death of one of that +line, a branch is sure to be shed from the parent stem, prognosticating +his doom. But you shall hear the legend." And +in a strange sepulchral tone, not inappropriate, however, to his +subject, Peter chanted the following ballad:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE LEGEND OF THE LIME-TREE</p> + + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 33em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Amid the grove o'er-arched above with lime-trees old and tall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—The avenue that leads unto the Rookwood's ancient hall—,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the rest its towering crest one tree rears to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wide out-flings, like mighty wings, its arms umbrageously.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seven yards its base would scarce embrace—a goodly tree I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With silver bark, and foliage dark, of melancholy green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mid its boughs two ravens house, and build from year to year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their black brood hatch—their black brood watch—then screaming disappear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In that old tree when playfully the summer breezes sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its leaves are stirred, and there is heard a low and plaintive cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when in shrieks the storm blast speaks its reverend boughs among,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad wailing moans, like human groans, the concert harsh prolong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But whether gale or calm prevail, or threatening cloud hath fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By hand of Fate, predestinate, a limb that tree will shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A verdant bough—untouched, I trow, by axe or tempest's breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Rookwood's head an omen dread of fast-approaching death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some think that tree instinct must be with preternatural power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like 'larum bell Death's note to knell at Fate's appointed hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While some avow that on its bough are fearful traces seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red as the stains from human veins, commingling with the green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Others, again, there are maintain that on the shattered bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A print is made, where fiends have laid their scathing talons dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, ere it falls, the raven calls thrice from that wizard bough;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that each cry doth signify what space the Fates allow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In olden days, the legend says, as grim Sir Ranulph view'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wretched hag her footsteps drag beneath his lordly wood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bloodhounds twain he called amain, and straightway gave her chase;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never seen in forest green, so fierce, so fleet a race!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With eyes of flame to Ranulph came each red and ruthless hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While mangled, torn—a sight forlorn!—the hag lay on the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en where she lay was turned the clay, and limb and reeking bone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the earth, with ribald mirth, by Ranulph grim were thrown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And while as yet the soil was wet with that poor witch's gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lime-tree stake did Ranulph take, and pierced her bosom's core;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, strange to tell, what next befell!—that branch at once took root,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And richly fed, within its bed, strong suckers forth did shoot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From year to year fresh boughs appear—it waxes huge in size;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with wild glee, this prodigy Sir Ranulph grim espies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day, when he, beneath that tree, reclined in joy and pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A branch was found upon the ground—the next, Sir Ranulph died!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And from that hour a fatal power has ruled that Wizard Tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Ranulph's line a warning sign of doom and destiny:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For when a bough is found, I trow, beneath its shade to lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere suns shall rise thrice in the skies a Rookwood sure shall die!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"And such an omen preceded Sir Piers's demise?" said +Luke, who had listened with some attention to his grandsire's +song.</p> + +<p>"Unquestionably," replied the sexton. "Not longer ago +than Tuesday morning, I happened to be sauntering down +the avenue I have just described. I know not what took me +thither at that early hour, but I wandered leisurely on till I +came nigh the Wizard Lime-Tree. Great Heaven! what a +surprise awaited me! a huge branch lay right across the path. +It had evidently just fallen, for the leaves were green and unwithered; +the sap still oozed from the splintered wood; and +there was neither trace of knife nor hatchet on the bark. I +looked up among the boughs to mark the spot from whence it +had been torn by the hand of Fate—for no human hand had +done it—and saw the pair of ancestral ravens perched amid +the foliage, and croaking as those carrion fowl are wont to +do when they scent a carcass afar off. Just then a livelier +sound saluted my ears. The cheering cry of a pack of +hounds resounded from the courts, and the great gates being +thrown open, out issued Sir Piers, attended by a troop of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +roystering companions, all on horseback, and all making the +welkin ring with their vociferations. Sir Piers laughed as +loudly as the rest, but his mirth was speedily checked. No +sooner had his horse—old Rook, his favorite steed, who never +swerved at stake or pale before—set eyes upon the accursed +branch, than he started as if the fiend stood before him, and, +rearing backwards, flung his rider from the saddle. At this +moment, with loud screams, the wizard ravens took flight. Sir +Piers was somewhat hurt by the fall, but he was more frightened +than hurt; and though he tried to put a bold face on the +matter, it was plain that his efforts to recover himself were +fruitless. Dr. Titus Tyrconnel and that wild fellow Jack +Palmer—who has lately come 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 returned dejectedly to the +hall. Before departing, however, he addressed a word to me in +private, respecting you; and pointed, with a melancholy shake +of the head, to the fatal branch. '<i>It is my death-warrant</i>,' +said he, gloomily. And so it proved; two days afterwards his +doom was accomplished."</p> + +<p>"And do you place faith in this idle legend?" asked Luke, +with affected indifference, although it was evident, from his +manner, that he himself was not so entirely free from a superstitious +feeling of credulity as he would have it appear.</p> + +<p>"Certes," replied the sexton. "I were more difficult to be +convinced than the unbelieving disciple else. Thrice hath it +occurred to my own knowledge, 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."</p> + +<p>"I thought you said, even now, that this death omen, if +such it be, was always confined to the immediate family of +Rookwood, and not to mere inmates of the mansion."</p> + +<p>"To the heads only of that house, be they male or female."</p> + +<p>"Then how could it apply to my mother? Was <i>she</i> of that +house? Was <i>she</i> a wife?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who shall say she was <i>not</i>?" rejoined the sexton.</p> + +<p>"Who shall say she <i>was</i> so?" cried Luke, repeating the +words with indignant emphasis—"who will avouch <i>that</i>?"</p> + +<p>A smile, cold as a wintry sunbeam, played upon the sexton's +rigid lips.</p> + +<p>"I will bear this no longer," cried Luke; "anger me not, +or look to yourself. In a word, have you anything to tell me +respecting her? if not, let me begone."</p> + +<p>"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 are sealed forever, and I have much to +say—much that it behoves you to know."</p> + +<p>"Be brief, then. When you sought me out this morning, +in my retreat with the gipsy gang at Davenham Wood, you +bade me meet you in the porch of Rookwood Church at midnight. +I was true to my appointment."</p> + +<p>"And I will keep my promise," replied the sexton. "Draw +closer, that I may whisper in thine ear. Of every Rookwood +who lies around us—and all that ever bore the name, except +Sir Piers himself—who lies in state at the hall—, are here—not +one—mark what I say—not one male branch of the house but +has been suspected——"</p> + +<p>"Of what?"</p> + +<p>"Of murder!" returned the sexton, in a hissing whisper.</p> + +<p>"Murder!" echoed Luke, recoiling.</p> + +<p>"There is one dark stain—one foul blot on all. Blood—blood +hath been spilt."</p> + +<p>"By all?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, and <i>such</i> blood! theirs was no common crime. Even +murder hath its degrees. Theirs was of the first class."</p> + +<p>"Their wives!—you cannot mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, their wives!—I do. You have heard it, then? Ha! +ha! 'tis a trick they had. Did you ever hear the old saying?</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 12em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>No mate ever brook would</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A Rook of the Rookwood!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>A merry saying it is, and true. No woman ever stood in a +Rookwood's way but she was speedily removed—that's certain. +They had all, save poor Sir Piers, the knack of stopping a +troublesome woman's tongue, and practised it to perfection. +A rare art, eh?"</p> + +<p>"What have the misdeeds of his ancestry to do with Sir +Piers," muttered Luke, "much less with my mother?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. If he could not rid himself of his wife—and +she is a match for the devil himself—, the <i>mistress</i> might be +more readily set aside."</p> + +<p>"Have you absolute knowledge of aught?" asked Luke, his +voice tremulous with emotion.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I but hinted."</p> + +<p>"Such hints are worse than open speech. Let me know +the worst. Did he kill her?" And Luke glared at the sexton +as if he would have penetrated his secret soul.</p> + +<p>But Peter was not easily fathomed. His cold, bright eye returned +Luke's gaze steadfastly, as he answered, composedly:</p> + +<p>"I have said all I know."</p> + +<p>"But not all you <i>think</i>."</p> + +<p>"Thoughts should not always find utterance, else we might +often endanger our own safety, and that of others."</p> + +<p>"An idle subterfuge—and, from you, worse than idle. I +will have an answer, yea or nay. Was it poison—was it +steel?"</p> + +<p>"Enough—she died."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not enough. When? Where?"</p> + +<p>"In her sleep—in her bed."</p> + +<p>"Why, that was natural."</p> + +<p>A wrinkling smile crossed the sexton's brow.</p> + +<p>"What means that horrible gleam of laughter?" exclaimed +Luke, grasping the shoulder of the man of graves with such +force as nearly to annihilate him. "Speak, or I will strangle +you. She died, you say, in her sleep?"</p> + +<p>"She did so," replied the sexton, shaking off Luke's hold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And was it to tell me that I had a mother's murder to +avenge, that you brought me to the tomb of her destroyer—when +he is beyond the reach of my vengeance?"</p> + +<p>Luke exhibited so much frantic violence of manner and gesture, +that the sexton entertained some little apprehension that +his intellects were unsettled by the shock of the intelligence. +It was, therefore, in what he intended for a soothing tone that +he attempted to solicit his grandson's attention.</p> + +<p>"I will hear nothing more," interrupted Luke, and the +vaulted chamber rang with his passionate lamentations. "Am +I the sport of this mocking fiend?" cried he, "to whom my +agony is derision—my despair a source of enjoyment—beneath +whose withering glance my spirit shrinks—who, with half-expressed +insinuations, tortures my soul, awakening fancies +that goad 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 have some token of the truth +or falsity of these wild suppositions, that I may wrestle against +this demon. But no," added he, in accents of despair, "no +ear listens to me, save his to whom my wretchedness is food +for mockery."</p> + +<p>"Could the dead hear thee, thy mother might do so," returned +the sexton. "She lies within this space."</p> + +<p>Luke staggered back, as if struck by a sudden shot. He +spoke not, but fell with a violent shock against a pile of coffins, +at which he caught for support.</p> + +<p>"What have I done?" he exclaimed, recoiling.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Great Heavens! what is this?" cried Luke, as a dead +body, clothed in all the hideous apparel of the tomb, rolled +forth to his feet.</p> + +<p>"It is your mother's corpse," answered the sexton, coldly;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +"I brought you hither to behold it. But you have anticipated +my intentions."</p> + +<p>"<i>This</i> 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 the face upwards.</p> + +<p>The sexton took the candle from the sconce.</p> + +<p>"Can this be death?" shouted Luke. "Impossible! Oh, +God! she stirs—she moves. The light!—quick. I see her +stir! This is dreadful!"</p> + +<p>"Do not deceive yourself," said the sexton, in a tone which +betrayed more emotion than was his wont. "'Tis the bewilderment +of fancy. She will never stir again."</p> + +<p>And he shaded the candle with his hand, so as to throw the +light full upon the face of the corpse. It was motionless, as +that of an image carved in stone. No trace of corruption was +visible upon the rigid, yet exquisite tracery of its features. A +profuse cloud of raven hair, escaped from its swathements in +the fall, hung like a dark veil over the bosom and person of +the dead, and presented a startling contrast to the waxlike +hue of the skin and the pallid cereclothes. Flesh still adhered +to the hand, though it mouldered into dust within the gripe of +Luke, as he pressed the fingers to his lips. The shroud was +disposed like night-gear about her person, and from without +its folds a few withered flowers had fallen. A strong aromatic +odor, of a pungent nature, was diffused around; giving evidence +that the art by which the ancient Egyptians endeavored +to rescue their kindred from decomposition had been resorted +to, to preserve the fleeting charms of the unfortunate Susan +Bradley.</p> + +<p>A pause of awful silence succeeded, broken only by the convulsive +respiration of Luke. The sexton stood by, apparently +an indifferent spectator of the scene of horror. His eye +wandered from the dead to the living, and gleamed with a +peculiar and indefinable expression, half apathy, half abstraction. +For one single instant, as he scrutinized the features of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +his daughter, his brow, contracted by anger, immediately +afterwards was elevated in scorn. But otherwise you would +have sought in vain to read the purport of that cold, insensible +glance, which dwelt for a brief space on the face of the +mother, and settled eventually upon her son. At length the +withered flowers attracted his attention. He stooped to pick +up one of them.</p> + +<p>"Faded as the hand that gathered ye—as the bosom on +which ye were strewn!" he murmured. "No sweet smell left—but—faugh!" +Holding the dry leaves to the flame of the +candle, they were instantly ignited, and the momentary 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!"</p> + +<p>Saying which, he flung the expiring ashes of the floweret +from his hand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II1" id="CHAPTER_II1"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE SKELETON HAND</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Duch.</i> You are very cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I fear you are not well after your travel.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ha! lights.——Oh horrible!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fer.</i> Let her have lights enough.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Duch.</i> What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A dead hand here?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Duchess of Malfy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>The sexton's waning candle now warned him of the progress +of time, and having completed his arrangements, he addressed +himself to Luke, intimating his intention of departing. +But receiving no answer, and remarking no signs of life about +his grandson, he began to be apprehensive that he had fallen +into a swoon. Drawing near to Luke, he took him gently by +the arm. Thus disturbed, Luke groaned aloud.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am glad to find you can breathe, if it be only after that +melancholy fashion," said the sexton; "but come, I have +wasted time enough already. You must indulge your grief +elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Leave me," sighed Luke.</p> + +<p>"What, here? It were as much as my office is worth. You +can return some other night. But go you must, now—at least, +if you take on thus. I never calculated upon a scene like this, +or it had been long ere I brought you hither. So come away; +yet, stay;—but first lend me a hand to replace the body in the +coffin."</p> + +<p>"Touch it not," exclaimed Luke; "she shall not rest another +hour within these accursed walls. I will bear her hence +myself." And, sobbing hysterically, he relapsed into his +former insensibility.</p> + +<p>"Poh! this is worse than midsummer madness," said Peter; +"the lad is crazed with grief, and all about a mother who has +been four-and-twenty years in her grave. I will e'en put her +out of the way myself."</p> + +<p>Saying which, he proceeded, as noiselessly as possible, to +raise the corpse in his arms, and deposited it softly within its +former tenement. Carefully as he executed his task, he could +not accomplish it without occasioning a slight accident to the +fragile frame. Insensible as he was, Luke had not relinquished +the hold he maintained of his mother's hand. And when +Peter lifted the body, the ligaments connecting the hand with +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, it may be sufficient to observe that the +hand, detached from the socket at the wrist, remained within +the gripe of Luke; while, ignorant of the mischief he had +occasioned, the sexton continued his labors unconsciously, +until the noise which he of necessity made in stamping with +his heel upon the plank, recalled his grandson to sensibility.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +The first thing that the latter perceived, upon collecting +his faculties, were the skeleton fingers twined within his +own.</p> + +<p>"What have you done with the body? Why have you left +this with me?" demanded he.</p> + +<p>"It was not my intention to have done so," answered the +sexton, suspending his occupation. "I have just made fast +the lid, but it is easily undone. You had better restore it."</p> + +<p>"Never," returned Luke, staring at the bony fragment.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! of what advantage is a dead hand? 'Tis an unlucky +keepsake, and will lead to mischief. The only use I ever +heard of such a thing being turned to, was in the case of Bow-legged +Ben, who was hanged in irons for murder, on Hardchase +Heath, on the York Road, and whose hand was cut off +at the wrist the first night to make a Hand of Glory, or Dead +Man's Candle. Hast never heard what the old song says?" +And without awaiting his grandson's response, Peter broke into +the following wild strain:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE HAND OF GLORY<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the corse that hangs on the roadside tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—A murderer's corse it needs must be—,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sever the right hand carefully:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sever the hand that the deed hath done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the flesh that clings to the bones be gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its dry veins must blood be none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those ghastly fingers white and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a winding-sheet enfold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Count the mystic count of seven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Name the Governors of Heaven.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then in earthen vessel place them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with dragon-wort encase them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleach them in the noonday sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the marrow melt and run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the flesh is pale and wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a moon-ensilvered cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As an unpolluted shroud.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Next within their chill embrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dead man's Awful Candle place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of murderer's fat must that candle be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—You may scoop it beneath the roadside tree—,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wax, and of Lapland sisame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its wick must be twisted of hair of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the crow and her brood on the wild waste shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever that terrible light shall burn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vainly the sleeper may toss and turn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His leaden lids shall he ne'er unclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long as that magical taper glows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life and treasures shall he command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knoweth the charm of the Glorious Hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of black cat's gall let him aye have care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of screech-owl's venomous blood beware!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Peace!" thundered Luke, extending his mother's hand towards +the sexton. "What seest thou?"</p> + +<p>"I see something shine. Hold it nigher the light. Ha! +that is strange, truly. How came that ring there?"</p> + +<p>"Ask of Sir Piers! ask of her <i>husband</i>!" shouted Luke, +with a wild burst 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!"</p> + +<p>"It would seem not; the sinew must have been contracted +in life. The tendons are pulled down so tightly, that +the ring could not be withdrawn without breaking the +finger."</p> + +<p>"You are sure that coffin contains her body?"</p> + +<p>"As sure as I am that this carcass is my own."</p> + +<p>"The hand—'tis hers. Can any doubt exist?"</p> + +<p>"Wherefore should it? It was broken from the arm by +accident within this moment. I noticed not the occurrence, +but it must have been so."</p> + +<p>"Then it follows that she was wedded, and I am not——"</p> + +<p>"Illegitimate. For your own sake I am glad of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My heart will burst. Oh! could I but establish the fact +of this marriage, her wrongs would be indeed avenged."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Luke," said the sexton, solemnly. "I told +you, when I appointed this midnight interview, I had a secret +to communicate. That secret is now revealed—that secret +was your mother's marriage."</p> + +<p>"And it was known to you during her lifetime?"</p> + +<p>"It was. But I was sworn to secrecy."</p> + +<p>"You have proofs then?"</p> + +<p>"I have nothing beyond Sir Piers's word—and he is silent +now."</p> + +<p>"By whom was the ceremony performed?"</p> + +<p>"By a Romish priest—a Jesuit—one Father Checkley, at +that time an inmate of the hall; for Sir Piers, though he afterwards +abjured it, at that time professed the Catholic faith, and +this Checkley officiated as his confessor and counsellor; as the +partner of his pleasures, and the prompter of his iniquities. He +was your father's evil genius."</p> + +<p>"Is he still alive?"</p> + +<p>"I know not. After your mother's death he left the hall. +I have said he was a Jesuit, and I may add, that he was mixed +up in dark political intrigues, in which your father was too +feeble a character to take much share. But though too weak +to guide, he was a pliant instrument, and this Checkley knew. +He moulded him according to his wishes. I cannot tell you +what was the nature of their plots. Suffice it, they were such +as, if discovered, would have involved your father in ruin. He +was saved, however, by his wife."</p> + +<p>"And her reward——" groaned Luke.</p> + +<p>"Was death," replied Peter, coldly. "What Jesuit ever +forgave a wrong—real or imaginary? Your mother, I ought +to have said, was a Protestant. Hence there was a difference +of religious opinion—the worst of differences that can exist +between husband and wife—. Checkley vowed her destruction, +and he kept his vow. He was enamored of her beauty. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +while he burnt with adulterous desire, he was consumed +by fiercest hate—contending, and yet strangely-reconcilable +passions—as you may have reason, hereafter, to discover."</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Luke, grinding his teeth.</p> + +<p>"I have done," returned Peter. "From that hour your +father's love for his supposed mistress, and unacknowledged +wife, declined; and with his waning love declined her health. +I will not waste words in describing the catastrophe that awaited +her union. It will be enough to say, she was found one morning +a corpse within her bed. Whatever suspicions were attached +to Sir Piers were quieted by Checkley, who distributed +gold, largely and discreetly. The body was embalmed by +Barbara Lovel, the Gipsy Queen."</p> + +<p>"My foster-mother!" exclaimed Luke, in a tone of extreme +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Ah," replied Peter, "from her you may learn all particulars. +You have now seen what remains of your mother. +You are in possession of the secret of your birth. The path +is before you, and if you would arrive at honor you must +pursue it steadily, turning neither to the right nor to the left. +Opposition you will meet at each step. But fresh lights may +be thrown upon this difficult case. It is in vain to hope for +Checkley's evidence, even should the caitiff priest be living. +He is himself too deeply implicated—ha!"</p> + +<p>Peter stopped, for at this moment the flame of the candle +suddenly expired, and the speakers were left in total darkness. +Something like a groan followed the conclusion of the sexton's +discourse. It was evident that it proceeded not from his +grandson, as an exclamation burst from him at the same instant. +Luke stretched out his arm. A cold hand seemed to +press against his own, communicating a chill like death to his +frame.</p> + +<p>"Who is between us?" he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>"The devil!" cried the sexton, leaping from the coffin-lid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +with an agility that did him honor. "Is aught between +us?"</p> + +<p>"I will discharge my gun. Its flash will light us."</p> + +<p>"Do so," hastily rejoined Peter. "But not in this direction."</p> + +<p>"Get behind me," cried Luke. And he pulled the trigger.</p> + +<p>A blaze of vivid light illumined the darkness. Still nothing +was visible, save the warrior figure, which was seen for a +moment, and then vanished like a ghost. The buck-shot +rattled against the further end of the vault.</p> + +<p>"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 sprang after him.</p> + +<p>"I could have sworn I felt something," said Luke; "whence +issued that groan?"</p> + +<p>"Ask not whence," replied Peter. "Reach me my mattock, +and spade, and the lantern; they are behind you. And stay, +it were better to bring away the bottle."</p> + +<p>"Take them, and leave me here."</p> + +<p>"Alone in the vault?—no, no, Luke, I have not told you +half I know concerning that mystic statue. It is said to move—to +walk—to raise its axe—be warned, I pray."</p> + +<p>"Leave me, or abide, if you will, my coming, in the church. +If there is aught 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 may be—but—go—there are your +tools." And he shut the door, with a jar that shook the +sexton's frame.</p> + +<p>Peter, after some muttered murmurings at the hardihood +and madness, as he termed it, of his grandson, disposed his +lanky limbs to repose upon a cushioned bench without the +communion railing. As the pale moonlight fell upon his gaunt +and cadaverous visage, he looked like some unholy thing suddenly +annihilated by the presiding influence of that sacred +spot. Mole crouched himself in a ring at his master's feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +Peter had not dozed many minutes, when he was aroused by +Luke's return. The latter was very pale, and the damp stood +in big drops upon his brow.</p> + +<p>"Have you made fast the door?" inquired the sexton.</p> + +<p>"Here is the key."</p> + +<p>"What have you seen?" he next demanded.</p> + +<p>Luke made no answer. At that moment, the church clock +struck two, breaking the stillness with an iron clang. Luke +raised his eyes. A ray of moonlight, streaming obliquely +through the painted window, fell upon the gilt lettering of a +black mural entablature. The lower part of the inscription +was in the shade, but the emblazonment, and the words—</p> + +<p class="cb">Orate pro anima Reginaldi Rookwood equitis aurati,</p> + +<p>were clear and distinct. Luke trembled, he knew not why, +as the sexton pointed to it.</p> + +<p>"You have heard of the handwriting upon the wall," said +Peter. "Look there!—'His kingdom hath been taken from +him.' Ha, ha! Listen to me. Of all thy monster race—of all +the race of Rookwood I should say—no demon ever stalked the +earth more terrible than him whose tablet you now behold. +By him a brother was betrayed; by him a brother's wife was +dishonored. Love, honor, friendship, were with him as words. +He regarded no ties; he defied and set at naught all human +laws and obligations—and yet he was religious, or esteemed so—received +the <i>viaticum</i>, and died full of years and honors, hugging +salvation to his sinful heart. And after death he has yon +lying epitaph to record his virtues. <i>His</i> virtues! ha, ha! Ask +him who preaches to the kneeling throng gathering within this +holy place what shall be the murderer's portion—and he will +answer—<i>Death!</i> And yet Sir Reginald was long-lived. The +awful question, '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 shall you know your destiny; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +you shall be the avenger of infamy and blood. I have a sacred +charge committed to my keeping, which, hereafter, I may delegate +to you. You <i>shall</i> be Sir Luke Rookwood, but the conditions +must be mine to propose."</p> + +<p>"No more," said Luke; "my brain reels. I am faint. Let +us quit this place, and get into the fresh air." And striding +past his grandsire he traversed the aisles with hasty steps. +Peter was not slow to follow. The key was applied, and they +emerged into the churchyard. The grassy mounds were +bathed in the moonbeams, and the two yew-trees, throwing their +black jagged shadows over the grave hills, looked like evil +spirits brooding over the repose of the righteous.</p> + +<p>The sexton noticed the deathly paleness of Luke's countenance, +but he fancied it might proceed from the tinge of the +sallow moonlight.</p> + +<p>"I will be with you at your cottage ere daybreak," said +Luke. And turning an angle of the church, he disappeared +from view.</p> + +<p>"So," exclaimed Peter, gazing after him, "the train is laid; +the spark has been applied; the explosion will soon follow. +The hour is fast approaching when I shall behold this accursed +house shaken to dust, and when my long-delayed vengeance +will be gratified. In that hope I am content to drag on the +brief remnant of my days. Meanwhile, I must not omit the +stimulant. In a short time I may not require it." Draining +the bottle 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 as follow:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE CARRION CROW</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Carrion Crow is a sexton bold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raketh the dead from out the mould;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He delveth the ground like a miser old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stealthily hiding his store of gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Caw! Caw!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Carrion Crow hath a coat of black,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silky and sleek like a priest's to his back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a lawyer he grubbeth—no matter what way—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fouler the offal, the richer his prey.<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dig! Dig! in the ground below!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Carrion Crow hath a dainty maw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With savory pickings he crammeth his craw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept meat from the gibbet it pleaseth his whim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It can never <i>hang</i> too long for him!<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Caw! Caw!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Carrion Crow smelleth powder, 'tis said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a soldier escheweth the taste of cold lead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No jester, or mime, hath more marvellous wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, wherever he lighteth, he maketh a hit!<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Caw! Caw! the Carrion Crow!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dig! Dig! in the ground below!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Shouldering his spade, and whistling to his dog, the sexton +quitted the churchyard.</p> + +<p>Peter had not been gone many seconds, when a dark figure, +muffled in a wide 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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III1" id="CHAPTER_III1"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE PARK</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Brian.</i> Ralph! hearest thou any stirring?</p> + +<p><i>Ralph.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Bri.</i> Stand, or I'll shoot.</p> + +<p><i>Sir Arthur.</i> Who's there?</p> + +<p><i>Bri.</i> I am the keeper, and do charge you stand.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">You have stolen my deer.</span></p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Merry Devil of Edmonton.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Luke's first impulse had been to free himself from the restraint +imposed by his grandsire's society. He longed to commune +with himself. Leaping the small boundary-wall, which +defended the churchyard from a deep green lane, he hurried +along in a direction contrary to that taken by the sexton, making +the best of his way until he arrived at a gap in the high-banked +hazel hedge which overhung the road. Heedless of +the impediments thrown in his way by the undergrowth of a +rough ring fence, he struck through the opening that presented +itself, and, climbing over the moss-grown paling, trod presently +upon the elastic sward of Rookwood Park.</p> + +<p>A few minutes' rapid walking brought him to the summit of +a rising ground crowned with aged oaks and, as he passed beneath +their broad shadows, his troubled spirit, soothed by the +quietude of the scene, in part resumed its serenity.</p> + +<p>Luke yielded to the gentle influence of the time and hour. +The stillness of the spot allayed the irritation of his frame, and +the dewy chillness cooled the fever of his brow. Leaning for +support against the gnarled trunk of one of the trees, he gave +himself up to contemplation. The events of the last hour—of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +his whole existence—passed in rapid review before him. The +thought of the wayward, vagabond life he had led; of the wild +adventures of his youth; of all he had been; of all he had +<i>done</i>, of all he had endured—crowded his mind; and then, +like the passing of a cloud flitting across the autumnal moon, +and occasionally obscuring the smiling landscape before him, +his soul was shadowed by the remembrance of the awful revelations +of the last hour, and the fearful knowledge he had +acquired of his mother's fate—of his father's guilt.</p> + +<p>The eminence on which he stood was one of the highest +points of the park, and commanded a view of the hall, which +might be a quarter of a mile distant, discernible through a +broken vista of trees, its whitened walls glimmering in the +moonlight, and its tall chimney spiring far from out the round +masses of wood in which it lay embosomed. The ground +gradually sloped in that direction, occasionally rising into +swells, studded with magnificent timber—dipping into smooth +dells, or stretching out into level glades, until it suddenly sank +into a deep declivity, that formed an effectual division, without +the intervention of a haw-haw, or other barrier, between +the chase and the home-park. A slender stream strayed +through this ravine, having found its way thither from 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 local springs, and restrained by a variety of +natural and artificial embankments, 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 that distance, and in +that still hour, you might almost catch the sound of the brawling +waters, as they dashed down the weir in a foaming cascade; +while, far away, in the spreading valley, the serpentine +meanderings of the slender current might be traced, glittering +like silvery threads in the moonshine. The mild beams of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +queen of night, then in her meridian, trembled upon the topmost +branches of the tall timber, quivering like diamond spray +upon the outer foliage; and, penetrating through the interstices +of the trees, fell upon the light wreaths of vapor then +beginning to arise from the surface of the pool, steeping them +in misty splendor, and lending to this part of the picture a +character of dreamy and unearthly beauty.</p> + +<p>All else was in unison. No sound interrupted the silence of +Luke's solitude, except the hooting of a large gray owl, that, +scared at his approach, or in search of prey, winged its spectral +flight in continuous and mazy circles round his head, uttering +at each wheel its startling whoop; 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 pool before +mentioned, but which was shrouded from view by the rising +mist. No living objects presented themselves, save a herd of +deer, crouched in a covert of brown fern beneath the shadow +of a few stunted trees, immediately below the point of land on +which Luke stood; and although their branching antlers could +scarcely be detected from the ramifications of the wood itself, +they escaped not his practised ken.</p> + +<p>"How often," murmured Luke, "in years gone by, have I +traversed these moonlit glades, and wandered amidst these +woodlands, on nights heavenly as this—ay, and to some purpose, +as yon thinned herd might testify! Every dingle, every +dell, every rising brow, every bosky vale and shelving covert, +have been as familiar to my track as to that of the fleetest and +freest of their number: scarce a tree amidst the thickest of +yon outstretching forest with which I cannot claim acquaintance; +'tis long since I have seen them. By Heavens! 'tis +beautiful! and it is all my own! Can I forget that it was +here I first emancipated myself from thraldom? Can I forget +the boundless feeling of delight that danced within my veins +when I first threw off the yoke of servitude, and roved unshackled, +unrestrained, amidst these woods? The wild intoxicating<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +bliss still tingles to my heart. And they are all my own—my +own! Softly, what have we there?"</p> + +<p>Luke's attention was arrested by an object which could not +fail to interest him, sportsman as he was. A snorting bray +was heard, and a lordly stag stalked slowly and majestically +from out the copse. Luke watched the actions of the noble +animal with great interest, drawing back into the shade. A +hundred yards, or thereabouts, might be between him and the +buck. It was within range of ball. Luke mechanically grasped +his gun; yet his hand had scarcely raised the piece half way +to his shoulder, when he dropped it again to its rest.</p> + +<p>"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 be utterly useless to me? Yet such is +the force of habit, that I can scarce resist 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."</p> + +<p>Unconscious of the danger it had escaped, the animal moved +forward with the same stately step. Suddenly it stopped, with +ears pricked, as if some sound had smote them. At that +instant the click of a gun-lock was heard, at a little distance +to the right. The piece had missed fire. An instantaneous +report from another gun succeeded; and, with a bound high +in 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 at hand. He fancied that he knew the parties; +nor was he deceived in his conjecture. Two figures issued +instantly from a covert on the right, and making to the spot, +the first who reached it put an end to the animal's struggles +by plunging a knife into its throat. The affrighted herd took +to their heels, and were seen darting swiftly down the chase.</p> + +<p>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 the house. The former raised himself from +his kneeling posture, and both appeared to listen attentively.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Luke fancied he heard a slight sound in the distance; whatever +the noise proceeded from, it was evident the deer-stealers +were alarmed. They laid hold of the buck, and, dragging it +along, concealed the carcass among the tall fern; they then +retreated, halting for an instant to deliberate, within a few +yards of Luke, who was concealed from their view by the +trunk of the tree, behind which he had ensconced his person. +They were so near, that he lost not a word of their muttered +conference.</p> + +<p>"The game's spoiled this time, Rob Rust, any how," growled +one, in an angry tone; "the hawks are upon us, and we must +leave this brave buck to take care of himself. Curse him!—who'd +'a' thought of Hugh Badger's quitting his bed to-night? +Respect for his late master might have kept him quiet the night +before the funeral. But look out, lad. Dost see 'em?"</p> + +<p>"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 head on 'em. Shall we stand and show +fight? I have half a mind for it."</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied the first speaker; "that will never do, +Rob—no fighting. Why run the risk of being grabb'd for a +haunch of venison? Had Luke Bradley or Jack Palmer been +with us, it might have been another affair. As it is, it won't +pay. Besides, we've that to do at the hall to-morrow night +that may make men of us for the rest of our nat'ral lives. +We've pledged ourselves to Jack Palmer, and we can't be off +in honor. It won't do to be snabbled in the nick of it. So +let's make for the 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.</p> + +<p>"Shall I follow," thought Luke, "and run the risk of falling +into the keeper's hand, just at this crisis, too? No, but if I am +found here, I shall be taken for one of the gang. Something +must be done—ha!—devil take them, here they are already."</p> + +<p>Further time was not allowed him for reflection. A hoarse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +baying was heard, followed by a loud cry from the keepers. +The dog had scented out the game; and, as secrecy was no +longer necessary, his muzzle had been removed. To rush forth +now were certain betrayal; to remain was almost equally assured +detection; and, doubting whether he should obtain +credence if he delivered himself over in that garb and armed, +Luke at once rejected the idea. Just then it flashed across +his recollection that his gun had remained unloaded, and he +applied himself eagerly to repair this negligence, when he heard +the dog in full cry, making swiftly in his direction. He threw +himself upon the ground, where the fern was thickest; but this +seemed insufficient to baffle the sagacity of the hound—the animal +had got his scent, and was baying close at hand. The +keepers were drawing nigh. Luke gave himself up for lost. The +dog, however, stopped where the two poachers had halted, and +was there completely at fault: snuffing the ground, he bayed, +wheeled round, and then set off with renewed barking upon +their track. Hugh Badger and his comrades loitered an instant +at the same place, looked warily round, and then, as Luke +conjectured, followed the course taken by the hound.</p> + +<p>Swift as thought, Luke arose, and keeping as much as possible +under cover of the trees, started in a cross line for the +lane. Rapid as was his flight, it was not without a witness: one +of the keeper's assistants, who had lagged behind, gave the +view-halloo in a loud voice. Luke pressed forward with redoubled +energy, endeavoring to gain the shelter of the plantation, +and this he could readily have accomplished, had no impediment +been in his way. But his rage and vexation were +boundless, when he heard the keeper's cry echoed by shouts +immediately below him, and the tongue of the hound resounding +in the hollow. He turned sharply round, steering a middle +course, and still aiming at the fence. It was evident, from +the cheers of his pursuers, that he was in full view, and he +heard them encouraging and directing the dog.</p> + +<p>Luke had gained the park palings, along which he rushed, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +the vain quest of some practicable point of egress, for the fence +was higher in this part of the park than elsewhere, owing to +the inequality of the ground. He had cast away his gun as +useless. But even without that incumbrance, he dared not +hazard the delay of climbing the palings. At this juncture a +deep breathing was heard close behind him. He threw a glance +over his shoulder. Within a few yards was a ferocious bloodhound, +with whose savage nature Luke was well acquainted; +the breed, some of which he had already seen, having been +maintained at the hall ever since the 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 was +displayed, like the teeth of a shark. There was a growl—a +leap—and the dog was close upon him.</p> + +<p>Luke's courage was undoubted. But his heart failed him as +he heard the roar of the remorseless brute, and felt that he +could not avoid an encounter with the animal. His resolution +was instantly taken: he stopped short with such suddenness, +that the dog, when in the act of springing, flew past him with +great violence, and the time, momentary as it was, occupied by +the animal in recovering himself, enabled Luke to drop 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. +Uttering a fierce yell, the hound returned to the charge, darting +at Luke, who received the assault without flinching; and +in spite of a severe laceration of the arm, he seized his foe by +the throat, and hurling him upon the ground, jumped with all +his force upon his belly. There was a yell of agony—the +contest was ended, and Luke was at liberty to pursue his flight +unmolested.</p> + +<p>Brief as had been the interval required for this combat, it +had been sufficient to bring the pursuers within sight of the +fugitive. Hugh Badger, 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 its destroyer. It was fortunate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +for Luke that at this instant he stumbled over the root of a +tree—the shot rattled in the leaves as he fell, and the keeper, +concluding that he had at least winged his bird, descended +more leisurely towards him. As he lay upon the ground, Luke +felt that he was wounded; whether by the teeth of the dog, +from a stray shot, or from bruises inflicted by the fall, he could +not determine. But, smarting with pain, he resolved to wreak +his vengeance upon the first person who approached him. He +vowed not to be taken with life—to strangle any who should +lay hands upon him. At that moment he felt a pressure at his +breast. It was the dead hand of his mother!</p> + +<p>Luke shuddered. The fire of revenge was quenched. He +mentally cancelled his rash oath; yet he could not bring himself +to surrender at discretion, and without further effort. +The keeper and his assistants were approaching the spot where +he lay, and searching for his body. Hugh Badger was foremost, +and within a yard of him.</p> + +<p>"Confound the rascal!" cried Hugh, "he's not half killed; +he seems to breathe."</p> + +<p>The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere the speaker +was dashed backwards, and lay sprawling upon the sod. Suddenly +and unexpectedly, as an Indian chief might rush upon +his foes, Luke arose, dashing himself with great violence +against Hugh, who happened to stand in his way, and before +the startled assistants, who were either too much taken by +surprise, or unwilling to draw a trigger, could in any way lay +hands upon him, exerting all the remarkable activity which +he possessed, he caught hold of a projecting branch of a +tree, and swung himself, at a single bound, fairly over the +paling.</p> + +<p>Hugh Badger was shortly on his legs, swearing lustily at his +defeat. Directing his men to skirt alongside the fence, and +make for a particular part of the plantation which he named, +and snatching a loaded fowling-piece from one of them, he +clambered over the pales, and guided by the crashing branches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +and other sounds conveyed to his quick ear, he was speedily +upon Luke's track.</p> + +<p>The plantation through which the chase now took place was +not, as might be supposed, a continuation of the ring fence +which Luke had originally crossed on his entrance into the +park, though girded by the same line of paling, but, in reality, +a close pheasant preserve, occupying the banks of a ravine, +which, after a deep and tortuous course, terminated in the +declivity heretofore described as forming the park boundary. +Luke plunged into the heart of this defile, fighting his way +downwards, in the direction of the brook. His progress was +impeded by a thick undergrowth of brier, and other matted +vegetation, as well as by the entanglements thrown in his way +by the taller bushes of thorn and hazel, the entwined and elastic +branches of which, in their recoil, galled and fretted him, +by inflicting smart blows on his face and hands. This was a +hardship he usually little regarded. But, upon the present occasion, +it had the effect, by irritating his temper, of increasing +the thirst of vengeance raging in his bosom.</p> + +<p>Through the depths of the ravine welled the shallow stream +before alluded to, and Hugh Badger had no sooner reached +its sedgy margin than he lost all trace of the fugitive. He +looked cautiously round, listened intently, and inclined his ear +to catch the faintest echo. All was still: not a branch shook, +not a leaf rustled. Hugh looked aghast. He had 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 +was sure the fellow was aiming to reach; and now, all at once, +he had disappeared, like a will-o'-the-wisp or a boggart of the +clough." However, he could not be far off, and Hugh endeavored +to obtain some clue to guide him in his quest. He was +not long in detecting recent marks deeply indented in the mud +on the opposite bank. Hugh leaped thither at once. Further +on, some rushes were trodden down, and there were other +indications of the course the fugitive had taken.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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 he had opened. The brook presented +still fewer impediments to expedition than the thick copse, +and the keeper pursued the wanderings of the petty current, +occasionally splashing into the stream. Here and there, the +print of a foot on the soil satisfied him he was in the right +path. At length he became aware, from the crumbling soil, +that the object of his pursuit had scaled the bank, and he +forthwith moderated his pace. Halting, he perceived what he +took to be a face peeping at him from behind a knot of alders +that overhung the steep and shelving bank immediately above +him. His gun was instantly at his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Come down, you infernal deer-stealing scoundrel," cried +Hugh, "or I'll blow you to shivers."</p> + +<p>No answer was returned: expostulation was vain; and, fearful +of placing himself at a disadvantage if he attempted to scale +the bank, Hugh fired without further parley. The sharp discharge +rolled in echoes down the ravine, and a pheasant, scared +by the sound, answered the challenge from a neighboring +tree. Hugh was an unerring marksman, and on this occasion +his aim had been steadily taken. The result was not precisely +such as he had anticipated. A fur cap, shaken by the shot +from the bough on which it hung, came rolling down the +bank, proclaiming the <i>ruse</i> that had been practised upon the +keeper. Little time was allowed him for reflection. Before +he could reload, he felt himself collared by the iron arm of +Luke.</p> + +<p>Hugh Badger was a man of great personal strength—square-set, +bandy-legged, with a prodigious width of chest, and a +frame like a Hercules, and, energetic as was Luke's assault, he +maintained his ground without flinching. The struggle was +desperate. Luke was of slighter proportion, though exceeding +the keeper in stature by the head and shoulders. This superiority +availed him little. It was rather a disadvantage in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +conflict that ensued. The gripe fastened upon Hugh's throat +was like that of a clenched vice. But Luke might as well have +grappled the neck of a bull, as that of the stalwart keeper. +Defending himself with his hobnail boots, with which he inflicted +several severe blows upon Luke's shins, and struggling +vehemently, Hugh succeeded in extricating himself from his +throttling grasp; he then closed with his foe, and they were +locked together, like a couple of bears at play. Straining, tugging, +and practising every sleight and stratagem coming within +the scope of feet, knees, and thighs—now tripping, now jerking, +now advancing, now retreating, they continued the strife, +but all with doubtful result. Victory, at length, seemed to declare +itself in favor of the sturdy keeper. Aware of his opponent's +strength, it was Luke's chief endeavor to keep his lower +limbs disengaged, and to trust more to skill than force for ultimate +success. To prevent this was Hugh's grand object. +Guarding himself against every feint, 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 +his right 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.</p> + +<p>Not a word had been spoken during the conflict. A convulsive +groan burst from Hugh's hardy breast. His hand sought +his girdle, but in vain; his knife was gone. Gazing upwards, +his dancing vision encountered the glimmer of the blade. The +weapon had dropped from its case in the fall. Luke brandished +it before his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Villain!" gasped Hugh, ineffectually struggling to free +himself, "you will not murder me?" And his efforts to +release himself became desperate.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Luke, flinging the uplifted knife into the +brook. "I will not do <i>that</i>, though thou hast twice aimed at +my life to-night. But I will silence thee, at all events." Saying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +which, he dealt the keeper a blow on the head that terminated +all further resistance on his part.</p> + +<p>Leaving the inert mass to choke up the current, with whose +waters the blood, oozing from the wound, began to commingle, +Luke prepared to depart. His perils were not yet past. +Guided by the firing, the report of which alarmed them, the +keeper's assistants hastened in the direction of the sound, presenting +themselves directly in the path Luke was about to take. +He had either to retrace his steps, or face a double enemy. +His election was made at once. He turned and fled.</p> + +<p>For an instant the men tarried with their bleeding companion. +They then dragged him from the brook, and with +loud oaths followed in pursuit.</p> + +<p>Threading, for a second time, the bosky labyrinth, Luke +sought the source of the stream. This was precisely the course +his enemies would have desired him to pursue; and when they +beheld him take it, they felt confident of his capture.</p> + +<p>The sides of the hollow became more and more abrupt as +they advanced, though they were less covered with brushwood. +The fugitive made no attempt to climb the bank, but still +pressed forward. The road was tortuous, and wound round a +jutting point of rock. Now he was a fair mark—no, he had +swept swiftly by, and was out of sight before a gun could be +raised. They reached the same point. He was still before +them, but his race was nearly run. Steep, slippery rocks, shelving +down to the edges of a small, deep pool of water, the source +of the stream, formed an apparently insurmountable barrier in +that direction. Rooted—Heaven knows 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 the support Luke +could hope for, should he attempt to scale the rock. The rock +was sheer—the pool deep—yet still he hurried on. He reached +the muddy embankment; mounted its sides; and seemed to +hesitate. The keepers were now within a hundred yards of +him. Both guns were discharged. And, sudden as the reports,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +with a dead, splashless plunge, like a diving otter, the +fugitive dropped into the water.</p> + +<p>The pursuers were at the brink. They gazed at the pool. +A few bubbles floated upon its surface, and burst. The water +was slightly discolored with sand. No ruddier stain crimsoned +the tide; no figure rested on the naked rock; no hand +clung to the motionless tree.</p> + +<p>"Devil take the rascal!" growled one; "I hope he harn't +escaped us, arter all."</p> + +<p>"Noa, noa, he be fast enough, never fear," rejoined the +other; "sticking like 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."</p> + +<p>Whereupon they returned to the assistance of the wounded +and discomfited keeper.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV1" id="CHAPTER_IV1"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE HALL</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I am right against my house—seat of my ancestors.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Yorkshire Tragedy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>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 no uniformity of style about the +building, yet the general effect was pleasing 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 dropped into +its proper place, and, without apparent effort or design, +grew into an ornament, and heightened the beauty of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +whole. It was, in short, one of those glorious manorial houses +that sometimes unexpectedly greet us in our wanderings, and +gladden us like the discovery of a hidden treasure. Some +such ancestral hall we have occasionally encountered, in unlooked-for +quarters, in our native county of Lancaster, or in its +smiling sister shire; and never without feelings of intense delight, +rejoicing to behold the freshness of its antiquity, and the +greenness of its old age. For, be it observed in passing, a +Cheshire or Lancashire hall, time-honored though it be, with +its often renovated black and white squares, fancifully filled up +with trefoils and quatrefoils, rosettes, and other figures, seems +to bear its years so lightly, that its 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 it existed in +the days of good Queen Bess, may be seen in admirable preservation +in the days of the youthful Victoria. Such is Bramall—such +Moreton, and many another we might instance; +the former of these houses may, perhaps, be instanced as the +best specimen of its class,—and its class in our opinion, <i>is</i> the +best—to be met with in Cheshire, considered with reference +either to the finished decoration of its exterior, rich in the chequered +coloring we have alluded to, preserved with a care and +neatness almost Dutch, or to the consistent taste exhibited by +its possessor to the restoration and maintenance of all its original +and truly national beauty within doors. As an illustration +of old English hospitality—that real, hearty hospitality for +which the squirearchy of this country was once so famous—Ah! +why have they bartered it for other customs less substantially +<i>English</i>?—it may be mentioned, that a road conducted the +passenger directly through the great hall of this house, literally +"of entertainment," where, if he listed, strong ale, and other +refreshments, awaited his acceptance and courted his stay. +Well might old King, the Cheshire historian, in the pride of +his honest heart, exclaim, "<i>I know divers men, who are but +farmers, that in their housekeeping may compare with a lord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +or baron, in some countries beyond the seas;—yea, although I +named a higher degree, I were able to justify it.</i>" We have +no such "golden farmers" in these degenerate days!</p> + +<p>The mansion, was originally built by Sir Ranulph de Rookwood—or, +as it was then written, Rokewode—the first of the +name, a stout Yorkist, who flourished in the reign of Edward +IV., and received the fair domain and broad lands upon +which the edifice was raised, from his sovereign, in reward for +good service; retiring thither in the decline of life, at the close +of the Wars of the Roses, to sequestrate himself from scenes of +strife, and to consult his spiritual weal in the erection and +endowment of the neighboring church. It was of mixed architecture, +and combined the peculiarities of each successive era. +Retaining some of the sterner features of earlier days, the period +ere yet the embattled manor-house peculiar to the reigns of the +later Henrys had been merged into the graceful and peaceable +hall, the residence of the Rookwoods had early anticipated the +gentler characteristics of a later day, though it could boast little +of that exuberance of external ornament, luxuriance of design, +and prodigality of beauty, which, under the sway of the Virgin +Queen, distinguished the residence of the wealthier English +landowner; and rendered the hall of Elizabeth, properly so +called, the pride and boast of our domestic architecture.</p> + +<p>The site selected by Sir Ranulph for his habitation had +been already occupied by a vast fabric of oak, which he in +part removed, though some vestiges might still be traced of +that ancient pile. A massive edifice succeeded, with gate and +tower, court and moat complete; substantial enough, one +would have thought, to have endured for centuries. But even +this ponderous structure grew into disuse, and Sir Ranulph's +successors, remodelling, repairing, almost rebuilding the whole +mansion, in the end so metamorphosed its aspect, that at last +little of its original and distinctive character remained. Still, +as we said before, it was a fine old house, though some changes +had taken place for the worse, which could not be readily pardoned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +by the eye of taste: as, for instance, the deep embayed +windows had dwindled into modernized casements, of lighter +construction; the wide porch, with its flight of steps leading +to the great hall of entrance, had yielded to a narrow door; +and the broad quadrangular court was succeeded by a gravel +drive. Yet, despite all these changes, the house of the Rookwoods, +for an old house—and, after all, what is like an old +house?—was no undesirable or uncongenial abode for any +worshipful country gentleman "who had a great estate."</p> + +<p>The hall was situated near the base of a gently declining +hill, terminating a noble avenue of limes, and partially embosomed +in an immemorial wood of the same timber, which +had given its name to the family that dwelt amongst its rook-haunted +shades. Descending the avenue, at the point of +access afforded by a road that wound down the hill-side, +towards a village distant about half a mile, as you advanced, +the eye was first arrested by a singular octagonal turret of +brick, of more recent construction than the house; and in all +probability occupying the place where the gateway stood of +yore. This tower rose to a height corresponding with the roof +of the mansion; and was embellished on the side facing the +house with a flamingly gilt dial, peering, like an impudent +observer, at all that passed within doors. Two apartments, +which it contained, were appropriated to the house-porter. +Despoiled of its martial honors, the gateway still displayed the +achievements of the family—the rook and the fatal branch—carved +in granite, which had resisted the storms of two +centuries, though stained green with moss, and mapped over +with lichens. To the left, overgrown with ivy, and peeping +from out a tuft of trees, appeared the hoary summit of a +dovecot, indicating the near neighborhood of an ancient barn, +contemporary with the earliest dwelling-house, and of a little +world of offices and outbuildings buried in the thickness of +the foliage. To the right was the garden—the pleasaunce of +the place—formal, precise, old-fashioned, artificial, yet exquisite!—for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +commend us to the bygone, beautiful English +garden—<i>really a garden</i>—not that mixture of park, meadow, +and wilderness<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>, brought up to one's very windows—which, +since the days of the innovators, Kent, and his "bold associates," +Capability Brown and Co., has obtained so largely—this +<i>was</i> a garden! There might be seen the stately terraces, +such as Watteau, and our own Wilson, in his earlier works, +painted—the trim alleys exhibiting all the triumphs of topiarian +art—</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i7"><i>The sidelong walls</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of shaven yew; the holly's prickly arms,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Trimm'd into high arcades; the tonsile box,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wove in mosaic mode of many a curl,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Around the figured carpet of the lawn;</i><a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>the gayest of parterres and greenest of lawns, with its admonitory +sun-dial, its marble basin in the centre, its fountain, +and conched water-god; the quaint summer-house, surmounted +with its gilt vane; the statue, glimmering from out its covert +of leaves; the cool cascade, the urns, the bowers, and a hundred +luxuries besides, suggested and contrived by Art to render +Nature most enjoyable, and to enhance the recreative delights +of home-out-of-doors—for such a garden should be—, with +least sacrifice of indoor comfort and convenience.</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>When Epicurus to the world had taught,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That pleasure was the chiefest good;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>—And was perhaps i' th' right, if rightly understood,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His life he to his doctrine brought—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And in his garden's shade that sovereign pleasure sought.</i><a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>All these delights might once have been enjoyed. But at +the time of which 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; the hour upon the dial was +untold; the fountain was choked up, and the smooth-shaven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +lawn only rescued, it would seem, from the general fate, that +it might answer the purpose of a bowling-green, as the implements +of that game, scattered about, plainly testified.</p> + +<p>Diverging from the garden to the house, we have before remarked +that the more ancient and characteristic features of +the place had been, for the most part, destroyed; less by the +hand of time than to suit the tastes of different proprietors. +This, however, was not so observable in the eastern wing, +which overlooked the garden. Here might be discerned many +indications of its antiquity. The strength and solidity of the +walls, which had not been, as elsewhere, masked with brickwork; +the low, Tudor arches; the mullioned bars of the +windows—all attested its age. This wing was occupied by an +upper and lower gallery, communicating with suites of chambers, +for the most part deserted, excepting one or two, which +were used as dormitories; and another little room on the +ground-floor, with an oriel window opening upon the lawn, +and commanding the prospect beyond—a favorite resort of +the late Sir Piers. The interior was curious for his honeycomb +ceiling, deeply moulded in plaster, with the arms and +alliances of the Rookwoods. In the centre was the royal +blazon of Elizabeth, who had once honored the hall with a +visit during a progress, and whose cipher <b><i>E. R.</i></b> was also displayed +upon the immense plate of iron which formed the fire-grate.</p> + +<p>To return, for a moment, to the garden, which we linger +about as a bee around a flower. Below the lawn there was +another terrace, edged by a low balustrade of stone, commanding +a lovely view of park, water, and woodland. High hanging-woods +waved in the foreground, and an extensive sweep +of flat champaign country stretched out to meet a line of blue, +hazy hills bounding the distant horizon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V1" id="CHAPTER_V1"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>SIR REGINALD ROOKWOOD</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.—<span class="smcap">Victor Hugo</span>: <i>Marie Tudor</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>From the house to its inhabitants the transition is natural. +Besides the connexion between them, there were many points +of resemblance; many family features in common; there was +the same melancholy grandeur, the same character of romance, +the same fantastical display. Nor were the secret passages, +peculiar to the one, wanting to the history of the other. Both +had their mysteries. One blot there was in the otherwise +proud escutcheon of the Rookwoods, that dimmed its splendor, +and made pale its pretensions: their sun was eclipsed +in blood from its rising to its meridian; and so it seemed +would be its setting. This foul reproach attached to all the +race; none escaped it. Traditional rumors were handed down +from father to son, throughout the county, and, like all other +rumors, had taken to themselves wings, and flown abroad; +their crimes became a by-word. How was it they escaped +punishment? How came they to evade the hand of justice? +Proof was ever wanting; justice was ever baffled. They were +a stern and stiff-necked people, of indomitable pride and +resolution, with, for the most part, force of character sufficient +to enable them to breast difficulties and dangers that would +have overwhelmed ordinary individuals. No quality is so advantageous +to its possessor as firmness; and the determined +energy of the Rookwoods bore them harmless through a sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +of trouble. Besides, they were wealthy; lavish even to profusion; +and gold will do much, if skilfully administered. Yet, +despite all this, a dark, ominous cloud settled over their house, +and men wondered when the vengeance of Heaven, so long +delayed, would fall and consume it.</p> + +<p>Possessed of considerable landed property, once extending +over nearly half the West Riding of Yorkshire, the family increased +in power and importance for an uninterrupted series of +years, until the outbreak of that intestine discord which ended +in the civil wars, when the espousal of 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 +Charles I.—, ended in his own destruction at Naseby, and the +wreck of much of his property; a loss which the gratitude of +Charles II., on his restoration, did not fail to make good to +Sir Ralph's youthful heir, Reginald.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph Rookwood left two sons, Reginald and Alan. The +fate of the latter was buried in obscurity. It was even a mystery +to his family. He was, 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 assigned for +his conduct. Amongst others, it was stated that the object of +Alan's jealous suspicions was his elder brother, Reginald; and +that it was the discovery of his wife's infidelity in this quarter +which occasioned his sudden disappearance with his infant +daughter. Some said he died abroad. Others, that he had +appeared again for a brief space at the hall. But all now concurred +in a belief of his decease. Of his child nothing was +known. His inconstant wife, after enduring for some years the +agonies of remorse, abandoned by Sir Reginald, and neglected +by her own relatives, put an end to her existence by poison. +This is all that could be gathered of the story, or the misfortunes +of Alan Rookwood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>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 monarch could at least accord him the fostering +influence of his favor and countenance; and bestow upon +him certain lucrative situations in his household, as an earnest +of his good-will. And thus much he did. Remarkable for his +personal attractions in youth, it is not to be wondered at that +we should find the name of Reginald Rookwood recorded in +the scandalous chronicles of the day, as belonging to a cavalier +of infinite address and discretion, matchless wit, and marvellous +pleasantry; and eminent beyond his peers for his successes with +some of the most distinguished beauties who ornamented that +brilliant and voluptuous court.</p> + +<p>A career of elegant dissipation ended in matrimony. His +first match was unpropitious. Foiled in his attempts upon the +chastity of a lady of great beauty and high honor, he was rash +enough to marry her; rash, we say, for from that fatal hour all +became as darkness; the curtain fell upon the comedy of his +life, to rise to tragic horrors. When, passion subsided, repentance +awoke, and he became anxious for deliverance from the +fetters he had so heedlessly imposed on himself, and on his +unfortunate dame.</p> + +<p>The hapless lady of Sir Reginald was a fair and fragile creature, +floating on the eddying current of existence, and hurried +in destruction as the summer gossamer is swept away by the +rude breeze, and lost forever. So beautiful, so gentle was she, +that if,</p> + +<p class="hd4">Sorrow had not made<br /> +Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self,</p> + +<p>it would have been difficult to say whether the charm of softness +and sweetness was more to be admired than her faultless +personal attractions. But when a tinge of melancholy came, +saddening and shading the once smooth and smiling brow; +when tears dimmed the blue beauty of those deep and tender<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +eyes; when hot, hectic flushes supplied the place of healthful +bloom, and despair took possession of her heart, then was it +seen <i>what</i> was the charm of Lady Rookwood, if charm that +could be called which was a saddening sight to see, and melted +the beholder's soul within him. All acknowledged, that exquisite +as she had been before, the sad, sweet lady was now +more exquisite still.</p> + +<p>Seven moons had waned and flown—seven bitter, tearful +moons—and each day Lady Rookwood's situation claimed more +soothing attention at the hand of her lord. About this time +his wife's brother, whom he hated, returned from the Dutch +wars. Struck with his sister's altered appearance, he readily +divined the cause; indeed, all tongues were eager to proclaim +it to him. Passionately attached to her, Lionel Vavasour implored +an explanation of the cause of his sister's griefs. The +bewildered lady answered evasively, attributing her woe-begone +looks to any other cause than her husband's cruelty; and +pressing her brother, as he valued her peace, her affection, +never to allude to the subject again. The fiery youth departed. +He next sought out his brother-in-law, and taxed him sharply +with his inhumanity, adding threats to his upbraidings. Sir +Reginald listened silently and calmly. When the other had +finished, with a sarcastic obeisance, he replied: "Sir, I am much +beholden for the trouble you have taken in your sister's behalf. +But when she entrusted herself to my keeping, she relinquished, +I conceive, all claim on <i>your</i> guardianship: however, I thank +you for the trouble you have taken; but, for your own sake, I +would venture to caution you against a repetition of interference +like the present."</p> + +<p>"And I, sir, caution <i>you</i>. See that you give heed to my +words, or, by the heaven above us! I will enforce attention to +them."</p> + +<p>"You will find me, sir, as prompt at all times to defend my +conduct, as I am unalterable in my purposes. Your sister is +my wife. What more would you have? Were she a harlot,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +you should have her back and welcome. The tool is virtuous. +Devise some scheme, and take her with you hence—so you rid +<i>me</i> of her I am content."</p> + +<p>"Rookwood, you are a villain." And Vavasour spat upon +his brother's cheek.</p> + +<p>Sir Reginald's eyes blazed. His sword started from its scabbard. +"Defend yourself!" he exclaimed, furiously attacking +Vavasour. Pass after pass was exchanged. Fierce thrusts were +made and parried. Feint and appeal, the most desperate and +dexterous, were resorted to. Their swords glanced like 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 of defence. Both were so brimful of wrath +as to be regardless of consequences. 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 +hilt struck against his ribs.</p> + +<p>Sir Reginald's ire was kindled, not extinguished, by the deed +he had done. Like the tiger, he had tasted blood—like the +tiger, he thirsted for more. He sought his home. He was +greeted by his wife. Terrified by his looks, she yet summoned +courage sufficient to approach him. She embraced his arm—she +clasped his hand. Sir Reginald smiled. His smile was +cutting as his dagger's edge.</p> + +<p>"What ails you, sweetheart?" said he.</p> + +<p>"I know not; your smile frightens me."</p> + +<p>"My smile frightens you—fool! be thankful that I frown +not."</p> + +<p>"Oh! do not frown. Be gentle, my Reginald, as you were +when first I knew you. Smile not so coldly, but as you did +then, that I may, for one instant, dream you love me."</p> + +<p>"Silly wench! There—I <i>do</i> smile."</p> + +<p>"That smile freezes me. Oh, Reginald, could you but know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +what I have endured this morning, on your account. My +brother Lionel has been here."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Nay, look not so. He insisted on knowing the reason of +my altered appearance."</p> + +<p>"And no doubt you made him acquainted with the cause. +You told him <i>your</i> version of the story."</p> + +<p>"Not a word, as I hope to live."</p> + +<p>"A lie!"</p> + +<p>"By my truth, no."</p> + +<p>"A lie, I say. He avouched it to me himself."</p> + +<p>"Impossible! He could not—would not disobey me."</p> + +<p>Sir Reginald laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"He would not, I am sure, give utterance to any scandal," +continued Lady Rookwood. "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?"</p> + +<p>"Your brother spat upon my check. I have washed out the +stain," replied Sir Reginald, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Then it <i>is</i> his blood!" shrieked Lady Rookwood, pressing +her hand shuddering before her eyes. "Is he dead?"</p> + +<p>Sir Reginald turned away.</p> + +<p>"Stay," she cried, exerting her feeble strength to retain +him, and becoming 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 <i>him</i>. Your hands are dripping +in his blood, and I have kissed them—have clasped them! +And now," continued she, with an energy that shook Sir Reginald, +"I hate you—I renounce you—forever! May my +dying words ring in your ears on your death-bed, for that hour +<i>will</i> come. You cannot shun <i>that</i>. Then think of <i>him</i>! think +of <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Away!" interrupted Sir Reginald, endeavoring to shake +her off.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will <i>not</i> away! I will cling to you—will curse you. +My unborn child shall live to curse you—to requite you—to +visit my wrongs on you and yours. Weak as I am, +you shall not cast me off. You shall learn to fear even +<i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"I fear nothing living, much less a frantic woman."</p> + +<p>"Fear the <i>dead</i>, then."</p> + +<p>There was a struggle—a blow—and the wretched lady sank, +shrieking, upon the floor. Convulsions seized her. A mother's +pains succeeded fierce and fast. She spoke no more, but died +within the hour, giving birth to a female child.</p> + +<p>Eleanor Rookwood became her father's idol—her father's +bane. All the love he had to bestow was centred in her. She +returned it not. She fled from his caresses. With all her +mother's beauty, she had all her father's pride. Sir Reginald's +every thought was for his daughter—for her aggrandizement. +In vain. She seemed only to endure him, and while his affection +waxed stronger, and entwined itself round her alone, she +withered beneath his embraces as the shrub withers in the +clasping folds of the parasite plant.</p> + +<p>She grew towards womanhood. Suitors thronged around +her—gentle and noble ones. Sir Reginald watched them +with a jealous eye. He was wealthy, 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. But with it came not the bride. She had fled, +with the humblest and the meanest of the pretenders to her +hand—with one upon whom Sir Reginald supposed she had +not deigned to cast her eyes. He endeavored to forget her, +and, to all outward seeming, was successful in the effort. But +he felt that the curse was upon him; the undying flame +scorched his heart.</p> + +<p>Once, and once only, they met again, in France, whither +she had wandered. It was a dread encounter—terrible to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +both; but most so to Sir Reginald. He spoke not of her +afterwards.</p> + +<p>Shortly after the death of his first wife, Sir Reginald had +made proposals to a dowager of distinction, with a handsome +jointure, one of his early attachments, and was, without scruple, +accepted. The power of the family might then be said to be +at its zenith; and but for certain untoward circumstances, and +the growing influence of his enemies, Sir Reginald would have +been elevated to the peerage. Like most reformed spend-thrifts, +he had become proportionately avaricious, and his +mind seemed engrossed in accumulating wealth. In the meantime, +his second wife followed her predecessor, dying, it was +said, of vexation and disappointment.</p> + +<p>The propensity to matrimony, always a distinguishing characteristic +of the Rookwoods, largely displayed itself in Sir Reginald. +Another dame followed—equally rich, younger, and +far more beautiful than her immediate predecessor. She was +a prodigious flirt, and soon set her husband at defiance. Sir +Reginald did not condescend to expostulate. It was not his +way. He effectually prevented any recurrence of her indiscretions. +She was removed, and with her expired Sir Reginald's +waning popularity. So strong was the expression of +odium against him, that he thought it prudent to retire to his +mansion, in the country, and there altogether seclude himself. +One anomaly in Sir Reginald's otherwise utterly selfish character +was uncompromising devotion to the house of Stuart; and +shortly after the abdication of James II., he followed that +monarch to Saint Germain, having previously mixed largely in +secret political intrigues; and only returned from the French +court to lay his bones with those of his ancestry, in the family +vault at Rookwood.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI1" id="CHAPTER_VI1"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>SIR PIERS ROOKWOOD</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Wilkins</span>: <i>Miseries of Enforced Marriage</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Sir Reginald died, leaving issue three children: a daughter, +the before-mentioned Eleanor—who, entirely discountenanced +by the family, had been seemingly forgotten by all but her +father—, and two sons by his third wife. Reginald, the eldest, +whose military taste had early procured him the command +of a company of horse, and whose politics did not coalesce +with those of his sire, fell, during his father's lifetime, at Killiecrankie, +under the banners of William. Piers, therefore, the +second son, succeeded to the title.</p> + +<p>A very different character, in many respects, from his father +and brother, 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 Piers Rookwood yet displayed in early life +one family propensity, viz., unremitting devotion to the sex. +Among his other mistresses was the unfortunate Susan Bradley, +in whom by some he was supposed to have been clandestinely +united. In early youth, as has been stated, Sir Piers professed +the faith of Rome, but shortly after the death of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +beautiful mistress—or wife, as it might be—, having quarreled +with his father's confessor, Checkley, he publicly abjured his +heresies. Sir Piers subsequently allied himself to Maud, only +daughter of Sir Thomas D'Aubeny, the last of a line as proud +and intolerant as his own. The tables were then turned. +Lady Rookwood usurped sovereign sway over her lord 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 was often heard to regret, in his cups, that he had not +inherited, with the estate of his forefathers, the family secret +of shaking off the matrimonial yoke, when found to press too +hardly.</p> + +<p>At the onset, Sir Piers struggled hard to burst his bondage. +But in vain—he was fast fettered; and only bruised himself, +like the caged lark, against the bars of his prison-house. +Abandoning all further effort at emancipation, he gave himself +up to the usual resource of a weak mind, debauchery; and +drank so deeply to drown his cares, that, in the end, his hale +constitution yielded to his excesses. It was even said, that +remorse at his abandonment of the faith of his fathers had +some share in his misery; and that his old spiritual, and if +report spoke truly, sinful adviser, Father Checkley, had visited +him secretly at the hall. Sir Piers was observed to shudder +whenever the priest's name was mentioned.</p> + +<p>Sir Piers Rookwood was a good-humored man in the main, +had little of the old family leaven about him, and was esteemed +by his associates. Of late, however, his temper became soured, +and his friends deserted him; for, between his domestic annoyances, +remorseful feelings, and the inroads already made +upon his constitution by constant inebriety, he grew so desperate +and insane in his revels, and committed such fearful +extravagances, that even his boon companions shrank from his +orgies. Fearful were the scenes between him and Lady Rookwood +upon these occasions—appalling to the witnesses, dreadful +to themselves. And it was, perhaps, their frequent recurrence,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +that, more than anything else, banished all decent +society from the hall.</p> + +<p>At the time of Sir Piers's decease, which brings us down to +the date of our story, his son and successor, Ranulph, was +absent on his travels. Shortly after the completion of his +academical education, he had departed to make the tour of +the Continent, and had been absent rather better than a year. +He had quitted his father in displeasure, and was destined +never again to see his face while living. The last intelligence +received of young Rookwood was from Bordeaux, whence it was +thought he had departed for the Pyrenees. A special messenger +had been despatched in search of him, with tidings of the +melancholy event. But, as it was deemed improbable by +Lady Rookwood that her son could return within any reasonable +space, she gave directions for the accomplishment of the +funeral rites of her husband on the sixth night after his +decease—it being the custom of the Rookwoods ever to inter +their dead at midnight,—intrusting their solemnization entirely +to the care of one of Sir Piers's hangers-on—Dr. Titus Tyrconnel,—for +which she was greatly scandalized in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Ranulph Rookwood was a youth of goodly promise. The +stock from which he sprang would on neither side warrant such +conclusion. But it sometimes happens that from the darkest +elements are compounded the brightest and subtlest substances; +and so it occurred in this instance. Fair, frank, and free—generous, +open, unsuspicious—he seemed the very opposite of +all his race—their antagonizing principle. Capriciously indulgent, +his father had allowed him ample means, neither curbing +nor restraining his expenditure; acceding at one moment +to every inclination, and the next irresolutely opposing it. It +was impossible, therefore, for him, in such a state of things, +to act decidedly, without incurring his father's displeasure; +and the only measure he resolved upon, which was to absent +himself for a time, was conjectured to have brought about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +result he had endeavored to avoid. Other reasons, however, +there were, which secretly influenced him, which it will be our +business in due time to detail.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII1" id="CHAPTER_VII1"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE RETURN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Flam.</i> How croaks the raven?<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> Is our good Duchess dead?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Lod.</i> Dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Webster.</span></p></div> + + +<p>The time of the sad ceremonial drew nigh. The hurrying +of the domestics to and fro; the multifarious arrangements for +the night; the distribution 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 the avenue, +mixed with an occasional horseman, once or twice intercepted +by a large lumbering carriage, bringing friends of the deceased, +some really anxious to pay the last tribute of regard, but the +majority attracted by the anticipated spectacle of a funeral +by torchlight. There were others, indeed, to whom it was not +matter of choice; who were compelled, by a vassal tenure of +their lands, held of the house of Rookwood, to lend a shoulder +to the coffin, and a hand to the torch, on the burial of its lord. +Of these there was a plentiful muster collected in the hall; +they were to be marshalled by Peter Bradley, who was deemed +to be well skilled in the proceedings, having been present at +two solemnities of the kind. That mysterious personage, however, +had not made his appearance—to the great dismay of +the assemblage. Scouts were sent in search of him, but they +returned with the intelligence that the door of his habitation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +was fastened, and its inmate apparently absent. No other +tidings of the truant sexton could be obtained.</p> + +<p>It was a sultry August evening. No breeze was stirring in +the garden; no cool dews refreshed the parched and heated +earth; yet from the languishing flowers rich sweets exhaled. +The plash of a fountain fell pleasantly upon the ear, conveying +in its sound a sense of freshness to the fervid air; while +deep and drowsy murmurs hummed heavily beneath the trees, +making the twilight slumberously musical. The westering sun, +which filled the atmosphere with flame throughout the day, +was now wildly setting; and, as he sank behind the hall, its +varied and picturesque tracery became each instant more darkly +and distinctly defined against the crimson sky.</p> + +<p>At this juncture a little gate, communicating with the chase, +was thrown open, and a young man entered the garden, passing +through the shrubbery, and hurrying rapidly forward till he +arrived at a vista opening upon the house. The spot at which +the stranger halted was marked by a little basin, scantily supplied +with water, streaming from a lion's kingly jaws. His +dress was travel-soiled, and dusty; and his whole appearance +betokened great exhaustion from heat and fatigue. Seating +himself upon an adjoining bench, he threw off his riding-cap, +and unclasped his collar, displaying a finely-turned head and +neck; and a countenance which, besides its beauty, had that +rare nobility of feature which seldom falls to the lot of the +aristocrat, but is never seen in one of an inferior order. A +restless disquietude of manner showed that he was suffering +from over-excitement of mind, as well as from bodily exertion. +His look was wild and hurried; his black ringlets were dashed +heedlessly over 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.</p> + +<p>After a short pause, and as if struggling against violent +emotions, and some overwhelming remembrance, the youth +arose, and plunged his hand into the basin, applying the moist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +element to his burning brow. Apparently becoming more +calm, he bent his steps towards the hall, when two figures, +suddenly issuing from an adjoining copse, arrested his progress; +neither saw him. Muttering a hurried farewell, one of the +figures disappeared within the shrubbery, and the other, confronting +the stranger, displayed the harsh features and gaunt +form of Peter Bradley. Had Peter encountered the dead Sir +Piers in corporeal form, he could not have manifested more +surprise than he exhibited, for an instant or two, as he shrunk +back from the stranger's path.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII1" id="CHAPTER_VIII1"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>AN IRISH ADVENTURER</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Scapin.</i> A most outrageous, roaring fellow, with a swelled red face +inflamed with brandy.—<i>Cheats of Scapin.</i></p></div> + + +<p>An hour or two prior to the incident just narrated, in a +small, cosy apartment of the hall, nominally devoted to justiciary +business by its late owner, but, in reality, used as a sanctum, +snuggery, or smoking-room, a singular trio were assembled, +fraught with the ulterior purpose of attending the obsequies +of their deceased patron and friend, though immediately +occupied in the discussion of a magnum of excellent claret, +the bouquet of which perfumed the air, like the fragrance of +a bed of violets.</p> + +<p>This little room had been poor Sir Piers's favorite retreat. +It was, in fact, the only room in the house that he could call +his own; and thither would he often, with pipe and punch, +beguile the flagging hours, secure from interruption. A snug, +old-fashioned apartment it was; wainscoted with rich black +oak; with a fine old cabinet of the same material, and a line +or two of crazy, worm-eaten bookshelves, laden with sundry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +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 the quaint, racy style of the +learned old hypochondriac suited his humor at seasons, and +gave a zest to his sorrows, such as the olives lent to his +wine.</p> + +<p>Four portraits adorned the walls: those of Sir Reginald +Rookwood and his wives. The ladies were attired in the flowing +drapery of Charles the Second's day, the snow of their +radiant bosoms being somewhat sullied by over-exposure, and +the vermeil tinting of their cheeks darkened by the fumes +of tobacco. There was a shepherdess, with her taper crook, +whose large, languishing eyes, ripe pouting lips, ready to melt +into kisses, and air of voluptuous abandonment, scarcely suited +the innocent simplicity of her costume. She was portrayed +tending a flock of downy sheep, with azure ribbons round +their necks, accompanied by one of those invaluable little dogs +whose length of ear and silkiness of skin evinced him perfect +in his breeding, but whose large-eyed indifference to his charge +proved him to be as much out of character with his situation +as the refined and luxuriant charms of his mistress were out of +keeping with her artless attire. This was Sir Piers's mother, +the third wife, a beautiful woman, answering to the notion of +one who had been somewhat of a flirt in her day. Next to +her was a magnificent dame, with the throat and arm of a +Juno, and a superb bust—the bust was then what the bustle is +now—a paramount attraction; whether the modification be +an improvement, we leave to the consideration of the lovers +of the beautiful—this was the dowager. Lastly, there was the +lovely and ill-fated Eleanor. Every gentle grace belonging to +this unfortunate lady had 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 had dwelt around +the exquisite original. Over the high carved mantelpiece was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +suspended the portrait of Sir Reginald. It had been painted +in early youth; the features were beautiful, disdainful,—with +a fierceness breaking through the courtly air. The eyes were +very fine, black as midnight, and piercing as those of Cæsar +Borgia, as seen in Raphael's wonderful picture in the Borghese +Palace at Rome. They seemed to fascinate the gazer—to +rivet his glances—to follow him whithersoever he went—and +to search into his soul, as did the dark orbs of Sir Reginald in +his lifetime. It was the work likewise of Lely, and had all +the fidelity and graceful refinement of that great master; nor +was the haughty countenance of Sir Reginald unworthy the +patrician painter.</p> + +<p>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 stained scarlet coat—the same in which he had +ridden forth, with the intent to hunt, on the eventful occasion +detailed by Peter Bradley,—his velvet cap, his buck-handled +whip, and the residue of his equipment for the chase. This +attire was reviewed with melancholy interest and unaffected +emotion by the company, as reminding them forcibly of the +departed, of which it seemed a portion.</p> + +<p>The party consisted of the vicar of Rookwood, Dr. Polycarp +Small; Dr. Titus Tyrconnel, an emigrant, and empirical professor +of medicine, from the sister isle, whose convivial habits +had first introduced him to the hall, and afterwards retained +him there; and Mr. Codicil Coates, clerk of the peace, attorney-at-law, +bailiff, and receiver. We were wrong in saying that +Tyrconnel was retained. He was an impudent, intrusive fellow, +whom, having once gained a footing in the house, it was +impossible to dislodge. He cared for no insult; perceived no +slight; and professed, in her presence, the profoundest respect +for Lady Rookwood: in short, he was ever ready to do anything +but depart.</p> + +<p>Sir Piers was one of those people who cannot dine alone. +He disliked a solitary repast almost as much as a <i>tête-à-tête</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +with his lady. He would have been recognized at once as +the true Amphitryon, had any one been hardy enough to play +the part of Jupiter. Ever ready to give a dinner, he found a +difficulty arise, not usually experienced on such occasions—there +was no one upon whom to bestow it. He had the best +of wine; kept an excellent table; was himself no niggard +host; but his own merits, and those of his <i>cuisine</i>, were forgotten +in the invariable <i>pendant</i> to the feast; and the best of +wine lost its flavor when the last bottle found its way to the +guest's head. Dine alone Sir Piers would not. And as his +old friends forsook him, he plunged lower in his search of +society; collecting within his house a class of persons whom +no one would have expected to meet at the hall, nor even its +owner have chosen for his companions, had any choice remained +to him. He did not endure this state of things without +much outward show of discontent. "Anything for a quiet +life," was his constant saying; and, like the generality of +people with whom those words form a favorite maxim, he led +the most uneasy life imaginable. Endurance, to excite commiseration, +must be uncomplaining—an axiom the aggrieved +of the gentle sex should remember. Sir Piers endured, but +he grumbled lustily, and was on all hands voted a bore; +domestic grievances, especially if the husband be the plaintiff, +being the most intolerable of all mentionable miseries. No +wonder that his friends deserted him; still there was Titus +Tyrconnel; his ears and lips were ever open to pathos and +to punch; so Titus kept his station. Immediately after her +husband's demise, it had been Lady Rookwood's intention to +clear the house of all the "vermin," so she expressed herself, +that had so long infested it; and forcibly to eject Titus, +and one or two other intruders of the same class. But in +consequence of certain hints received from Mr. Coates, who +represented the absolute necessity of complying with Sir Piers's +testamentary instructions, which were particular in that respect, +she thought proper to defer her intentions until after the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +ceremonial of interment should be completed, and, in the +mean time, strange to say, committed its arrangement to Titus +Tyrconnel; who, ever ready to accommodate, accepted, nothing +loth, the charge, and acquitted himself admirably well in +his undertaking: especially, as he said, "in the aiting and +drinking department—the most essential part of it all." He +kept open house—open dining-room—open cellar; resolved +that his patron's funeral should emulate as much as possible +an Irish burial on a grand scale, "the finest sight," in his +opinion, "in the whole world."</p> + +<p>Inflated with the importance of his office, inflamed with +heat, sat Titus, like a "robustious periwig-pated" alderman +after a civic feast. The natural rubicundity of his countenance +was darkened to a deep purple tint, like that of a full-blown +peony, while his ludicrous dignity was augmented by a +shining suit of sables, in which his portly person was invested.</p> + +<p>The first magnum had been discussed in solemn silence; +the cloud, however, which hung over the conclave, disappeared +under the genial influence of "another and a better" bottle, +and gave place to a denser vapor, occasioned by the introduction +of the pipe and its accompaniments.</p> + +<p>Ensconced in a comfortable old chair—it is not every old +chair that <i>is</i> comfortable,—with pipe in mouth, and in full unbuttoned +ease, his bushy cauliflower wig laid aside, by reason +of the heat, reposed Dr. Small. Small, indeed, was somewhat +of a misnomer, as applied to the worthy doctor, who, besides +being no diminutive specimen of his kind, entertained no insignificant +opinion of himself. His height was certainly not +remarkable; but his width of shoulder—his sesquipedality of +stomach—and obesity of calf—these were unique! Of his +origin we know nothing; but presume he must, in some way +or other, have been connected with the numerous family of +"the Smalls," who, according to Christopher North, form the +predominant portion of mankind. In appearance, the doctor +was short-necked and puffy, with a sodden, pasty face, wherein<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +were set eyes whose obliquity of vision was, in some measure, +redeemed by their expression of humor. He was accounted +a man of 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. Titus Tyrconnel—Ireland being +with him synonymous with superstition and Catholicism—and +every Irishman rebellious and schismatical. On this head +he was inclined to be disputatious. His prejudices did not +prevent him from passing the claret, nor from laughing, as +heartily as a plethoric asthma and sense of the decorum due +to the occasion would permit, at the quips and quirks of the +Irishman, who, he admitted, notwithstanding his heresies, was +a pleasant fellow in the main. And when, in addition to the +flattery, a pipe had been insinuated by the officious Titus, at +the precise moment that Small yearned for his afternoon's solace, +yet scrupled to ask for it; when the door had been made +fast, and the first whiff exhaled, all his misgivings vanished, and +he surrendered himself to the soft seduction. In this Elysian +state we find him.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you may say that, Dr. Small," said Titus, in answer +to some observation of the vicar, "that's a most original apothegm. +We all of us hould 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,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> the flatterer of Dinnish +what-do-you-call-him, ready to fall at a moment's notice, +or no notice at all—eh?—Mr. Coates. And that brings me +back again to Sir Piers—poor gentleman—ah! we sha'n't +soon see the like of him again!"</p> + +<p>"Poor Sir Piers!" said Mr. Coates, a small man, in a +scratch wig, with a face red and round as an apple, and almost +as diminutive. "It is to be regretted that his over-conviviality +should so much have hastened his lamented demise."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Conviviality!" replied Titus; "no such thing—it was +apoplexy—extravasation of <i>sarum</i>."</p> + +<p>"Extra vase-ation of rum and water, you mean," replied +Coates, who, like all his tribe, rejoiced in a quibble.</p> + +<p>"The squire's ailment," continued Titus, "was a sanguineous +effusion, as we call it—positive determination of blood to +the head, occasioned by a low way he got into, just before his +attack—a confirmed case of hypochondriasis, as that <i>ould</i> book +Sir Piers was so fond of terms the blue devils. He neglected +the bottle, which, in a man who has been a hard drinker all +his life, is a bad sign. The lowering system never answers—never. +Doctor, I'll just trouble you"—for Small, in a fit of +absence, had omitted to pass the bottle, though not to help +himself. "Had he stuck to <i>this</i>"—holding up a glass, ruby +bright—"the elixir vitæ—the grand panacea—he might have +been hale and hearty at this present moment, and as well as +any of us. But he wouldn't be advised. To my thinking, as +that was the case, he'd have been all the better for a little of +your reverence's sperretual advice; and his conscience having +been relieved by confession and absolution, he might have +opened a fresh account with an aisy heart and clane breast."</p> + +<p>"I trust, sir," said Small, gravely withdrawing his pipe from +his lips, "that Sir Piers Rookwood addressed himself to a +higher source than a sinning creature of clay like himself for +remission of his sins; but, if there was any load of secret guilt +that might have weighed heavy upon his conscience, it is to +be regretted that he refused the last offices of the church, and +died incommunicate. I was denied all admittance to his +chamber."</p> + +<p>"Exactly my case," said Mr. Coates, pettishly. "I was +refused entrance, though my business was of the utmost importance—certain +dispositions—special bequests—matter connected +with his sister—for though the estate is entailed, yet +still there are charges—you understand me—very strange to +refuse to see <i>me</i>. Some people may regret it—may live to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +regret it, I say—that's all. I've just sent up a package to +Lady Rookwood, which was not to be delivered till after Sir +Piers's death. Odd circumstance that—been in my custody +a long while—some reason to think Sir Piers meant to alter +his will—ought to have seen <i>me</i>—sad neglect!"</p> + +<p>"More's the pity. But it was none of poor Sir Piers's +doing!" replied Titus; "he had no will of his own, poor fellow, +during his life, and the devil a will was he likely to have after +his death. It was all Lady Rookwood's doing," added he, in +a whisper. "I, his medical adviser and confidential friend, was +ordered out of the room; and, although I knew it was as much +as his life was worth to leave him for a moment in that state, +I was forced to comply: and, would you believe it, as I left +the room, I heard high words. Yes, doctor, as I hope to be +saved, words of anger from her at that awful juncture."</p> + +<p>The latter part of this speech was uttered in a low tone, and +very mysterious manner. The speakers drew so closely together, +that the bowls of their pipes formed a common centre, +whence the stems radiated. A momentary 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 of vapor 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 trust the expression of his thoughts +to any other feature. Titus shook his huge head, and, upon +the strength of a bumper which he swallowed, mustered resolution +enough to unburden his bosom.</p> + +<p>"By my sowl," said he, mysteriously, "I've seen enough +lately to frighten any quiet gentleman out of his senses. I'll +not get a wink of sleep, I fear, for a week to come. There +must have been something dreadful upon Sir Piers's mind; +sure—nay, there's no use in mincing the matter with <i>you</i>—in +a word, then, some crime too deep to be divulged."</p> + +<p>"Crime!" echoed Coates and Small, in a breath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ay, crime!" repeated Titus. "Whist! not so loud, lest +any one should overhear us. Poor Sir Piers, he's dead now. +I'm sure you both loved him as I did, and pity and pardon +him if he was guilty; for certain am I that no soul ever took +its flight more heavily laden than did that of our poor friend. +Och! it was a terrible ending. But you shall hear <i>how</i> he +died, and judge for yourselves. When I returned to his room +after Lady Rookwood's departure, I found him quite delirious. +I knew death was not far off then. One minute he was in the +chase, cheering on the hounds. 'Halloo! tallyho!' cried +he: 'who clears that fence?—who swims that stream?' The +next, he was drinking, carousing, and hurrahing, at the head of +his table. 'Hip! hip! hip!'—as mad, and wild, and frantic +as ever he used to be when wine had got the better of him; +and then all of a sudden, in the midst of his shouting, he +stopped, exclaiming, 'What! here again?—who let her in?—the +door is fast—I locked it myself. Devil! why did you open +it?—you have betrayed me—she will poison me—and I cannot +resist. Ha! another! Who—who is that?—her face is +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 me to perdition! You will not appear +against me! No, no, no—it is not in your nature—you +whom I doted on, whom I loved—whom I—but I repented—I +sorrowed—I prayed—prayed! Oh! oh! no prayers would +avail. Pray for me, Susan—for ever! <i>Your</i> intercession may +avail. It is not too late. I will do justice to all. Bring me +pen and ink—paper—I will confess—<i>he</i> shall have all. Where +is my sister? I would speak with her—would tell her—tell +her. Call Alan Rookwood—I shall die before I can tell it. +Come hither,' said he to me. 'There is a dark, dreadful secret +on my mind—it must forth. Tell my sister—no, my senses +swim—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 by my side, as it lay that long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +long night? It is—it is. Cold, stiff, stirless as then. White—horribly +white—as when the moon, that would not 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 as it may sound, every word is as +true as Gospel."</p> + +<p>"Ahem!" coughed Small.</p> + +<p>"Well, at this moment—this terrible moment—what should +I hear but a tap against the wainscot. Holy Virgin! how it +startled me. My heart leapt to my mouth in an instant, and +then went thump, thump, against my ribs. But I said nothing, +though you may be sure I kept my ears wide open—and +then presently I heard the tap repeated somewhat louder, and +shortly afterwards a third—I should still have said nothing, but +Sir Piers heard the knock, and raised himself at the summons, +as if it had been the last trumpet. 'Come in,' cried he, in a +dying voice; and Heaven forgive me if I confess that I expected +a certain person, whose company one would rather dispense +with upon such an occasion, to step in. However, +though it wasn't the ould gentleman, it was somebody near +akin to him; for a door I had never seen, and never even +dreamed of, opened in 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 blue as 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 the while—yes, +laughing—you know the cursed grin he has. To proceed. +'You have called me,' said he to Sir Piers; 'I am here. What +would you with me?'—'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 it was—I never did +see him again with breath in his body. Without more ado, I +left him, and I had scarcely reached the corridor when I heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +the door bolted behind me. I then stopped to listen: and +I'm sure you'll not blame me when I say I clapped my eye to +the keyhole; for I suspected something wrong. But, Heaven +save us! that crafty gravedigger had taken his precautions too +well. I could neither see nor hear anything, except after a +few minutes, a wild unearthly screech. And then the door +was thrown open, and I, not expecting it, was precipitated +head foremost into the room, to the great damage of my nose. +When I got up, Peter had vanished, I suppose, as he came; +and there was poor Sir Piers leaning back upon the pillow +with his hands stretched out as if in supplication, his eyes +unclosed and staring, and his limbs stark and stiff!"</p> + +<p>A profound silence succeeded this narrative. Mr. Coates +would not venture upon a remark. Dr. Small seemed, for +some minutes, lost in painful reflection; at length he spoke: +"You have described a shocking scene, 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, in requesting +you to maintain silence in future on the subject. Its repetition +can be productive of no good, and may do infinite harm by +giving currency to unpleasant reports, and harrowing the feelings +of the survivors. 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 over his early life, blighted his +character, and endangered his personal safety. It was a dreadful +accusation. But I believe, nay, I am sure, it was unfounded. +Dark suspicions attach to a Romish priest of the name of +Checkley. He, I believe, is beyond the reach of human justice. +Erring Sir Piers was, undoubtedly. But I trust he was +more weak than sinful. I have reason to think he was the +tool of others, especially of the wretch I have named. And +it is easy to perceive how that incomprehensible lunatic, Peter +Bradley, has obtained an ascendancy over him. His daughter, +you are aware, was Sir Piers's mistress. Our friend is now +gone, and with him let us bury his offences, and the remembrance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +of them. That his soul was heavily laden, would appear +from your account of his last moments; yet I fervently trust +that his repentance was sincere, in which case there is hope +of forgiveness for him. 'At what time soever a sinner shall +repent him of his sins, from the bottom of his heart, I will +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 of salvation even for Sir Piers."</p> + +<p>"I trust so, indeed," said Titus, with emotion; "and as to +repeating a syllable of what I have just said, devil a word more +will I utter on the subject. 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 make you acquainted with the circumstances. +And now, having dismissed the bad for ever, I am +ready to speak of Sir Piers's good qualities, and not few they +were. What was there becoming a gentleman that he couldn't +do, I'd like to know? Couldn't he hunt as well as ever a one +in the county? and hadn't he as good a pack of hounds? +Couldn't he shoot as well, and fish as 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 to ask +a friend to dinner with him? and didn't he give him a good +dinner when he came, barring the cross-cups afterwards? +And hadn't he everything agreeable about him, except his +wife? which was a great drawback. And with all his peculiarities +and humors, wasn't he as kind-hearted a man as needs +be? and an Irishman at the core? And so, if he wern't dead, +I'd say long life to him! But as he is, here's peace to his +memory!"</p> + +<p>At this juncture, a knocking was heard at the door, which +some one without had vainly tried to open. Titus rose to unclose +it, ushering in an individual known at the hall as Jack +Palmer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX1" id="CHAPTER_IX1"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>AN ENGLISH ADVENTURER</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Mrs. Peachem.</i> Sure the captain's the finest gentleman on the road.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Beggar's Opera.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Jack Palmer was a good-humored, good-looking man, with +immense bushy, red whiskers, a freckled, florid complexion, +and sandy hair, rather inclined to scantiness towards the scalp +of the head, which garnished the nape of his neck with a ruff +of crisp little curls, like the ring on a monk's shaven crown. +Notwithstanding this tendency to baldness, Jack could not +be more than thirty, though his looks were some five years in +advance. His face was one of those inexplicable countenances, +which appear to be proper to a peculiar class of men—a +regular Newmarket physiognomy—compounded chiefly of +cunning and assurance; not low cunning, nor vulgar assurance, +but crafty sporting subtlety, careless as to results, indifferent to +obstacles, ever on the alert for the main chance, game and +turf all over, eager, yet easy, keen, yet quiet. He was somewhat +showily dressed, in such wise that he looked half like a +fine gentleman of that day, half like a jockey of our own. His +nether man appeared in well-fitting, well-worn buckskins, and +boots with tops, not unconscious of the saddle; while the +airy extravagance of his broad-skirted, sky-blue riding coat, the +richness of his vest—the pockets of which were beautifully +exuberant, according to the mode of 1737—the smart luxuriance +of his cravat, and a certain curious taste in the size +and style of his buttons, proclaimed that, in his own esteem +at least, his person did not appear altogether unworthy of +decoration; nor, in justice to Jack, can we allow that he was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +error. He was a model of a man for five feet ten; square, +compact, capitally built in every particular, excepting that his +legs were slightly imbowed, which defect probably arose from +his being almost constantly on horseback; a sort of exercise +in which Jack greatly delighted, and was accounted a superb +rider. It was, indeed, his daring horsemanship, upon one particular +occasion, when he had outstripped a whole field, that +had procured him the honor of an invitation to Rookwood. +Who he was, or whence he came, was a question not easily +answered—Jack, himself, evading all solution to the inquiry. +Sir Piers never troubled his head about the matter: he was 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 that he was a capital judge of horseflesh, +kept a famous black mare, and attended every hunt in the +West Riding—that he could sing a good song, was a choice +companion, and could drink three bottles without feeling the +worse for them.</p> + +<p>Sensible of the indecorum that might attach to his appearance, +Dr. Small had hastily laid down his pipe, and arranged his wig. +But when he saw who was the intruder, with a grunt of defiance +he resumed his occupation, without returning the bow of the +latter, or bestowing further notice upon him. Nothing discomposed +at the churchman's displeasure, 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.</p> + +<p>"Have you ridden far, Jack?" asked Titus, noticing the +dusty state of Palmer's azure attire.</p> + +<p>"Some dozen miles," replied Palmer; "and that, on such a +sultry afternoon as the present, makes one feel thirstyish. I'm +as dry as a sandbed. Famous wine this—beautiful tipple—better +than all your red fustian. Ah, how poor Sir Piers used +to like it! Well, that's all over—a glass like this might do him +good in his present quarters! I'm afraid I'm intruding. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +the fact is, I wanted a little information about the order of the +procession, and missing you below, came hither in search of +you. You're to be chief mourner, I suppose, Titus—<i>rehearsing</i> +your part, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Jack, no joking," replied Titus; "the subject's +too serious. I am to be chief mourner—and I expect +you to be a mourner—and everybody else to be mourners. +We must all mourn at the proper time. There'll be a power +of people at the church."</p> + +<p>"There <i>are</i> a power of people here already," returned Jack, +"if they all attend."</p> + +<p>"And they all <i>will</i> attend, or what is the eating and drinking +to go for? I sha'n't leave a soul in the house."</p> + +<p>"Excepting one," said Jack, archly. "Lady Rookwood +won't attend, I think."</p> + +<p>"Ay, excepting her ladyship and her ladyship's abigail. All +the rest go with me, and form part of the procession. You go +too."</p> + +<p>"Of course. At what time do you start?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve precisely. As the clock strikes, we set out—all in +a line, and a long line we'll make. I'm waiting for that ould +coffin-faced rascal, Peter Bradley, to arrange the order."</p> + +<p>"How long will it all occupy, think you?" asked Jack, +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"That I can't say," returned Titus; "possibly an hour, +more or less. But we shall start to the minute—that is, if we +can get all together, so don't be out of the way. And hark +ye, Jack, you must contrive to change your toggery. That +sky-blue coat won't do. It's not the thing at all, at all."</p> + +<p>"Never fear that," replied Palmer. "But who were those +in the carriages?"</p> + +<p>"Is it the last carriage you mean? Squire Forester and +his sons. They're dining with the other gentlefolk, in the +great room up-stairs, to be out of the way. Oh, we'll have a +grand <i>berrin'</i>. And, by St. Patrick! I must be looking after it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stay a minute," said Jack; "let's have a cool bottle first. +They are all taking care of themselves below, and Peter Bradley +has not made his appearance, so you need be in no hurry. +I'll go with you presently. Shall I ring for the claret?"</p> + +<p>"By all means," replied Titus.</p> + +<p>Jack accordingly arose; and a butler answering the summons, +a long-necked bottle was soon placed before them.</p> + +<p>"You heard of the affray last night, I presume?" said Jack, +renewing the conversation.</p> + +<p>"With the poachers? To be sure I did. Wasn't I called +in to examine Hugh Badger's wounds the first thing this +morning; and a deep cut there was, just over the eye, besides +other bruises."</p> + +<p>"Is the wound dangerous?" inquired Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly mortal, if you mean that," replied the Irishman; +"dangerous, certainly."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" exclaimed Jack; "they'd a pretty hardish bout +of it, I understand. Anything been heard of the body?"</p> + +<p>"What body?" inquired Small, who was half-dozing.</p> + +<p>"The body of the drowned poacher," replied Jack; "they +were off to search for it this morning."</p> + +<p>"Found it—not they!" exclaimed Titus. "Ha, ha!—I +can't help laughing, for the life and <i>sowl</i> of me; a capital trick +he played 'em,—capital—ha, ha! What do you think the +fellow did? Ha, ha!—after leading 'em the devil's dance, all +around the park, killing a hound as savage as a wolf, and breaking +Hugh Badger's head, which is as hard and thick as a +butcher's block, what does the fellow do but dive into a pool, +with a great rock hanging over it, and make his way to the +other side, through a subterranean cavern, which nobody knew +anything about, till they came to drag it, thinking him snugly +drowned all the while—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" chorused Jack; "bravo! he's a lad of the +right sort—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"He! who?" inquired the attorney.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, the poacher, to be sure," replied Jack; "who else +were we talking about?"</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon," returned Coates; "I thought you might have +heard some intelligence. We've got an eye upon him. We +know who it was."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Jack; "and who was it?"</p> + +<p>"A fellow known by the name of Luke Bradley."</p> + +<p>"Zounds!" cried Titus, "you don't say it was he? Murder +in Irish! that bates everything; why, he was Sir Piers's——"</p> + +<p>"Natural son," replied the attorney; "he has not been heard +of for some time—shockingly incorrigible rascal—impossible +to do anything with him."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so?" observed Jack. "I've heard Sir Piers +speak of the lad; and, by his account, he's as fine a fellow as +ever crossed tit's back; 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, and so would he. To speak +the truth, I'm glad he escaped."</p> + +<p>"So am I," rejoined Titus; "for, in the first place, I've a +foolish partiality 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 one of Sir Piers's flesh and blood, +as this young chap appears to be."</p> + +<p>"Appears to be!" repeated Palmer; "there's no <i>appearing</i> +in the case, I take it. This Bradley's an undoubted offshoot +of the old squire. His mother was a servant-maid at the hall, +I rather think. You sir," continued he, addressing Coates, +"perhaps, can inform us of the real facts of the case."</p> + +<p>"She was something better than a servant," replied the +attorney, with a slight cough and a knowing wink. "I remember +her quite well, though I was but a boy then; a lovely +creature, and so taking, I don't wonder that Sir Piers was +smitten with her. He was mad after the women in those days, +and pretty Sue Bradley above all others. She lived with him +quite like his lady."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So I've heard," returned Jack; "and she remained with +him till her death. Let me see, wasn't there something rather +odd in the way in which she died, rather suddenish and unexpected,—a +noise made about it at the time, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I ever heard," replied Coates, shaking his head, +and appearing to be afflicted with an instantaneous ignorance; +while Titus affected not to hear the remark, but occupied himself +with his wine-glass. Small snored audibly. "I was too +young, then, to pay any attention to idle rumors," continued +Coates. "It's a long time ago. May I ask the reason of +your inquiry?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing further than simple curiosity," replied Jack, enjoying +the consternation 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 think people had something else +to do than talk of one's private affairs for ever. For my part, +I despise such tattle. But there <i>are</i> persons in the neighborhood +who still say it was an awkward business. Amongst +others, I've heard that this very Luke Bradley talks in pretty +plain terms about it."</p> + +<p>"Does he, indeed?" said Coates. "So much the worse +for him. Let me once lay hands upon him, and I'll put a gag +in his mouth that shall spoil his talking in the future."</p> + +<p>"That's precisely the point I desire to arrive at," replied +Jack; "and I advise 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 matter amicably, were I you. Just +let the fellow go his way; he won't return here again in a hurry, +I'll be bound. As to clapping him in quod, he might prattle—turn +stag."</p> + +<p>"Turn stag!" replied Coates, "what the deuce is that? In +my opinion, he has 'turned stag' already. At all events, he'll +pay <i>deer</i> for his night's sport, you may depend upon it. What +signifies it what <i>he</i> says? Let me lay hands upon him, +that's all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Jack, "no offence. I only meant to offer +a suggestion. I thought the family, young Sir Ranulph, I mean, +mightn't like 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, she bears this youngster no particular +good-will to begin with, and has tried hard to get him +out of the country. But, as you say, what <i>does</i> it signify what +he says? he can <i>only</i> talk. Sir Piers is dead and gone."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" muttered Coates, peevishly.</p> + +<p>"But it does seem a little hard, that a lad should swing for +killing a bit of venison in his own father's park."</p> + +<p>"Which he'd a <i>nat'ral</i> right to do," cried Titus.</p> + +<p>"He had no natural right to bruise, violently assault, and +endanger the life of his father's, or anybody else's gamekeeper," +retorted Coates. "I tell you, sir, he's committed a capital +offence, and if he's taken——"</p> + +<p>"No chance of that, I hope," interrupted Jack.</p> + +<p>"That's a wish I can't help wishing myself," said Titus: +"on my conscience, these poachers are fine boys, when all's +said and done."</p> + +<p>"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 <i>professional sportsmen</i>, making a business of what +we make a pleasure; a nightly pursuit of what is to us a daily +relaxation; there's the main distinction. As to the rest, it's +all in idea; they merely thin an overstocked park, as <i>you</i> +would reduce a plethoric patient, doctor; or as <i>you</i> would +work a moneyed client, if you got him into Chancery, Mister +Attorney. And then how much more scientifically and systematically +they set to work than we amateurs do! how noiselessly +they 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, and a swift pair of legs! how unnecessary +is it for them to ask permission to shoot over Mr. So-and-so's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +grounds, or my Lord That's preserves! they are free +of every cover, and indifferent to any alteration in the game +laws. I've some thoughts, when everything else fails, of taking +to poaching myself. In my opinion, a poacher's a highly +respectable character. What say you, Mr. Coates?" turning +very gravely to that gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Such a question, sir," replied Coates, bridling up, "scarcely +deserves a serious answer. I make no doubt you will next +maintain that a highwayman is a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Most undoubtedly," replied Palmer, in the same grave tone, +which might have passed for banter, had Jack ever bantered. +"I'll maintain and prove it. I don't see how he can be otherwise. +It is as necessary for a man to be a gentleman before he +can turn highwayman, as it is for a doctor to have his diploma, +or an attorney his certificate. Some of the finest gentlemen of +their day, as Captain Lovelace, Hind, Hannum, and Dudley, +were eminent on the road, and they set the fashion. Ever since +their day a real highwayman would consider himself disgraced, +if he did not conduct himself in every way like a gentleman. +Of course, there are pretenders in this line, as in everything else. +But these are only exceptions, and prove the rule. What are +the distinguishing characteristics of a fine gentleman?—perfect +knowledge of the world—perfect independence of character—notoriety—command +of cash—and inordinate success with the +women. You grant all these premises? First, then, it is +part of a highwayman's business to be thoroughly acquainted +with the world. He is the easiest and pleasantest fellow going. +There is Tom King, for example: he is the handsomest man +about town, and the best-bred fellow on the road. Then +whose inclinations are so uncontrolled as the highwayman's, so +long as the mopuses last? who produces so great an effect by +so few words?—'<span class="smcap">Stand and deliver!</span>' is sure to arrest attention. +Every one is captivated by an address so <i>taking</i>. As to money, +he wins a purse of a hundred guineas as easily as you would +the same sum from the faro table. And wherein lies the difference?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +only in the name of the game. Who so little need of +a banker as he? all he has to apprehend is a check—all he has +to draw is a trigger. As to the women, they dote upon him: +not even your red-coat is so successful. Look at a highwayman +mounted on his flying steed, 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 is like music to his ear—he is +in full quest—he shouts to the fugitive horseman to stay—the +other flies all the faster—what chase can be half so exciting as +that? Suppose he overtakes his prey, which ten to one he will, +how readily his summons to deliver is obeyed! how satisfactory +is the appropriation of a lusty purse or corpulent pocket-book!—getting +the brush is nothing to it. How tranquilly +he departs, takes off his hat to his accommodating acquaintance, +wishes him a pleasant journey, and disappears across the +heath! England, sir, has reason to be proud of her highwaymen. +They are peculiar to her clime, and are as much before +the brigand of Italy, the contrabandist of Spain, or the cut-purse +of France—as her sailors are before all the rest of the +world. The day will never come, I hope, when we shall degenerate +into the footpad, and lose our <i>Night Errantry</i>. Even the +French borrow from us—they have only one highwayman of +eminence, and he learnt and practised his art in England."</p> + +<p>"And who was he, may I ask?" said Coates.</p> + +<p>"Claude Du-Val," replied Jack; "and though a Frenchman, +he was a deuced fine fellow in his day—quite a tip-top +macaroni—he could skip and twirl like a figurant, warble like +an opera-singer, and play the flageolet better than any man of +his day—he always carried a lute in his pocket, along with his +snappers. And then his dress—it was quite beautiful to see +how smartly he was rigg'd out, all velvet and lace; and even +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. All the women adored him—and that, bless +their pretty faces! was the best proof of his gentility. I wish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +he'd not been a Mounseer. The women never mistake. <i>They</i> +can always discover the true gentlemen, and they were all, of +every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, over +head and ears in love with him."</p> + +<p>"But he was taken, I suppose?" asked Coates.</p> + +<p>"Ay," responded Jack, "the women were his undoing, as +they've been many a brave fellow's before, and will be again." +Touched by which reflection, 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 by the bailiff of Westminster, +when dead drunk, his liquor having been drugged by +his dells—and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn."</p> + +<p>"It was thousand pities," said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, +"that so fine a gentleman should come to so ignominious an +end!"</p> + +<p>"Quite the contrary," returned Jack. "As his biographer, +Doctor Pope, properly remarks, 'Who is there worthy of the +name of man, that would not 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 a song about highwaymen."</p> + +<p>"I should like it of all things," replied Titus, who entertained +a very favorable opinion of Jack's vocal powers, and +was by no means an indifferent performer; "only let it be in +a minor key."</p> + +<p>Jack required no further encouragement, but disregarding +the hints and looks of Coates, sang with much unction the +following ballad to a good old tune, then very popular—the +merit of which "nobody can deny."</p> + + +<p class="hd1">A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of every rascal of every kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The most notorious to my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the Cavalier Captain, gay <span class="smcap">Jemmy Hind</span>!<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lute, coranto, and madrigal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the galliard Frenchman, <span class="smcap">Claude Du-Val</span>!<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Tobygloak never a coach could rob,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a neater hand than <span class="smcap">Old Mob</span>, <span class="smcap">Old Mob</span>!<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than that prince of good fellows, <span class="smcap">Tom Cox</span>, <span class="smcap">Tom Cox</span>!<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A blither fellow on broad highway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did never with oath bid traveller stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than devil-may-care <span class="smcap">Will Holloway</span>!<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <span class="smcap">Gettings</span> and <span class="smcap">Grey</span>, and the five or six<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who trod in the steps of bold <span class="smcap">Neddy Wicks</span>!<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor could any so handily break a lock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As <span class="smcap">Sheppard</span>, who stood on the Newgate dock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nicknamed the jailers around him "<i>his flock</i>!"<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor did highwaymen ever before possess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ease, for security, danger, distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such a mare as <span class="smcap">Dick Turpin's</span> Black Bess! Black Bess!<br /></span> +<span class="i15"><i>Which nobody can deny.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"A capital song, by the powers!" cried Titus, as Jack's ditty +came to a close. "But your English robbers are nothing at +all, compared with our Tories<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> and Rapparees—nothing at all. +They were the <i>raal</i> gentlemen—they were the boys to cut a +throat <i>aisily</i>."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I +speak of never maltreated any one, except in self-defence."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Maybe not," replied Titus; "I'll not dispute the point—but +these Rapparees 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't let'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; the words of +which he adapted to the tune of the <i>Groves of the Pool</i>:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE RAPPAREES</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 38em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of the walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>—it's all botheration and talk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">First and foremost comes <span class="smcap">Redmond O'Hanlon</span>, allowed the first thief of the world,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting knife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed <span class="smcap">Redmond's</span> <i>tail</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur O'Neal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shure</i> never were any boys like 'em for rows, <i>agitations</i>, and sprees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a <i>rap</i> did they leave in the country, and hence they were called <i>Rap</i>parees.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Next comes <span class="smcap">Power</span>, the great Tory<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> of Munster, a gentleman born every inch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strong <span class="smcap">Jack Macpherson</span> of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a pinch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last was a fellow so <i>lively</i>, not death e'en his courage could damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the camp."<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Paddy Fleming</span>, <span class="smcap">Dick Balf</span>, and <span class="smcap">Mulhoni</span>, I think are the next on my list,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Jemmy Carrick</span> must follow his leaders, <i>ould</i> <span class="smcap">Purney</span> who put in a huff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's <span class="smcap">Paul Liddy</span>, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a spike,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">Billy Delaney</span>, the "<i>Songster</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> we never shall meet with his like;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lastly, there's <span class="smcap">Cahir na Cappul</span>, the handiest rogue of them all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his stall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should be near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And devil a bit in the paddock, if <span class="smcap">Cahir</span> gets <i>hould</i> of his ear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant, the gay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them the best <i>Rumpads</i><a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> of England are not to be named the same day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with our <i>prigs</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recollect that <i>our</i> robbers are Tories, while those of <i>your</i> country are Whigs.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Bravissimo!" cried Jack, drumming upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Coates, "we've had enough about the Irish +highwaymen, in all conscience. But there's a rascal on our +side of the Channel, whom you have only incidentally mentioned, +and who makes more noise than them all put together."</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" asked Jack, with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Dick Turpin," replied the attorney: "he seems to me +quite as worthy of mention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, +or the O'Hanlons, you have either of you enumerated."</p> + +<p>"I did not think of him," replied Palmer, smiling; "though, +if I had, he scarcely deserves to be ranked with those illustrious +heroes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gads bobs!" cried Titus; "they tell me Turpin keeps +the best nag in the United Kingdom, and can ride faster and +further in a day than any other man in a week."</p> + +<p>"So I've heard," said Palmer, with a glance of satisfaction. +"I should like to try a run with him. I warrant me, I'd not +be far behind."</p> + +<p>"I should like to get a peep at him," quoth Titus.</p> + +<p>"So should I," added Coates. "Vastly!"</p> + +<p>"You may both of you be gratified, gentlemen," said Palmer. +"Talking of Dick Turpin, they say, is like speaking of the +devil, he's at your elbow ere the word's well out of your mouth. +He may be within hearing at this moment, for anything we +know to the contrary."</p> + +<p>"Body o' me!" ejaculated Coates, "you don't say so? +Turpin in Yorkshire! I thought he confined his exploits to +the neighborhood of the metropolis, and made Epping Forest +his headquarters."</p> + +<p>"So he did," replied Jack, "but the cave is all up now. +The whole of the great North Road, from Tottenham Cross to +York gates, comes within Dick's present range; and Saint +Nicholas only knows in which part of it he is most likely to +be found. He shifts his quarters as often and as readily as a +Tartar; and he who looks for him may chance to catch a +Tartar—ha!—ha!"</p> + +<p>"It's a disgrace to the country that such a rascal should +remain unhanged," returned Coates, peevishly. "Government +ought to look to it. Is the whole kingdom to be kept in a +state of agitation by a single highwayman?—Sir Robert Walpole +should take the affair into his own hands."</p> + +<p>"Fudge!" exclaimed Jack, emptying his glass.</p> + +<p>"I have already addressed a letter to the editor of the +<i>Common Sense</i> on the subject," said Coates, "in which I have +spoken my mind pretty plainly: and I repeat, it is perfectly +disgraceful that such a rascal should be suffered to remain at +large."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't happen to have that letter by you, I suppose," +said Jack, "or I should beg the favor to hear it?—I am not +acquainted with the newspaper to which you allude;—I read +<i>Fog's Journal</i>."</p> + +<p>"So I thought," replied Coates, with a sneer; "that's the +reason you are so easily mystified. But luckily I have the paper +in my pocket; and you are quite welcome to my opinions. +Here it is," added he, drawing forth a newspaper. "I shall +waive my preliminary remarks, and come to the point at once."</p> + +<p>"By all means," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"'I thank God,'" began Coates, in an authoritative tone, +"'that I was born in a country that hath formerly emulated +the Romans in their public spirit; as is evident from their +conquests abroad, and their struggles for liberty at home.'"</p> + +<p>"What has all this got to do with Turpin?" interposed +Jack.</p> + +<p>"You will hear," replied the attorney—"no interruptions +if you please. 'But this noble principle,'" continued he, with +great emphasis, "'though not utterly lost, I cannot think at +present so active as it ought to be in a nation so jealous of her +liberty.'"</p> + +<p>"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "There is more than '<i>common +sense</i>' in that observation, Mr. Coates."</p> + +<p>"'My suspicion,'" proceeded Coates, "'is founded on a +late instance. I mean the flagrant, undisturbed success of the +notorious <span class="smcap">Turpin</span>, who hath robb'd in a manner scarce ever +known before for several years, and is grown so insolent and +impudent as to threaten particular persons, and become openly +dangerous to the lives as well as fortunes of the people of +England.'"</p> + +<p>"Better and better," shouted Jack, laughing immoderately. +"Pray go on, sir."</p> + +<p>"'That a fellow,'" continued Coates, "'who is known to be +a thief by the whole kingdom, shall for so long a time continue +to rob us, and not only rob us, but make a jest of us——'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ha—ha—ha—capital! Excuse me, sir," roared Jack, +laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks—"pray, pray, go on."</p> + +<p>"I see nothing to laugh at," replied Coates, somewhat offended; +"however, I will conclude my letter, since I have begun +it—'not only rob us, but make a jest of us, shall defy the +laws, and laugh at justice, argues a want of public spirit, which +should make every particular member of the community sensible +of the public calamity, and ambitious of the honor of +extirpating such a notorious highwayman from society, since +he owes his long successes to no other cause than his immoderate +impudence, and the sloth and pusillanimity of those who +ought to 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 some covert political object in penning this +epistle.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> Nevertheless, setting aside my principles——"</p> + +<p>"Right," observed Jack; "you Whigs, new or old, always +set aside your principles."</p> + +<p>"Setting aside any political feeling I may entertain," continued +Coates, disregarding the interruption, "I repeat, I am +ambitious of extirpating this modern Cacus—this Autolycus of +the eighteenth century."</p> + +<p>"And what course do you mean to pursue?" asked Jack, +"for I suppose you do not expect to catch this '<i>ought-to-lick-us</i>,' +as you call him, by a line in the newspapers."</p> + +<p>"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 reward myself."</p> + +<p>"Oons, is there a reward offered for Turpin's apprehension?" +asked Titus.</p> + +<p>"No less than two hundred pounds," answered Coates, +"and that's no trifle, as you will both admit. Have you not +seen the king's proclamation, Mr. Palmer?"</p> + +<p>"Not I," replied Jack, with affected indifference.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," added Titus, with some appearance of curiosity; +"do you happen to have <i>that</i> by you too?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I always carry it about with me," replied Coates, "that I +may refer to it in case of emergency. My father, Christopher, +or Kit Coates, as he was familiarly called, was a celebrated +thief-taker. He apprehended Spicket, and Child, and half a +dozen others, and always kept their descriptions in his pocket. +I endeavor to tread in my worthy father's footsteps. I hope +to signalize myself by capturing a highwayman. By-the-by," +added he, surveying Jack more narrowly, "it occurs to me that +Turpin must be rather like you, Mr. Palmer?"</p> + +<p>"Like me," said Jack, regarding Coates askance; "like +me—how am I to understand you, sir, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No offence; none whatever, sir. Ah! stay, you won't object +to my comparing the description. That <i>can</i> do no harm. Nobody +would take you for a highwayman—nobody whatever—ha! +ha! Singular resemblance—he—he. These things <i>do</i> happen +sometimes: not very often, though. But here is Turpin's +description in the <i>Gazette</i>, <i>June 28th</i>, <span class="smcapl">A.D.</span> 1737:—'<i>It having +been represented to the King that Richard Turpin did, on Wednesday, +the 4th of May last, rob on his Majesty's highway Vavasour +Mowbray, Esq., Major of the 2d troop of Horse Grenadiers</i>'—that +Major Mowbray, by-the-by, is a nephew of the +late Sir Piers, and cousin of the present baronet—'<i>and commit +other notorious felonies and robberies near London, his +Majesty is pleased to promise his most gracious pardon to any +of his accomplices, and a reward of two hundred pounds to +any person or persons who shall discover him, so as he may be +apprehended and convicted</i>.'"</p> + +<p>"Odsbodikins!" exclaimed Titus, "a noble reward! I +should like to lay hands upon Turpin," added he, slapping +Palmer's shoulder: "I wish he were in your place at this +moment, Jack."</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" replied Palmer, shifting his chair.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Turpin</i>,'" continued Coates, "'<i>was born at Thacksted, +in Essex; is about thirty</i>'—you, sir, I believe, are about +thirty?" added he, addressing Palmer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thereabouts," said Jack, bluffly. "But what has my age +to do with that of Turpin?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing at all," answered Coates; "suffer me, +however, to proceed:—'<i>Is by trade a butcher</i>,'—you, sir, I +believe, never had any dealings in that line?"</p> + +<p>"I have some notion how to dispose of a troublesome calf," +returned Jack. "But Turpin, though described as a butcher, +is, I understand, a lineal descendant of a great French archbishop +of the same name."</p> + +<p>"Who wrote the chronicles of that royal robber Charlemagne; +I know him," replied Coates—"a terrible liar!—The +modern Turpin '<i>is about five feet nine inches high</i>'—exactly +your height, sir—exactly!"</p> + +<p>"I am five feet ten," answered Jack, standing bolt upright.</p> + +<p>"You have an inch, then, in your favor," returned the +unperturbed attorney, deliberately proceeding with his examination—"'<i>he +has a brown complexion, marked with the smallpox</i>.'"</p> + +<p>"My complexion is florid—my face without a seam," quoth +Jack.</p> + +<p>"Those whiskers would conceal anything," replied Coates, +with a grin. "Nobody wears whiskers nowadays, except a +highwayman."</p> + +<p>"Sir!" said Jack, sternly. "You are personal."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean to be so," replied Coates; "but you must +allow the description tallies with your own in a remarkable manner. +Hear me out, however—'<i>his cheek bones are broad—his +face is thinner towards the bottom—his visage short—pretty +upright—and broad about the shoulders</i>.' Now I appeal to +Mr. Tyrconnel if all this does not sound like a portrait of +yourself."</p> + +<p>"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 either Redmond O'Hanlon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +or Richard Turpin; and may the devil burn me if I know +which of the two is the greater rascal!"</p> + +<p>"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 I shall bear you in mind—he—he! +Ah! if ever I <i>should</i> have the good luck to stumble +upon him, I've a plan for his capture which couldn't fail. +Only let me get a glimpse of him, that's all. You shall see +how I'll dispose of him."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, we <i>shall</i> see," observed Palmer. "And for +your own sake, I wish you may never be nearer to him than you +are at this moment. With his friends, they say Dick Turpin +can be as gentle as a lamb; with his foes, especially with a +limb of the law like yourself, he's been found but an ugly +customer. I once saw him at Newmarket, where he was collared +by two constable culls, one on each side. Shaking off +one, and dealing the other a blow in the face with his heavy-handled +whip, he stuck spurs into his mare, and though the +whole field gave chase, he distanced them all, easily."</p> + +<p>"And how came you not to try your pace with him, if +you were there, as you boasted a short time ago?" asked +Coates.</p> + +<p>"So I did, and stuck closer to him than any one else. We +were neck and neck. I was the only person who could have +delivered him to the hands of justice, if I'd felt inclined."</p> + +<p>"Zounds!" cried Coates; "If I had a similar opportunity, +it should be neck or nothing. Either he or I should reach +the scragging-post first. I'd take him, dead or alive."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> take Turpin?" cried Jack, with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"I'd engage to do it," replied Coates. "I'll bet you a +hundred guineas I take him, if I ever have the same chance."</p> + +<p>"Done!" exclaimed Jack, rapping the table at the same +time, so that the glasses danced upon it.</p> + +<p>"That's right," cried Titus. "I'll go you halves."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter—what's the matter?" exclaimed Small, +awakened from his doze.</p> + +<p>"Only a trifling bet about a highwayman," replied Titus.</p> + +<p>"A highwayman!" echoed Small. "Eh! what? there are +none in the house, I hope."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," answered Coates. "But this gentleman has +taken up the defence of the notorious Dick Turpin in so singular +a manner, that——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Quod factu fœdum est, idem est et Dictu Turpe</i>," returned +Small. "The less said about that rascal the better."</p> + +<p>"So I think," replied Jack. "The fact is as you say, sir—were +Dick here, he would, I am sure, take the <i>freedom to hide +'em</i>."</p> + +<p>Further discourse was cut short by the sudden opening of the +door, followed by the abrupt entrance of a tall, slender young +man, who hastily advanced towards the table, around which +the company were seated. His appearance excited the utmost +astonishment in the whole group: curiosity was exhibited in +every countenance—the magnum remained poised midway in +the hand of Palmer—Dr. Small scorched his thumb in the bowl +of his pipe; and Mr. Coates was almost choked, by swallowing +an inordinate whiff of vapor.</p> + +<p>"Young Sir Ranulph!" ejaculated he, as soon as the syncope +would permit him.</p> + +<p>"Sir Ranulph here?" echoed Palmer, rising.</p> + +<p>"Angels and ministers!" exclaimed Small.</p> + +<p>"Odsbodikins!" cried Titus, with a theatrical start; "this +is more than I expected."</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said Ranulph, "do not let my unexpected +arrival here discompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the +manner of my greeting; and you, Mr. Coates. One of the +present party, I believe, was my father's medical attendant, +Dr. Tyrconnel."</p> + +<p>"I had that honor," replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly—"I +am Dr. Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, +sir?" inquired Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Poor Sir Piers," answered Titus, again bowing, "departed +this life on Thursday last."</p> + +<p>"The hour?—the precise minute?" asked Ranulph, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might +be a few minutes before midnight."</p> + +<p>"The very hour!" exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the +window. His steps 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 slight shudder passed over his frame. +There was a momentary pause, during which Ranulph continued +gazing intently at the apparel. "The very dress, too!" muttered +he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching +his movements with surprise; "Doctor," said he, addressing +Small, "I have something for your private ear. Gentlemen, +will you spare us the room for a few minutes?"</p> + +<p>"On my conscience," said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as +they quitted the sanctum, "a mighty fine boy is this young +Sir Ranulph!—and a chip of the ould block!—he'll be as good +a fellow as his father."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," replied Palmer, shutting the door. "But what +the devil brought him back, just in the nick of it?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X1" id="CHAPTER_X1"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>RANULPH ROOKWOOD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fer.</i> Yes, Francisco,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hath left his curse upon me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fran.</i> How?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fer.</i> His curse I dost comprehend what that word carries?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shot from a father's angry breath? Unless<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Shirley</span>: <i>The Brothers</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>"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 the present. Forgive my +apprehensions if I am wrong. You know the affectionate interest +I have ever felt for you—an interest which, I assure +you, is nowise diminished, and which will excuse my urging +you to unburden your mind to me; assuring yourself, that +whatever may be your disclosure, you will have my sincere +sympathy and commiseration. I may be better able to advise +with you, should counsel be necessary, than others, from my +knowledge of your character and temperament. I would not +anticipate evil, and am, perhaps, unnecessarily apprehensive. +But I own, I am startled at the incoherence of your expressions, +coupled with your sudden and almost mysterious appearance +at this distressing conjuncture. Answer me: has your return +been the result of mere accident? is it to be considered one of +those singular circumstances which almost look like fate, and +baffle our comprehension? or were you nearer home than we +expected, and received the news of your father's demise through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +some channel unknown to us? Satisfy my curiosity, I beg of +you, upon this point."</p> + +<p>"Your curiosity, my dear sir," replied Ranulph, gravely and +sadly, "will not be decreased, when I tell you, that my return +has neither been the work of chance,—for I came, fully anticipating +the dread event, which I find realized,—nor has it been +occasioned by any intelligence derived from yourself, or others. +It was only, indeed, upon my arrival here that I received full +confirmation of my apprehensions. I had another, a more +terrible summons to return."</p> + +<p>"What summons? you perplex me!" exclaimed Small, +gazing with some misgiving into the face of his young friend.</p> + +<p>"I am myself perplexed—sorely perplexed," returned +Ranulph. "I have much to relate; but I pray you bear with +me to the end. I have that on my mind which, like guilt, +must be revealed."</p> + +<p>"Speak, then, fearlessly to me," said Small, affectionately +pressing Ranulph's hand, "and assure yourself, beforehand, of +my sympathy."</p> + +<p>"It will be necessary," said Ranulph, "to preface my narrative +by some slight allusion to certain painful events—and +yet I know not why I should call them painful, excepting in +their consequences—which influenced my conduct in my final +interview between my father and myself—an interview which +occasioned my departure for the Continent—and which was of +a character so dreadful, that I would not even revert to it, were +it not a necessary preliminary to the circumstance I am about +to detail.</p> + +<p>"When I left Oxford, I passed a few weeks alone, in London. +A college friend, whom I accidentally met, introduced me, +during a promenade in St. James's Park, to some acquaintances +of his own, who were taking an airing in the Mall at the same +time—a family whose name was Mowbray, consisting of a +widow lady, her son, and daughter. This introduction was +made in compliance with my own request. I had been struck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +by the singular beauty of the younger lady, whose countenance +had a peculiar and inexpressible charm to me, from its marked +resemblance to the portrait of the Lady Eleanor Rookwood, +whose charms and unhappy fate I have so often dwelt upon +and deplored. The picture is there," continued Ranulph, +pointing to it: "look at it, and you have the fair creature I +speak 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! I recognized her features at once.</p> + +<p>"It struck me, that upon the mention of my name, the party +betrayed some surprise, especially the elder lady. For my +own part, I was so attracted by the beauty of the daughter, +the effect of which upon me seemed rather the fulfilment of a +predestined event, originating in the strange fascination which +the family portrait had wrought in my heart, than the operation +of what is called 'love at first sight,' that I was insensible to +the agitation of the mother. In vain I endeavored to rally +myself; my efforts at conversation were fruitless; I could not +talk—all I could do was silently to yield to the soft witchery +of those tender eyes; my admiration increasing each instant +that I gazed upon them.</p> + +<p>"I accompanied them home. Attracted as by some irresistible +spell, I could not tear myself away; so that, although +I fancied I could perceive symptoms of displeasure in the +looks of both the mother and the son, yet, regardless of consequences, +I ventured, uninvited, to enter the house. In order +to shake off the restraint which I felt my society imposed, I +found it absolutely necessary to divest myself of bashfulness, +and to exert such conversational powers as I possessed. I +succeeded so well that the discourse soon became lively and +animated; and what chiefly delighted me was, that <i>she</i>, for +whose sake I had committed my present rudeness, became +radiant with smiles. I had been all eagerness to seek for some +explanation of the resemblance to which I have just alluded, +and the fitting moment had, I conceived, arrived. I called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +attention to a peculiar expression in the features of Miss Mowbray, +and then instanced the likeness that subsisted between +her and my ancestress. 'It is the more singular,' I said, turning +to her mother, 'because there could have been no affinity, +that I am aware of, between them, and yet the likeness is +really surprising.'—'It is not so singular as you imagine,' +answered Mrs. Mowbray; 'there <i>is</i> a close affinity. That +Lady Rookwood was my mother. Eleanor Mowbray <i>does</i> +resemble her ill-fated ancestress.'</p> + +<p>"Words cannot paint my astonishment. I gazed at Mrs. +Mowbray, considering whether I had not misconstrued her +speech—whether I had not so shaped the sounds as to suit my +own quick and passionate conceptions. But no! I read in +her calm, collected countenance—in the downcast glance, and +sudden sadness of Eleanor, as well as in the changed and +haughty demeanor of the brother, that I had heard her rightly. +Eleanor Mowbray was my cousin—the descendant of that +hapless creature whose image I had almost worshipped.</p> + +<p>"Recovering from my surprise, I addressed Mrs. Mowbray, +endeavoring to excuse my ignorance of our relationship, on +the plea that I had not been given to understand that such +had been the name of the gentleman she had espoused. 'Nor +was it,' answered she, 'the name he bore at Rookwood; circumstances +forbade it then. From the hour I quitted that +house until this moment, excepting one interview with my—with +Sir Reginald Rookwood—I have seen none of my family—have +held no communication with them. My brothers have +been strangers to me; the very name of Rookwood has been +unheard, unknown; nor would you have been admitted here, +had not accident occasioned it.' I ventured now to interrupt +her, and to express a hope that she would suffer an acquaintance +to be kept up, which had so fortunately commenced, and +which might most probably bring about an entire reconciliation +between the families. I was so earnest in my expostulations, +my whole soul being in them, that she inclined a more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +friendly ear to me. Eleanor, too, smiled encouragement. +Love lent me eloquence; and at length, as a token of my +success, and her own relenting, Mrs. Mowbray held forth her +hand: I clasped it eagerly. It was the happiest moment of +my life.</p> + +<p>"I will not trouble you with any lengthened description of +Eleanor Mowbray. I hope, at some period or other, you may +still be enabled to see her, and judge for yourself; for though +adverse circumstances have hitherto conspired to separate us, +the time for a renewal of our acquaintance is approaching, I +trust, for I am not yet altogether without hope. But this +much I may be allowed to say, that her rare endowments of +person were only equalled by the graces of her mind.</p> + +<p>"Educated abroad, she had all the vivacity of our livelier +neighbors, combined with every solid qualification which we +claim as more essentially our own. Her light and frolic manner +was French, certainly; but her gentle, sincere heart was +as surely English. The foreign accent that dwelt upon her +tongue communicated an inexpressible charm, even to the +language which she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I will not dwell too long upon this theme. I feel ashamed +of my own prolixity. And yet I am sure you will pardon it. +Ah, those bright brief days! too quickly were they fled! I +could expatiate upon each minute—recall each word—revive +each look. It may not be. I must hasten on. Darker +themes await me.</p> + +<p>"My love made rapid progress—I became each hour more +enamored of my new-found cousin. My whole time was +passed near her; indeed, I could scarcely exist in absence +from her side. Short, however, was destined to be my indulgence +in this blissful state. One happy week was its extent. +I received a peremptory summons from my father to return +home.</p> + +<p>"Immediately upon commencing this acquaintance, I had +written to my father, explaining every particular attending it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +This I should have done 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 +I had expatiated when writing to him. He commanded me +to return.</p> + +<p>"The bitter hour was at hand. I could not hesitate to comply. +Without my father's sanction, I was assured Mrs. Mowbray +would not permit any continuance of my acquaintance. +Of Eleanor's inclinations I fancied I had some assurance; but +without her mother's consent, to whose will she was devoted, +I felt, had I even been inclined to urge it, that my suit was +hopeless. The letter which I had received from my father +made me more than doubt whether I should not find him +utterly adverse to my wishes. Agonized, therefore, with a thousand +apprehensions, I presented myself on the morning of my +departure. It was then I made the declaration of my passion to +Eleanor; it was then that every hope was confirmed, every apprehension +realized. I received from her lips a confirmation +of my fondest wishes; yet were those hopes blighted in the bud, +when I heard, at the same time, that their consummation was +dependent on the will of two others, whose assenting voices, she +feared, could never be obtained. From Mrs. Mowbray I received +a more decided reply. All her haughtiness was aroused. +Her farewell words assured me, that it was indifferent to her +whether we met again as relatives or as strangers. Then was +it that the native tenderness of Eleanor displayed itself, in an +outbreak of feeling peculiar to a heart keenly sympathetic as +hers. She saw my suffering—the reserve natural to her sex +gave way—she flung herself into my arms—and so we parted.</p> + +<p>"With a heavy foreboding I returned to Rookwood, and, +oppressed with the gloomiest anticipations, endeavored to prepare +myself for the worst. I arrived. My reception was such +as I had calculated upon; and, to increase my distress, my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +parents had been at variance. I will not pain you and myself +with any recital of their disagreement. My mother had espoused +my cause, chiefly, I fear, with the view of thwarting my +poor father's inclinations. He was in a terrible mood, exasperated +by the fiery stimulants he had swallowed, which had not +indeed, drowned his reason, but roused and inflamed every +dormant emotion to violence. He was as one insane. It was +evening when I arrived. I would willingly have postponed the +interview till the morrow. It could not be. He insisted upon +seeing me.</p> + +<p>"My mother was present. You know the restraint she +usually had over my father, and how she maintained it. On this +occasion she had none. He questioned me as to every particular; +probed my secret soul; dragged forth every latent feeling, +and then thundered out his own determination that +Eleanor never should be bride of mine; nor would he receive, +under his roof, her mother, the discountenanced daughter of his +father. I endeavored to remonstrate with him. He was deaf +to my entreaties. My mother added sharp and stinging words +to my expostulations. 'I had her consent,' she said; 'what +more was needed? The lands were entailed. I should at no +distant period be their master, and might then please myself.' +This I mention in order to give you my father's strange answer.</p> + +<p>"'Have a care, madam,' replied he, 'and bridle your +tongue; they <i>are</i> entailed, 'tis true, but I need not ask <i>his</i> +consent to cut off that entail. Let him dare to disobey me in +this particular, and I will so divert the channel of my wealth, +that no drop shall reach him. I will—but why threaten?—let +him do it, and approve the consequences.'</p> + +<p>"On the morrow I renewed my importunities, with no better +success. We were alone.</p> + +<p>"'Ranulph,' said he, 'you waste time in seeking to change +my resolution. It is unalterable. I have many motives which +influence me; they are inexplicable, but imperative. Eleanor +Mowbray never can be yours. Forget her as speedily as may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +be, and I pledge myself, upon whomsoever else your choice +may fix, I will offer no obstacle.'</p> + +<p>"'But why,' exclaimed I, with vehemence, 'do you object +to one whom you have never beheld? At least, consent to see +her.'</p> + +<p>"'Never!' he replied, 'The tie is sundered, and cannot be +reunited; my father bound me by an oath never to meet in +friendship with my sister; I will not break my vow, I will not +violate its conditions, even in the second degree. We never +can meet again. An idle prophecy which I have heard has +said "<i>that when a Rookwood shall marry a Rookwood the end +of the house draweth nigh</i>." That I regard not. It may have +no meaning, or it may have much. To me it imports nothing +further, than that, if you wed Eleanor, every acre I possess shall +depart from you. And assure yourself this is no idle threat. +I can, and will do it. My curse shall be your sole inheritance.'</p> + +<p>"I could not avoid making some reply, representing to him +how unjustifiable such a procedure was to me, in a case where +the happiness of my life was at stake; and how inconsistent it +was with the charitable precepts of our faith, to allow feelings +of resentment to influence his conduct. My remonstrances, as +in the preceding meeting, were ineffectual. The more I spoke, +the more intemperate he grew. I therefore desisted, but not +before he had ordered me to quit the house. I did not leave +the neighborhood, but saw him again on the same evening.</p> + +<p>"Our last interview took place in the garden. I then told +him that I had determined to go abroad for two years, at the +expiration of which period I proposed returning to England; +trusting that his resolution might then be changed, and that +he would listen to my request, for the fulfilment of 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 Eleanor before I set out; adding, in a melancholy +tone—'We may never meet again, Ranulph, in this life; in +that case, farewell forever. Indulge no vain hopes. Eleanor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +never can be yours, but upon one condition, and to that you +would never consent!'—'Propose it!' I cried; 'there is no +condition I could not accede to.'—'Rash boy!' he replied, +'you know not what you say; that pledge you would never +fulfil, were I to propose it to you; but no—should I survive till +you return, you shall learn it then—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 <i>was</i> forever. I remained in the garden till nightfall. +I saw my mother, but <i>he</i> came not again. I quitted England +without beholding Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"Did you not acquaint her by letter with what had occurred, +and your consequent intentions?" asked Small.</p> + +<p>"I did," replied Ranulph; "but I received no reply. My +earliest inquiries will be directed to ascertain whether the +family are still in London. It will be a question for our consideration, +whether I am not justified in departing from my +father's expressed wishes, or whether I should violate his commands +in so doing."</p> + +<p>"We will discuss that point hereafter," replied Small; adding, +as he noticed the growing paleness of his companion, "you +are too much exhausted to proceed—you had better defer the +remainder of your story to a future period."</p> + +<p>"No," replied Ranulph, swallowing a glass of water; "I am +exhausted, yet I cannot rest—my blood is in a fever, which +nothing will allay. I shall feel more easy when I have made +the present communication. I am approaching the sequel of +my narrative. You are now in possession of the story of my +love—of the motive of my departure. You shall learn what +was the occasion of my return.</p> + +<p>"I had wandered from city to city during my term of exile—consumed +by hopeless passion—with little that could amuse +<i>me</i>, though surrounded by a thousand objects of interest to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +others, and only rendering life endurable by severest study or +most active exertion. My steps conducted me to Bordeaux;—there +I made a long halt, enchanted by the beauty of the neighboring +scenery. My fancy was smitten by the situation of a villa +on the banks of the Garonne, within a few leagues of the city. It +was an old château, with fine gardens bordering the blue waters +of the river, and commanding a multitude of enchanting prospects. +The house, which had in part gone to decay, was inhabited +by an aged couple, who had formerly been servants to +an English family, the members of which had thus provided +for them on their return to their own country. I inquired the +name. Conceive my astonishment to find that this château +had been the residence of the Mowbrays. This intelligence +decided me at once—I took up my abode in the house; and a +new and unexpected source of solace and delight was opened +to me, I traced the paths she had traced; occupied the +room she had occupied; tended the flowers she had tended; +and, on the golden summer evenings, would watch the rapid +waters, tinged with all the glorious hues of sunset, sweeping past +my feet, and think how <i>she</i> had watched them. Her presence +seemed to pervade the place. I was now comparatively happy, +and, anxious to remain unmolested, wrote home that I was +leaving Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, on my way to Spain."</p> + +<p>"That account arrived," observed Small.</p> + +<p>"One night," continued Ranulph—"'tis now the sixth since +the occurrence I 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, wrapped in the heavenly contemplation +of its beauties. I watched each rosy tint reflected +upon the surface of the rapid stream—now fading into yellow—now +shining silvery white. I noticed the mystic mingling of +twilight with darkness—of night with day, till the bright current +on a sudden became a black mass of waters. I could scarcely +discern a leaf—all was darkness—when lo! another change! +The moon was up—a flood of light deluged all around—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +stream was dancing again in reflected radiance, and I still +lingering at its brink.</p> + +<p>"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 before me. I was astonished at the sight, +for I had perceived no one approach—had heard no footstep +advance towards me, and was satisfied that no one besides myself +could be in the garden. The presence of the figure inspired +me with an undefinable awe! and, I can scarce tell why, +but a thrilling presentiment convinced me that it was a supernatural +visitant. 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! And what an aspect, +what a look! Time can never efface that terrible expression; +it is graven upon my memory—I cannot describe it. It was +not anger—it was not pain: it was as if an eternity of woe were +stamped upon its features. It was too dreadful to behold, I +would fain have averted my gaze—my eyes were fascinated—fixed—I +could not withdraw them from the ghastly countenance. +I shrank from it, yet stirred not—I could not move a limb. +Noiselessly gliding towards me, the apparition approached. I +could not retreat. It stood obstinately beside me. I became +as one half-dead. The phantom shook its head with the deepest +despair; and as the word 'Return!' sounded hollowly in +my ears, it gradually melted from my view. I cannot tell how +I recovered from the swoon into which I fell, but daybreak +saw me on my way to England. I am here. On that night—at +that same hour, my father died."</p> + +<p>"It was, after all, then, a supernatural summons that you +received?" said Small.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly," replied Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Humph!—the coincidence, I own, is sufficiently curious," +returned Small, musingly; "but it would not be difficult, I +think, to discover a satisfactory explanation of the delusion."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There was no delusion," replied Ranulph, coldly; "the +figure was as palpable as your own. Can I doubt, when I +behold this result? Could any deceit have been practised +upon me, at that distance?—the precise time, moreover, +agreeing. Did not the phantom bid me return?—I <i>have</i> +returned—he is dead. I have gazed upon a being of another +world. To doubt were impious, after that look."</p> + +<p>"Whatever my opinions may be, my dear young friend," +returned Small, gravely, "I will suspend them for the present. +You are still greatly excited. Let me advise you to seek some +repose."</p> + +<p>"I am easier," replied Ranulph; "but you are right, I will +endeavor to snatch a little rest. Something within tells me all +is not yet accomplished. What remains?—I shudder to think +of it. I will rejoin you at midnight. I shall myself attend +the solemnity. Adieu!"</p> + +<p>Ranulph quitted the room. Small sighingly shook his head, +and having lighted his pipe, was presently buried in a profundity +of smoke and metaphysical speculation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI1" id="CHAPTER_XI1"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>LADY ROOKWOOD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 29em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fran. de Med.</i> Your unhappy husband<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Is dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Vit. Cor.</i><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, he's a happy husband!</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Now he owes nature nothing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Mon.</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And look upon this creature as his wife.</span><br /></span> +<span class="i6">She comes not like a widow—she comes armed<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With scorn and impudence. Is this a mourning habit?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>The White Devil.</i></p></div> + + +<p>The progress of our narrative demands our presence in +another apartment of the hall—a large, lonesome chamber,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +situate in the eastern wing of the house, already described as +the most ancient part of the building—the sombre appearance +of which was greatly increased by the dingy, discolored tapestry +that clothed its walls; the record of the patience and industry +of a certain Dame Dorothy Rookwood, who flourished +some centuries ago, and whose skilful needle had illustrated +the slaughter of the Innocents, with a severity of <i>gusto</i>, and +sanguinary minuteness of detail, truly surprising in a lady so +amiable as she was represented to have been. Grim-visaged +Herod glared from the ghostly woof, with his shadowy legions, +executing their murderous purposes, grouped like a troop of +Sabbath-dancing witches around him. Mysterious twilight, +admitted through the deep, dark, mullioned windows, revealed +the antique furniture of the room, which still boasted a sort of +mildewed splendor, more imposing, perhaps, than its original +gaudy magnificence; and showed the lofty hangings, and tall, +hearse-like canopy of a bedstead, once a couch of state, but +now destined for the repose of Lady Rookwood. The stiff +crimson hangings were embroidered in gold, 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."</p> + +<p>The sole tenant of this chamber was a female, in whose +countenance, if time and strong emotion had written strange +defeatures, they had not obliterated its striking beauty and +classical grandeur of expression. It was a face majestical and +severe. Pride was stamped in all its lines; and though each +passion was, by turns, developed, it was evident that all were +subordinate to the sin by which the angels fell. The contour +of her face was formed in the purest Grecian mould, and +might have been a model for Medea; so well did the gloomy +grandeur of the brow, the severe chiselling of the lip, the +rounded beauty of the throat, and the faultless symmetry of +her full form, accord with the beau ideal of antique perfection. +Shaded by smooth folds of raven hair, which still maintained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +its jetty dye, her lofty forehead would have been displayed to +the greatest advantage, had it not been at this moment knit +and deformed by excess of passion, if that passion can be said +to deform which only calls forth strong and vehement expression. +Her figure, which wanted only height to give it dignity, +was arrayed in the garb of widowhood; and if she exhibited +none of the desolation of heart which such a bereavement +might have been expected to awaken, she was evidently a prey +to feelings scarcely less harrowing. At the particular time of +which we speak, Lady Rookwood, for she it was, was occupied +in the investigation of the contents of an escritoire. Examining +the papers which it contained with great deliberation, she +threw each aside, as soon as she had satisfied herself of its purport, +until she arrived at a little package, carefully tied up +with black ribbon, and sealed. This, Lady Rookwood hastily +broke open, and drew forth a small miniature. It was that of +a female, young and beautiful, rudely, yet faithfully, executed—faithfully, +we say, for there was an air of sweetness and +simplicity—and, in short, a look of reality and nature about +the picture (it is seldom, indeed, that we mistake a likeness, +even if we are unacquainted with the original) that attested +the artist's fidelity. The face was as radiant with smiles as a +bright day with sunbeams. The portrait was set in gold, and +behind it was looped a lock of the darkest and finest hair. +Underneath the miniature was written, in Sir Piers's hand, the +words "<i>Lady Rookwood</i>." A slip of folded paper was also +attached to it.</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood scornfully scrutinized the features for a few +moments, and then unfolded the paper, at the sight of which +she started, and turned pale. "Thank God!" she cried, +"this is in my possession—while I hold this, we are safe. +Were it not better to destroy this evidence at once? No, no, +not <i>now</i>—it shall not part from me. I will abide Ranulph's return. +This document will give me a power over him such as I +could never otherwise obtain." Placing the marriage certificate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +for such it was, within her breast, and laying the miniature upon +the table, she next proceeded, deliberately, to arrange the +disordered contents of the box.</p> + +<p>All outward traces of emotion had, ere this, become so subdued +in Lady Rookwood, that although she had, only a few +moments previously, exhibited the extremity of passionate indignation, +she now, apparently without effort, resumed entire +composure, and might have been supposed to be engaged in +a matter of little interest to herself. It was a dread calm, +which they who knew her would have trembled to behold. +"From these letters I gather," exclaimed she, "that their +wretched offspring knows not of his fortune. So far, well. +There is no channel whence he can derive information, and +my first care shall be to prevent his obtaining any clue to the +secret of his birth. I am directed to provide for him—ha! +ha! I will provide—a grave! There will I bury him and his +secret. My son's security and my own wrong demand it. I +must choose surer hands—the work must not be half-done, as +heretofore. And now, I bethink me, he is in the neighborhood, +connected with a gang of poachers—'tis as I could wish +it."</p> + +<p>At this moment a knock at the chamber-door broke upon +her meditations. "Agnes, is it you?" demanded Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>Thus summoned, the old attendant entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Why are my orders disobeyed?" asked the lady, in a +severe tone of voice. "Did I not say, when you delivered me +this package from Mr. Coates, which he himself wished to +present, that I would not be disturbed?"</p> + +<p>"You did, my lady, but——"</p> + +<p>"Speak out," said Lady Rookwood, somewhat more mildly, +perceiving, from Agnes's manner, that she had something of importance +to communicate. "What is it brings you hither?"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," returned Agnes, "to disturb your ladyship, +but—but——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But what?" interrupted Lady Rookwood, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I could not help it, my lady—he would have me come; he +said he was resolved to see your ladyship, whether you would +or not."</p> + +<p>"Would see me, ha! is it so? I guess his errand, and its +object—he has some suspicion. No, that cannot be; he would +not dare to tamper with these seals. Agnes, I will <i>not</i> see +him."</p> + +<p>"But he swears, my lady, that he will not leave the house +without seeing you—he would have forced his way into your +presence, if I had not consented to announce him."</p> + +<p>"Insolent!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, with a glance of +indignation; "force his way! I promise you he shall not +display an equal anxiety to repeat the visit. Tell Mr. Coates +I will see him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coates! Mercy on us, my lady, it's not he. He'd +never have intruded upon you unasked. No such thing. He +knows his place too well. No, no; it's not Mr. Coates——"</p> + +<p>"If not he, who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Luke Bradley; your ladyship knows whom I mean."</p> + +<p>"He here—now?——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lady; and looking so fierce and strange, I was +quite frightened to see him. He looked so like his—his——"</p> + +<p>"His father, you would say. Speak out."</p> + +<p>"No, my lady, his grandfather—old Sir Reginald. He's the +very image of him. But had not your ladyship better ring +the alarm-bell? and when he comes in, I'll run and fetch the +servants—he's dangerous, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"I have no fears of him. He <i>will</i> see me, you say——"</p> + +<p>"Ay, <i>will</i>!" exclaimed Luke, as he threw open the door, and +shut it forcibly after him, striding towards Lady Rookwood, +"nor abide longer delay."</p> + +<p>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 angry inquiry upon the bold intruder, who,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +nothing daunted, confronted her glances with a gaze as stern +and steadfast as her own.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, and what seek you?" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, +after a brief pause, and, in spite of herself, her voice +sounded tremulously. "What would you have, that you venture +to appear before me at this season and in this fashion?"</p> + +<p>"I might have chosen a fitter opportunity," returned Luke, +"were it needed. My business will not brook delay—you +must be pleased to overlook this intrusion on your privacy, at +a season of sorrow like the present. As to the fashion of my +visit, you must be content to excuse it. 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 woman +has left the room, unless you would have a witness to a declaration +that concerns you as nearly as myself."</p> + +<p>An indefinite feeling of apprehension had, from the first +instant of Luke's entrance crossed Lady Rookwood's mind. +She, however, answered, with some calmness:</p> + +<p>"What you can have to say is of small moment to me—nor +does it signify who may hear it. It shall not, however, be said +that Lady Rookwood feared to be alone, even though she +endangered her life."</p> + +<p>"I am no assassin," replied Luke, "nor have sought the +destruction of my deadliest foe—though 'twere but retributive +justice to have done so."</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood started.</p> + +<p>"Nay, you need not fear me," replied Luke; "my revenge +will be otherwise accomplished."</p> + +<p>"Go," said Lady Rookwood to Agnes; "yet—stay without, +in the antechamber."</p> + +<p>"My lady," said Agnes, scarcely able to articulate, "shall +I——"</p> + +<p>"Hear me, Lady Rookwood," interrupted Luke. "I repeat, +I intend you no injury. My object here is solely to obtain a +private conference. You can have no reason for denying me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +this request. I will not abuse your patience. Mine is no idle +mission. Say you refuse me, and I will at once depart. I +will find other means of communicating with you—less direct, +and therefore less desirable. Make your election. But we +<i>must</i> be alone—undisturbed. Summon your household—let +them lay hands upon me, and I will proclaim aloud what you +would gladly hide, even from yourself."</p> + +<p>"Leave us, Agnes," said Lady Rookwood. "I have no fear +of this man. I can deal with him myself, should I see occasion."</p> + +<p>"Agnes," said Luke, in a stern, deep whisper, arresting the +ancient handmaiden as she passed him, "stir not from the +door till I come forth. Have you forgotten your former mistress!—my +mother? Have you forgotten Barbara Lovel, and +<i>that night</i>?"</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name, hush!" replied Agnes, with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Let that be fresh in your memory. Move not a footstep, +whatever you may hear," added he, in the same tone as +before.</p> + +<p>"I will not—I will not." And Agnes departed.</p> + +<p>Luke felt some wavering in his resolution when he found +himself alone with the lady, whose calm, collected, yet haughty +demeanor, as she resumed her seat, prepared for his communication, +could not fail to inspire him with a certain degree of +awe. Not unconscious of her advantage, nor slow to profit by +it, Lady Rookwood remained perfectly silent, with her eyes +steadily fixed upon his face, while his embarrassment momentarily +increased. Summoning, at length, courage sufficient to +address her, and ashamed of his want of nerve, he thus broke +forth:</p> + +<p>"When I entered this room, you asked my name and object. +As to the first, I answer to the same designation as your +ladyship. I have long borne my mother's name. I now claim +my father's. My object is, the restitution of my rights."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Soh!—it is as I suspected," thought Lady Rookwood, +involuntarily casting her large eyes down. "Do I hear you +rightly?" exclaimed she, aloud; "your name is——"</p> + +<p>"Sir Luke Rookwood. As my father's elder born; by right +of <i>his</i> right to that title."</p> + +<p>If a glance could have slain him, Luke had fallen lifeless at +the lady's feet. With a smile of ineffable disdain, she replied, +"I know not why I hesitate to resent this indignity, even for an +instant. But I would see how far your audacity will carry you. +The name you bear is Bradley?"</p> + +<p>"In ignorance I have done so," replied Luke. "I am the +son of her whose maiden name was Bradley. She was——"</p> + +<p>"'Tis false—I will not hear it—she was <i>not</i>," cried Lady +Rookwood, her vehemence getting the master of her prudence.</p> + +<p>"Your ladyship anticipates my meaning," returned Luke. +"Susan Bradley was the first wife of Sir Piers Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"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 by such shallow pretences? That she was +so duped, I doubt not. But it is too late now to complain, and +I would counsel you not to repeat your idle boast. It will serve +no other purpose, trust me, than to blazon forth your own—your +mother's dishonor."</p> + +<p>"Lady Rookwood," sternly answered Luke, "my mother's +fame is as free from dishonor as your own. I repeat, she was +the first wife of Sir Piers; and that I, her child, am first in the +inheritance; nay, sole heir 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>I</i> fear you not. +There <i>have</i> been days when the Rookwoods held their dames +in subjection. Discern you nought of that in me?"</p> + +<p>Once or twice during this speech Lady Rookwood's glances +had wandered towards the bell-cord, as if about to summon aid; +but the intention was abandoned almost as soon as formed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +probably from apprehension of the consequences of any such +attempt. She was not without alarm as to the result of the +interview, and was considering how she could bring it to a +termination without endangering herself, and, if possible, secure +the person of Luke, when the latter, turning sharply round +upon her, and drawing a pistol, exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"Follow me!"</p> + +<p>"Whither?" asked she, in alarm.</p> + +<p>"To the chamber of death!"</p> + +<p>"Why there? what would you do? Villain! I will not trust +my life with you. I will <i>not</i> follow you."</p> + +<p>"Hesitate not, as you value your life. Do aught to alarm +the house, and I fire. Your safety depends upon yourself. I +would see my father's body ere it be laid in the grave. I will +not leave you here."</p> + +<p>"Go," said Lady Rookwood; "if that be all, I pledge +myself you shall not be interrupted."</p> + +<p>"I will not take your pledge; your presence shall be my +surety. By my mother's unavenged memory, if you play me +false, though all your satellites stand around you, you die upon +the spot! Obey me, and you are safe. Our way leads to +the room by the private staircase—we shall pass unobserved—you +see I know the road. The room, by your own command, +is vacant—save of the dead. We shall, therefore, be alone. +This done, I depart. You will then be free to act. Disobey +me, and your blood be upon your own head."</p> + +<p>"Lead on!" said Lady Rookwood, pressing towards the +antechamber.</p> + +<p>"The door I mean is there," pointing to another part of +the room—"that panel,—"</p> + +<p>"Ha! how know you that?"</p> + +<p>"No matter; follow."</p> + +<p>Luke touched a spring, and the panel flying open, disclosed +a dim recess, into which he entered; and, seizing Lady Rookwood's +hand, dragged her after him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII1" id="CHAPTER_XII1"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE CHAMBER OF DEATH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the body—I have orders given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That here it should be laid.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>De Montfort.</i></p></div> + + +<p>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 one communicating with a further bedchamber, +the other leading to the gallery. Through the latter, after +closing the aperture, without relinquishing his grasp, Luke +passed.</p> + +<p>It was growing rapidly dark, and at the brightest seasons +this gloomy corridor was but imperfectly lighted from narrow, +painted, and wire-protected windows that looked into the old +quadrangular courtyard below; and as they issued from the +oratory a dazzling flash of lightning—a storm having suddenly +arisen—momentarily illumined the whole 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 he might be, disappeared in the instantaneously +succeeding gloom, leaving her in doubt whether or not her +situation had been perceived. Luke had seen this dark figure +at the same instant; and, not without apprehensions lest his +plans should be defeated, he griped Lady Rookwood's arm +still more strictly, and placing the muzzle of the pistol to her +breast, hurried her rapidly forwards.</p> + +<p>All was now in total obscurity; the countenance of neither +could be perceived as they trod the dark passage; but Luke's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +unrelaxed grasp indicated no change in his purposes, nor did +the slow, dignified march of the lady betray any apprehension +on her part. Descending a spiral staircase, which led from +the gallery to a lower story, their way now lay beneath the +entrance-hall, a means of communication little used. Their +tread sounded hollowly on the flagged floor; no other sound +was heard. 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.</p> + +<p>The room which contained the remains of poor Sir Piers +was arrayed in all that mockery of state which, vainly attempting +to deride death, is itself a bitter derision of the living. +It was the one devoted to the principal meals of the day; a +strange choice, but convenience had dictated its adoption by +those with whom this part of the ceremonial had originated, +and long custom had rendered its usage, for this purpose, +almost prescriptive. This room, which was of some size, had +originally formed part of the great hall, from which it was +divided by a thick screen of black, lustrously varnished oak, +enriched with fanciful figures carved in bold relief. The walls +were panelled with the same embrowned material, and sustained +sundry portraits of the members of the family, in every +possible costume, from the steely gear of Sir Ranulph, down +to the flowing attire of Sir Reginald. Most of the race were +ranged around the room; and, seen in the yellow light shed +upon their features by the flambeaux, they looked like an array +of stern and silent witnesses, gazing upon their departed descendant. +The sides of the chamber were hung with black +cloth, and upon a bier in the middle of the room rested the +body. Broad escutcheons, decked out in glowing colors +pompously set forth the heraldic honors of the departed. +Tall lights burned at the head and feet, and fragrant perfumes +diffused their odors from silver censers.</p> + +<p>The entrance of Luke and his unwilling companion had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +abrupt. The transition from darkness to the glare of light +was almost blinding, and they 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. The coffin-lid was +entirely removed, and the person, whose back was towards +them appeared to be wrapped in mournful contemplation of +the sad spectacle before him. Suddenly bursting from Luke's +hold, Lady Rookwood rushed forward with a scream, and +touched the man's shoulder. He started at the summons, and +disclosed the features of her son!</p> + +<p>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 of Ranulph. All three seemed paralyzed +by surprise. Ranulph, in astonishment, extended his +arm to his mother, who, placing one arm over his shoulder, +pointed with the other to Luke; the latter stared sternly and +inquiringly at both—yet none spoke.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII1" id="CHAPTER_XIII1"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE BROTHERS</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">We're sorry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stained our honors;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrown ink upon the forehead of our fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which envious spirits will dip their pens into<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After our death, and blot us in our tombs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that which would seem treason in our lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is laughter when we're dead. Who dares now whisper,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dares not then speak out; and even proclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With loud words, and broad pens, our closest shame?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>The Revenger's Tragedy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>With that quickness of perception which at once supplies +information on such an emergency, Luke instantly conjectured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +who was before him. Startled as he was, he yet retained his +composure, abiding the result with his arms folded upon his +breast.</p> + +<p>"Seize him!" cried Lady Rookwood, as soon as she could +command her speech.</p> + +<p>"He rushes on his death if he stirs," exclaimed Luke, pointing +his pistol.</p> + +<p>"Bethink you where you are, villain!" cried Ranulph; +"you are entrapped in your own toils. Submit yourself to +our mercy—resistance is vain, and will not secure your safety, +while it will aggravate your offence. Surrender yourself——"</p> + +<p>"Never!" answered Luke. "Know you whom you ask to +yield?"</p> + +<p>"How should I?" answered Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"By that instinct which tells me who <i>you</i> are. Ask Lady +Rookwood—she can inform you, if she will."</p> + +<p>"Parley not with him—seize him!" cried Lady Rookwood. +"He is a robber, a murderer, who has assailed my life."</p> + +<p>"Beware!" said Luke to Ranulph, who was preparing to +obey his mother's commands; "I am no robber—no murderer. +Do not you make me a fratricide."</p> + +<p>"Fratricide!" echoed Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Heed him not," ejaculated Lady Rookwood. "It is false—he +dares not harm thee, for his soul. I will call assistance."</p> + +<p>"Hold, mother!" exclaimed Ranulph, detaining Lady +Rookwood; "this man may be what he represents himself. +Before we proceed to extremities, I would question him. I +would not have mentioned it in your hearing could it have +been avoided, but my father had another son."</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood frowned. She would have checked him, +but Luke rejoined—</p> + +<p>"You have spoken the truth; he had a son—I am he. +I——"</p> + +<p>"Be silent, I command you!" said Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"Death!" cried Luke, in a loud voice. "Why should I be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +silent at your bidding—at <i>yours</i>—who regard no laws, human +or divine; who pursue your own fell purposes, without fear +of God or man? Waste not your frowns on me—I heed them +not. Do you think I am like a tame hound, to be cowed to +silence? I <i>will</i> speak. Ranulph Rookwood, the name you +bear is mine, and by a right as good as is your own. From +his loins, who lies a corpse before us, I sprang. No brand of +shame is on my birth. I am your father's son—his first-born—your +<i>elder</i> brother. Hear me!" cried he, rushing to the bier. +"By this body, I swear that I have avouched the truth—and +though to me the dead Sir Piers Rookwood hath never +been what a father should be to a son—though I have never +known his smile, felt his caresses, or received his blessing, yet +now be all forgiven, all forgotten." And he cast himself with +frantic violence upon the coffin.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to describe the feelings with which Ranulph +heard Luke's avowal. Amazement and dread predominated. +Unable to stir, he stood gazing on in silence. Not so Lady +Rookwood. The moment for action was arrived. Addressing +her son in a low tone, she said, "Your prey is within your +power. Secure him."</p> + +<p>"Wherefore?" rejoined Ranulph; "if he be my brother, +shall I raise my hand against him?"</p> + +<p>"Wherefore not?" returned Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"'Twere an accursed deed," replied Ranulph. "The +mystery is resolved. 'Twas for this that I was summoned +home."</p> + +<p>"Ha! what say you? summoned! by whom?"</p> + +<p>"My father!"</p> + +<p>"Your father?" echoed Lady Rookwood, in great surprise.</p> + +<p>"Ay, my dead father! He has appeared to me since his +decease."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph, you rave—you are distracted with grief—with +astonishment."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, mother; but I will not struggle against my destiny."</p> + +<p>"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 will yield—but not till then. I tell +thee he has <i>not</i> the right, nor can he maintain it. He is a +deluded dreamer, who, having heard some idle tale of his +birth, believes it, because it chimes with his wishes. I treated +him with the scorn he deserved. I would have driven +him from my presence, but he was armed, as you see, +and forced me hither, perhaps to murder me; a deed he +might have accomplished had it not been for your intervention. +His life is already forfeit, for an attempt of +the same sort last night. Why else came he hither? for +what else did he drag me to this spot? Let him answer +that!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i> answer it," replied Luke, raising himself from the +bier.</p> + +<p>His face was ghastly as the corpse over which he leaned. +"I had a deed to do, which I wished you to witness. It was +a wild conception. But the means by which I have acquired +the information of my rights were wild. Ranulph, we are both +the slaves of fate. You have received your summons hither—I +have had mine. Your father's ghost called you; my mother's +spectral hand beckoned me. Both are arrived. One thing +more remains, and my mission is completed." Saying which, +he drew forth the skeleton hand; and having first taken the +wedding-ring from the finger, he placed the withered limb +upon the left breast of his father's body. "Rest there," he +cried, "for ever."</p> + +<p>"Will you suffer that?" said Lady Rookwood, tauntingly, +to her son.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Ranulph; "such profanation of the dead shall +not be endured, were he ten times my brother. Stand aside," +added he, advancing towards the bier, and motioning Luke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +away. "Withdraw your hand from my father's body, and +remove what you have placed upon it."</p> + +<p>"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 united in life, in death he shall not be +divided from it."</p> + +<p>"Such irreverence shall not be!" exclaimed Ranulph, seizing +Luke with one hand, and snatching at the cereclothes with +the other. "Remove it, or by Heaven——"</p> + +<p>"Leave go your hold," said Luke, in a voice of thunder; +"you strive in vain."</p> + +<p>Ranulph ineffectually attempted to push him backwards; +and, shaking away the grasp that was fixed upon his collar, +seized his brother's wrist, so as to prevent the accomplishment +of his purpose. In this unnatural and indecorous strife the +corpse of their father was reft of its covering and the hand +discovered lying upon the pallid breast.</p> + +<p>And as if the wanton impiety of their conduct called forth an +immediate rebuke, even from the dead, a frown seemed to pass +over Sir Piers's features, as their angry glances fell in that direction. +This startling effect was occasioned by the approach +of Lady Rookwood, whose shadow, falling over the brow and +visage of the deceased, produced the appearance we have +described. Simultaneously quitting each other, with a deep +sense of shame, mingled with remorse, both remained, +their eyes fixed upon the dead, whose repose they had +violated.</p> + +<p>Folding the graveclothes decently over the body, Luke +prepared to depart.</p> + +<p>"Hold!" cried Lady Rookwood; "you go not hence."</p> + +<p>"My brother Ranulph will not oppose my departure," returned +Luke; "who else shall prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"That will I!" cried a sharp voice behind him; and, ere +he could turn to ascertain from whom the exclamation proceeded, +Luke felt himself grappled by two nervous assailants,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +who, snatching the pistol from his hold, fast pinioned his +arms.</p> + +<p>This was scarcely the work of a moment, and he was a prisoner +before he could offer any resistance. A strong smile of +exultation evinced Lady Rookwood's satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, my lads, bravo!" cried Coates, stepping forward, +for he it was under whose skilful superintendence the seizure +had been effected: "famously managed; my father the +thief-taker's runners couldn't have done 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 I +speak to her ladyship." Saying which, the brisk attorney, +enchanted with the feat he had performed, approached Lady +Rookwood with a profound bow, and an amazing smirk of self-satisfaction. +"Just in time to prevent mischief," said he; +"hope your ladyship does not suffer any inconvenience from +the alarm—beg pardon, annoyance I meant to say—which +this horrible outrage must have occasioned; excessively disagreeable +this sort of thing to a lady at any time, but at a +period like this more than usually provoking. However, we +have the villain safe enough. Very lucky I happened to be +in the way. Perhaps your ladyship would like to know how I +discovered——"</p> + +<p>"Not now," replied Lady Rookwood, checking the volubility +of the man of law. "I thank you, Mr. Coates, for the +service you have rendered me; you will now add materially to +the obligation by removing the prisoner with all convenient +despatch."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if your ladyship wishes it. Shall I detain him a +close prisoner in the hall for the night, or remove him at once +to the lock-up house in the village?"</p> + +<p>"Where you please, so you do it quickly," replied Lady +Rookwood, noticing, with great uneasiness, the agitated manner +of her son, and apprehensive lest, in the presence of so many +witnesses, he might say or do something prejudicial to their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +interests. Nor were her fears groundless. As Coates was about +to return to the prisoner, he was arrested by the voice of +Ranulph, commanding him to stay.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coates," said he, "however appearances may be against +this man, he is no robber—you must, therefore, release him."</p> + +<p>"Eh day, what's that? release him, Sir Ranulph?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; I tell you he came here neither with the intent +to rob nor to offer violence."</p> + +<p>"That is false, Ranulph," replied Lady Rookwood. "I was +dragged hither by him at the peril of my life. He is Mr. +Coates's prisoner on another charge."</p> + +<p>"Unquestionably, your ladyship is perfectly right; I have a +warrant against him for assaulting Hugh Badger, the keeper, +and for other misdemeanors."</p> + +<p>"I will myself be responsible for his appearance to that +charge," replied Ranulph. "Now, sir, at once release him."</p> + +<p>"At your peril!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"Well, really," muttered the astonished attorney, "this is +the most perplexing proceeding I ever witnessed."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph," said Lady Rookwood, sternly, to her son, +"beware how you thwart me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir Ranulph, let me venture to advise you, as a friend, +not to thwart her ladyship," whispered the attorney; "indeed, +she is in the right." But seeing his advice unheeded, Coates +withdrew to a little distance.</p> + +<p>"I will not see injustice done to my father's son," replied +Ranulph, in a low tone. "Why would you detain him?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" returned she, "our safety demands it—our +honor."</p> + +<p>"Our honor demands his instant liberation; each moment +he remains in those bonds sullies its purity. I will free him +myself from his fetters."</p> + +<p>"And brave my curse, foolish boy? You incurred your +miserable father's anathema for a lighter cause than this. +Our honor cries aloud for his destruction. Have I not been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +injured in the nicest point a woman can be injured? Shall I +lend my name to mockery and scorn, by base acknowledgment +of such deceit, or will you? Where would be my honor, then, +stripped of my fair estates—my son—myself—beggars—dependent +on the bounty of an upstart? Does honor ask you to +bear this? It is a phantom sense of honor, unsubstantial as +your father's shade, of which you just now spoke, that would +prompt you to do otherwise."</p> + +<p>"Do not evoke his awful spirit, mother," cried Ranulph, +with a shudder; "do not arouse his wrath."</p> + +<p>"Do not arouse <i>my</i> wrath," returned Lady Rookwood. "I +am the more to be feared. Think of Eleanor Mowbray; the +bar between your nuptials is removed. Would you raise up a +greater impediment?"</p> + +<p>"Enough, mother; more than enough. You have decided, +though not convinced me. Detain him within the house, if +you will, until the morrow; in the meantime, I will consider +over my line of conduct."</p> + +<p>"Is this, then, your resolve?"</p> + +<p>"It is. Mr. Coates," said Ranulph, calling the attorney, +who had been an inquisitive spectator, though, luckily, not an +auditor of this interview, "unbind the prisoner, and bring him +hither."</p> + +<p>"Is it your ladyship's pleasure?" asked Mr. Coates, who +regretted exceedingly that he could not please both parties.</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood signified her assent by a slight gesture in +the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"Your bidding shall be done, Sir Ranulph," said Coates, +bowing and departing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sir</i> Ranulph!" echoed Lady Rookwood, with strong emphasis; +"marked you that?"</p> + +<p>"Body o' me," muttered the attorney, "this is the most +extraordinary family, to be sure. Make way, gentlemen, if +you please," added he, pushing through the crowd, towards +the prisoner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having described what took place between Lady Rookwood +and her son in one part of the room, we must now briefly narrate +some incidental occurrences in the other. The alarm of +a robber having been taken spread with great celerity through +the house, and almost all its inmates rushed into the room, +including Dr. Small, Titus Tyrconnel, and Jack Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Odsbodikins! are you there, honey?" said Titus, who discovered +his ally; "the bird's caught, you see."</p> + +<p>"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't be 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 out for his officiousness one +of these days, my name's not Jack Palmer."</p> + +<p>"Och! cushlamacree! did I ever? why, what's the boy to +you, Jack? Fair play's a jewel, and surely Mr. Coates only did +his duty. I'm sorry he's captured, for his relationship to Sir +Piers, and because I think he'll be 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."</p> + +<p>A group of the tenantry, many of whom were in a state of +intoxication, had, in the meantime, formed themselves round +the prisoner. Whatever might be the nature of his thoughts, +no apprehension was visible in Luke's countenance. He stood +erect amidst the assemblage, his tall form towering above them +all, and his eyes fixed upon the movements of Lady Rookwood +and her son. He had perceived the anguish of the latter, and +the vehemence of the former, attributing both to their real +causes. The taunts and jeers, threats and insolent inquiries, +of the hinds who thronged around him, passed unheeded; yet +one voice in his ear, sharp as the sting of a serpent, made him +start. It was that of the sexton.</p> + +<p>"You have done well," said Peter, "have you not? Your +fetters are, I hope, to your liking. Well! a wilful man must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +have his own way, and perhaps the next time you will be content +to follow my advice. You must now free yourself, the +best way you can, from these Moabites, and I promise you it +will be no easy matter. Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>Peter withdrew into the crowd; and Luke, vainly endeavoring +to discover his retreating figure, caught the eye of Jack +Palmer fixed upon himself, with a peculiar and very significant +expression.</p> + +<p>At this moment Mr. Coates made his appearance.</p> + +<p>"Bring forward the prisoner," said the man of law to his two +assistants; and Luke was accordingly hurried along, Mr. Coates +using his best efforts to keep back the crowd. It was during +the pressure that Luke heard a voice whisper in his ear, "Never +fear; all's right!" and turning his head, he became aware of +the propinquity of Jack Palmer. The latter elevated his eyebrows +with a gesture of silence, and Luke passed on as if nothing +had occurred. He was presently confronted with Lady +Rookwood and her son; and, notwithstanding the efforts of +Mr. Coates, seconded by some few others, the crowd grew +dense around them.</p> + +<p>"Remove his fetters," said Ranulph. And his manacles +were removed.</p> + +<p>"You will consent to remain here a prisoner till to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I consent to nothing," replied Luke; "I am in your +hands."</p> + +<p>"He does not deserve your clemency, Sir Ranulph," interposed +Coates.</p> + +<p>"Let him take his own course," said Lady Rookwood; +"he will reap the benefit of it anon."</p> + +<p>"Will you pledge yourself not to depart?" asked Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Of course," cried the attorney; "to be sure he will. Ha, +ha!"</p> + +<p>"No," returned Luke, haughtily, "I will not—and you will +detain me at your proper peril."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Better and better," exclaimed the attorney. "This is the +highest joke I ever heard."</p> + +<p>"I shall detain, you, then, in custody, until proper inquiries +can be made," said Ranulph. "To your care, Mr. Coates, +and to that of Mr. Tyrconnel, whom I must request to lend +you his assistance, I commit the charge; and I must further +request, that you will show him every attention which his situation +will permit. Remove him. We have a sacred duty to +the dead to fulfil, to which even justice to the living must give +way. Disperse this crowd, and let instant preparations be +made for the completion of the ceremonial. You understand +me, sir."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph Rookwood," said Luke, sternly, as he departed, +"you have another—a more sacred office to perform. Fulfil +your duty to your father's son."</p> + +<p>"Away with him!" cried Lady Rookwood. "I am out of +all patience with this trilling. Follow me to my chamber," +added she to her son, passing towards the door. The concourse +of spectators, who had listened to this extraordinary +scene in astonishment, made way for her instantly, and she left +the room, accompanied by Ranulph. The prisoner was led +out by the other door.</p> + +<p>"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 his arrangement."</p> + +<p>"That you will," replied Palmer. "Shall I be your +deputy?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," returned Coates. "I will have no other than +Mr. Tyrconnel. It was Sir Ranulph's express wish."</p> + +<p>"That's the devil of it," returned Titus; "and I, who was +to have been chief mourner, and have made all the preparations, +am to be omitted. I wish Sir Ranulph had stayed till +to-morrow—what could bring him here, to spoil all?—it's +cursedly provoking!"</p> + +<p>"Cursed provoking!" echoed Jack.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But then there's no help, so I must make the best of +it," returned the good-humored Irishman.</p> + +<p>"Body o' me," said Coates, "there's something in all this +that I can't fathom. As to keeping the prisoner <i>here</i>, that's +all moonshine. But I suppose we shall know the whole drift +of it to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Ay," replied Jack, with a meaning smile, "to-morrow!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + + +<h3>THE SEXTON</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Duchess.</i> Thou art very plain.</p> + +<p><i>Bosola.</i> My trade is to flatter the dead—not the living—I am a +tomb-maker.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Webster.</span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I2" id="CHAPTER_I2"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE STORM</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, list, and hark! the bell doth towle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For some but now departing sowle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And was not that some ominous fowle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these I hear the wild wolf howle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this dark night that seems to scowle;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All these my blacke-booke shall enrowle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For hark! still hark! the bell doth towle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For some but new-departed sowle!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Haywood</span>: <i>Rape of Lucrece</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>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 face of nature. As evening drew on, everything +betokened the coming tempest. Unerring indications of its +approach were noted by the weatherwise at the hall. The +swallow was seen to skim the surface of the pool so closely +that he ruffled its placid mirror as he passed; and then, sharply +darting round and round, with twittering scream, he winged +his rapid flight to his clay-built home, beneath the barn eaves. +The kine that had herded to the margin of the water, and +sought, by splashing, to relieve themselves from the keen persecution +of their myriad insect tormentors, 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 their coverts, +amidst the sheltering fernbrake. The rooks "obstreperous of +wing, in crowds combined," cawed in a way that, as plainly as +words could have done, bespoke their apprehension; and were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +seen, some hovering and beating the air with flapping pinion, +others shooting upwards in mid space, as if to reconnoitre the +weather; while others, again, were croaking to their mates, in +loud discordant tone, from the highest branches of the lime-trees; +all, seemingly, as anxious and as busy as mariners before +a gale of wind. At sunset, the hazy vapors, which had obscured +the horizon throughout the day, rose up in spiral +volumes, like smoke from a burning forest, and, becoming +gradually condensed, assumed the form of huge, billowy masses, +which, reflecting the sun's light, changed, as the sinking orb +declined, from purple to flame-color, and thence to ashy, angry +gray. Night rushed onwards, like a sable steed. There was +a dead calm. The stillness was undisturbed, save by an intermittent, +sighing wind, which, hollow as a murmur from the +grave, died as it rose. At once the gray clouds turned to an +inky blackness. A single, sharp, intensely vivid flash, shot +from the bosom of the rack, sheer downwards, and struck the +earth with a report like that of a piece of ordnance. In ten +minutes it was dunnest night, and a rattling thunder-storm.</p> + +<p>The progress of the storm was watched with infinite apprehension +by the crowd of tenantry assembled in the great hall; +and loud and frequent were the ejaculations uttered, as each +succeeding peal burst over their heads. There was, however, +one amongst the assemblage who seemed to enjoy the uproar. +A kindred excitement appeared to blaze in his glances, as he +looked upon the storm without. This was Peter Bradley. He +stood close by the window, and shaded not his eyes, even +before the fiercest flashes. A grin of unnatural exhilaration +played upon his features, and he seemed to exult in, and to +court, the tempestuous horrors, which affected the most hardy +amongst his companions with consternation, and made all +shrink, trembling, into the recesses of the room. Peter's conduct +was not unobserved, nor his reputation for unholy dealing +forgotten. To some he was almost as much an object of +dread as the storm itself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Didst ever see the like o' that?" said Farmer Burtenshaw—one +of the guests, whose round, honest face good wine had +recently empurpled, but fear had now mottled white,—addressing +a neighbor. "Didst ever hear of any man that were a +Christian laughing in the very face o' a thunder-storm, with +the lightnin' fit to put out his eyes, and the rattle above ready +to break the drums o' his ears? I always thought Peter +Bradley was not exactly what he ought to be, and now I am +sure on it."</p> + +<p>"For my part, I think, Neighbor Burtenshaw," returned the +other, "that this great burst of weather's all of his raising, for +in all my born days I never see'd such a hurly-burly, and hope +never to see the like of it again. I've heard my grandfather +tell of folk as could command wind and rain; and, mayhap, +Peter may have the power—we all know he can do more nor +any other man."</p> + +<p>"We know, at all events," replied Burtenshaw, "that he +lives like no other man; that he spends night after night by +himself in that dreary churchyard; that he keeps no living +thing, except an old terrier dog, in his crazy cottage; and that +he never asks a body into his house from one year's end to +another. I've never crossed his threshold these twenty years. +But," continued he mysteriously, "I happened to pass the +house one dark, dismal night, and there what dost think I +see'd through the window?"</p> + +<p>"What—what didst see?"</p> + +<p>"Peter Bradley sitting with a great book open on his knees; +it were a Bible, I think, and he crying like a child."</p> + +<p>"Art sure o' that?"</p> + +<p>"The tears were falling fast upon the leaves," returned +Burtenshaw; "but when I knocked at the door, he hastily shut +up the book, and ordered me to be gone, in a surly tone, as +if he were ashamed of being caught in the fact."</p> + +<p>"I thought no tear had ever dropped from his eye," said +the other. "Why, he laughed when his daughter Susan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +went off at the hall; and, when she died, folks said he received +hush-money to say nought about it. <i>That</i> were a bad +business, anyhow; and now that his grandson Luke be taken +in the fact of housebreaking, he minds it no more, not he, than +if nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>"Don't be too sure of that," replied Burtenshaw; "he +may be scheming summat all this time. Well, I've known +Peter Bradley now these two-and-fifty years, and, excepting +that one night, I never saw any good about him, and never +heard of nobody who could tell who he be, or where he do +come from."</p> + +<p>"One thing's certain, at least," replied the other farmer—"he +were never 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."</p> + +<p>"He be—what he certainly will be," interposed another +speaker, in a louder tone, and with less of apprehension in his +manner than his comrade, probably from his nerves being better +fortified with strong liquor. "Dost thou think, Samuel +Plant, as how Providence would entrust the like o' him with +the command of the elements? No—no, it's rank blasphemy +to suppose such a thing, and I've too much of the true Catholic +and apostate church about me, to stand by and hear that +said."</p> + +<p>"Maybe, then, he gets his power from the Prince of Darkness," +replied Plant; "no man else could go on as he does—only +look at him. He seems to be watching for the thunderbowt."</p> + +<p>"I wish he may catch it, then," returned the other.</p> + +<p>"That's an evil wish, Simon Toft, and thou mayst repent it."</p> + +<p>"Not I," replied Toft; "it would be a good clearance to +the neighborhood to get rid o' th' old croaking curmudgeon."</p> + +<p>Whether or not Peter overheard the conversation, we pretend +not to say, but at that moment a blaze of lightning showed him +staring fiercely at the group.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As I live, he's overheard you, Simon," exclaimed Plant. +"I wouldn't be in your skin for a trifle."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," added Burtenshaw.</p> + +<p>"Let him overhear me," answered Toft; "who cares? he +shall hear summat worth listening to. I'm not afraid o' him +or his arts, were they as black as Beelzebuth's own; and to +show you I'm not, I'll go and have a crack with him on the +spot."</p> + +<p>"Thou'rt a fool for thy pains, if thou dost, Friend Toft," +returned Plant, "that's all I can say."</p> + +<p>"Be advised by me, and stay here," seconded Burtenshaw, +endeavoring to hold him back.</p> + +<p>But Toft would not be advised—</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kings may be blest, but he was glorious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er all the ills of life victorious.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Staggering up to Peter, he laid a hard grasp upon his +shoulder, and, thus forcibly soliciting his attention, burst into +a loud horse-laugh.</p> + +<p>But Peter was, or affected to be, too much occupied to look +at him.</p> + +<p>"What dost see, man, that thou starest so?"</p> + +<p>"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 drenched through 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. When +did a great man's heir feel sympathy for his sire's decease? +When did his widow mourn? When doth any man +regret his fellow? Never! He rejoiceth—he maketh glad in +his inmost heart—he cannot help it—it is nature. We all +pray for—we all delight in each other's destruction. We were +created to do so; or why else should we act thus? I never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +wept for any man's death, but I have often laughed. Natural +sympathy!—out on the phrase! The distant heavens—the +senseless trees—the impenetrable stones—shall regret you +more than man shall bewail your death with more sincerity. +Ay, 'tis well—rain on—splash, splash: it will cool the +hell-fever. Down, down—buckets and pails, ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause, during which the sexton, almost exhausted +by the frenzy in which he had suffered himself to be +involved, seemed insensible to all around him.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," said Burtenshaw to Plant, "I have always +thought there was more in Peter Bradley nor appears on the +outside. He is not what he seems to be, take my word on it. +Lord love you! do you think a man such as he pretends to be +could talk in that sort of way—about nat'ral simpering?—no +such thing."</p> + +<p>When Peter recovered, his insane merriment broke out +afresh, having only acquired fury by the pause.</p> + +<p>"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 the roof? 'tis the rook—the great +bird of the house, that hath borne away the soul of the +departed. There, there—can you not see it? it sits and +croaks through storm and rain, and never heeds at all—and +wherefore should it heed? See, it flaps its broad black wings—it +croaks—ha, ha! It comes—it comes."</p> + +<p>And driven, it might be by the terror of the storm, from +more secure quarters, a bird, at this instant, was dashed against +the window, and fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>"That's a call," continued Peter; "it will be over soon, and +we must set out. The dead will not need to tarry. Look at +that trail of fire along the avenue; dost see yon line of sparkles, +like a rocket's tail? That's the path the corpse will take. St. +Hermes's flickering fire, Robin Goodfellow's dancing light, or +the blue flame of the corpse-candle, which I saw flitting to the +churchyard last week, was not so pretty a sight—ha, ha! You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +asked me for a song a moment ago—you shall have one now +without asking."</p> + +<p>And without waiting to consult the inclinations of his comrades, +Peter broke into the following wild strain with all the +fervor of a half-crazed improvisatore:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE CORPSE-CANDLE</p> + + +<p class="center">Lambere flamma <span title="taphos">ταφος</span> et circum funera pasci.</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the midnight gloom did a pale blue light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the churchyard mirk wing its lonesome flight:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice it floated those old walls round—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice it paused—till the grave it found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the grass-green sod it glanced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the fresh-turned earth it danced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a torch in the night-breeze quivering—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never was seen so gay a thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never was seen so blithe a sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the midnight dance of that blue light!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now what of that pale blue flame dost know?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Canst tell where it comes from, or where it will go?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the soul, released from clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the earth that takes its way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tarries a moment in mirth and glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the corse it hath quitted interred shall be?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is it the trick of some fanciful sprite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That taketh in mortal mischance delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marketh the road the coffin shall go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spot where the dead shall be soon laid low?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ask him who can answer these questions aright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not the cause of that pale blue light!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"I can't say I like thy song, Master Peter," said Toft, as +the sexton finished his stave, "but if thou <i>didst</i> see a corpse-candle, +as thou call'st thy pale blue flame, whose death doth +it betoken?—eh!"</p> + +<p>"Thine own," returned Peter, sharply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mine! thou lying old cheat—dost dare to say that to my +face? Why, I'm as hale and hearty as ever a man in the +house. Dost think there's no life and vigor in this arm, thou +drivelling old dotard?"</p> + +<p>Upon which, Toft seized Peter by the throat with an energy +that, but for the timely intervention of the company, who +rushed to his assistance, the prophet might himself have anticipated +the doom he prognosticated.</p> + +<p>Released from the grasp of Toft, who was held back by the +bystanders, Peter again broke forth into his eldritch laugh; and +staring right into the face of his adversary, with eyes glistening, +and hands uplifted, as if 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 warning to all +unbelievers—<i>they</i> shall remember this night, though <i>you</i> will +not. Fool! fool!—your doom has long been sealed! I saw +your wraith choose out its last lodgment on Halloween; I +know the spot. Your grave is dug already—ha, ha!" And, +with renewed laughter, Peter rushed out of the room.</p> + +<p>"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 that tantrum—one of ye go after him."</p> + +<p>"That will I," replied Burtenshaw; and he departed in +search of the sexton.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Why, what harm can he do me?" returned Toft, who, +however, was not without some misgivings. "If I must die, I +can't help it—I shall go none the sooner for him, even if he +speak the truth, which I don't think he do; and if I must, I +sha'n't go unprepared—only I think as how, if it pleased +Providence, I could have wished to keep my old missus company +some few years longer, and see those bits of lasses of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +mine grow up into women, and respectably provided for. But +His will be done. I sha'n't leave 'em quite penniless, and +there's one eye at least, I'm sure, won't be dry at my departure." +Here the stout heart of Toft gave way, and he shed +some few "natural tears," which, however, he speedily brushed +away. "I'll tell you what, neighbors," continued he, "I +think we may all as well be thinking of going to our own +homes, for, to my mind, we shall never reach the churchyard +to-night."</p> + +<p>"That <i>you</i> never will," exclaimed a voice behind him; and +Toft, turning round, again met the glance of Peter.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Master Peter," cried the good-natured +farmer, "this be ugly jesting—ax pardon for my share of it—sorry +for what I did—so give us thy hand, man, and think no +more about it."</p> + +<p>Peter extended his claw, and the parties were, apparently, +once more upon terms of friendship.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II2" id="CHAPTER_II2"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE FUNERAL ORATION</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In northern customs duty was exprest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To friends departed by their funeral feast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I've consulted Hollingshed and Stow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I find it very difficult to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, to refresh the attendants to the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burnt claret first, or Naples' biscuit gave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">King</span>: <i>Art of Cookery</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ceterum priusquam corpus humo injectâ contegatur, defunctus oratione +funebri laudabatur.—<span class="smcap">Durand.</span></p></div> + + +<p>A supply of spirits was here introduced; lights were brought +at the same time, and placed upon a long oak table. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +party gathering round it, ill-humor was speedily dissipated, +and even the storm disregarded, in the copious libations that +ensued. At this juncture, a loiterer appeared in the hall. +His movements were unnoticed by all excepting the sexton, +who watched his proceedings with some curiosity. The person +walked to the window, appearing, so far as could be discovered, +to eye the storm with great impatience. He then paced the +hall rapidly backwards and forwards, and Peter fancied he +could detect sounds of disappointment in his muttered exclamations. +Again he returned to the window, as if to ascertain the +probable duration of the shower. It was a hopeless endeavor; +all was pitch-dark without; the lightning was now only seen +at long intervals, but the rain still audibly descended in torrents. +Apparently seeing the impossibility of controlling the +elements, the person approached the table.</p> + +<p>"What think you of the night, Mr. Palmer?" asked the sexton +of Jack, for he was the anxious investigator of the weather.</p> + +<p>"Don't know—can't say—set in, I think—cursed unlucky—for +the funeral, I mean—we shall be drowned if we go."</p> + +<p>"And drunk if we stay," rejoined Peter. "But never fear, +it will hold up, depend upon it, long before we can start. +Where have they put the prisoner?" asked he, with a sudden +change of manner.</p> + +<p>"I know the room, but can't describe it; it's two or three +doors down the lower corridor of the eastern gallery."</p> + +<p>"Good. Who are on guard?"</p> + +<p>"Titus Tyrconnel and that swivel-eyed quill-driver, Coates."</p> + +<p>"Enough."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Master Peter," roared Toft, "let's have another +stave. Give us one of your odd snatches. No more +corpse-candles, or that sort of thing. Something lively—something +jolly—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"A good move," shouted Jack. "A lively song from <i>you</i>—lillibullero +from a death's-head—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"My songs are all of a sort," returned Peter; "I am seldom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +asked to sing a second time. However, you are welcome to +the merriest I have." And preparing himself, like certain +other accomplished vocalists, with a few preliminary hems and +haws, he struck forth the following doleful ditty:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE OLD OAK COFFIN</p> + + +<p class="center">Sic ego componi versus in ossa velim.—<span class="smcap">Tibullus.</span></p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 33em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In a churchyard, upon the sward, a coffin there was laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaning stood, beside the wood, a sexton on his spade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A coffin old and black it was, and fashioned curiously,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With quaint device of carved oak, in hideous fantasie.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For here was wrought the sculptured thought of a tormented face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With serpents lithe that round it writhe, in folded strict embrace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim visages of grinning fiends were at each corner set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And emblematic scrolls, mort-heads, and bones together met.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, welladay!" that sexton gray unto himself did cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Beneath that lid much lieth hid—much awful mysterie.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is an ancient coffin from the abbey that stood here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance it holds an abbot's bones, perchance those of a frere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In digging deep, where monks do sleep, beneath yon cloister shrined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That coffin old, within the mould, it was my chance to find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The costly carvings of the lid I scraped full carefully,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hope to get at name or date, yet nothing could I see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"With pick and spade I've plied my trade for sixty years and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never found, beneath the ground, shell strange as that before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many coffins have I seen—have seen them deep or flat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fantastical in fashion—none fantastical as that."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And saying so, with heavy blow, the lid he shattered wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, pale with fright, a ghastly sight that sexton gray espied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A miserable sight it was, that loathsome corpse to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last, last, dreary, darksome stage of fall'n humanity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though all was gone, save reeky bone, a green and grisly heap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scarce a trace of fleshly face, strange posture did it keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hands were clenched, the teeth were wrenched, as if the wretch had risen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en after death had ta'en his breath, to strive and burst his prison.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The neck was bent, the nails were rent, no limb or joint was straight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together glued, with blood imbued, black and coagulate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as the sexton stooped him down to lift the coffin plank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fingers were defiled all o'er with slimy substance dank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, welladay!" that sexton gray unto himself did cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Full well I see how Fate's decree foredoomed this wretch to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A living man, a breathing man, within the coffin thrust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alack! alack! the agony ere he returned to dust!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A vision drear did then appear unto that sexton's eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that poor wight before him straight he in a coffin lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lieth in a trance within that coffin close and fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet though he sleepeth now, he feels he shall awake at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The coffin, then, by reverend men, is borne with footsteps slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where tapers shine before the shrine, where breathes the requiem low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for the dead the prayer is said, for the soul that is <i>not</i> flown—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all is drowned in hollow sound, the earth is o'er him thrown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He draweth breath—he wakes from death to life more horrible;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To agony! such agony! no living tongue may tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Die! die he must, that wretched one! he struggles—strives in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more Heaven's light, nor sunshine bright, shall he behold again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gramercy, Lord!" the sexton roared, awakening suddenly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If this be dream, yet doth it seem most dreadful so to die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, cast my body in the sea! or hurl it on the shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nail me not in coffin fast—no grave will I dig more."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>It was not difficult to discover the effect produced by this +song, in the lengthened faces of the greater part of the audience. +Jack Palmer, however, laughed loud and long.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, bravo!" cried he; "that suits my humor exactly. +I can't abide the thoughts of a coffin. No deal box for me."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, a song, Mr. Palmer, a song!" reiterated the hinds. +"Yours will be the right kind of thing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say no more," replied Jack. "I'll give you a chant composed +upon Dick Turpin, the highwayman. It's no great +shakes, to be sure, but it's the best I have." And, with a +knowing wink at the sexton, he commenced, in the true nasal +whine, the following strain:</p> + +<p class="hd1">ONE FOOT IN THE STIRRUP</p> + +<p class="center"><small><b>OR TURPIN'S FIRST FLING</b></small></p> + +<p class="center">Cum esset proposita fuga <i>Turpi</i>(n)<i>s</i>.—<span class="smcap">Cicero.</span></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One foot in the stirrup, one hand in the rein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the noose be my portion, or freedom I'll gain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! give me a seat in my saddle once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these bloodhounds shall find that the chase is not o'er!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus muttered Dick Turpin, who found, while he slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the Philistines old on his slumbers had crept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had entrapped him as puss on her form you'd ensnare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that gone were his snappers—and gone was his mare.<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How Dick had been captured is readily told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pursuit had been hot, though the night had been cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So at daybreak, exhausted, he sought brief repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mid the thick of a corn-field, away from his foes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in vain was his caution—in vain did his steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever watchful and wakeful in moments of need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lip and with hoof on her master's cheek press—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He slept on, nor heeded the warning of Bess.<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Zounds! gem'men!" cried Turpin, "you've found me at fault,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the highflying highwayman's come to a halt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have turned up a trump—for I weigh well my weight,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the <i>forty is yours</i>, though the halter's <i>my</i> fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, come on't what will, you shall own when all's past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Dick Turpin, the Dauntless, was game to the last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, before we go further, I'll hold you a bet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one foot in my stirrup you won't let me set.<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A hundred to one is the odds <i>I</i> will stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred to one is the odds <i>you</i> command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here's a handful of goldfinches ready to fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May I venture a foot in my stirrup to try?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he carelessly spoke, Dick directed a glance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At his courser, and motioned her slyly askance:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might tell by the singular toss of her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the prick of her ears, that his meaning she read.<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With derision at first was Dick's wager received,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his error at starting as yet unretrieved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when from his pocket the shiners he drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And offered to "make up the hundred to two,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were havers in plenty, and each whispered each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same thing, though varied in figure of speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Let the fool act his folly—the stirrup of Bess!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has put his foot <i>in it</i> already, we guess!"<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bess was brought to her master—Dick steadfastly gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the eye of his mare, then his foot quick upraised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His toe touched the stirrup, his hand grasped the rein—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was safe on the back of his courser again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the clarion, fray-sounding and shrill, was the neigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Black Bess, as she answered his cry "Hark-away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Beset me, ye bloodhounds! in rear and in van;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My foot's in the stirrup and catch me who can!"<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was riding and gibing mid rabble and rout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old woods re-echoed the Philistines' shout!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was hurling and whirling o'er brake and o'er brier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the course of Dick Turpin was swift as Heaven's fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whipping, spurring, and straining would nothing avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dick laughed at their curses, and scoffed at their wail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My foot's in the stirrup!"—thus rang his last cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bess has answered my call; now her mettle we'll try!"<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Hilloah!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Uproarious applause followed Jack's song, when the joviality +of the mourners was interrupted by a summons to attend in +the state-room. Silence was at once completely restored; and, +in the best order they could assume, they followed their leader,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +Peter Bradley. Jack Palmer was amongst the last to enter, +and remained a not incurious spectator of a by no means +common scene.</p> + +<p>Preparations had been made to give due solemnity to the +ceremonial. The leaden 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 were removed, 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 Peter Bradley, the tenantry and household +were formed into a wide half-moon across the chamber. +There was a hush of expectation, as Dr. Small looked +gravely round; and even Jack Palmer, who was as little likely +as any man to yield to an impression of the kind, felt himself +moved by the scene.</p> + +<p>The very orthodox Small, as is well known to our readers, +held everything savoring of the superstitions of the Scarlet +Woman in supreme abomination; and, entertaining such opinions, +it can scarcely be supposed 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-crowned pontiff's sway, +the shaven priest pronounced his benediction o'er the dead, +and released the penitent's soul from purgatorial flames, while +he heavily mulcted the price of his redemption from the possessions +of his successor. Small resented the idea of treading +in such steps, as an insult to himself and his cloth. Was he, +the intolerant of Papistry, to tolerate this? Was he, who could +not endure the odor of Catholicism, to have his nostrils thus +polluted—his garments thus defiled by actual contact with it? +It was not to be thought of: and he had formally signified his +declination to Mr. Coates, when a little conversation with that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +gentleman, and certain weighty considerations therein held +forth—the advowson of the church of Rookwood residing with +the family—and represented by him, as well as the placing in +juxtaposition of penalties to be incurred by refusal, that the +scruples of Small gave way; and, with the best grace he could +muster, very reluctantly promised compliance.</p> + +<p>With these feelings, it will be readily conceived that the +doctor was not in the best possible frame of mind for the delivery +of his exhortation. His spirit had been ruffled by a +variety of petty annoyances, amongst the greatest of which was +the condition to which the good cheer had reduced his clerk, +Zachariah Trundletext, whose reeling eye, pendulous position, +and open mouth proclaimed him absolutely incapable of office. +Zachariah was, in consequence, dismissed, and Small commenced +his discourse unsupported. But as our recording it +would not probably conduce to the amusement of our readers, +whatever it might to their edification, we shall pass it over with +very brief mention. Suffice it to say, that the oration was so +thickly interstrewn with lengthy quotations from the fathers,—Chrysostomus, +Hieronymus, Ambrosius, Basilius, Bernardus, +and the rest, with whose recondite Latinity, notwithstanding the +clashing of their opinions with his own, the doctor was intimately +acquainted, and which he moreover delighted to quote,—that +his auditors were absolutely mystified and perplexed, and +probably not without design. Countenances of such amazement +were turned towards him, that Small, who had a keen +sense of the ludicrous, could scarcely forbear smiling as he +proceeded; and if we could suspect so grave a personage of +waggery, we should almost think that, by way of retaliation, +he had palmed some abstruse, monkish epicedium upon his +astounded auditors.</p> + +<p>The oration concluded, biscuits and confectionery were, +according to old observance, 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 the duties of Zachariah,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +had he been capable of office, fell to the share of the sexton. +The bowl was kissed, first by Ranulph, with lips that trembled +with emotion, and afterward by his surrounding friends; but +no drop was tasted—a circumstance which did not escape +Peter's observation. Proceeding to the tenantry, the first in +order happened to be Farmer Toft. Peter presented the cup, +and as Toft was about to drain a deep draught of the wine, +Peter whispered in his ear, "Take my advice for once, Friend +Toft, and don't let a bubble of the liquid pass your lips. For +every drop of the wine you drain, Sir Piers will have one sin +the less, and you a load the heavier on your conscience. +Didst never hear of sin-swallowing? For what else was this +custom adopted? Seest thou not the cup's brim hath not yet +been moistened? Well, as you will—ha, ha!" And the sexton +passed onwards.</p> + +<p>His work being nearly completed, he looked around for +Jack Palmer, whom he 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.</p> + +<p>"<i>In poculi fundo residuum non relinque</i>, admonisheth Pythagoras," +said he, returning the empty cup to the sexton.</p> + +<p>"My task here is ended," muttered Peter, "but not elsewhere. +Foul weather or fine, thunder or rain, I must to the church."</p> + +<p>Bequeathing his final instructions to certain of the household +who were to form part of the procession, in case it set out, he +opened the hall door, and, the pelting shower dashing heavily +in his face, took his way up the avenue, screaming, as he +strode along, the following congenial rhymes:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">EPHIALTES</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ride alone—I ride by night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the moonless air on a courser white!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the dreaming earth I fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here and there—at my fantasy!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My frame is withered, my visage old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My locks are frore, and my bones ice cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wolf will howl as I pass his lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ban-dog moan, and the screech-owl stare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For breath, at my coming, the sleeper strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the freezing current forsakes his veins!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vainly for pity the wretch may sue—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merciless Mara no prayers subdue!<br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>To his couch I flit—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>On his breast I sit!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>Astride! astride! astride!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>And one charm alone</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>—A hollow stone!—</i><a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>Can scare me from his side!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A thousand antic shapes I take;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stoutest heart at my touch will quake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The miser dreams of a bag of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a ponderous chest on his bosom rolled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drunkard groans 'neath a cask of wine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reveller swelts 'neath a weighty chine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The recreant turns, by his foes assailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To flee!—but his feet to the ground are nailed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The goatherd dreams of his mountain-tops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, dizzily reeling, downward drops.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The murderer feels at his throat a knife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gasps, as his victim gasped, for life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thief recoils from the scorching brand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mariner drowns in sight of land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus sinful man have I power to fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Torture, and rack, but not to slay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ever the couch of purity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With shuddering glance, I hurry by.<br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>Then mount! away!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>To horse! I say,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>To horse! astride! astride!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>The fire-drake shoots—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>The screech-owl hoots—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>As through the air I glide!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III2" id="CHAPTER_III2"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE CHURCHYARD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Methought I walked, about the mid of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a churchyard.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Webster</span>: <i>The White Devil</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Lights streamed through the chancel window as the sexton +entered the churchyard, darkly defining all the ramified tracery +of the noble Gothic arch, and illumining the gorgeous dyes of +its richly-stained glass, profusely decorated with the armorial +bearings of the founder of the fane, and the many alliances of +his descendants. The sheen of their blazonry gleamed bright +in the darkness, as if to herald to his last home another of +the line whose achievements it displayed. Glowing colorings, +checkered like rainbow tints, were shed upon the broken +leaves of the adjoining yew-trees, and upon the rounded grassy +tombs.</p> + +<p>Opening the gate, as he looked in that direction, Peter became +aware of a dark figure, enveloped in a large black cloak, +and covered with a slouched hat, standing at some distance, +between the window and the tree, and so intervening as to +receive the full influence of the stream of radiance which +served to dilate its almost superhuman stature. The sexton +stopped. The figure remained stationary. There was something +singular both in the costume and situation of the person. +Peter's curiosity was speedily aroused, and, familiar with every +inch of the churchyard, he determined to take the nearest cut, +and to ascertain to whom the mysterious cloak and hat belonged. +Making his way over the undulating graves, and +instinctively rounding the headstones that intercepted his path, +he quickly drew near the object of his inquiry. From the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +moveless posture it maintained, the figure appeared to be +unconscious of Peter's approach. To his eyes it seemed to +expand as he advanced. He was now almost close upon it, +when his progress was arrested by a violent grasp laid on his +shoulder. He started, and uttered an exclamation of alarm. +At this moment a vivid flash of lightning illumined the whole +churchyard, and Peter then thought he beheld, at some distance +from him, two other figures, bearing upon their shoulders +a huge chest, or, it might be, a coffin. The garb of these +figures, so far as it could be discerned through the drenching +rain, was fantastical in the extreme. The foremost seemed to +have a long white beard descending to his girdle. Little +leisure, however, was allowed Peter for observation. The +vision no sooner met his glance than it disappeared, and nothing +was seen but the glimmering tombstones—nothing heard +but the whistling wind and the heavily-descending shower. +He rubbed his eyes. The muffled figure had vanished, and +not a trace could be discovered of the mysterious coffin-bearers, +if such they were.</p> + +<p>"What have I seen?" mentally ejaculated Peter: "is this +sorcery or treachery, or both? No body-snatchers would visit +this place on a night like this, when the whole neighborhood +is aroused. Can it be a vision I have seen? Pshaw! shall I +juggle myself as I deceive these hinds? It was no bearded +demon that I beheld, but the gipsy patrico, Balthazar. I knew +him at once. But what meant that muffled figure; and whose +arm could it have been that griped my shoulder? Ha! what +if Lady Rookwood should have given 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 the church +who would permit no such desecration. I am perplexed to +think what it can mean. But I will to the vault." Saying +which, he hastened to the church porch, and after wringing +the wet from his clothes, as a water-dog might shake the +moisture from his curly hide, and doffing his broad felt hat, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +entered the holy edifice. The interior seemed one blaze of +light to the sexton, in his sudden transition from outer darkness. +Some few persons were assembled, probably such as +were engaged in the preparations; but there was one group +which immediately caught his attention.</p> + +<p>Near the communion-table stood three persons, habited in +deep mourning, apparently occupied in examining the various +monumental carvings that enriched 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 the reception of the +dead, with lantern in hand, keys, and a crowbar, he approached +the party. Little attention was paid to the sexton's proceedings, +till the harsh grating of the lock attracted their notice.</p> + +<p>Peter started as he beheld the face of one of the three, and +relaxing his hold upon the key, the strong bolt shot back in +the lock. There was a whisper amongst the party. A light +step was heard advancing towards him; and ere the sexton +could sufficiently recover his surprise, or force open the door, +a female figure stood by his side.</p> + +<p>The keen, inquiring stare which Peter bestowed upon the +countenance of the young lady so much abashed her, that she +hesitated in her purpose of addressing him, and hastily retired.</p> + +<p>"She here!" muttered Peter; "nay, then, I must no longer +withhold the dreaded secret from Luke, or Ranulph may, +indeed, wrest his possessions from him."</p> + +<p>Reinforced by her companions, an elderly lady and a tall, +handsome man, whose bearing and deportment bespoke him +to be a soldier, the fair stranger again ventured towards Peter.</p> + +<p>"You are the sexton," said she, addressing him in a voice +sweet and musical.</p> + +<p>"I am," returned Peter. It was harmony succeeded by +dissonance.</p> + +<p>"You, perhaps, can tell us, then," said the elderly lady, +"whether the funeral is likely to take place to-night? We +thought it possible that the storm might altogether prevent it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The storm is over, as nearly as maybe," replied Peter. +"The body will soon be on its way. I am but now arrived +from the hall."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed the lady. "None of the family will +be present, I suppose. Who is the chief mourner?"</p> + +<p>"Young Sir Ranulph," answered the sexton. "There will +be more of the family than were expected."</p> + +<p>"Is Sir Ranulph returned?" asked the young lady, with +great agitation of manner. "I thought he was abroad—that +he was not expected. Are you sure you are rightly informed?"</p> + +<p>"I parted with him at the hall not ten minutes since," +replied Peter. "He returned from France to-night most +unexpectedly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother!" exclaimed the younger lady, "that this +should be—that I should meet him here. Why did we +come?—let us depart."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" replied her mother; "the storm forbids it. +This man's information is so strange, I scarce can credit it. +Are you sure you have asserted the truth?" said she, addressing +Peter.</p> + +<p>"I am not accustomed to be doubted," answered he. +"Other things as strange have happened at the hall."</p> + +<p>"What mean you?" asked the gentleman, noticing this last +remark.</p> + +<p>"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, have been done there this night, and stranger +things may occur before the morning."</p> + +<p>"You are insolent, sirrah! I comprehend you not."</p> + +<p>"Enough! I can comprehend <i>you</i>," replied Peter, significantly; +"I know the count of the mourners invited to +this ceremonial, and I am aware that there are three too +many."</p> + +<p>"Know you this saucy knave, mother?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I cannot call him to mind, though I fancy I have seen +him before."</p> + +<p>"My recollection serves me better, lady," interposed Peter. +"I remember one who was once the proud heiress of Rookwood—ay, +proud and beautiful. Then the house was filled +with her gallant suitors. Swords were crossed for her. Hearts +bled for her. Yet she favored none, until one hapless hour. +Sir Reginald Rookwood <i>had</i> a daughter; Sir Reginald <i>lost</i> a +daughter. Ha!—I see I am right. Well, he is dead and +buried; and Reginald, 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 the first. And, now that they +are all gone, you do rightly to bury your grievances with them."</p> + +<p>"Silence, sirrah!" exclaimed the gentleman, "or I will beat +your brains out with your own spade."</p> + +<p>"No; let him speak, Vavasour," said the lady, with an +expression of anguish—"he has awakened thoughts of other +days."</p> + +<p>"I have done," said Peter, "and must to work. Will you +descend with me, madam, into the sepulchre of your ancestry? +All your family lie within—ay, and the Lady Eleanor, your +mother, amongst the number."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray signified her assent, and the party prepared +to follow him.</p> + +<p>The sexton held the lantern so as to throw its light upon the +steps as they entered the gloomy receptacle of the departed. +Eleanor half repented having ventured within its dreary limits, +so much did the appearance 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 her brother's arm could +afford her; nor was Mrs. Mowbray altogether unmoved.</p> + +<p>"And all the family are here interred, you say?" inquired +the latter.</p> + +<p>"All," replied the sexton.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where, then, lies Sir Reginald's younger brother?"</p> + +<p>"Who?" exclaimed Peter, starting.</p> + +<p>"Alan Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"What of him?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of moment. But I thought you could, perhaps, +inform me. He died young."</p> + +<p>"He did," replied Peter, in an altered tone—"very young; +but not before he had lived to an old age of wretchedness. +Do you know his story, madam?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard it."</p> + +<p>"From your father's lips?"</p> + +<p>"From Sir Reginald Rookwood's—never. Call him not +my father, sirrah; even <i>here</i> I will not have him named so to +me."</p> + +<p>"Your pardon, madam," returned the sexton. "Great +cruelty was shown to the Lady Eleanor, and may well call forth +implacable resentment in her child; yet methinks the wrong +he did his brother Alan was the foulest stain with which Sir +Reginald's black soul was dyed."</p> + +<p>"With what particular wrong dost thou charge Sir Reginald?" +demanded Major Mowbray. "What injury did he +inflict upon his brother Alan?"</p> + +<p>"He wronged his brother's honor," replied the sexton; +"he robbed him of his wife, poisoned his existence, and hurried +him to an untimely grave."</p> + +<p>Eleanor shudderingly held back during this horrible narration, +the hearing of which she would willingly have shunned, +had it been possible.</p> + +<p>"Can this be true?" asked the major.</p> + +<p>"Too true, my son," replied Mrs. Mowbray, sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"And where lies the unfortunate Alan?" asked Major +Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"'Twixt two cross roads. Where else should the suicide +lie?"</p> + +<p>Evading any further question, Peter hastily traversed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +vault, elevating the light so as to reveal the contents of each +cell. One circumstance filled him with surprise and dismay—he +could nowhere perceive the coffin of his daughter. In vain +he peered into every catacomb—they were apparently undisturbed; +and, with much internal marvelling and misgiving, +Peter gave up the search. "That vision is now explained," +muttered he; "the body is removed, but by whom? Death! +can I doubt? It must be Lady Rookwood—who else can +have any interest in its removal. She has acted boldly. But +she shall yet have reason to repent her temerity." As he continued +his search, his companions silently followed. Suddenly +he stopped, and, signifying that all was finished, they not unwillingly +quitted this abode of horror, leaving him behind them.</p> + +<p>"It is a dreadful place," whispered Eleanor to her mother; +"nor would I have visited it, had I conceived anything of its +horrors. And that strange man! who or what is he?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, who is he?" repeated Major Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"I recollect him now," replied Mrs. Mowbray; "he is one +who has ever been connected with the family. He had a +daughter, whose beauty was her ruin: it is a sad tale; I cannot +tell it now: you have heard enough of misery and guilt: +but that may account for his bitterness of speech. He was a +dependent upon my poor brother."</p> + +<p>"Poor man!" replied Eleanor; "if he has been unfortunate, +I pity him. I am sorry we have been into that dreadful +place. I am very faint: and I tremble more than ever at +the thought of meeting Ranulph Rookwood again. I can +scarcely support myself—I am sure I shall not venture to look +upon him."</p> + +<p>"Had I dreamed of the likelihood of his attending the ceremony, +rest assured, dear Eleanor, we should not have been +here: but I was informed there was no possibility of his return. +Compose yourself, my child. It will be a trying time +to both of us; but it is now inevitable."</p> + +<p>At this moment the bell began to toll. "The procession<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +has started," said Peter, as he passed the Mowbrays. "That +bell announces the setting out."</p> + +<p>"See yonder persons hurrying to the door," exclaimed Eleanor, +with eagerness, and trembling violently. "They are +coming. Oh! I shall never be able to go through with it, +dear mother."</p> + +<p>Peter hastened to the church door, where he stationed himself, +in company with a host of others, equally curious. Flickering +lights in the distance, shining like stars through the trees, +showed them that the procession was collecting in front of the +hall. The rain had now entirely ceased; the thunder muttered +from afar, and the lightning seemed only to lick the +moisture from the trees. The bell continued to toll, and its +loud booming awoke the drowsy echoes of the valley. On the +sudden, a solitary, startling concussion of thunder was heard; +and presently a man rushed down from the belfry, with the +tidings that he had seen a ball of fire fall from a cloud right +over the hall. Every ear was on the alert for the next sound; +none was heard. It was the crisis of the storm. Still the +funeral procession advanced not. The strong sheen of the +torchlight was still visible from the bottom of the avenue, now +disappearing, now brightly glimmering, as if the bearers were +hurrying to and fro amongst the trees. It was evident that +much confusion prevailed, and that some misadventure had +occurred. Each man muttered to his neighbor, and few were +there who had not in a measure surmised the cause of the delay. +At this juncture, a person without his hat, breathless with +haste and almost palsied with fright, rushed through the midst +of them and, stumbling over the threshold, fell headlong into +the church.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Master Plant? What has happened? +Tell us! Tell us!" exclaimed several voices simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"Lord have mercy upon us!" cried Plant, gasping for +utterance, and not attempting to raise himself. "It's horrible! +dreadful! oh!—oh!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What has happened?" inquired Peter, approaching the +fallen man.</p> + +<p>"And dost <i>thou</i> need to ask, Peter Bradley? thou, who foretold +it all? but I will not say what I think, though my tongue +itches to tell thee the truth. Be satisfied, thy wizard's lore +has served thee right—he is dead."</p> + +<p>"Who? Ranulph Rookwood? Has anything befallen +him, or the prisoner, Luke Bradley?" asked the sexton, with +eagerness.</p> + +<p>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, Eleanor Mowbray rushed forward.</p> + +<p>"Has aught happened to Sir Ranulph?" asked she.</p> + +<p>"Noa—noa—not to Sir Ranulph—he be with the body."</p> + +<p>"Heaven be thanked for that!" exclaimed Eleanor. And +then, as if ashamed of her own vehemence, and, it might +seem, apparent indifference to another's fate, she inquired +who was hurt.</p> + +<p>"It be poor neighbor Toft, that be killed by a thunderbolt, +ma'am," replied Plant.</p> + +<p>Exclamations of horror burst from all around.</p> + +<p>No one was more surprised at this intelligence than the sexton. +Like many other seers, he had not, in all probability, +calculated upon the fulfilment of his predictions, and he now +stared aghast at the extent of his own foreknowledge.</p> + +<p>"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, or thou'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, ye shall hear how poor Toft's death +came to pass, and nobody can tell 'ee better 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 of +march, and were just beginning to step up the avenue, the +coffin-bearers pushing lustily along, and the torches shining<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +grandly, when poor Simon Toft, who could never travel well +in liquor in his life, reeled to one side, and staggering against +the first huge lime-tree, sat himself down beneath it—thou +knowest the tree I mean."</p> + +<p>"The tree of fate," returned Peter. "I ought, methinks, +to know it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I were just stepping aside to pick him up, when all +at once there comes such a crack of thunder, and, whizzing +through the trees, flashed a 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 which blinded me +more even than the flash—that which had just afore been poor +Simon, but which was now a mass o' black smouldering ashes, +clean consumed and destroyed—his clothes rent to a thousand +tatters—the earth and stones tossed up, and scattered all +about, and a great splinter of the tree lying beside him."</p> + +<p>"Heaven's will be done!" said the sexton; "this is an +awful judgment."</p> + +<p>"And Sathan cast down; for this is a spice o' his handiwork," +muttered Plant; adding, as he slunk away, "If ever +Peter Bradley do come to the blanket, dang me if I don't +lend a helpin' hand."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV2" id="CHAPTER_IV2"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE FUNERAL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How like a silent stream, shaded by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gliding softly with our windy sighs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves the whole frame of this solemnity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tears, sighs, and blacks, filling the simile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of death, thus hollowly break forth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>The Fatal Dowry.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Word being given that the funeral train was fast approaching, +the church door was thrown open, and the assemblage +divided in two lines, to allow it admission.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, a striking change had taken place, even in this +brief period, in the appearance of the night. The sky, heretofore +curtained with darkness, was now illumined by a serene, +soft moon, which, floating in a watery halo, tinged with silvery +radiance the edges of a few ghostly clouds that hurried along +the deep and starlit skies. The suddenness of the change +could not fail to excite surprise and admiration, mingled with +regret that the procession had not been delayed until the +present time.</p> + +<p>Slowly and mournfully the train was seen to approach the +churchyard, winding, two by two, with melancholy step, around +the corner of the road. First came Dr. Small; then the mutes, +with their sable panoply; next, the torch-bearers; next, those +who sustained the coffin, bending beneath their ponderous +burden, followed by Sir Ranulph and a long line of attendants, +all plainly to be distinguished by the flashing torchlight. There +was a slight halt at the gate, and the coffin changed supporters.</p> + +<p>"Ill luck betide them!" ejaculated Peter; "could they find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +no other place except that to halt at? Must Sir Piers be gatekeeper +till next Yule! No," added he, seeing what followed; +"it will be poor Toft, after all."</p> + +<p>Following close upon the coffin came a rude shell, containing, +as Peter rightly conjectured, the miserable remains of +Simon Toft, who had met his fate in the manner described by +Plant. The bolt of death glanced from the tree which it first +struck, and reduced the unfortunate farmer to a heap of +dust. Universal consternation prevailed, and doubts were entertained +as to what course should be pursued. It was judged best +by Dr. Small to remove the remains at once to the charnel-house. +Thus "unanointed, unaneled, with all his imperfections +on his head," was poor Simon Toft, in one brief second, in the +twinkling of an eye, plunged from the height of festivity to the +darkness of the grave, and so horribly disfigured, that scarce a +vestige of humanity was discernible in the mutilated mass that +remained of him. Truly may we be said to walk in blindness, +and amidst deep pitfalls.</p> + +<p>The churchyard was thronged by the mournful train. The +long array of dusky figures—the waving torchlight gleaming +ruddily in the white moonshine—now glistening upon the sombre +habiliments of the bearers, and on their shrouded load, now +reflected upon the jagged branches of the yew-trees, or falling +upon the ivied buttresses of the ancient church, constituted +no unimpressive picture. Over all, like a lamp hung in the +still sky, shone the moon, shedding a soothing, spiritual lustre +over the scene.</p> + +<p>The organ broke into a solemn strain as the coffin was borne +along the mid-aisle—the mourners following, with reverent +step, and slow. It was deposited near the mouth of the +vault, the whole assemblage circling around it. Dr. Small +proceeded with the performance of that magnificent service +appointed for the burial of the dead, in a tone as remarkable +for its sadness as for its force and fervor. There was a tear in +every eye—a cloud on every brow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>Brightly illumined as was the whole building, there were still +some recesses which, owing to the intervention of heavy pillars, +were thrown into shade; and in one of these, supported by her +mother and brother, stood Eleanor, a weeping witness of the +scene. She beheld the coffin silently borne along; she saw one +dark figure slowly following; she knew those pale features—oh, +how pale they were! A year had wrought a fearful alteration; +she could scarce credit what she beheld. He must, +indeed, have suffered—deeply suffered; and her heart told her +that his sorrows had been for her.</p> + +<p>Many a wistful look, besides, was directed to the principal +figure in this ceremonial, Ranulph Rookwood. He was a prey +to unutterable anguish of soul; his heart bled inwardly for the +father he had lost. Mechanically following the body down the +aisle, he had taken his station near it, gazing with confused +vision upon the bystanders; had listened, with a sad composure, +to the expressive delivery of Small, until he read—"<i>For man +walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain; +he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather +them.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Verily!" exclaimed a deep voice; and Ranulph, looking +round, met the eyes of Peter Bradley fixed full upon him. But +it was evidently not the sexton who had spoken.</p> + +<p>Small continued the service. He arrived at this verse: +"<i>Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee; and our secret sins +in the light of thy countenance.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Even so!" exclaimed the voice; and as Ranulph raised his +eyes in the direction of the sound, he thought he saw a dark +figure, muffled in a cloak, disappear behind one of the pillars. +He bestowed, however, at the moment, little thought upon +this incident. His heart melted within him; and leaning his +face upon his hand, he wept aloud.</p> + +<p>"Command yourself, I entreat of you, my dear Sir Ranulph," +said Dr. Small, as soon as the service was finished, +"and suffer this melancholy ceremonial to be completed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +Saying which, he gently withdrew Ranulph from his support, +and the coffin was lowered into the vault.</p> + +<p>Ranulph remained for some time in the extremity of sorrow. +When he in part recovered, the crowd had dispersed, +and few persons were remaining within the church; yet near +him stood three apparent loiterers. They advanced towards +him. An exclamation of surprise and joy burst from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor!"</p> + +<p>"Ranulph!"</p> + +<p>"Is it possible? Do I indeed behold you, Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>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 a zest more exquisite than others—if felicity +hath one drop more racy than the rest in her honeyed cup, it +is the happiness enjoyed in such a union as the present. To +say that he was as one raised from the depths of misery by +some angel comforter, were a feeble comparison of the transport +of Ranulph. To paint the thrilling delight of Eleanor—the +trembling tenderness—the fond abandonment which vanquished +all her maiden scruples, would be impossible. Reluctantly +yielding—fearing, yet complying, her lips were sealed +in one long, loving kiss, the sanctifying pledge of their tried +affection.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor, dear Eleanor," exclaimed Ranulph, "though I +hold you within my arms—though each nerve within my frame +assures me of your presence—though I look into those eyes, +which seem fraught with greater endearment than ever I have +known them wear—though I see and feel and know all this, +so sudden, so unlooked for is the happiness, that I could +almost doubt its reality. Say to what blessed circumstance I +am indebted for this unlooked-for happiness."</p> + +<p>"We are staying not far hence, with friends, dear Ranulph; +and my mother, hearing of Sir Piers Rookwood's death, and +wishing to bury all animosity with him, resolved to be present +at the sad ceremony. We were told you could not be here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And would my presence have prevented your attendance, +Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>"Not that, dear Ranulph; but——"</p> + +<p>"But what?"</p> + +<p>At this moment the advance of Mrs. Mowbray offered an +interruption to their further discourse.</p> + +<p>"My son and I appear to be secondary in your regards, Sir +Ranulph," said she, gravely.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sir</i> Ranulph!" mentally echoed the young man. "What +will <i>she</i> think when she knows that that title is not mine? I +dread to tell her." He then added aloud, with a melancholy +smile, "I crave your pardon, madam; the delight of a meeting +so unexpected with your daughter must plead my apology."</p> + +<p>"None is wanting, Sir Ranulph," said Major Mowbray. "I +who have known what separation from my sister is, can readily +excuse your feelings. But you look ill."</p> + +<p>"I have, indeed, experienced much mental anxiety," said +Ranulph, looking at Eleanor; "it is now past, and I would +fain hope that a brighter day is dawning." His heart answered, +'twas but a hope.</p> + +<p>"You were unlooked for here to-night, Sir Ranulph," said +Mrs. Mowbray; "by us, at least: we were told you were +abroad."</p> + +<p>"You were rightly informed, madam," replied Ranulph. "I +only arrived this evening from Bordeaux."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are returned. We are at present on a visit +with your neighbors, the Davenhams, at Braybrook, and trust +we shall see you there."</p> + +<p>"I will ride over to-morrow," replied Ranulph; "there is +much on which I would consult you all. I would have ventured +to request the favor of your company at Rookwood, had +the occasion been other than the present."</p> + +<p>"And I would willingly have accepted your invitation," returned +Mrs. Mowbray; "I should like to see the old house +once more. During your father's lifetime I could not approach<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +it. You are lord of broad lands, Sir Ranulph—a +goodly inheritance."</p> + +<p>"Madam!"</p> + +<p>"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 are the third Sir Ranulph; the first +founded the house of Rookwood; the next advanced it; 'tis +for you to raise its glory to its height."</p> + +<p>"Alas! madam, I have no such thought."</p> + +<p>"Wherefore not? you are young, wealthy, powerful. With +such domains as those of Rookwood—with such a title as its +lord can claim, naught should be too high for your aspirations."</p> + +<p>"I aspire to nothing, madam, but your daughter's hand; +and even that I will not venture to solicit until you are acquainted +with——" And he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"With what?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"A singular, and to me most perplexing event has occurred +to-night," replied Ranulph, "which may materially affect my +future fortunes."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray. "Does it relate to +your mother?"</p> + +<p>"Excuse my answering the question now, madam," replied +Ranulph; "you shall know all to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Ay, to-morrow, dear Ranulph," said Eleanor; "and whatever +that morrow may bring forth, it will bring happiness to +me, if you are bearer of the tidings."</p> + +<p>"I shall expect your coming with impatience," said Mrs. +Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I thank you heartily," returned Ranulph. "To-morrow +you shall learn all. Meanwhile, it shall be my business to +investigate the truth or falsehood of the statement I have heard, +ere I report it to you. Till then, farewell."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>As they issued from the church it was gray dawn. Mrs. +Mowbray's carriage stood 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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V2" id="CHAPTER_V2"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE CAPTIVE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Black Will.</i> Which is the place where we're to be concealed?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Green.</i><span style="margin-left: 2em;">This inner room.</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Black Will.</i> 'Tis well. The word is, "Now I take you."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Arden of Feversham.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Guarded by the two young farmers who had displayed so +much address in seizing him, Luke, meanwhile, had been conveyed +in safety to the small chamber in the eastern wing, destined +by Mr. Coates to be his place of confinement for the +night. The room, or rather closet, opening from another room, +was extremely well adapted for the purpose, having no perceptible +outlet; being defended, on either side, by thick partition +walls of the hardest oak, and at the extremity by the solid +masonry of the mansion. It was, in fact, a remnant of the +building anterior to the first Sir Ranulph's day; and the narrow +limits of Luke's cell had been erected long before the date +of his earliest progenitor. Having seen their prisoner safely +bestowed, the room was carefully examined, every board +sounded, every crevice and corner peered into by the curious +eye of the little lawyer; and nothing being found insecure, the +light was removed, the door locked, the rustic constables dismissed, +and a brace of pistols having been loaded and laid on +the table, Mr. Coates pronounced himself thoroughly satisfied +and quite comfortable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>Comfortable! Titus heaved a sigh as he echoed the word. +He felt anything but comfortable. His heart was with the +body all the while. He thought of the splendor of the funeral, +the torches, the illumined church, his own dignified march +down the aisle, and the effect he expected to produce amongst +the bewildered rustics. He thought of all these things, and +cursed Luke by all the saints in the calendar. The sight of +the musty old apartment, hung round with faded arras, which, +as he said, "smelt of nothing but rats and ghosts, and suchlike +varmint," did not serve to inspirit him; and the proper equilibrium +of his temper was not completely restored until the +appearance of the butler, with all the requisites for the manufacture +of punch, afforded him some prospective solace.</p> + +<p>"And what are they about now, Tim?" asked Titus.</p> + +<p>"All as jolly as can be," answered the domestic; "Dr. +Small is just about to pronounce the funeral 'ration."</p> + +<p>"Devil take it," ejaculated Titus, "there's another miss! +Couldn't I just slip out, and hear that?"</p> + +<p>"On no account," said Coates. "Consider, Sir Ranulph +is there."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," rejoined Titus, heaving a deep sigh, and +squeezing a lemon; "are you sure this is <i>biling</i> water, Tim? +You know, I'm mighty particular."</p> + +<p>"Perfectly aware of it, sir."</p> + +<p>"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 to think that, after all, I should be left +out of his funeral—it's the height of barbarity. Tim, this +rum of yours is poor stuff—there's no punch worth the trouble +of drinking, except whisky-punch. A glass of right potheen, +straw-color, peat-flavor, ten degrees over proof, would be the +only thing to drown my cares. Any such thing in the cellar? +There used to be an odd bottle or so, Tim—in the left bin, +near the door."</p> + +<p>"I've a notion there be," returned Timothy. "I'll try the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +bin your honor mentions, and if I can lay hands upon a bottle +you shall have it, you may depend."</p> + +<p>The butler departed, and Titus, emulating Mr. Coates, who +had already enveloped himself, like Juno at the approach of +Ixion, in a cloud, proceeded to light his pipe.</p> + +<p>Luke, meanwhile, had been left alone, without light. He +had much to meditate upon, and with naught to check the +current of his thoughts, he pensively revolved his present situation +and future prospects. The future was gloomy enough—the +present fraught with danger. And now that the fever of +excitement was passed, he severely reproached himself for his +precipitancy.</p> + +<p>His mind, by degrees, assumed a more tranquil state; and, +exhausted with his great previous fatigue, he threw himself +upon the floor of his prison-house, and addressed himself to +slumber. The noise he made induced Coates to enter the +room, which he did with a pistol in each hand, followed by +Titus with a pipe and candle; but finding all safe the sentinels +retired.</p> + +<p>"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 a tall chap, anyhow—why his feet +almost touch the door. I should say that room was a matter +of six feet long, Mr. Coates."</p> + +<p>"Exactly six feet, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's a good guess. Hang that ugly rascal, Tim; +he's never brought the whisky. But I'll be even with him to-morrow. +Couldn't you just see to the prisoner for ten minutes, +Mr. Coates?"</p> + +<p>"Not ten seconds. I shall report you, if you stir from your +post."</p> + +<p>Here the door was opened, and Tim entered with the +whisky.</p> + +<p>"Arrah! by my soul, Tim, and here you are at last—uncork +it, man, and give us a thimbleful—blob! there goes the stopper—here's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +a glass"—smacking his lips—"whist, Tim, another +drop—stuff like this will never hurt a body. Mr. Coates, try +it—no—I thought you'd be a man of more taste."</p> + +<p>"I must limit you to a certain quantity," replied Coates, +"or you will not be fit to keep guard—another glass must be +the extent of your allowance."</p> + +<p>"Another glass! and do you think I'll submit to any such +iniquitous proposition?"</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, gentlemen," said Tim, "but her ladyship +desires me to tell you both, that she trusts you will keep the +strictest watch upon the prisoner. I have the same message +also from Sir Ranulph."</p> + +<p>"Do you hear that?" said Coates.</p> + +<p>"And what are they all about now, Tim?" groaned Titus.</p> + +<p>"Just starting, sir," returned Tim; "and, indeed, I must +not lose my time gossiping here, for I be wanted below. You +must be pleased to take care of yourselves, gentlemen, for an +hour or so, for there will be only a few women-kind left in the +house. The storm's just over, and the men are all lighting +their torches. Oh, it's a grand sight!" And off set +Tim.</p> + +<p>"Bad luck to myself, anyhow," ejaculated Titus; "this is +more than I can bear—I've had enough of this watch and ward +business—if the prisoner stirs, shoot him, if you think proper—I'll +be back in an hour."</p> + +<p>"I tell you what, Mr. Tyrconnel," said Coates, coolly taking +up the pistol from the table, "I'm a man of few words, but +those few are, I hope, to the purpose, and I'd have you to +know if you stir from that chair, or attempt to leave the room, +damme but I'll send a brace of bullets after you. I'm serious, +I assure you." And he cocked the pistol.</p> + +<p>By way of reply to this menace, Titus deliberately filled a +stiff glass of whisky-and-water.</p> + +<p>"That's your last glass," said the inexorable Coates.</p> + +<p>To return once more to Luke. He slept uneasily for some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +short space, and was awakened by a sound which reached his +dreaming ears and connected itself with the visions that +slumber was weaving around him. It was some moments +before he could distinctly remember where he was. He would +not venture to sleep again, though he felt overwhelmed by +drowsiness—there was a fixed pain at his heart, as if circulation +were suspended. Changing his posture, he raised himself +upon one arm; he then became aware of a scratching +noise, somewhat similar to the sound he had heard in his +dream, and perceived a light gleaming through a crevice in the +oaken partition. His attention was immediately arrested, and +placing his eye close to the chink, he distinctly saw a dark lantern +burning, and by its light a man filing some implement of housebreaking. +The light fell before the hard features of the man, +with whose countenance Luke was familiar; and although only +one person came within the scope of his view, Luke could +make out, from a muttered conversation that was carried on, +that he had a companion. The parties were near to him, and +though speaking in a low tone, Luke's quick ear caught the +following:</p> + +<p>"What keeps Jack Palmer, I wonder?" said he of the file. +"We're all ready for the fakement—pops primed—and I tell +you what, Rob Rust, I've made my clasp-knife as sharp as a +razor, and damme, if Lady Rookwood offers any resistance, I'll +spoil her talking in future, I promise you."</p> + +<p>Suppressed laughter from Rust followed this speech. That +laugh made Luke's blood run cold within his veins.</p> + +<p>"Harkee, Dick Wilder, you're a reg'lar out-and-outer, and +stops at nothing, and curse me if I'd think any more of it than +yourself. But Jack's as squeamish of bloodshed as young Miss +that cries at her cut finger. It's the safer plan. Say what you +will, nothing but <i>that</i> will stop a woman's tongue."</p> + +<p>"I shall make short work with her ladyship to-night, anyhow. +Hist! here Jack comes."</p> + +<p>A footstep crossed in the room, and, presently afterwards,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +exclamations of surprise and smothered laughter were heard +from the parties.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Jack! famous! that disguise would deceive the +devil himself."</p> + +<p>"And now, my lads," said the newcomer, "is all right?"</p> + +<p>"Right and tight."</p> + +<p>"Nothing forgotten?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"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, '<i>Sir Piers Rookwood +calls</i>.' We'll overhaul the swag here. This crack may make +us all for life; and if you'll follow my directions implicitly, +we'll do the trick in style. This slum must be our rendezvous +when all's over; for hark ye, my lads, I'll not budge an inch +till Luke Bradley be set free. He's an old friend, and I always +stick by old friends. I'd do the same for one of you if you +were in the same scrape, so, damn you, no flinching; besides, +I owe that spider-shanked, snivelling split-cause Coates, who +stands sentry, a grudge, and I'll pay him off, as Paul did the +Ephesians. You may crop his ears, or slit his tongue as you +would a magpie's, or any other chattering varmint; make him +sign his own testament, or treat him with a touch of your +<i>Habeas Corpus</i> Act, if you think proper, or give him a taste of +blue plumb. One thing only I stipulate, that you don't hurt +that fat, mutton-headed Broganeer, whatever he may say or do; +he's a devilish good fellow. And now to business."</p> + +<p>Saying which, they noiselessly departed. But carefully as +the door was closed, Luke's ear could detect the sound. His +blood boiled with indignation; and he experienced what all +must have felt who have been similarly situated, with the will, +but not the power, to assist another—a sensation almost +approaching to torture. At this moment a distant scream +burst upon his ears—another—he hesitated no longer. With +all his force he thundered at the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you want, rascal?" cried Coates, from without.</p> + +<p>"There are robbers in the house."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for the information. There is one I know of +already."</p> + +<p>"Fool, they are in Lady Rookwood's room. Run to her +assistance."</p> + +<p>"A likely story, and leave you here."</p> + +<p>"Do you hear that scream?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, what—what's that? I do hear something." +Here Luke dashed with all his force against the door. It +yielded to the blow, and he stood before the astonished attorney.</p> + +<p>"Advance a footstep, villain," exclaimed Coates, presenting +both his pistols, "and I lodge a brace of balls in your head."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," said Luke; "the robbers are in Lady Rookwood's +chamber—they will plunder the place of everything—perhaps +murder her. Fly to her assistance, I will accompany +you—assist you—it is your only chance."</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> only chance—<i>your</i> only chance. Do you take me for +a greenhorn? This is a poor subterfuge; could you not have +vamped up something better? Get back to your own room, +or I shall make no more of shooting you than I would of +snuffing that candle."</p> + +<p>"Be advised, sir," continued Luke. "There are three of +them—give me a pistol, and fear nothing."</p> + +<p>"Give <i>you</i> a pistol! Ha, ha!—to be its mark myself. +You are an amusing rascal, I will say."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I tell you not a moment is to be lost. Is life nothing? +Lady Rookwood may be murdered."</p> + +<p>"I tell <i>you</i>, once for all, it won't do. Go back to your +room, or take the consequences."</p> + +<p>"By the powers! but it shall do, anyhow," exclaimed Titus, +flinging himself upon the attorney, and holding both his arms; +"you've bullied me long enough. I'm sure the lad's in the +right."</p> + +<p>Luke snatched the pistols from the hands of Coates.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well, Mr. Tyrconnel; very well, sir," cried the +attorney, boiling with wrath, and spluttering out his words. +"Extremely well, sir. You are not perhaps aware, sir, what +you have done; but you will repent this, sir—repent, I say—repent +was my word, Mr. Tyrconnel."</p> + +<p>"Poh!—poh!" replied Titus. "I shall never repent a +good-natured action."</p> + +<p>"Follow me," cried Luke; "settle your disputes hereafter. +Quick, or we shall be too late."</p> + +<p>Coates bustled after him, and Titus, putting the neck of the +forbidden whisky bottle to his lips, and gulping down a hasty +mouthful, snatched up a rusty poker, and followed the party +with more alacrity than might have been expected from so +portly a personage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI2" id="CHAPTER_VI2"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE APPARITION</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Gibbet.</i> Well, gentlemen, 'tis a fine night for our enterprise.</p> + +<p><i>Hounslow.</i> Dark as hell.</p> + +<p><i>Bagshot.</i> And blows like the devil.</p> + +<p><i>Boniface.</i> You'll have no creature to deal with but the ladies.</p> + +<p><i>Gibbet.</i> 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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Beaux Stratagem.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Accompanied by her son, Lady Rookwood, on quitting the +chamber of the dead, returned to her own room. She then +renewed all her arguments; had recourse to passionate supplications—to +violent threats, but without effect. Ranulph maintained +profound silence. Passion, as it ever doth, defeated its +own ends; and Lady Rookwood, seeing the ill effect her anger +would probably produce, gradually softened the asperity of her +manner, and suffered him to depart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>Left to herself, and to the communings of her own troubled +spirit, her fortitude, in a measure, forsook her, under the +pressure of the difficulties by which she was environed. There +was no plan she could devise—no scheme adopt, unattended +with peril. She must act alone—with promptitude and secrecy. +To win her son over was her chief desire, and that, at all +hazards, she was resolved to do. But how? She knew of only +one point on which he was vulnerable—his love for Eleanor +Mowbray. By raising doubts in his mind, and placing fresh +difficulties in his path, she might compel him to acquiesce in her +machinations, as a necessary means of accomplishing his own +object. This she hoped to effect. Still there was a depth of +resolution in the placid stream of Ranulph's character which +she had often noticed with apprehension. Aware of his firmness, +she dreaded lest his sense of justice should be stronger +than his passion.</p> + +<p>As she wove these webs of darkness, fear, hitherto unknown, +took possession of her soul. She listened to the howling of +the wind—to the vibration of the rafters—to the thunder's +roar, and to the hissing rain—till she, who never trembled at +the thought of danger, became filled with vague uneasiness. +Lights were ordered; and when her old attendant returned. +Lady Rookwood fixed a look so wistful upon her, that Agnes +ventured to address her.</p> + +<p>"Bless you, my lady," said the ancient handmaiden, trembling, +"you look very pale, and no wonder. I feel sick at heart, +too. Oh! I shall be glad when they return from the church, +and happier still when the morning dawns. I can't sleep a +wink—can't close my eyes, but I think of him."</p> + +<p>"Of <i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Of Sir Piers, my lady; for though he's dead, I don't think +he's gone."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Why, my lady, the corruptible part of him's gone, sure +enough. But the incorruptible, as Dr. Small calls it—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +sperrit, my lady. It might be my fancy, your ladyship; but +as I'm standing here, when I went back into the room just +now for the lights, as I hope to live, I thought I saw Sir Piers +in the room."</p> + +<p>"You are crazed, Agnes."</p> + +<p>"No, my lady, I'm not crazed; it was mere fancy, no doubt. +Oh, it's a blessed thing to live with an easy conscience—a +thrice blessed thing to <i>die</i> with an easy one, and that's what I +never shall, I'm afeard. Poor Sir Piers! I'd mumble a prayer +for him, if I durst."</p> + +<p>"Leave me," said Lady Rookwood, impatiently.</p> + +<p>And Agnes quitted the room.</p> + +<p>"What if the dead can return?" thought Lady Rookwood. +"All men doubt it, yet all men believe it. <i>I</i> would not believe +it, were there not a creeping horror that overmasters me, when +I think of the state beyond the grave—that intermediate state, +for such it must be, when the body lieth mouldering in the +ground, and the soul survives, to wander, unconfined, until the +hour of doom. And doth the soul survive when disenthralled? +Is it dependent on the body? Does it perish with the body? +These are doubts I cannot resolve. But if I deemed there +was no future state, this hand should at once liberate me from +my own weaknesses—my fears—my life. There is but one +path to acquire that knowledge, which, once taken, can never +be retraced. I am content to live—while living, to be feared—it +may be, hated; when dead, to be contemned—yet still remembered. +Ha! what sound was that? A stifled scream! +Agnes!—without there! She is full of fears. I am not free +from them myself, but I will shake them off. This will divert +their channel," continued she, drawing from her bosom the +marriage certificate. "This will arouse the torpid current of +my blood—'<i>Piers Rookwood to Susan Bradley</i>.' And by +whom was it solemnized? The name is Checkley—Richard +Checkley. Ha! I bethink me—a Papist priest—a recusant—who +was for some time an inmate of the hall. I have heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +of this man—he was afterwards imprisoned, but escaped—he +is either dead or in a foreign land. No witnesses—'tis well! +Methinks Sir Piers Rookwood did well to preserve this. It +shall light his funeral pyre. Would he could now behold me, +as I consume it!"</p> + +<p>She held the paper in the direction of the candle; but, ere +it could touch the flame, it dropped from her hand. As if her +horrible wish had been granted, before her stood the figure +of her husband! Lady Rookwood started not. No sign of +trepidation or alarm, save the sudden stiffening of her form, +was betrayed. Her bosom ceased to palpitate—her respiration +stopped—her eyes were fixed upon the apparition.</p> + +<p>The figure appeared to regard her sternly. It was at some +little distance, within the shade cast by the lofty bedstead. +Still she could distinctly discern it. There was no ocular +deception; it was attired in the costume Sir Piers was wont to +wear—a hunting dress. All that her son had told her rushed +to her recollection. The phantom advanced. Its countenance +was pale, and wore a gloomy frown.</p> + +<p>"What would you destroy?" demanded the apparition, in +a hollow tone.</p> + +<p>"The evidence of——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Your marriage."</p> + +<p>"With yourself, accursed woman?"</p> + +<p>"With Susan Bradley."</p> + +<p>"What's that I hear?" shouted the figure, in an altered +tone. "Married to her! then Luke <i>is</i> legitimate, and heir to +this estate!" Whereupon the apparition rushed to the table, +and laid a very substantial grasp upon the document. "A +marriage certificate!" ejaculated the spectre; "here's a piece +of luck! It ain't often in our lottery life we draw a prize like +this. One way or the other, it must turn up a few cool thousands."</p> + +<p>"Restore that paper, villain," exclaimed Lady Rookwood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +recovering all the audacity natural to her character the instant +she discovered the earthly nature of the intruder—"restore it, +or, by Heaven, you shall rue your temerity."</p> + +<p>"Softly, softly," replied the pseudo-phantom, with one hand +pushing back the lady, while the other conveyed the precious +document to the custody of his nether man—"softly," said he, +giving the buckskin pocket a slap—"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's but +a poor auctioneer that knocks down his ware when only one +bidder is present. Luke Bradley, or, as I find he now is, Sir +Luke Rookwood, may come down more handsomely."</p> + +<p>"Who are you, ruffian, and to what end is this masquerade +assumed? If for the purpose of terrifying me into compliance +with the schemes of that madman, Luke Bradley, whom I presume +to be your confederate, your labor is misspent—your +stolen disguise has no more weight with me than his forged +claims."</p> + +<p>"Forged claims! Egad, he must be a clever hand to have +forged that certificate. Your ladyship, however, is in error. +Sir Luke Rookwood is no associate of mine; I am his late +father's friend. But I have no time to bandy talk. What +money have you in the house? Be alive."</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> a robber, then?"</p> + +<p>"Not I. I'm a tax-gatherer—a collector of Rich-Rates—ha, +ha! What plate have you got? Nay, don't be alarmed—take +it quietly—these things can't be helped—better make +up your mind to do it without more ado—much the best plan—no +screaming, it may injure your lungs, and can alarm nobody. +Your maids have done as much before—it's beneath +your dignity 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 of pistols at the same time.</p> + +<p>"Agnes!" shrieked Lady Rookwood, now seriously alarmed.</p> + +<p>"I must caution your ladyship to be silent," said the robber,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +who, as our readers will no doubt have already conjectured, +was no other than the redoubted Jack Palmer. "Agnes +is already disposed of," said he, cocking a pistol. "However +like your deceased 'lord and master' I may appear, you will +find you have got a very different spirit from that of Sir Piers +to deal with. I am naturally the politest man breathing—have +been accounted the best-bred man on the road by every lady +whom I have had the honor of addressing; and I should be +sorry to sully my well-earned reputation by anything like rudeness. +I must use a little force, of the gentlest kind. Perhaps +you will permit me to hand you to a chair. Bless me! what +a wrist your ladyship has got. Excuse me if I hurt you, but +you are so devilish strong. What ho! 'Sir Piers Rookwood +calls—'"</p> + +<p>"Ready," cried a voice.</p> + +<p>"That's the word," rejoined another; "ready;" and immediately +two men, their features entirely hidden by a shroud of +black crape, accoutred in rough attire, and each armed with +pistols, rushed into the room.</p> + +<p>"Lend a hand," said Jack.</p> + +<p>Even in this perilous extremity Lady Rookwood's courage +did not desert her. Anticipating their purpose, ere her assailants +could reach her she extricated herself from Palmer's grasp, +and rushed upon the foremost so unexpectedly, that, before the +man could seize her, she snatched a pistol from his hand, and +presented it at the group with an aspect like that of a tigress +at bay—her eye wandering from one to the other, as if selecting +a mark.</p> + +<p>There was a pause of a few seconds, in which the men +glanced at the lady, and then at their leader. Jack looked +blank.</p> + +<p>"Hem!" said he, coolly; "this is something new—disarmed—defied +by a petticoat. Hark ye, Rob Rust, the disgrace +rests with you. Clear your character, by securing her at once. +What! afraid of a woman?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You are a coward," cried Jack. "I will steer clear of +blood—if I can help it. Come, madam, surrender, like the +more sensible part of your sex, at discretion. You will find +resistance of no avail." And he stepped boldly towards her.</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood pulled the trigger. The pistol flashed in +the pan. She flung away the useless weapon without a +word.</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" said Jack, as he leisurely stooped to pick up the +pistol, and approached her ladyship; "the bullet is not yet +cast that is to be my billet. Here," said he, dealing Rust a +heavy thump upon the shoulder with the butt-end of the piece, +"take back your snapper, and look you prick the touchhole, +or your barking-iron will never bite for you. And now, madam, +I must take the liberty of again handing you to a seat. Dick +Wilder, the cord—quick. It distresses me to proceed to such +lengths with your ladyship—but safe bind, safe find, as Mr. +Coates would say."</p> + +<p>"You will not bind me, ruffian."</p> + +<p>"Your ladyship is very much mistaken—I have no alternative—your +ladyship's wrist is far too dexterous to be at liberty. +I must furthermore request of your ladyship to be less vociferous—you +interrupt business, which should be transacted with +silence and deliberation."</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood's rage and vexation at this indignity were +beyond all bounds. Resistance, however, was useless, and she +submitted in silence. The cord was passed tightly round her +arms, when it flashed upon her recollection for the first time +that Coates and Tyrconnel, who were in charge of her captive +in the lower corridor, might be summoned to her assistance. +This idea no sooner crossed her mind than she uttered a loud +and prolonged scream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Sdeath!" cried Jack; "civility is wasted here. Give me +the gag, Rob."</p> + +<p>"Better slit her squeaking-pipe at once," replied Rust, +drawing his clasped knife; "she'll thwart everything."</p> + +<p>"The gag, I say, not <i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>"I can't find the gag," exclaimed Wilder, savagely. +"Leave Rob Rust to manage her—he'll silence her, I warrant +you, while you and I rummage the room."</p> + +<p>"Ay, leave her to me," said the other miscreant. "Go +about your business, and take no heed. Her hands are fast—she +can't scratch. I'll do it with a single gash—send her to +join her lord, whom she loved so well, before he's under ground. +They'll have something to see when they come home from the +master's funeral—their mistress <i>cut and dry</i> for another. Ho, +ho!"</p> + +<p>"Mercy, mercy!" shrieked Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, I'll be merciful," said Rust, brandishing his knife +before her eyes. "I'll not be long about it. Leave her to +me—I'll give her a taste of Sir Sydney."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Rust; no bloodshed," said Jack, authoritatively; +"I'll find some other way to gag the jade."</p> + +<p>At this moment a noise of rapid footsteps was heard within +the passage.</p> + +<p>"Assistance comes," screamed Lady Rookwood. "Help! +help!"</p> + +<p>"To the door!" cried Jack. The words were scarcely out +of his mouth before Luke dashed into the room, followed by +Coates and Tyrconnel.</p> + +<p>Palmer and his companions levelled their pistols at the intruders, +and the latter would have fired, but Jack's keen eye +having discerned Luke amongst the foremost, checked further +hostilities for the present. Lady Rookwood, meanwhile, finding +herself free from restraint, rushed towards her deliverers, +and crouched beneath Luke's protecting arms, which were extended, +pistol in hand, over her head. Behind them stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +Titus Tyrconnel, flourishing the poker, and Mr. Coates, who, +upon the sight of so much warlike preparation, began somewhat +to repent having rushed so precipitately into the lion's +den.</p> + +<p>"Luke Bradley!" exclaimed Palmer, stepping forward.</p> + +<p>"Luke Bradley!" echoed Lady Rookwood, recoiling and +staring into his face.</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing, madam," cried Luke. "I am here to assist +you—I will defend you with my life."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> defend <i>me</i>!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Even <i>I</i>," cried Luke, "strange as it may sound."</p> + +<p>"Holy powers protect me!" ejaculated Titus. "As I live, +it is Sir Piers himself."</p> + +<p>"Sir Piers!" echoed Coates, catching the infection of terror, +as he perceived Palmer more distinctly. "What! is the dead +come to life again? A ghost, a ghost!"</p> + +<p>"By my soul," cried Titus, "it's the first ghost I ever heard +of that committed a burglary in its own house, and on the +night of the body's burial, too. But who the devil are these? +maybe they're ghosts likewise."</p> + +<p>"They are," said Palmer, in a hollow tone, mimicking the +voice of Sir Piers, "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."</p> + +<p>"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 his old scores with his lady. I thought it +would come to this long ago. We'd best beat a retreat."</p> + +<p>Jack took advantage of the momentary confusion created by +this incidental alarm at his disguise to direct Rust towards the +door by which the new comers had entered; and, this being +accomplished, he burst into a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>"What! not know me?" cried he—"not know your old +friend with a new face, Luke? Nor you, Titus? Nor you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +who can see through a millstone, lawyer Coates, don't you recognize——"</p> + +<p>"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 such company? You're not robbing in +earnest?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed but I am, friend Titus," exclaimed Jack; "and <i>it +is</i> my own self you see. I just took the liberty of borrowing +Sir Piers's old hunting-coat from the justice-room. You said +my toggery wouldn't do for the funeral. I'm no other than +plain Jack Palmer, after all."</p> + +<p>"With half a dozen aliases at your back, I dare say," cried +Coates. "<i>I</i> suspected you all along. All your praise of highwaymen +was not lost upon me. No, no; I <i>can</i> see into a +millstone, be it ever so thick."</p> + +<p>"Well," replied Jack, "I'm sorry to see you here, friend +Titus. Keep quiet, and you shall come to no harm. As to +you, Luke Bradley, you have anticipated my intention by half +an hour; I meant to set you free. For you, Mr. Coates, you +may commit all future care of your affairs to your executors, +administrators, and assigns. You will have no further need to +trouble yourself with worldly concerns," added he, levelling a +pistol at the attorney, who, however, shielded himself, in an +agony of apprehension, behind Luke's person. "Stand aside, +Luke."</p> + +<p>"I stir not," replied Luke. "I thank you for your good +intention, and will not injure you—that is, if you do not force +me to do so. I am here to defend her ladyship."</p> + +<p>"What's that you say?" returned Jack, in surprise—"<i>defend</i> +her ladyship?"</p> + +<p>"With my life," replied Luke. "Let me counsel you to depart."</p> + +<p>"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."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You had better consider well ere you proceed," said Luke. +"You know me of old. I have taken odds as great, and +not come off the vanquished."</p> + +<p>"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 your father, though on the wrong side. Och! +Jack Palmer, my jewel, no wonder you resemble Dick Turpin."</p> + +<p>"You hear this?" cried Luke.</p> + +<p>"Hot-headed fool!" muttered Jack.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you shoot him on the spot?" said Wilder.</p> + +<p>"And mar my own chance," thought Jack. "No, that will +never do; his life is 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 the plunder here. No harm must +come to that youngster; his life is worth thousands to us." +Then, turning to Luke, he continued, "I'm loth to hurt you; +yet what can I do? You must have the worst of it if we come +to a pitched battle. I therefore advise you, as a friend, to +draw off your forces. We are three to three, it is true; but +two of <i>your</i> party are unarmed."</p> + +<p>"Unarmed!" interrupted Titus. "Devil burn me! this +iron shillelah shall convince you to the contrary, Jack, or any +of your friends."</p> + +<p>"Make ready then, my lads," cried Palmer.</p> + +<p>"Stop a minute," exclaimed Coates. "This gets serious; it +will end in homicide—in murder. We shall all have our +throats cut to a certainty; and though these rascals will as +certainly be hanged for it, that will be poor satisfaction to the +sufferers. Had we not better refer the matter to arbitration?"</p> + +<p>"I'm for fighting it out," said Titus, whisking the poker +round his head like a flail in action. "My blood's up. Come +on, Jack Palmer, I'm for you."</p> + +<p>"I should vote for retreating," chattered the attorney, "if +that cursed fellow had not placed a <i>ne exeat</i> at the door."</p> + +<p>"Give the word, captain," cried Rust, impatiently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ay, ay," echoed Wilder.</p> + +<p>"A skilful general always parleys," said Jack. "A word in +your ear, Luke, ere that be done which cannot be undone."</p> + +<p>"You mean me no treachery?" returned Luke.</p> + +<p>Jack made no answer, but uncocking his pistols, deposited +them within his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Shoot him as he advances," whispered Coates; "he is in +your power now."</p> + +<p>"Scoundrel!" replied Luke, "do you think me as base as +yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush! for God's sake don't expose me," said +Coates.</p> + +<p>Lady Rookwood had apparently listened to this singular +conference with sullen composure, though in reality she was +racked with anxiety as to its results; and, now apprehending +that Palmer was about to make an immediate disclosure to +Luke, she accosted him as he passed her.</p> + +<p>"Unbind me!" cried she, "and what you wish shall be +yours—money—jewels——"</p> + +<p>"Ha! may I depend?"</p> + +<p>"I pledge my word."</p> + +<p>Palmer untied the cord, and Lady Rookwood, approaching +a table whereon stood the escritoire, touched a spring, and a +secret drawer flew open.</p> + +<p>"You do this of your own free will?" asked Luke. "Speak, +if it be otherwise."</p> + +<p>"I do," returned the lady, hastily.</p> + +<p>Palmer's eyes glistened at the treasures exposed to his +view.</p> + +<p>"They are jewels of countless price. Take them, and rid +me," she added in a whisper, "of <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"Luke Bradley?"</p> + +<p>"Ay."</p> + +<p>"Give them to me."</p> + +<p>"They are yours freely on those terms."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You hear that, Luke," cried he, aloud; "you hear it, Titus; +this is no robbery. Mr. Coates—'Know all men by these +<i>presents</i>'—I call you to witness, Lady Rookwood gives me +these pretty things."</p> + +<p>"I do," returned she; adding, in a whisper, "on the terms +which I proposed."</p> + +<p>"Must it be done at once?"</p> + +<p>"Without an instant's delay."</p> + +<p>"Before your own eyes?"</p> + +<p>"I fear not to look on. Each moment is precious. He is +off his guard now. You do it, you know, in self-defence."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"For the same cause."</p> + +<p>"Yet he came here to aid you?"</p> + +<p>"What of that?"</p> + +<p>"He would have risked his life for yours?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot pay back the obligation. He must die!"</p> + +<p>"The document?"</p> + +<p>"Will be useless then."</p> + +<p>"Will not that suffice; why aim at life?"</p> + +<p>"You trifle with me. You fear to do it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Fear!</i>"</p> + +<p>"About it, then; you shall have more gold."</p> + +<p>"I will about it," cried Jack, throwing the casket to Wilder, +and seizing Lady Rookwood's hands. "I am no Italian bravo, +madam—no assassin—no remorseless cut-throat. What are +you—devil or woman—who ask me to do this? Luke Bradley, +I say."</p> + +<p>"Would you betray me?" cried Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"You have betrayed yourself, madam. Nay, nay, Luke, +hands off. See, Lady Rookwood, how you would treat a friend. +This strange fellow would blow out my brains for laying a finger +upon your ladyship."</p> + +<p>"I will suffer no injury to be done to her," said Luke; +"release her."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your ladyship hears him," said Jack. "And you, Luke, +shall learn the value set upon your generosity. You will not +have <i>her</i> injured. This instant she has proposed, nay, paid +for <i>your</i> assassination."</p> + +<p>"How?" exclaimed Luke, recoiling.</p> + +<p>"A lie, as black as hell," cried Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"A truth, as clear as heaven," retained Jack. "I will +speedily convince you of the fact." Then, turning to Lady +Rookwood, he whispered, "Shall I give him the marriage +document?"</p> + +<p>"Beware!" said Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"Do I avouch the truth, then?"</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"I am answered," said Luke.</p> + +<p>"Then leave her to her fate," cried Jack.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Luke; "she is still a woman, and I will not +abandon her to ruffianly violence. Set her free."</p> + +<p>"You are a fool," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah, hurrah!" vociferated Coates, who had rushed to +the window. "Rescue, rescue! they are returning from the +church; I see the torchlight in the avenue; we are saved!"</p> + +<p>"Hell and the devil!" cried Jack; "not an instant is to be +lost. Alive, lads; bring off all the plunder you can; be +handy!"</p> + +<p>"Lady Rookwood, I bid you farewell," said Luke, in a tone in +which scorn and sorrow were blended. "We shall meet again."</p> + +<p>"We have not parted yet," returned she; "will you let this +man pass? A thousand pounds for his life."</p> + +<p>"Upon the nail?" asked Rust.</p> + +<p>"By the living God, if any of you attempt to touch him, I +will blow his brains out upon the spot, be he friend or foe," +cried Jack. "Luke Bradley, <i>we</i> shall meet again. You shall +hear from me."</p> + +<p>"Lady Rookwood," said Luke, as he departed, "I shall not +forget this night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is all ready?" asked Palmer of his comrades.</p> + +<p>"All."</p> + +<p>"Then budge."</p> + +<p>"Stay!" cried Lady Rookwood, in a whisper to him. +"What will purchase that document?"</p> + +<p>"Hem!"</p> + +<p>"A thousand pounds?"</p> + +<p>"Double it."</p> + +<p>"It <i>shall</i> be doubled."</p> + +<p>"I will turn it over."</p> + +<p>"Resolve me now."</p> + +<p>"You shall hear from me."</p> + +<p>"In what manner?"</p> + +<p>"I will find speedy means."</p> + +<p>"Your name is Palmer?"</p> + +<p>"Palmer is the name he goes by, your ladyship," replied +Coates, "but it is the fashion with these rascals to have an +alias."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" said Jack, thrusting the ramrod into his pistol-barrel, +"are you there, Mr. Coates? Pay your wager, sir."</p> + +<p>"What wager?"</p> + +<p>"The hundred we bet that you would take me if ever you +had the chance."</p> + +<p>"Take <i>you</i>!—it was Dick Turpin I betted to take."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> am <span class="smcap">Dick Turpin</span>—that's my alias!" replied Jack.</p> + +<p>"Dick Turpin! then I'll have a snap at you at all hazards," +cried Coates, springing suddenly towards him.</p> + +<p>"And I at you," said Turpin, discharging his pistol right in +the face of the rash attorney; "there's a quittance in full."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III</h2> + + +<h3>THE GIPSY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 15em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lay a garland on my hearse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the dismal yew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maidens, willow branches bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say I died true.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love was false, but I was firm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From my hour of birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon my buried body lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lightly, gentle earth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Beaumont and Fletcher.</span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I3" id="CHAPTER_I3"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>A MORNING RIDE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I had a sister, who among the race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gipsies was the fairest. Fair she was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gentle blood, and gesture to her beauty.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Brome.</span></p></div> + + +<p>On quitting Lady Rookwood's chamber, Luke speeded +along the gloomy corridor, descended the spiral stairs, and, +swiftly traversing sundry other dark passages, issued from a +door at the back of the house. Day was just beginning to +break. His first object had been to furnish himself with means +to expedite his flight; and, perceiving no one in the yard, he +directed his hasty steps towards the stable. The door was +fortunately 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. The animal roused himself as he +approached, shook his glossy coat, and neighed, as if he recognized +the footsteps and voice.</p> + +<p>"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 bearest my father's son as thou hast borne thy +old master, o'er many a field for many a day, he need not fear +the best mounted of his pursuers. Soho! come hither, Rook."</p> + +<p>The noble steed turned at the call. Luke hastily saddled +him, vaulted upon his back, and, disregarding every impediment +in the shape of fence or ditch, shaped his course across +the field towards the sexton's cottage, which he reached just +as its owner was in the act of unlocking his door. Peter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +testified his delight and surprise at the escape of his grandson, +by a greeting of chuckling laughter.</p> + +<p>"How?—escaped!" exclaimed he. "Who has delivered +you from the hands of the Moabites? Ha, ha! But why do +I ask? Who could it have been but Jack Palmer?"</p> + +<p>"My own hands have set me free," returned Luke. "I am +indebted to no man for liberty; still less to <i>him</i>. But I cannot +tarry here; each moment is precious. I came to request +you to accompany me to the gipsy encampment. Will you go, +or not?"</p> + +<p>"And mount behind you?" replied Peter; "I like not the +manner of conveyance."</p> + +<p>"Farewell, then." And Luke turned to depart.</p> + +<p>"Stay; that is Sir Piers's horse, old Rook. I care not if I +do ride him."</p> + +<p>"Quick, then; mount."</p> + +<p>"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 nigh this stone, grandson Luke—there—a +little nearer—all's right." And away they galloped.</p> + +<p>The sexton's first inquiries were directed to ascertain how +Luke had accomplished his escape; and, having satisfied himself +in this particular, he was content to remain silent; musing, +it might be, on the incidents detailed to him.</p> + +<p>The road Luke chose was a rough, unfrequented lane, that +skirted, for nearly a mile, the moss-grown palings of the park. +It then diverged to the right, and seemed to bear towards a +range of hills rising in the distance. High hedges impeded +the view on either hand; but there were occasional gaps, affording +glimpses of the tract of country through which he was +riding. Meadows were seen steaming with heavy dews, intersected +by a deep channelled stream, whose course was marked +by a hanging cloud of vapor, as well as by a row of melancholy +pollard-willows, that stood like stripped, shivering urchins by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +the river side. Other fields succeeded, yellow with golden +grain, or bright with flowering clover—the autumnal crop—colored +with every shade, from the light green of the turnip to +the darker verdure of the bean, the various products of the +teeming land. The whole was backed by round drowsy masses +of trees.</p> + +<p>Luke spoke not, nor abated his furious course, till the road +began to climb a steep ascent. He then drew in the rein, and +from the heights of the acclivity surveyed the plain over which +he had passed.</p> + +<p>It was a rich agricultural district, with little picturesque +beauty, but much of true English endearing loveliness to +recommend it. Such a quiet, pleasing landscape, in short, as +one views, at such a season of the year, from every eminence +in every county of our merry isle. The picture was made up +of a tract of land filled with corn ripe for the sickle, or studded +with sheaves of the same golden produce, enlivened with green +meadows, so deeply luxuriant as to claim the scythe for the +second time; each divided from the other by thick hedgerows, +the uniformity of which was broken ever and anon by some +towering elm, tall poplar, or wide-branching oak. Many old +farmhouses, with their broad barns and crowded haystacks—forming +little villages in themselves—ornamented the landscape +at different points, and by their substantial look evidenced +the fertility of the soil, and the thriving condition of its inhabitants. +Some three miles distant might be seen the scattered +hamlet of Rookwood; the dark russet thatch of its houses +scarcely perceptible amidst the embrowned foliage of the +surrounding timber. The site of the village was, however, +pointed out by the square tower of the antique church, that +crested the summit of the adjoining hill; and although the +hall was entirely hidden from view, Luke readily traced out its +locality amidst the depths of the dark grove in which it was +embosomed.</p> + +<p>This goodly prospect had other claims to attention in Luke's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +eyes besides its agricultural or pictorial merit. It was, or he +deemed it was, his own. Far as his eye ranged, yea, even beyond +the line of vision, the estates of Rookwood extended.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that house below us in the valley?" asked +Peter of his companion.</p> + +<p>"I do," replied Luke; "a snug old house—a model of a +farm. Everything looks comfortable and well to do about it. +There are a dozen lusty haystacks, or thereabouts; and the +great barn, with its roof yellowed like gold, looks built for a +granary; and there are stables, kine-houses, orchards, dovecots, +and fishponds, and an old circular garden, with wall-fruit +in abundance. He should be a happy man, and a wealthy one, +who dwells therein."</p> + +<p>"He dwells therein no longer," returned Peter; "he died +last night."</p> + +<p>"How know you that? None are stirring in the house as +yet."</p> + +<p>"The owner of that house, Simon Toft," replied Peter, +"was last night struck by a thunderbolt. He was one of the +coffin-bearers at your father's funeral. They are sleeping within +the house, you say. 'Tis well. Let them sleep on—they +will awaken too soon, wake when they may—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Peace!" cried Luke; "you blight everything—even this +smiling landscape you would turn to gloom. Does not this +morn awaken a happier train of thoughts within your mind? +With me it makes amends for want of sleep, effaces resentment, +and banishes every black misgiving. 'Tis a joyous thing +thus to scour the country at earliest dawn; to catch all the +spirit and freshness of the morning; to be abroad before the +lazy world is half awake; to make the most of a brief existence; +and to have spent a day of keen enjoyment, almost before the +day begins with some. I like to anticipate the rising of the +glorious luminary; to watch every line of light changing, as at +this moment, from shuddering gray to blushing rose! See how +the heavens are dyed! Who would exchange yon gorgeous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +spectacle," continued he, pointing towards the east, and again +urging his horse to full speed down the hill, endangering +the sexton's seat, and threatening to impale him upon the +crupper of the saddle—"who would exchange that sight, and +the exhilarating feeling of this fresh morn, for a couch of eiderdown, +and a headache in reversion?"</p> + +<p>"I for one," returned the sexton, sharply, "would willingly +exchange it for that, or any other couch, provided it rid me of +this accursed crupper, which galls me sorely. Moderate your +pace, grandson Luke, or I must throw myself off the horse in +self-defence."</p> + +<p>Luke slackened his charger's pace, in compliance with the +sexton's wish.</p> + +<p>"Ah! well," continued Peter, restored in a measure to comfort; +"now I can contemplate the sunrise, which you laud, +somewhat at mine ease. 'Tis a fine sight, I doubt not, to the +eyes of youth; and, to the sanguine soul of him upon whom +life itself is dawning, is, I dare say, inspiriting: but when the +heyday of existence is past; when the blood flows sluggishly +in the veins; when one has known the desolating storms which +the brightest sunrise has preceded, the seared heart refuses to +trust its false glitter; and, like the experienced sailor, sees oft +in the brightest skies a forecast of the tempest. To such a +one, there can be no new dawn of the heart; no sun can gild +its cold and cheerless horizon; no breeze can revive pulses +that have long since ceased to throb with any chance emotion. +I am too old to feel freshness in this nipping air. It chills me +more than the damps of night, to which I am accustomed. +Night—midnight! is my season of delight. Nature is instinct +then with secrets dark and dread. There is a language which +he who sleepeth not, but will wake, and watch, may haply +learn. Strange organs of speech hath the invisible world; +strange language doth it talk; strange communion hold with +him who would pry into its mysteries. It talks by bat and +owl—by the grave-worm, and by each crawling thing—by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +dust of graves, as well as by those that rot therein—but ever +doth it discourse by night, and specially when the moon is at +the full. 'Tis the lore I have then learned that makes that season +dear to me. Like your cat, mine eye expands in darkness. +I blink at the sunshine, like your owl."</p> + +<p>"Cease this forbidding strain," returned Luke; "it sounds +as harshly as your own screech-owl's cry. Let your thoughts +take a more sprightly turn, more in unison with my own and +the fair aspect of nature."</p> + +<p>"Shall I direct them to the gipsies' camp, then?" said +Peter, with a sneer. "Do your own thoughts tend thither?"</p> + +<p>"You are not altogether in the wrong," replied Luke. "I +<i>was</i> thinking of the gipsies' camp, and of one who dwells +amongst its tents."</p> + +<p>"I knew it," replied Peter. "Did you hope to deceive me +by attributing all your joyousness of heart to the dawn? Your +thoughts have been wandering all this while upon one who +hath, I will engage, a pair of sloe-black eyes, an olive skin, +and yet withal a clear one—'black, yet comely, as the tents of +Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon'—a mesh of jetty hair, that +hath entangled you in its network—ripe lips, and a cunning +tongue—one of the plagues of Egypt.—Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"You have guessed shrewdly," replied Luke; "I care not +to own that my thoughts were so occupied."</p> + +<p>"I was assured of it," replied the sexton. "And what may +be the name of her towards whom your imagination was +straying?"</p> + +<p>"Sibila Perez," replied Luke. "Her father was a Spanish +Gitano. She is known amongst her people by her mother's +name of Lovel."</p> + +<p>"She is beautiful, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, very beautiful!—but no matter! You shall judge of +her charms anon."</p> + +<p>"I will take your word for them," returned the sexton; "and +you love her?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Passionately."</p> + +<p>"You are not married?" asked Peter, hastily.</p> + +<p>"Not as yet," replied Luke; "but my faith is plighted."</p> + +<p>"Heaven be praised! The mischief is not then irreparable. +I would have you married—though not to a gipsy girl."</p> + +<p>"And whom would you select?"</p> + +<p>"One before whom Sybil's beauty would pale as stars at +day's approach."</p> + +<p>"There lives not such a one."</p> + +<p>"Trust me there does. Eleanor Mowbray is lovely beyond +parallel. I was merely speculating upon a possibility when I +wished her yours—it is scarcely likely she would cast her eyes +upon you."</p> + +<p>"I shall not heed her neglect. Graced with my title, I +doubt not, were it my pleasure to seek a bride amongst those +of gentle blood, I should not find all indifferent to my +suit."</p> + +<p>"Possibly not. Yet what might weigh with others, would +not weigh with her. There are qualities you lack which she +has discovered in another."</p> + +<p>"In whom?"</p> + +<p>"In Ranulph Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"Is <i>he</i> her suitor?"</p> + +<p>"I have reason to think so."</p> + +<p>"And you would have me abandon my own betrothed love, +to beguile from my brother his destined bride? That were to +imitate the conduct of my grandsire, the terrible Sir Reginald, +towards <i>his</i> brother Alan."</p> + +<p>The sexton answered not, and Luke fancied he could perceive +a quivering in the hands that grasped his body for support. +There was a brief pause in their conversation.</p> + +<p>"And who is Eleanor Mowbray?" asked Luke, breaking +the silence.</p> + +<p>"Your cousin. On the mother's side a Rookwood. 'Tis +therefore I would urge your union with her. There is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +prophecy relating to your house, which seems as though it +would be fulfilled in your person and in hers:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 32em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<big><b><i><span class="i0">When the stray Rook shall perch on the topmost bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There shall be clamor and screaming, I trow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of right, and of rule, of the ancient nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rook that with Rook mates shall hold him possest."<br /></span></i></b></big> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"I place no faith in such fantasies," replied Luke; "and +yet the lines bear strangely upon my present situation."</p> + +<p>"Their application to yourself and Eleanor Mowbray is unquestionable," +replied the sexton.</p> + +<p>"It would seem so, indeed," rejoined Luke; and he again +sank into abstraction, from which the sexton did not care to +arouse him.</p> + +<p>The aspect of the country had materially changed since +their descent of the hill. In place of the richly-cultivated +district which lay on the other side, a broad brown tract of +waste land spread out before them, covered with scattered +patches of gorse, stunted fern, and low brushwood, presenting +an unvaried surface of unbaked turf. The shallow coat of sod +was manifested by the stones that clattered under the horse's +hoofs as he rapidly traversed the arid soil, clearing with ease +to himself, though not without discomfort to the sexton, every +gravelly trench, natural chasm, or other inequality of ground +that occurred in his course. Clinging to his grandson with +the tenacity of a bird of prey, Peter for some time kept his +station in security; but, unluckily, at one dike rather wider +than the rest, the horse, owing possibly to the mismanagement, +intentional or otherwise, of Luke, swerved; and the sexton, +dislodged from his "high estate," fell at the edge of the trench, +and rolled incontinently to the bottom.</p> + +<p>Luke drew in the rein to inquire if any bones were broken; +and Peter presently upreared his dusty person from the abyss, +and without condescending to make any reply, yet muttering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +curses, "not loud, but deep," accepted his grandson's proffered +hand, and remounted.</p> + +<p>While thus occupied, Luke fancied he heard a distant shout, +and noting whence the sound proceeded—the same quarter +by which he had approached the heath—he beheld a single +horseman spurring in their direction at the top of his speed; +and to judge from the rate at which he advanced, it was evident +he was anything but indifferently mounted. Apprehensive +of pursuit, Luke expedited the sexton's ascent; and that +accomplished, without bestowing further regard upon the object +of his solicitude, he resumed his headlong flight. He now +thought it necessary to bestow more attention on his choice of +road, and, perfectly acquainted with the heath, avoided all unnecessary +hazardous passes. In spite of his knowledge of the +ground, and the excellence of his horse, the stranger sensibly +gained upon him. The danger, however, was no longer imminent.</p> + +<p>"We are safe," cried Luke; "the limits of Hardchase are +past. In a few seconds we shall enter Davenham Wood. I +will turn the horse loose, and we will betake ourselves to flight +amongst the trees. I will show you a place of concealment. +He cannot follow us on horseback, and on foot I defy him."</p> + +<p>"Stay," cried the sexton. "He is not in pursuit—he takes +another course—he wheels to the right. By Heaven! it is the +Fiend himself upon a black horse, come for Bow-legged Ben. +See, he is there already."</p> + +<p>The horseman had turned, as the sexton stated, careering +towards a revolting object at some little distance on the right +hand. It was a gibbet, with its grisly burden. He rode +swiftly towards it, and, reining in his horse, took off his hat, +bowing profoundly to the carcase that swung in the morning +breeze. Just at that moment a gust of air catching the fleshless +skeleton, its arms seemed to be waved in reply to the salutation. +A solitary crow winged its flight over the horseman's +head as he paused. After a moment's halt, he wheeled about, +and again shouted to Luke, waving his hat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As I live," said the latter, "it is Jack Palmer."</p> + +<p>"Dick Turpin, you mean," rejoined the sexton. "He has +been paying his respects to a brother blade. Ha, ha! +Dick will never have the honor of a gibbet; he is too tender of +the knife. Did you mark the crow? But here he comes." +And in another instant Turpin was by their side.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II3" id="CHAPTER_II3"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see a column of slow-rising smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Cowper</span>: <i>The Task</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>"The top of the morning to you, gem'men," said Turpin, +as he rode up at an easy canter. "Did you not hear my +halloo? I caught a glimpse of you on the hill yonder. I knew +you both, two miles off; and so, having a word or two to say +to you, Luke Bradley, before I leave this part of the country, +I put Bess to it, and she soon brought me within hail. Bless +her black skin," added he, affectionately patting his horse's neck, +"there's not her match in these parts, or in any other; she +wants no coaxing to do her work—no bleeders for her. I +should have been up with you before this had I not taken a +cross cut to look at poor Ben.</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One night, when mounted on my mare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Bagshot Heath I did repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw Will Davies hanging there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the gibbet bleak and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>With a rustified, fustified, mustified air.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Excuse my singing. The sight of a gibbet always puts me in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +mind of the Golden Farmer. May I ask whither you are +bound, comrades?"</p> + +<p>"Comrades!" whispered the sexton to Luke; "you see <i>he</i> +does not so easily forget his old friends."</p> + +<p>"I have business that will not admit of delay," rejoined +Luke; "and to speak plainly——"</p> + +<p>"You want not my society," returned Turpin; "I guessed +as much. Natural enough! You have got an inkling of your +good fortune. You have found out you are a rich man's heir, +not a poor wench's bastard. No offence; I'm a plain +spoken man, as you will find, if you know it not already. I +have no objection to your playing these fine tricks on others, +though it won't answer your turn to do so with me."</p> + +<p>"Sir!" exclaimed Luke, sharply.</p> + +<p>"Sir to you," replied Turpin—"Sir Luke—as I suppose you +would now choose to be addressed. I am aware of all. A nod +is as good as a wink to me. Last night I learned the fact of Sir +Piers's marriage from Lady Rookwood—ay, from her ladyship. +You stare—and old Peter, there, opens his ogles now. She let it +out by accident; and I am in possession of what can alone +substantiate your father's first marriage, and establish your +claims to the property."</p> + +<p>"The devil!" cried the sexton; adding, in a whisper to +Luke, "You had better not be precipitate in dropping so +obliging an acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"You are jesting," said Luke to Turpin.</p> + +<p>"It is ill jesting before breakfast," returned Dick: "I am +seldom in the mood for a joke so early. What if a certain +marriage certificate had fallen into my hand?"</p> + +<p>"A marriage certificate!" echoed Luke and the sexton +simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"The only existing proof of the union of Sir Piers Rookwood +with Susan Bradley," continued Turpin. "What if I +had stumbled upon such a document—nay more, if I knew +where to direct you to it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Peace!" cried Luke to his tormentor; and then addressing +Turpin, "if what you say be true, my quest is at an end. +All that I need, you appear to possess. Other proofs are secondary +to this. I know with whom I have to deal. What do +you demand for that certificate?"</p> + +<p>"We will talk about the matter after breakfast," said Turpin. +"I wish to treat with you as friend with friend. Meet me on +those terms, and I am your man; reject my offer, and I turn +my mare's head, and ride back to Rookwood. 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, now I +have an opportunity, that I should not turn this luck to my +account. I were a fool to do otherwise. You cannot expect +it. And then I have Rust and Wilder to settle with. Though +I have left them behind, they know my destination. We have +been old associates. I like your spirit—I care not for your +haughtiness; but I will not help you up the ladder to be +kicked down myself. Now you understand me. Whither are +you bound?"</p> + +<p>"To Davenham Priory, the gipsy camp."</p> + +<p>"The gipsies are your friends?"</p> + +<p>"They are."</p> + +<p>"I am alone."</p> + +<p>"You are safe."</p> + +<p>"You pledge your word that all shall be on the square. You +will not mention to one of that canting crew what I have told +you?"</p> + +<p>"With one exception, you may rely upon my secrecy."</p> + +<p>"Whom do you except?"</p> + +<p>"A woman."</p> + +<p>"Bad! never trust a petticoat."</p> + +<p>"I will answer for her with my life."</p> + +<p>"And for your granddad there?"</p> + +<p>"He will answer for himself," said Peter. "You need not +fear treachery in me. Honor among thieves, you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Or where else should you seek it?" rejoined Turpin; "for it +has left all 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. After breakfast, 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 in Rookwood, I'll +engage, ere a week be flown; and then—— But so much parleying +is dull work; let's make the best of our way to breakfast."</p> + +<p>And away they cantered.</p> + +<p>A narrow bridle-road conducted them singly through the +defiles of a thick wood. Their route lay in the shade, and the +air felt chilly amidst the trees, the sun not having attained +sufficient altitude to penetrate its depths, while overhead all +was warmth and light. Quivering on the tops of the timber, +the horizontal sunbeams created, in their refraction, brilliant +prismatic colorings, and filled the air with motes like golden +dust. Our horsemen heeded not the sunshine or the shade. +Occupied each with his own train of thought, they silently +rode on.</p> + +<p>Davenham Wood, through which they urged their course, +had, in the olden time, been a forest of some extent. It was +then an appendage to the domains of Rookwood, but had +passed from the hands of that family to those of a wealthy +adjoining landowner and lawyer, Sir Edward Davenham, in the +keeping of whose descendants it had ever after continued. A +noble wood it was, and numbered many patriarchal trees. +Ancient oaks, with broad, gnarled limbs, which the storms of +five hundred years had vainly striven to uproot, and which +were now sternly decaying; gigantic beech trees, with silvery +stems shooting smoothly upwards, sustaining branches of such +size, that each, dissevered, would in itself have formed a tree, +populous with leaves, and variegated with rich autumnal tints; +the sprightly sycamore, the dark chestnut, the weird wych-elm, +the majestic elm itself, festooned with ivy, every variety of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +wood, dark, dense, and intricate, composed the forest through +which they rode; and so multitudinous was the timber, so +closely planted, so entirely filled up with a thick, matted vegetation, +which had been allowed to collect beneath, that little +view was afforded, had any been desired by the parties, into +the labyrinth of the grove. Tree after tree, clad in the glowing +livery of the season, was passed, and as rapidly succeeded +by others. Occasionally a bough projected over their path, +compelling the riders to incline their heads as they passed; +but, heedless of such difficulties, they pressed on. Now the +road grew lighter, and they became at once sensible of the +genial influence of the sun. The transition was as agreeable +as instantaneous. They had opened upon an extensive plantation +of full-grown pines, whose tall, branchless stems grew up +like a forest of masts, and freely admitted the pleasant sunshine. +Beneath those trees, the soil was sandy and destitute +of all undergrowth, 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 the nearest tree, and might +be seen angrily gazing at the disturbers of his haunts, beating +the branches with his fore feet, in expression of displeasure; +the rabbit darted across their path; the jays flew screaming +amongst the foliage; the blue cushat, scared at the clatter of +the horses' hoofs, sped on swift wing into quarters secure from +their approach; while the parti-colored pies, like curious village +gossips, congregated to peer at the strangers, expressing their +astonishment by loud and continuous chattering. Though so +gentle of ascent as to be almost imperceptible, it was still evident +that the path they were pursuing gradually mounted a +hill-side; and when at length they reached an opening, the +view disclosed the eminence they had insensibly won. Pausing +for a moment upon the brow of the hill, Luke pointed to a +stream that wound through the valley, and, tracing its course, +indicated a particular spot amongst the trees. There was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +appearance of a dwelling house—no cottage roof, no white +canvas shed, to point out the tents of the wandering tribe +whose abode they were seeking. The only circumstance +betokening that it had once been the haunt of man were a few +gray monastic ruins, scarce distinguishable from the stony +barrier by which they were surrounded; and the sole evidence +that it was still frequented by human beings was a thin column +of pale blue smoke, that arose in curling wreaths from out the +brake, the light-colored vapor beautifully contrasting with the +green umbrage whence it issued.</p> + +<p>"Our destination is yonder," exclaimed Luke, pointing in +the direction of the vapor.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it," cried Turpin, "as well as to perceive +there is some one awake. That smoke holds out a prospect +of breakfast. No smoke without fire, as old Lady Scanmag +said; and I'll wager a trifle that fire 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 quarter +in—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 morning cloud, no one need know of their vicinity. +A pretty place, upon my soul."</p> + +<p>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 habitation appeared in view. Clothed with timber to +the very summits, excepting on the side where the party stood, +which verged upon the declivity, these mountainous ridges +presented a broken outline of foliage, variegated with tinted +masses of bright orange, timber, and deepest green. Four +hills hemmed in the valley. Here and there a gray slab of rock +might be discerned amongst the wood, and a mountain-ash +figured conspicuously upon 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +rocks, severed, it would seem, by some diluvial convulsion, +from the opposite mountain side, as a corresponding +rift was there visible, in which the same dip of strata might be +observed, together with certain ribbed cavities, matching huge +bolts of rock which had once locked these stony walls together. +Washing this cliff, swept a clear stream, well known and well +regarded, as it waxed in width, by the honest brethren of the +angle, who seldom, however, tracked it to its rise amongst +these hills. The stream found its way into the valley through +a chasm far to the left, and rushed thundering down the mountain +side in a boiling cascade. The valley was approached in +this direction from Rookwood by an unfrequented carriage-road, +which Luke had, from prudential reasons, avoided. All +seemed consecrated to silence—to solitude—to the hush of +nature; yet this quiet scene was the chosen retreat of lawless +depredators, and had erstwhile been the theatre of feudal oppression. +We have said that no habitation was visible; that +no dwelling tenanted by man could be seen; but following the +spur of the furthest mountain hill, some traces of a stone wall +might be discovered; and upon a natural platform of rock +stood a stern square tower, which had once been the donjon +of the castle, the lords of which had called the four hills their +own. A watch-tower then had crowned each eminence, every +vestige of which had, however, long since disappeared. Sequestered +in the vale stood the Priory before alluded to—a Monastery +of Gray Friars, of the Order of St. Francis—some of +the venerable walls of which were still remaining; and if they +had not reverted to the bat and the owl, as is wont to be the fate +of such sacred structures, their cloistered shrines were devoted +to beings whose natures partook, in some measure, of the instincts +of those creatures of the night—a people whose deeds +were of darkness, and whose eyes shunned the light. Here +the gipsies had pitched their tent; and though the place was +often, in part, deserted by the vagrant horde, yet certain of +the tribe, who had grown into years—over whom Barbara<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +Lovel held queenly sway—made it their haunt, and were suffered +by the authorities of the neighborhood to remain unmolested—a +lenient piece of policy, which, in our infinite +regard for the weal of the tawny tribe, we recommend to the +adoption of all other justices and knights of the shire.</p> + +<p>Bidding his grandsire have regard to his seat, Luke leaped a +high bank; and, followed by Turpin, began to descend the +hill. Peter, however, took care to provide for himself. The +descent was so perilous, and the footing so insecure, that he +chose rather to trust to such conveyance as nature had furnished +him with, than to hazard his neck by any false step of +the horse. He contrived, therefore, to slide off from behind, +shaping his own course in a more secure direction.</p> + +<p>He who has wandered amidst the Alps must have often had +occasion to witness 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 perfect security to his +rider; how he will breast the roaring currents of air, and stand +unshrinking at the verge of almost unfathomable ravines. But +it is not so with the horse: fleet on the plain, careful over +rugged ground, he is timid and uncertain on the hill-side, and +the risk incurred by Luke and Turpin, in their descent of the +almost perpendicular sides of the cliff, was tremendous. Peter +watched them in their descent with some admiration, and with +much contempt.</p> + +<p>"He will break his neck, of a surety," said he; "but what +matters it? As well now as hereafter."</p> + +<p>So saying, he approached the verge of the precipice, where +he could see them more distinctly.</p> + +<p>The passage along which Luke rode had never before been +traversed by horse's hoof. Cut in the rock, it presented a steep +zigzag path amongst the cliffs, without any defence for the foot +traveller, except such as was afforded by a casual clinging shrub, +and no protection whatever existed for a horseman; the possibility<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +of any one attempting the passage not having, in all probability, +entered into the calculation of those who framed it. +Added to this, the steps were of such unequal heights, and +withal so narrow, that the danger was proportionately increased.</p> + +<p>"Ten thousand devils!" cried Turpin, staring downwards, +"is this the best road you have got?"</p> + +<p>"You will find one more easy," replied Luke, "if you ride +for a quarter of a mile down the wood, and then return by the +brook side. You will meet me at the priory."</p> + +<p>"No," answered the highwayman, boldly; "if you go, I go +too. It shall never be said that Dick Turpin was afraid to +follow where another would lead. Proceed."</p> + +<p>Luke gave his horse the bridle, and the animal slowly and +steadily commenced the descent, fixing his fore legs upon the +steps, and drawing his hinder limbs carefully after him. Here +it was that the lightness and steadiness of Turpin's mare was +completely shown. No Alpine mule could have borne its +rider with more apparent ease and safety. Turpin encouraged +her by hand and word; but she needed it not. The sexton +saw them, and, tracking their giddy descent, he became more +interested than he anticipated. His attention was suddenly +drawn towards Luke.</p> + +<p>"He is gone," cried Peter. "He falls—he sinks—my plans +are all defeated—the last link is snapped. No," added he, +recovering his wonted composure, "his end is not so fated."</p> + +<p>Rook had missed his footing. He rolled stumbling down +the precipice a few yards. Luke's fate seemed inevitable. +His feet were entangled in the stirrup, he could not free himself. +A birch tree, growing in a chink of the precipice, arrested +his further fall. But for this timely aid all had been over. +Here Luke was enabled to extricate himself from the stirrup +and to regain his feet; seizing the bridle, he dragged his +faulty steed back again to the road.</p> + +<p>"You have had a narrow escape, by Jove," said Turpin, +who had been thunderstruck with the whole proceeding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +"Those big cattle are always clumsy; devilish lucky it's no +worse."</p> + +<p>It was now comparatively smooth travelling; but they had +not as yet reached the valley, and it seemed to be Luke's +object to take a circuitous path. This was so evident that +Turpin could not help commenting upon it.</p> + +<p>Luke evaded the question. "The crag is steep there," said +he; "besides, to tell you the truth, I want to surprise them."</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!" laughed Dick. "Surprise them, eh? What a +pity the birch tree was in the way; you would have done it +properly then. Egad, here's another surprise."</p> + +<p>Dick's last exclamation was caused by his having suddenly +come upon a wide gully in the rock, through which dashed a +headlong torrent, crossed by a single plank.</p> + +<p>"You must be mad to have taken this road," cried Turpin, +gazing down into the roaring depths in which the waterfall +raged, and measuring the distance 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."</p> + +<p>But Dick might as well have bidden the cataract to flow +backwards. Luke struck his heels into his horse's sides. The +steed galloped to the brink, snorted, and refused the leap.</p> + +<p>"I told you so—he can't do it," said Turpin. "Well, if +you are obstinate, a wilful man must have his way. Stand aside, +while I try it for you." Patting Bess, he put her to a gallop. +She cleared the gulf bravely, landing her rider safely upon the +opposite rock.</p> + +<p>"Now then," cried Turpin, from the other side of the chasm.</p> + +<p>Luke again urged his steed. Encouraged by what he had +seen, this time the horse sprang across without hesitation. +The next instant they were in the valley.</p> + +<p>For some time they rode along the banks of the stream in +silence. A sound at length caught the quick ears of the highwayman.</p> + +<p>"Hist!" cried he; "some one sings. Do you hear it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do," replied Luke, the blood rushing to his cheeks.</p> + +<p>"And could give a guess at the singer, no doubt," said +Turpin, with a knowing look. "Was it to hear yon woodlark that +you nearly broke your own neck, and put mine in jeopardy?"</p> + +<p>"Prithee be silent," whispered Luke.</p> + +<p>"I am dumb," replied Turpin; "I like a sweet voice as +well as another."</p> + +<p>Clear as the note of a bird, yet melancholy as the distant +dole of a vesper-bell, arose the sound of that sweet voice from +the wood. A fragment of a Spanish gipsy song it warbled: +Luke knew it well. Thus ran the romance:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">LA GITANILLA</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">By the Guadalquivir,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ere the sun be flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By that glorious river<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sits a maid alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the sunset splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of that current bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone her dark eyes tender<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As its witching light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the ripple flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tinged with purple sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkly, richly glowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is her warm cheek seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis the Gitanilla<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By the stream doth linger,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the hope that eve<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Will her lover bring her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">See, the sun is sinking;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All grows dim, and dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, the waves are drinking<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Glories of the skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Day's last lustre playeth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On that current dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet no speck betrayeth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His long looked-for bark.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the hour of meeting!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay, the hour is past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift the time is fleeting!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fleeteth hope as fast.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still the Gitanilla<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By the stream doth linger,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the hope that night<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Will her lover bring her.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The tender trembling of a guitar was heard in accompaniment +of the ravishing melodist.</p> + +<p>The song ceased.</p> + +<p>"Where is the bird?" asked Turpin.</p> + +<p>"Move on in silence, and you shall see," said Luke; and +keeping upon the turf, so that his horse's tread became inaudible, +he presently arrived at a spot where, through the +boughs, the object of his investigation could plainly be distinguished, +though he himself was concealed from view.</p> + +<p>Upon a platform of rock, rising to the height of the trees, +nearly perpendicularly from the river's bed, appeared the figure +of the gipsy maid. Her footstep rested on the extreme edge +of the abrupt cliff, at whose base the water boiled in a deep +whirlpool, and the bounding chamois could not have been more +lightly poised. One small hand rested upon her guitar, the +other pressed her brow. Braided hair, of the jettiest dye and +sleekest texture, was twined around her brow in endless +twisted folds:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rowled it was in many a curious fret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much like a rich and curious coronet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose arches twenty Cupids lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And were as tied, or loth to fly away.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>And so exuberant was this rarest feminine ornament, that, +after encompassing her brow, it was passed behind, and hung +down in long thick plaits almost to her feet. Sparkling, as +the sunbeams that played upon her dark yet radiant features,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +were the large, black, Oriental eyes of the maiden, and shaded +with lashes long and silken. Hers was a Moorish countenance, +in which the magnificence of the eyes eclipses the face, be it +ever so beautiful—an effect to be observed in the angelic +pictures of Murillo,—and the lovely contour is scarcely noticed +in the gaze which those long, languid, luminous orbs attract. +Sybil's features were exquisite, yet you looked only at her +eyes—they were the loadstars of her countenance. Her costume +was singular, and partook, like herself, of other climes. +Like the Andalusian dame, her choice of color inclined towards +black, as the material of most of her dress was of that +sombre hue. A bodice of embroidered velvet restrained her +delicate bosom's swell; a rich girdle, from which depended a +silver chain, sustaining a short poniard, bound her waist; +around her slender throat was twined a costly kerchief; and +the rest of her dress was calculated to display her slight, yet +faultless, figure to the fullest advantage.</p> + +<p>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 her romance:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 15em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Swift that stream flows on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swift the night is wearing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet she is not gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though with heart despairing.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Her song died away. Her hand was needed to brush off +the tears that were gathering in her large dark eyes. At once +her attitude was changed. The hare could not have started +more suddenly from her form. She heard accents well known +concluding the melody:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dips an oar-plash—hark!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gently on the river;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis her lover's bark.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the Guadalquivir.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! a song she hears!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every note she snatches;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the singer nears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her own name she catches.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now the Gitanilla<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Stays not by the water,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the midnight hour<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Hath her lover brought her.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>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 down the crag, and ere he had finished the +refrain, was by his side.</p> + +<p>Flinging the bridle to Turpin, Luke sprang to her, and +caught her in his arms. Disengaging herself from his ardent +embrace, Sybil drew back, abashed at the sight of the highwayman.</p> + +<p>"Heed him not," said Luke; "it is a friend."</p> + +<p>"He is welcome here then," replied Sybil. "But where +have you tarried so long, dear Luke?" continued she, as they +walked to a little distance from the highwayman. "What hath +detained you? The hours have passed wearily since you departed. +You bring good news?"</p> + +<p>"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. Are there any stirring? We must +bestow a meal upon him, and that forthwith: he is one of those +who brook not much delay."</p> + +<p>"I came not to spoil a love meeting," said Turpin, who had +good-humoredly witnessed the scene; "but, in sober seriousness, +if there is a stray capon to be met with in the land of +Egypt, I shall be glad to make his acquaintance. Methinks I +scent a stew afar off."</p> + +<p>"Follow me," said Sybil; "your wants shall be supplied."</p> + +<p>"Stay," said Luke; "there is one other of our party whose +coming we must abide."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is here," said Sybil, observing the sexton at a distance. +"Who is that old man?"</p> + +<p>"My grandsire, Peter Bradley."</p> + +<p>"Is that Peter Bradley?" asked Sybil.</p> + +<p>"Ay, you may well ask whether that old dried-up <i>otomy</i>, +who ought to grin in a glass case for folks to stare at, be kith +and kin of such a bang-up cove as your fancy man, Luke," +said Turpin, laughing—"but i' faith he is."</p> + +<p>"Though he is your grandsire, Luke," said Sybil, "I like +him not. His glance resembles that of the Evil Eye."</p> + +<p>And, in fact, the look which Peter fixed upon her was such +as the rattlesnake casts upon its victim, and Sybil felt like a +poor fluttering bird under the fascination of that venomous +reptile. She could not remove her eyes from his, though she +trembled as she gazed. We have said that Peter's orbs were +like those of the toad. Age had not dimmed their brilliancy. +In his harsh features you could only read bitter scorn or withering +hate; but in his eyes resided a magnetic influence of attraction +or repulsion. Sybil underwent the former feeling in +a disagreeable degree. She was drawn to him as by the motion +of a whirlpool, and involuntarily clung to her lover.</p> + +<p>"It is the Evil Eye, dear Luke."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, dear Sybil; I tell you it is my grandsire."</p> + +<p>"The girl says rightly, however," rejoined Turpin; "Peter +has a confounded ugly look about the ogles, and stares enough +to put a modest wench out of countenance. Come, come, my +old earthworm, crawl along, we have waited for you long +enough. Is this the first time you have seen a pretty lass, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"It is the first time I have seen one so beautiful," said +Peter; "and I crave her pardon if my freedom has offended +her. I wonder not at your enchantment, grandson Luke, now +I behold the object of it. But there is one piece of counsel I +would give to this fair maid. The next time she trusts you +from her sight, I would advise her to await you at the hill-top,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +otherwise the chances are shrewdly against your reaching the +ground with neck unbroken."</p> + +<p>There was something, notwithstanding the satirical manner +in which Peter delivered this speech, calculated to make a +more favorable impression upon Sybil than his previous conduct +had inspired her with; and, having ascertained from Luke +to what his speech referred, she extended her hand to him, +yet not without a shudder, as it was enclosed in his skinny +grasp. It was like the fingers of Venus in the grasp of a +skeleton.</p> + +<p>"This is a little hand," said Peter, "and I have some skill +myself in palmistry. Shall I peruse its lines?"</p> + +<p>"Not now, in the devil's name!" said Turpin, stamping +impatiently. "We shall have Old Ruffin himself amongst us +presently, if Peter Bradley grows gallant."</p> + +<p>Leading their horses, the party took their way through the +trees. A few minutes' walking brought them in sight of the +gipsy encampment, the spot selected for which might be termed +the Eden of the valley. It was a small green plain, smooth as +a well-shorn lawn, kept ever verdant—save in the spots where +the frequent fires had scorched its surface—by the flowing +stream that rushed past it, and surrounded by an amphitheatre +of wooded hills. Here might be seen the canvas tent with its +patches of varied coloring; the rude-fashioned hut of primitive +construction; the kettle slung</p> + +<p class="hd4">Between two poles, upon a stick transverse;</p> + +<p>the tethered beasts of burden, the horses, asses, dogs, carts, +caravans, wains, blocks, and other movables and immovables +belonging to the wandering tribe. Glimmering through the +trees, at the extremity of the plain, appeared the ivy-mantled +walls of Davenham Priory. Though much had gone to decay, +enough remained to recall the pristine state of this once majestic +pile, and the long, though broken line of Saxon arches, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +still marked the cloister wall; the piers that yet supported the +dormitory; the enormous horse-shoe arch that spanned the +court; and, above all, the great marigold, or circular window, +which terminated the chapel, and which, though now despoiled +of its painted honors, retained, like the skeleton leaf, its +fibrous intricacies entire,—all eloquently spoke of the glories +of the past, while they awakened reverence and admiration for +the still enduring beauty of the present.</p> + +<p>Towards these ruins Sybil conducted the party.</p> + +<p>"Do you dwell therein?" asked Peter, pointing towards +the priory.</p> + +<p>"That is my dwelling," said Sybil.</p> + +<p>"It is one I should covet more than a modern mansion," +returned the sexton.</p> + +<p>"I love those old walls better than any house that was ever +fashioned," replied Sybil.</p> + +<p>As they entered the Prior's Close, as it was called, several +swarthy figures made their appearance from the tents. Many +a greeting was bestowed upon Luke, in the wild jargon of the +tribe. At length an uncouth dwarfish figure, with a shock +head of black hair, hopped towards them. He seemed to acknowledge +Luke as his master.</p> + +<p>"What ho! Grasshopper," said Luke, "take these horses, +and see that they lack neither dressing nor provender."</p> + +<p>"And hark ye, Grasshopper," added Turpin; "I give you +a special charge about 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 the place, let her sip it."</p> + +<p>"Your bidding shall be done," chirped the human insect, +as he fluttered away with his charges.</p> + +<p>A motley assemblage of tawny-skinned varlets, dark-eyed +women and children, whose dusky limbs betrayed their lineage, +in strange costume, and of wild deportment, checked the path, +muttering welcome upon welcome into the ear of Luke as he +passed. As it was evident he was in no mood for converse,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +Sybil, who seemed to exercise considerable authority over the +crew, with a word dispersed them, and they herded back to +their respective habitations.</p> + +<p>A low door admitted Luke and his companions into what +had once been the garden, in which some old moss-encrusted +apple and walnut-trees were still standing, bearing a look of +antiquity almost as venerable as that of the adjoining fabric.</p> + +<p>Another open door gave them entrance to a spacious chamber, +formerly the eating-room or refectory of the holy brotherhood, +and a goodly room it had been, though now its slender +lanceolated windows were stuffed with hay to keep out the air. +Large holes told where huge oaken rafters had once crossed +the roof, and a yawning aperture marked the place where a +cheering fire had formerly blazed. As regarded this latter +spot, the good old custom was not, even now, totally abrogated. +An iron plate, covered with crackling wood, sustained a ponderous +black caldron, the rich steam from which gratefully +affected the olfactory organs of the highwayman.</p> + +<p>"That augurs well," said he, rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>"Still hungering after the fleshpots of Egypt," said the sexton, +with a ghastly smile.</p> + +<p>"We will see what that kettle contains," said Luke.</p> + +<p>"Handassah—Grace!" exclaimed Sybil, calling.</p> + +<p>Her summons was answered by two maidens, habited not +unbecomingly, in gipsy gear.</p> + +<p>"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 open air."</p> + +<p>"And by a night's fasting," said Luke, "and solitary confinement +to boot."</p> + +<p>"And a night of business," added Turpin—"and plaguy +perplexing business into the bargain."</p> + +<p>"And the night of a funeral too," doled Peter; "and that +funeral a father's. Let us have breakfast speedily, by all means. +We have rare appetites."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>An old oaken table—it might have been the self-same upon +which the holy friars 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 dismembered pheasants, an +equal proportion of poultry, great gouts of ham, mushrooms, +onions, and other piquant condiments, so satisfactory to Dick +Turpin, that, upon tasting a mouthful, he absolutely shed tears +of delight. The dish was indeed the triumph of gipsy cookery; +and so sedulously did Dick apply himself to his mess, and so +complete was his abstraction, that he perceived not he was +left alone. It was only when about to wash down the last +drumstick of the last fowl with a can of excellent ale that he +made this discovery.</p> + +<p>"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 I have feasted like a +king of Egypt. That will never do. Caution, Dick, caution. +Suppose I shift yon brick from the wall, and place this precious +document beneath it. Pshaw! Luke would never play +me false. And now for Bess! Bless her black skin! she'll +wonder where I've been so long. It's not my way to leave +her to shift for herself, though she can do that on a pinch."</p> + +<p>Soliloquizing thus, he arose and walked towards the door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III3" id="CHAPTER_III3"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>SYBIL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wiving vine, that round the friendly elm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twines her soft limbs, and weaves a leafy mantle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her supporting lover, dares not venture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mix her humble boughs with the embraces<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the more lofty cedar.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Glapthorne</span>: <i>Albertus Wallenstein</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Beneath a moldering wall, whither they had strayed, to be +free from interruption, and upon a carpet of the greenest moss, +sat Sybil and her lover.</p> + +<p>With eager curiosity she listened to his tale. He recounted +all that had befallen him since his departure. He told her of +the awful revelations of the tomb; of the ring that, like a talisman, +had conjured up a thousand brilliant prospects; of his +subsequent perils; his escapes; his rencontre with Lady Rookwood; +his visit to his father's body; and his meeting with his +brother. All this she heard with a cheek now flushed with +expectation, now made pale with apprehension; with palpitating +bosom, and suppressed breath. But when taking a softer +tone, love, affection, happiness inspired the theme, and Luke +sought to paint the bliss that should be theirs in his new +estate; when he would throw his fortune into her lap, his +titles at her feet, and bid her wear them with him; when, +with ennobled hand and unchanged heart, he would fulfil the +troth plighted in his outcast days; in lieu of tender, grateful +acquiescence, the features of Sybil became overcast, the soft +smile faded away, and, as spring sunshine is succeeded by +the sudden shower, the light that dwelt in her sunny orbs +grew dim with tears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why—why is this, dear Sybil?" said Luke, gazing upon +her in astonishment, not unmingled with displeasure. "To +what am I to attribute these tears? You do not, surely, regret +my good fortune?"</p> + +<p>"Not on your own account, dear Luke," returned she, sadly. +"The tears I shed were for myself—the first, the only tears +that I have ever shed for such cause; and," added she, raising +her head like a flower surcharged with moisture, "they shall +be the last."</p> + +<p>"This is inexplicable, dear Sybil. Why should you lament +for yourself, if not for me? Does not the sunshine of prosperity +that now shines upon me gild you with the same beam? +Did I not even now affirm that the day that saw me enter the +hall of my forefathers should dawn upon our espousals?"</p> + +<p>"True; but the sun that shines upon you, to me wears a +threatening aspect. The day of those espousals will never +dawn. You cannot make me the Lady of Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"What do I hear?" exclaimed Luke, surprised at this +avowal of his mistress, sadly and deliberately delivered. "Not +wed you! And wherefore not? Is it the rank I have acquired, +or hope to acquire, that displeases you? Speak, that I may +waste no further time in thus pursuing the shadows of happiness, +while the reality fleets from me."</p> + +<p>"And <i>are</i> they shadows; and <i>is</i> this the reality, dear Luke? +Question your secret soul, and you will find it otherwise. You +could not forego your triumph; it is not likely. You have +dwelt too much upon the proud title which will be yours to +yield it to another, when it may be won so easily. And, above +all, when your mother's reputation, and your own stained +name, may be cleared by one word, breathed aloud, would you +fail to utter it? No, dear Luke, I read your heart; you would +not."</p> + +<p>"And if I could <i>not</i> forego this, wherefore is it that you +refuse to be a sharer in my triumph? Why will you render my +honors valueless when I have acquired them? You love me not."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not love you, Luke?"</p> + +<p>"Approve it, then."</p> + +<p>"I do approve it. Bear witness the sacrifice I am about to +make of all my hopes, at the shrine of my idolatry to you. +Bear witness the agony of this hour. Bear witness the horror +of the avowal, that I never can be yours. As Luke Bradley, I +would joyfully—oh, how joyfully!—have been your bride. As +Sir Luke Rookwood"—and she shuddered as she pronounced +the name—"I never can be so."</p> + +<p>"Then, by Heaven! Luke Bradley will I remain. But +wherefore—wherefore not as Sir Luke Rookwood?"</p> + +<p>"Because," replied Sybil, with reluctance—"because I am +no longer your equal. 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; it cannot exalt +me in my own esteem, nor in that of the world, with which +you, alas! too soon will mingle, and which will regard even me as—no +matter what!—it shall not scorn me as your bride. I will +not bring shame and reproach upon you. Oh! if for me, dear +Luke, the proud ones of the earth were to treat you with contumely, +this heart would break with agony. For myself, I have +pride sufficient—perchance too much. Perchance 'tis pride +that actuates me now. I know not. But for you I am all +weakness. As you were heretofore, I would have been to you +the tenderest and truest wife that ever breathed; as you are +now——"</p> + +<p>"Hear me, Sybil."</p> + +<p>"Hear <i>me</i> out, dear Luke. One other motive there is that +determines my present conduct, which, were all else surmounted, +would in itself suffice. Ask me not what that is. I +cannot explain it. For your own sake; I implore you, be satisfied +with my refusal."</p> + +<p>"What a destiny is mine!" exclaimed Luke, striking his +forehead with his clenched hand. "No choice is left me. +Either way I destroy my own happiness. On the one hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +stands love—on the other, ambition; yet neither will conjoin."</p> + +<p>"Pursue, then, ambition," said Sybil, energetically, "if you +<i>can</i> hesitate. Forget that I have ever existed; forget you +have ever loved; forget that such a passion dwells within the +human heart, and you may still be happy, though you are +great."</p> + +<p>"And do you deem," replied Luke, with frantic impatience, +"that I <i>can</i> accomplish this; that I <i>can</i> forget that I have +loved you; that I <i>can</i> forget you? Cost what it will, the effort +shall be made. Yet by our former love, I charge you tell +me what has wrought this change in you! Why do you <i>now</i> +refuse me?"</p> + +<p>"I have said you are Sir Luke Rookwood," returned Sybil, +with painful emotion. "Does that name import nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Imports it aught of ill?"</p> + +<p>"To me, everything of ill. It is a fated house. Its line +are all predestined."</p> + +<p>"To what?" demanded Luke.</p> + +<p>"To <i>murder</i>!" replied Sybil, with solemn emphasis. "To +the murder of their wives. Forgive me, Luke, if I have dared +to utter this. Yourself compelled me to it."</p> + +<p>Amazement, horror, wrath, kept Luke silent for a few moments. +Starting to his feet, he cried:</p> + +<p>"And can you suspect me of a crime so foul? Think you, +because I shall assume the name, that I shall put on the nature +likewise of my race? Do you believe me capable of aught so +horrible?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I believe it not. I am sure you would not do it. +Your soul would reject with horror such a deed. But if Fate +should guide your hand, if the avenging spirit of your murdered +ancestress should point to the steel, you could not shun +it then."</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name! to what do you allude?"</p> + +<p>"To a tradition of your house," replied Sybil. "Listen to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +me, and you shall hear the legend." And with a pathos that +produced a thrilling effect upon Luke, she sang the following +ballad:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE LEGEND OF THE LADY OF ROOKWOOD</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grim Ranulph home hath at midnight come, from the long wars of the Roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the squire, who waits at his ancient gates, a secret dark discloses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that varlet's words no response accords his lord, but his visage stern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows ghastly white in the wan moonlight, and his eyes like the lean wolf's burn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To his lady's bower, at that lonesome hour, unannounced, is Sir Ranulph gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the dim corridor, through the hidden door, he glides—she is all alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of holy zeal doth his young dame kneel at the meek Madonna's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hands are pressed on her gentle breast, and upturned is her aspect sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beats Ranulph's heart with a joyful start, as he looks on her guiltless face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the raging fire of his jealous ire is subdued by the words of grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own name shares her murmured prayers—more freely can he breathe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ah! that look! Why doth he pluck his poniard from its sheath?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On a footstool thrown, lies a costly gown of saye and of minevere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—A mantle fair for the dainty wear of a migniard cavalier,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on it flung, to a bracelet hung, a picture meets his eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"By my father's head!" grim Ranulph said, "false wife, thy end draws nigh."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From off its chain hath the fierce knight ta'en that fond and fatal pledge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dark eyes blaze, no word he says, thrice gleams his dagger's edge!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her blood it drinks, and, as she sinks, his victim hears his cry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"For kiss impure of paramour, adult'ress, dost thou die!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silent he stood, with hands embrued in gore, and glance of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thus her plaint, in accents faint, made his ill-fated dame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Kind Heaven can tell, that all too well, I've loved thee, cruel lord;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now with hate commensurate, assassin, thou'rt abhorred.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I've loved thee long, through doubt and wrong; I've loved thee and no other;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my love was pure for my paramour, for alas! he was my brother!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Red, Red Rose, on <i>thy</i> banner glows, on <i>his</i> pennon gleams the White,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bitter feud, that ye both have rued, forbids ye to unite.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My bower he sought, what time he thought thy jealous vassals slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joy we dreamed, and never deemed that watch those vassals kept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An hour flew by, too speedily!—that picture was his boon:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! little thrift to me that gift: he left me all too soon!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wo worth the hour! dark fates did lower, when our hands were first united,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my heart's firm truth, 'mid tears and ruth, with death hast thou requited:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In prayer sincere, full many a year of my wretched life I've spent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to hell's control would I give my soul to work thy chastisement!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These wild words said, low drooped her head, and Ranulph's life-blood froze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the earth did gape, as an awful shape from out its depths arose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thy prayer is heard, Hell hath concurred," cried the fiend, "thy soul is mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like fate may dread each dame shall wed with Ranulph or his line!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the tomb to await her doom is that hapless lady sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And another bride by Ranulph's side through the livelong night is weeping.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>This</i> dame declines—a third repines, and fades, like the rest, away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her lot she rues, whom a Rookwood woos—<i>cursed is her Wedding Day</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"And this is the legend of my ancestress?" said Luke, as +Sybil's strains were ended.</p> + +<p>"It is," replied she.</p> + +<p>"An idle tale," observed Luke, moodily.</p> + +<p>"Not so," answered Sybil. "Has not the curse of blood +clung to all your line? Has it not attached to your father—to +Sir Reginald—Sir Ralph—Sir Ranulph—to all? Which of +them has escaped it? And when I tell you this, dear Luke; +when I find you bear the name of this accursed race, can you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +wonder if I shudder at adding to the list of the victims of that +ruthless spirit, and that I tremble for you? I would die <i>for</i> +you willingly—but not by your hand. I would not that my +blood, which I would now pour out for you as freely as water, +should rise up in judgment against you. For myself I have no +tears—for <i>you</i>, a thousand. My mother, upon her death-bed, +told me I should never be yours. I believed her not, for I was +happy then. She said that we never should be united; or, if +united——?"</p> + +<p>"What, in Heaven's name?"</p> + +<p>"That you would be my destroyer. How could I credit +her words then? How can 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. To renounce you may +cost me my life; but the deed will be my own. You may call +me superstitious, credulous: I have been nurtured in credulity. +It is the faith of my fathers. There are those, methinks, who +have an insight into futurity; and such boding words have +been spoken, that, be they true or false, I will not risk their +fulfilment in my person. I may be credulous; I may be +weak; I may be erring; but I am steadfast in this. Bid me +perish at your feet, and I will do it. I will not be your Fate. +I will not be the wretched instrument of your perdition. I will +love, worship, watch, serve, perish for you—but I'll not wed you."</p> + +<p>Exhausted by the vehemence of her emotion, she would +have sunk upon the ground, 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.</p> + +<p>"You love me as you have ever loved me?" said she, at +length.</p> + +<p>"A thousand-fold more fervently," replied Luke; "put it +to the test."</p> + +<p>"How if I dare to do so? Consider well: I may ask too +much."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Name it. If it be not to surrender you, by my mother's +body I will obey you."</p> + +<p>"I would propose an oath."</p> + +<p>"Ha!"</p> + +<p>"A solemn, binding oath, that; if you wed me not, you will +not wed another. Ha! do you start? Have I appalled +you?"</p> + +<p>"I start? I will take it. Hear me—by——"</p> + +<p>"Hold!" exclaimed a voice behind them. "Do not forswear +yourself." And immediately afterwards the sexton made +his appearance. There was a malignant smile upon his countenance. +The lovers started at the ominous interruption.</p> + +<p>"Begone!" cried Luke.</p> + +<p>"Take not that oath," said Peter, "and I leave you. Remember +the counsel I gave you on our way hither."</p> + +<p>"What counsel did he give you, Luke?" inquired Sybil, +eagerly, of her lover.</p> + +<p>"We spoke of you, fond girl," replied Peter. "I cautioned +him against the match. I knew not your sentiments, or I +had spared myself the trouble. You have judged wisely. +Were he to wed you, ill would come of it. But he <i>must</i> wed +another."</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Must!</span>" cried Sybil, her eyes absolutely emitting sparkles +of indignation from their night-like depths; and, unsheathing +as she spoke the short poniard which she wore at her girdle, +she rushed towards Peter, raising her hand to strike.</p> + +<p>"<i>Must</i> wed another! And dare you counsel this?"</p> + +<p>"Put up your dagger, fair maiden," said Peter, calmly. +"Had I been younger, 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 like myself, and of your +lover's kin?"</p> + +<p>Sybil's uplifted hand fell to her side.</p> + +<p>"'Tis true," continued the sexton, "I dared to give him +this advice; and when you have heard me out, you will not, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +am persuaded, think me so unreasonable as, at first, I may appear +to be. I have been an unseen listener to your converse; +not that I desire to pry into your secrets—far from it; I overheard +you by accident. I applaud your resolution; but if you +are inclined to sacrifice all for your lover's weal, do not let the +work be incomplete. Bind him not by oaths which he will 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, in truth, to an aspiring mind, such a desire is +natural, is praiseworthy. It will be pleasant, as well as honorable, +to efface the stain cast upon his birth. It will be an act +of filial duty in him to restore his mother'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 nice moralists in my +view of human nature, and can allow a latitude to love which +their nicer scruples will not admit. It will be a proud thing to +triumph over his implacable foe; and this he may accomplish——"</p> + +<p>"Without marriage," interrupted Sybil, angrily.</p> + +<p>"True," returned Peter; "yet not maintain it. May win it, +but not wear it. You have said truly, the house of Rookwood +is a fated house; and it hath been said likewise, that if he wed +not one of his own kindred—that if Rook mate not with Rook, +his possessions shall pass away from his hands. Listen to +this prophetic quatrain:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 32em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<big><b><i><span class="i0">When the stray Rook shall perch on the topmost bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There shall be clamor and screeching, I trow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of right to, and rule of the ancient nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rook that with Rook mates shall hold him possest.<br /></span></i></b></big> +</div></div></div> + +<p>You hear what these quaint rhymes say. Luke is, doubtless, +the stray rook, and a fledgeling hath flown hither from a distant +country. He must take her to his mate, or relinquish her and +'the ancient nest' to his brother. For my own part, I disregard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +such sayings. I have little faith in prophecy and divination. +I know not what Eleanor Mowbray, for so she is 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, be cast forth again in rags and wretchedness, let him +not blame his grandsire for his own want of caution."</p> + +<p>"Luke, I implore you, tell me," said Sybil, who had listened, +horror-stricken, to the sexton, shuddering, as it were, beneath +the chilly influence of his malevolent glance, "is this true? +Does your fate depend upon Eleanor Mowbray? Who is she? +What has she to do with Rookwood? Have you seen her? +Do you love her?"</p> + +<p>"I have never seen her," replied Luke.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven for that!" cried Sybil. "Then you love +her not?"</p> + +<p>"How were that possible?" returned Luke. "Do I not say +I have not seen her?"</p> + +<p>"Who is she, then?"</p> + +<p>"This old man tells me she is my cousin. She is betrothed +to my brother Ranulph."</p> + +<p>"How?" ejaculated Sybil. "And would you snatch his +betrothed from your brother's arms? Would you do him this +grievous wrong? Is it not enough that you must wrest from +him that which he has long deemed his own? And if he has +falsely deemed it so, it will not make his loss the less bitter. +If you do thus wrong your brother, do not look for happiness; +do not look for respect; for neither will be your portion. +Even this stony-hearted old man shrinks aghast at such a deed. +His snake-like eyes are buried on the ground. See, I have +moved even <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>And in truth Peter did appear, for an instant, strangely +moved.</p> + +<p>"'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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +And I love not the world, nor the things of the world, nor +those that inhabit the world. But I know what sways the +world and its inhabitants; and that is, <span class="smcapl">SELF! AND SELF-INTEREST!</span> +Let Luke reflect on this. The key to Rookwood is Eleanor +Mowbray. The hand that grasps hers, grasps those lands; +thus saith the prophecy."</p> + +<p>"It is a lying prophecy."</p> + +<p>"It was uttered by one of your race."</p> + +<p>"By whom?"</p> + +<p>"By Barbara Lovel," said Peter, with a sneer of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Ha!"</p> + +<p>"Heed him not," exclaimed Luke, as Sybil recoiled at this +intelligence. "I am yours."</p> + +<p>"Not mine! not mine!" shrieked she; "but, oh! not +<i>hers</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Whither go you?" cried Luke, as Sybil, half bewildered, +tore herself from him.</p> + +<p>"To Barbara Lovel."</p> + +<p>"I will go with you."</p> + +<p>"No! let me go alone. I have much to ask her; yet tarry +not with this old 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."</p> + +<p>And with distracted air she darted amongst the mouldering +cloisters, leaving Luke stupefied with anguish and surprise. +The sexton maintained a stern and stoical composure.</p> + +<p>"She is a woman, after all," muttered he; "all her high-flown +resolves melt like snow in the sunshine at the thought of +a rival. I congratulate you, grandson Luke; you are free from +your fetters."</p> + +<p>"Free!" echoed Luke. "Quit my sight; I loathe to look +upon you. You have broken the truest heart that ever beat in +woman's bosom."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," returned Peter; "it is not broken yet. Wait +till we hear what old Barbara has got to say; and, meanwhile,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +we must arrange with Dick Turpin the price of that certificate. +The knave knows its value well. Come, be a man. This is +worse than womanish."</p> + +<p>And at length he succeeded, half by force and half by persuasion, +in dragging Luke away with him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV3" id="CHAPTER_IV3"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>BARBARA LOVEL</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span style="margin-right: 1.5em;"><span class="smcap">Doctor Sancho de Moncada.</span></span><br /> +<i>Discurso sobre Espulsion de los Gitanos.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Like a dove escaped from the talons of the falcon, Sybil fled +from the clutches of the sexton. Her brain was in a whirl, her +blood on fire. She had no distinct perception of external +objects; no definite notion of what she herself was about to +do, and glided more like a flitting spirit than a living woman +along the ruined ambulatory. Her hair had fallen in disorder +over her face. She stayed not to adjust it, but tossed aside +the blinding locks with frantic impatience. She felt as one +may feel who tries to strain his nerves, shattered by illness, to +the endurance of some dreadful, yet necessary pain.</p> + +<p>Sybil loved her granddame, old Barbara; but it was with a +love tempered by fear. Barbara was not a person to inspire +esteem or to claim affection. She was regarded by the wild +tribe which she ruled as their queen-elect, with some such +feeling of inexplicable awe as is entertained by the African +slave for the Obeah woman. They acknowledged her power, +unhesitatingly obeyed her commands, and shrank with terror<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +from her anathema, which was indeed seldom pronounced; +but when uttered, was considered as doom. Her tribe she +looked upon as her flock, and stretched her maternal hand over +all, ready alike to cherish or chastise; and having already survived +a generation, that which succeeded, having from infancy +imbibed a superstitious veneration for the "cunning woman," +as she was called, the sentiment could never be wholly effaced. +Winding her way, she knew not how, through roofless halls, +over disjointed fragments of fallen pillars, Sybil reached a flight +of steps. A door, studded with iron nails, stayed her progress; +it was an old, strong oaken frame, surmounted by a Gothic +arch, in the keystone of which leered one of those grotesque +demoniacal faces with which the fathers of the church delighted +to adorn their shrines. Sybil looked up—her glance encountered +the fantastical visage. It recalled the features of the +sexton, and seemed to mock her—to revile her. Her fortitude +at once deserted her. Her fingers were upon the handle of +the door. She hesitated: she even drew back, with the intention +of departing, for she felt then that she dared not face +Barbara. It was too late—she had moved the handle. A +deep voice from within called to her by name. She dared not +disobey that call—she entered.</p> + +<p>The room in which Sybil found herself was the only entire +apartment now existing in the priory. It had survived the +ravages of time; it had escaped the devastation of man, whose +ravages outstrip those of time. Octagonal, lofty, yet narrow, +you saw at once that it formed the interior of a turret. It +was lighted by a small oriel window, commanding a lovely view +of the scenery around, and paneled with oak, richly wrought +in ribs and groins; and from overhead depended a molded +ceiling of honeycomb plaster-work. This room had something, +even now, in the days of its desecration, of monastic beauty +about it. Where the odor of sanctity had breathed forth, the +fumes of idolatry prevailed; but imagination, ever on the wing, +flew back to that period—and a tradition to that effect warranted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +the supposition—when, perchance, it had been the sanctuary +and the privacy of the prior's self.</p> + +<p>Wrapped in a cloak composed of the skins of various +animals, upon a low pallet, covered with stained scarlet cloth, +sat Barbara. Around her head was coiffed, in folds like those +of an Asiatic turban, a rich, though faded shawl, and her waist +was encircled with the magic zodiacal zone—proper to the +sorceress—the <i>Mago Cineo</i> of the Cingara—whence the name +Zingaro, according to Moncada—which Barbara had brought +from Spain. From her ears depended long golden drops, of +curious antique fashioning; and upon her withered fingers, +which looked like a coil of lizards, were hooped a multitude of +silver rings, of the purest and simplest manufacture. They +seemed almost of massive unwrought metal. Her skin was +yellow as the body of a toad; corrugated as its back. She +might have been steeped in saffron from her finger tips, the +nails of which were of the same hue, to such portions of her +neck as were visible, and which was puckered up like the +throat of a turtle. To look at her, one might have thought +the embalmer had experimented her art upon herself. So +dead, so bloodless, so blackened seemed the flesh, where flesh +remained, leather could scarce be tougher than her skin. She +seemed like an animated mummy. A frame so tanned, +appeared calculated to endure for ages; and, perhaps, might +have done so. But, alas! the soul cannot be embalmed. No +oil can re-illumine that precious lamp! And that Barbara's +vital spark was fast waning, was evident from her heavy, blood-shot +eyes, once of a swimming black, and lengthy as a witch's, +which were now sinister and sunken.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of the room was as strongly impregnated +as a museum with volatile odors, emitted from the stores of +drugs with which the shelves were loaded, as well as from +various stuffed specimens of birds and wild animals. Barbara's +only living companion was a monstrous owl, which, perched +over the old gipsy's head, hissed a token of recognition as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +Sybil advanced. From a hook, placed in the plaster roof, +was suspended a globe of crystal glass, about the size and +shape of a large gourd, filled with a pure pellucid liquid, in which +a small snake, the Egyptian aspic, described perpetual gyrations.</p> + +<p>Dim were the eyes of Barbara, yet not altogether sightless. +The troubled demeanor of her grandchild struck her as she +entered. She felt the hot drops upon her hand as Sybil +stooped to kiss it; she heard her vainly-stifled sobs.</p> + +<p>"What ails you, child?" said Barbara, in a voice that rattled +in her throat, and hollow as the articulation of a phantom. +"Have you heard tidings of Luke Bradley? Has any ill befallen +him? I said you would either hear of him or see him +this morning. He is not returned, I see. What have you +heard?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> returned," replied Sybil, faintly; "and no ill hath +happened to him."</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> returned, and you are here," echoed Barbara. +"No ill hath happened to <i>him</i>, thou sayest—am I to understand +there is—to <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>Sybil answered not. She could not answer.</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," said Barbara, more gently, her head and +hand shaking with paralytic affection: "a quarrel, a lover's +quarrel. Old as I am, I have not forgotten my feelings as a +girl. What woman ever does, if she be woman? and you, like +your poor mother, are a true-hearted wench. She loved her +husband, as a husband should be loved, Sybil; and though she +loved me well, she loved him better, as was right. Ah! it was +a bitter day when she left me for Spain; for though, to one of +our wandering race, 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 of that. She is gone. Nay, take +it not so to heart, wench. Luke has a hasty temper. 'Tis +not the first time I have told you so. He will not bear rebuke, +and you have questioned him too shrewdly touching his absence. +Is it not so? Heed it not. Trust me, you will have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +him seek your forgiveness ere the shadows shorten 'neath the +noontide sun."</p> + +<p>"Alas! alas!" said Sybil, sadly, "this is no lover's quarrel, +which may, at once, be forgotten and forgiven—would it were +so!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, then?" asked Barbara; and without waiting +Sybil's answer, she continued, with vehemence, "has he +wronged you? Tell me, girl, in what 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? +None of the blood of Barbara Lovel were ever unrevenged. +When Richard Cooper stabbed 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; drove him back to +his own country, and brought him to the gallows. It took a +power of gold. What matter? Revenge is dearer than gold. +And as it was with 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, though he flee afar. I will +drag him hither by the hair of his head," added she, with a +livid smile, and clutching at the air with her hands, as if in the +act of pulling some one towards her. "He shall wed you +within the hour, 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 am still their queen, and +woe to him that offendeth me!"</p> + +<p>"Mother! mother!" cried Sybil, affrighted at the storm +she had unwittingly aroused, "he has not injured me. 'Tis I +alone who am to blame, not Luke."</p> + +<p>"You speak in mysteries," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Sir Piers Rookwood is dead."</p> + +<p>"Dead!" echoed Barbara, letting fall her hazel rod. "Sir +Piers dead!"</p> + +<p>"And Luke Bradley——"</p> + +<p>"Ha!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is his successor."</p> + +<p>"Who told you that?" asked Barbara, with increased astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Luke himself. All is disclosed." And Sybil hastily recounted +Luke's adventures. "He is now Sir Luke Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"This is news, in truth," said Barbara; "yet not news to +weep for. You should rejoice, not lament. Well, well, I foresaw +it. I shall live to see all accomplished; to see my +Agatha's child ennobled; to see her wedded; ay, to see her +well wedded."</p> + +<p>"Dearest mother!"</p> + +<p>"I can endow you, and I will do it. You shall bring your +husband not alone beauty, you shall bring him wealth."</p> + +<p>"But, mother——"</p> + +<p>"My Agatha's daughter shall be Lady Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"Never! It cannot be."</p> + +<p>"What cannot be?"</p> + +<p>"The match you now propose."</p> + +<p>"What mean you, silly wench? Ha! I perceive the meaning +of those tears. The truth flashes upon me. He has discarded +you."</p> + +<p>"No, by the Heaven of Heavens, he is still the same—unaltered +in affection."</p> + +<p>"If so, your tears are out of place."</p> + +<p>"Mother, it is not fitting that I, a gipsy born, should wed +with him."</p> + +<p>"Not fitting! Ha! and you my child! Not fitting! Get +up, or I will spurn you. Not fitting! This from you to me! +I tell you it <i>is</i> fitting; you shall have a dower as ample as that +of any lady in the land. Not fitting! Do you say so, because +you think that he derives himself from a proud 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 which +his lineage hath flourished, my race can boast centuries,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +and was a people—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 rests upon his house."</p> + +<p>"I know it," said Sybil; "a dreadful curse, which, if I wed +him, will alight on me."</p> + +<p>"No; not on you; you shall avoid that curse. I know +a means to satisfy the avenger. Leave that to me."</p> + +<p>"I dare not, as it never can be; yet, tell me—you saw the +body of Luke's ill-fated mother. Was she poisoned? Nay, +you may speak. Sir Piers's death releases you from your +oath. How died she?"</p> + +<p>"By strangulation," said the old gipsy, raising her palsied +hand to her throat.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Sybil, gasping with horror. "Was there a +ring upon her finger when you embalmed the body?"</p> + +<p>"A ring—a wedding-ring! The finger was crookened. +Listen, girl, I could have told Luke the secret of his birth +long ago, but the oath imposed by Sir Piers sealed fast my +lips. His mother was wedded to Sir Piers; his mother was +murdered by Sir Piers. Luke was entrusted to my care by his +father. 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 your husband."</p> + +<p>"Do not deceive yourself, mother," said Sybil, with a fearful +earnestness. "He is not yet Sir Luke Rookwood; would +he had no claim to be so! The fortune that has hitherto +been so propitious may yet desert him. Bethink you of a +prophecy you uttered."</p> + +<p>"A prophecy? Ha!"</p> + +<p>And with slow enunciation Sybil pronounced the mystic +words which she had heard repeated by the sexton.</p> + +<p>As she spoke, a gloom, like that of a thunder-cloud, began +to gather over the brow of the old gipsy. The orbs of her +sunken eyes expanded, and wrath supplied her frame with +vigor. She arose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who told you that?" cried Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Luke's grandsire, Peter Bradley."</p> + +<p>"How learnt he it?" said Barbara. "It was to one who +hath long been in his grave I told it; so long ago, it had +passed from my memory. 'Tis strange! old Sir Reginald +had a brother, I know. But there is no other of the +house."</p> + +<p>"There is a cousin, Eleanor Mowbray."</p> + +<p>"Ha! I see; a daughter of that Eleanor Rookwood who +fled from her father's roof. Fool, fool. Am I caught in my +own toils? Those words were words of truth and power, and +compel the future and 'the will be' as with chains of brass. +They must be fulfilled, yet not by Ranulph. He shall never +wed Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"Whom then shall she wed?"</p> + +<p>"His elder brother."</p> + +<p>"Mother!" shrieked Sybil. "Do you say so? Oh! +recall your words."</p> + +<p>"I may not; it is spoken. Luke shall wed her."</p> + +<p>"Oh God, support me!" exclaimed Sybil.</p> + +<p>"Silly wench, be firm. It must be as I say. He shall wed +her—yet shall he wed her not. The nuptial torch shall be +quenched as soon as lighted; the curse of the avenger shall fall—yet +not on thee."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Sybil, "if sin must fall upon some innocent +head, let it be on mine—not upon hers. I love him, I +would gladly die for him. She is young—unoffending—perhaps +happy. Oh! do not let her perish."</p> + +<p>"Peace, I say!" cried Barbara, "and mark me. This is +your birthday. Eighteen summers have flown over your young +head—eighty winters have sown their snows on mine. <i>You</i> +have yet to learn. Years have brought wrinkles—they have +brought wisdom likewise. To struggle with Fate, I tell you, is +to wrestle with Omnipotence. We may foresee, but not avert +our destiny. What will be, shall be. This is your eighteenth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +birthday, Sybil: it is a day of fate to you; in it occurs your +planetary hour—an hour of good or ill, according to your +actions. I have cast your horoscope. I have watched your +natal star; it is under the baleful influence of Scorpion, and +fiery Saturn sheds his lurid glance upon it. Let me see your +hand. The line of life is drawn out distinct and clear—it runs—ha! +what means that intersection? Beware—beware, my +Sybil. Act as I tell you, and you are safe. I will make another +trial, by the crystal bowl. Attend."</p> + +<p>Muttering some strange words, sounding like a spell, Barbara, +with the bifurcate hazel staff which she used as a divining-rod, +described a circle upon the floor. Within this circle +she drew other lines, from angle to angle, forming seven triangles, +the bases of which constituted the sides of a septilateral +figure. This figure she studied intently for a few moments. +She then raised her wand and touched the owl with it. The +bird unfolded its wings, and arose in flight; then slowly circled +round the pendulous globe. Each time it drew nearer, until +at length it touched the glassy bowl with its flapping pinions.</p> + +<p>"Enough!" ejaculated Barbara. And at another motion +from her rod the bird stayed its flight and returned to its +perch.</p> + +<p>Barbara arose. She struck the globe with her staff. The +pure lymph became instantly tinged with crimson, as if blood +had been commingled with it. The little serpent could be seen +within, coiled up and knotted, as in the struggles of death.</p> + +<p>"Again I say, beware!" ejaculated Barbara, solemnly. +"This is ominous of ill."</p> + +<p>Sybil had sunk, from faintness, on the pallet. A knock was +heard at the door.</p> + +<p>"Who is without?" cried Barbara.</p> + +<p>"'Tis I, Balthazar," replied a voice.</p> + +<p>"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 said to resemble the raiment of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +Jewish high priest, made his appearance. This venerable personage +was no other than the patrico, or hierophant of the +Canting Crew.</p> + +<p>"I come to tell you that there are strangers—ladies—within +the priory," said the patrico, gravely. "I have searched for +you in vain," continued he, addressing Sybil; "the younger +of them seems to need your assistance."</p> + +<p>"Whence come they?" exclaimed Barbara.</p> + +<p>"They have ridden, I understand, from Rookwood," answered +the patrico. "They were on their way to Davenham, +when they were prevented."</p> + +<p>"From Rookwood?" echoed Sybil. "Their names—did +you hear their names?"</p> + +<p>"Mowbray is the name of both; they are a mother and a +daughter; the younger is called——"</p> + +<p>"Eleanor?" asked Sybil, with an acute foreboding of +calamity.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor is the name, assuredly," replied the patrico, somewhat +surprised. "I heard the elder, whom I guess to be her +mother, so address her."</p> + +<p>"Gracious God! She here!" exclaimed Sybil.</p> + +<p>"Here! Eleanor Mowbray here," cried Barbara; "within +my power. Not a moment is to be lost. Balthazar, hasten +round the tents—not a man must leave his place—above all, +Luke Bradley. See that these Mowbrays are detained within +the abbey. Let the bell be sounded. Quick, quick; leave +this 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 departed on his mission, with a glance +of triumph in her eyes, Barbara exclaimed, "Soh, no sooner +hath the thought possessed me, than the means of accomplishment +appear. It shall be done at once. I will tie the knot. +I will untie, and then retie it. This weak wench must be +nerved to the task," added she, regarding the senseless form +of Sybil. "Here is that will stimulate her," opening the cupboard,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +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 when +all is fulfilled; this liquid shall constrain her lover to be her +titled, landed husband. Ha, ha!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V3" id="CHAPTER_V3"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE INAUGURATION</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Beggar.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Spring.</i> But what is here—that solemn old fellow, that neither speaks +of himself, or any for him?</p> + +<p><i>Beggar.</i> O, sir, the rarest man of all: he is a prophet. See how he +holds up his prognosticating nose. He is divining now.</p> + +<p><i>Spring.</i> How, a prophet?</p> + +<p><i>Beggar.</i> 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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>The Merry Beggars.</i></p></div> + + +<p>In consequence of some few words which the sexton let fall +in the presence of the attendants, during breakfast, more perhaps +by design than accident, it was speedily rumored throughout +the camp that the redoubted Richard Turpin was for the +time its inmate. This intelligence produced some such sensation +as is experienced by the inhabitants of a petty town on +the sudden arrival of a prince of the blood, a commander-in-chief, +or other illustrious and distinguished personage, whose +fame has been vaunted abroad amongst his fellowmen by +Rumor, "and her thousand tongues;" and who, like our +highwayman, has rendered himself sufficiently notorious to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +an object of admiration and emulation amongst his contemporaries.</p> + +<p>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 brocade dressing-gown, filched, most probably, +from the wardrobe of some strolling player, grasped his baton +of office, a stout oaken truncheon, and sallied forth. The +ruffler, who found his representative in a very magnificently +equipped, and by no means ill-favored knave, whose chin was +decorated with a beard as lengthy and as black as Sultan Mahmoud's, +together with the dexterous hooker, issued forth from +the hovel which they termed their boozing ken, eager to catch +a glimpse of the prince of the high-tobygloaks. The limping +palliard tore the bandages from his mock wounds, shouldered +his crutch, and trudged hastily after them. The whip-jack +unbuckled his strap, threw away his timber leg, and "leapt +exulting, like the bounding roe." "With such a sail in sight," +he said, "he must heave to, like the rest." The dummerar, +whose tongue had been cut out by the Algerines, suddenly +found the use of it, and made the welkin ring with his shouts. +Wonderful were the miracles Dick's advent wrought. The +lame became suddenly active, the blind saw, the dumb spoke; +nay, if truth must be told, absolutely gave utterance to "most +vernacular execrations." Morts, autem morts, walking morts, +dells, doxies, kinching morts, and their coes, with all the shades +and grades of the Canting Crew, were assembled. There were, +to use the words of Brome—</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——Stark, errant, downright beggars. Ay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without equivocation, statute beggars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Couchant and passant, guardant, rampant beggars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Current and vagrant, stockant, whippant beggars!<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Each sunburnt varlet started from his shed; each dusky +dame, with her brown, half-naked urchins, followed at his heels;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +each "ripe young maiden, with the glossy eye," lingered but +to sleek her raven tresses, and to arrange her straw bonnet, and +then overtook the others; each wrinkled beldame hobbled as +quickly after as her stiffened joints would permit; while the +ancient patrico, the priest of the crew—who joined the couples +together by the hedge-side, "with the nice custom of dead +horse between"<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>—brought up the rear; all bent on one grand +object, that of having a peep at the "foremost man of all this +prigging world!"</p> + +<p>Dick Turpin, at the period of which we treat, was in the +zenith of his reputation. His deeds were full blown; his +exploits were in every man's mouth; and a heavy price was set +upon his head. That he should show himself thus openly, +where he might be so easily betrayed, excited no little surprise +among the craftiest of the crew, and augured an excess of +temerity on his part. Rash daring was the main feature of Turpin's +character. Like our great Nelson, he knew fear only by +name; and when he thus trusted himself in the hands of +strangers, confident in himself and in his own resources, he felt +perfectly easy as to the result. He relied also in the continuance +of his good fortune, which had as yet never deserted him. +Possessed of the belief that his hour was not yet come, he +cared little or nothing for any risk he might incur; and though +he might, undoubtedly, have some presentiment of the probable +termination of his career, he never suffered it to militate against +his present enjoyment, which proved that he was no despicable +philosopher.</p> + +<p>Turpin was the <i>ultimus Romanorum</i>, the last of a race, +which—we were almost about to say we regret—is now altogether +extinct. Several successors he had, it is true, but no name +worthy to be recorded after his own. With him expired the +chivalrous spirit which animated successively the bosoms of so +many knights of the road; with him died away that passionate +love of enterprise, that high spirit of devotion to the fair sex, +which was first breathed upon the highway by the gay, gallant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +Claude Du-Val, the Bayard of the road—<i>Le filou sans peur et +sans reproche</i>—but which was extinguished at last by the cord +that tied the heroic Turpin to the remorseless tree. It were a +subject well worthy of inquiry, to trace this decline and fall of +the empire of the tobymen to its remoter causes; to ascertain +the why and the wherefore, that with so many half-pay captains; +so many poor curates; so many lieutenants, of both +services, without hopes of promotion; so many penny-a-liners, +and fashionable 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 be borrowed, purses to be taken, +and mails are as plentiful as partridges—it were worth serious +investigation, we repeat, to ascertain why, with the best +material imaginable for a new race of highwaymen, we have +none, not even an amateur. Why do not some of these choice +spirits quit the <i>salons</i> of Pall-Mall, and take to the road? the +air of the heath is more bracing and wholesome, we should +conceive, than that of any "hell" whatever, and the chances +of success incomparably greater. We throw out this hint, without +a doubt of seeing it followed up. Probably the solution +of our inquiry may be, that the supply is greater than the +demand; that, in the present state of things, embryo highwaymen +may be more abundant than purses; and then, have we not +the horse-patrol? With such an admirably-organized system of +conservation, it is vain to anticipate a change. The highwaymen, +we fear, like their Irish brothers, the Rapparees, went out +with the Tories. They were averse to reform, and eschewed +emancipation.</p> + +<p>Lest any one should think we have overrated the pleasures +of the highwayman's existence, they shall hear what "the right +villainous" Jack Hall, a celebrated tobyman of his day, has got +to say on the subject. "His life—the highwayman's—has, +generally, the most mirth and the least care in it of any +man's breathing, and all he deals for is clear profit: he has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +that point of good conscience, that he always sells as he buys, +a good pennyworth, which is something rare, since he trades +with so small a stock. The <i>fence</i><a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> and he are like the devil +and the doctor, they live by one another; and, like traitors, +'tis best to keep each other's counsel. He has this point of +honesty, that he never robs the house he frequents"—Turpin +had the same scruples respecting the Hall of Rookwood in Sir +Piers's lifetime—; "and perhaps pays his debts better than +some others, for he holds it below the dignity of his employment +to commit so ungenteel a crime as insolvency, and loves +to pay nobly. He has another quality, not much amiss, that +he takes no more than 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 a less nuisance in a +commonwealth than a miser, because the money he engrosses +all circulates again, which the other hoards as though 'twere +only to be found again at the day of judgment. He is the +tithe-pig of his 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 the world threaten him, he stands +in fear of but one man in it, and that's the hangman; and +with him, too, he is generally in fee: however, I cannot 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 +be said to be his country-house, where he frequently lives so +many months in the year; and he is not so much concerned +to be carried thither for a small matter, if 'twere only for the +benefit of renewing his acquaintance there. He holds a petit +larceny as light as a nun does auricular confession, though +the priest has a more compassionate character than the hangman. +Every man in this community is esteemed according to his +particular quality, of which there are several degrees, though it +is contrary often to public government; for here a man shall +be valued purely for his merit, and rise by it too, though it be +but to a halter, in which there is a great deal of glory in dying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +like a hero, and making a decent figure in the cart to the last +two staves of the fifty-first psalm."<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<p>This, we repeat, is the plain statement of a practical man, +and again we throw out the hint for adoption. All we regret +is, that we are now degenerated from the grand tobyman to +the cracksman and the sneak, about whom there are no redeeming +features. How much lower the next generation of thieves +will dive it boots not to conjecture:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 14em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ætas parentum pejor avis tulit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nos nequiores; mox daturos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Progeniem vitiosiorem.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Cervantes laughed Spain's chivalry away," sang Byron; +and if Gay did not extinguish the failing flame of our <i>night</i> +errantry—unlike the "Robbers" of Schiller, which is said to +have inflamed the Saxon youth with an irrepressible mania for +brigandage—, the "Beggar's Opera" helped not to fan the +dying fire. That laugh was fatal, as laughs generally are. Macheath +gave the highwayman his <i>coup de grâce</i>.</p> + +<p>The last of this race—for we must persist in maintaining that +he <i>was</i> the last—, Turpin, like the setting sun, threw up some +parting rays of glory, and tinged the far highways with a luster +that may yet be traced like a cloud of dust raised by his horse's +retreating heels. Unequalled in the command of his steed, +the most singular feat that the whole race of the annals of +horsemanship has to record, and of which we may have more +to say hereafter, was achieved by him. So perfect was his +jockeyship, so clever his management of the animal he mounted, +so intimately acquainted was he with every cross-road in the +neighborhood of the metropolis—a book of which he constructed, +and carried constantly about his person—, as well as with many +other parts of England, particularly the counties of Chester, +York, and Lancaster, that he outstripped every pursuer, and +baffled all attempts at capture. His reckless daring, his restless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +rapidity—for so suddenly did he change his ground, and +renew his attacks in other quarters, that he seemed to be +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 his contributions.</p> + +<p>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 to outrage, and to prevent, as much as +lay in his power, the commission of violence by his associates. +Of late, since he had possessed himself of his favorite mare, +Black Bess, his robberies had been perpetrated with a suddenness +of succession, and at distances so apparently impracticable, +that the idea of all having been executed by one man, +was rejected as an impossibility; and the only way of reconciling +the description of the horse and rider, which tallied in +each instance, was the supposition that these attacks were +performed by confederates similarly mounted and similarly +accoutred.</p> + +<p>There was, in all this, as much of the "<i>famæ sacra fames</i>" +as of the "<i>auri</i>;" of the hungering after distinction, as well as +of the appetite of gain. Enamored of his vocation, Turpin +delighted to hear himself designated as the Flying Highwayman; +and it was with rapturous triumph that 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 by miracle, or by the aid of his wonder-working +mare, he reluctantly quitted the heathy hills of Bagshot, +the Pampas plains of Hounslow—over which like an archetype +of the galloping Sir Francis Head, he had so often +scoured,—the gorsy commons of Highgate, Hampstead, and +Finchley, the marshy fields of Battersea, almost all of which he +had been known to visit in a single night, and leaving these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +beaten tracks to the occupation of younger and less practised +hands, he bequeathed to them, at the same time, his own +reversionary interest in the gibbets thereupon erected, and +betook himself to the country.</p> + +<p>After a journey of more or less success, our adventurer found +himself at Rookwood, whither he had been invited after a +grand field-day by its hospitable and by no means inquisitive +owner. Breach of faith and good fellowship formed no part +of Turpin's character; he had his lights as well as his shades; +and as long as Sir Piers lived, his purse and coffers would have +been free from molestation, except, "so far," Dick said, "as +a cog or two of dice went. My dice, you know, are longs for +odd and even, a bale of bar'd cinque deuces," a pattern of +which he always carried with him; beyond this, excepting a +take-in at a steeple chase, Rookwood church being the mark, +a "do" at a leap, or some such trifle, to which the most scrupulous +could not raise an objection, Dick was all fair and above-board. +But when poor Sir Piers had "put on his wooden +surtout," to use Dick's own expressive metaphor, his conscientious +scruples evaporated into thin air. Lady Rookwood +was nothing to him; there was excellent booty to be appropriated—</p> + +<p class="hd4">The wise <i>convey</i> it call.</p> + +<p>He began to look about for hands; and having accidentally +encountered his old comrades, Rust and Wilder, they were let +into the business, which was imperfectly accomplished in the +manner heretofore described.</p> + +<p>To return from this digression. When Turpin presented +himself at the threshold of the door, on his way to inquire after +his mare, to his astonishment he found it closely invested. A +cheering shout from the tawny throng, succeeded by a general +clapping of hands, and attended by a buzzing susurration of +applause, such as welcomes the entrance of a popular actor +upon the stage, greeted the appearance of the highwayman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +At the first sight of the crowd he was a little startled, and +involuntarily sought for his pistols. But the demonstrations of +admiration were too unequivocal to be for a moment mistaken; +his hand was drawn from his pocket to raise his hat from his +brow.</p> + +<p>Thunders of applause.</p> + +<p>Turpin's external man, we have before said, was singularly +prepossessing. It was especially so in the eyes of <i>the</i> sex—fair +we certainly cannot say upon the present occasion—, amongst +whom not a single dissentient voice was to be heard. All concurred +in thinking him a fine fellow; could plainly read his +high courage in his bearing; his good breeding in his débonnaire +deportment; and his manly beauty in his extravagant +red whiskers. Dick saw the effect that he produced. He +was at 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 death itself, and has been known to influence +the manner of his dangling from the gibbet! To hear some +one cry, "There goes a proper handsome man," saith our +previously quoted authority, Jack Hall, "somewhat ameliorates +the terrible thoughts of the meagre tyrant death; and to go in +a dirty shirt were enough to save the hangman a labor, and +make a man die with grief and shame at being in that deplorable +condition." With a gracious smile of condescension, like a +popular orator—with a look of blarney like that of O'Connell, +and of assurance like that of Hume—he surveyed the male +portion of the spectators, tipped a knowing wink at the +prettiest brunettes he could select, and finally cut a sort of +fling with his well-booted legs, that brought down another +appeal of rapturous applause.</p> + +<p>"A rank scamp!"<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> cried the upright man; and this exclamation, +however equivocal it may sound, was intended, on his +part, to be highly complimentary.</p> + +<p>"I believe ye," returned the ruffler, stroking his chin—"one +may see that he's no half swell by the care with which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +cultivates the best gifts of nature, his whiskers. He's a rank +nib."<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a></p> + +<p>"Togged out to the ruffian, no doubt," said the palliard, +who was incomparably the shabbiest rascal in the corps. +"Though a needy mizzler mysel, I likes to see a cove vot's +vel dressed. Jist twig his swell kickseys and pipes;<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> if they +ain't the thing, I'm done. Lame Harry can't dance better +nor he—no, nor Jerry Juniper neither."</p> + +<p>"I'm dumb founded," roared the dummerar, "if he can't +patter romany<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> as vel as the best on us! He looks like a +rum 'un."</p> + +<p>"And a rum 'un he be, take my word for it," returned the +whip-jack, or sham sailor. "Look at his rigging—see how he +flashes his sticks<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>—those are the tools to rake a three-decker. +He's as clever a craft as I've seen this many a day, or I'm no +judge."</p> + +<p>The women were equally enchanted—equally eloquent in +the expression of their admiration.</p> + +<p>"What ogles!" cried a mort.</p> + +<p>"What pins!" said an autem mort, or married woman.</p> + +<p>"Sharp as needles," said a dark-eyed dell, who had +encountered one of the free and frolicsome glances which +our highwayman distributed so liberally among the petticoats.</p> + +<p>It was at this crisis Dick took off his hat. Cæsar betrayed +his baldness.</p> + +<p>"A thousand pities!" cried the men, compassionating his +thinly covered skull, and twisting their own ringlets, glossy and +luxuriant, though unconscious of Macassar. "A thousand +pities that so fine a fellow should have a sconce like a cocoanut!"</p> + +<p>"But then his red whiskers," rejoined the women, tired of +the uniformity of thick black heads of hair; "what a warmth +of coloring they impart to his face; and then only look how +beautifully bushy they make his cheeks appear!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>La Fosseuse and the court of the Queen of Navarre were +not more smitten with the Sieur de Croix's jolly pair of +whiskers.</p> + +<p>The hawk's eye of Turpin ranged over the whole assemblage. +Amidst that throng of dark faces there was not one familiar to +him.</p> + +<p>Before him stood the upright man, Zoroaster—so was he +called—, a sturdy, stalwart rogue, whose superior strength and +stature—as has not unfrequently been the case in the infancy of +governments that have risen to more importance than is likely +to be the case with that of Lesser Egypt—had been the means +of his elevation to his present dignified position. Zoroaster +literally <i>fought</i> his way upwards, and had at first to maintain +his situation by the strong arm; but he now was enabled to +repose upon his hard-won laurels, to smoke "the calumet of +peace," and quaff his tipple with impunity. For one of gipsy +blood, he presented an unusually jovial, liquor-loving countenance: +his eye was mirthful; his lip moist, as if from oft +potations; his cheek mellow as an Orleans plum, which fruit, in +color and texture, it mightily resembled. Strange to say, also, for +one of that lithe race, his person was heavy and hebetudinous; +the consequence, no doubt, of habitual intemperance. +Like Cribb, he waxed obese upon the championship. There +was a kind of mock state in his carriage, as he placed +himself before Turpin, and with his left hand twisted up the +tail of his dressing-gown, while the right thrust his truncheon +into his hip, which was infinitely diverting to the highwayman.</p> + +<p>Turpin's attention, however, was chiefly directed towards his +neighbor, the ruffler, in whom he recognized a famous impostor +of the day, with whose history he was sufficiently well +acquainted to be able at once to identify the individual. We +have before stated, that a magnificent coal-black beard +decorated the chin of this worthy; but this was not all—his +costume was in perfect keeping with his beard, and consisted +of a very theatrical-looking tunic, upon the breast of which was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +embroidered, in golden wire, the Maltese cross; while over +his shoulders were thrown the folds of an ample cloak of Tyrian +hue. To his side was girt 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 brim as a Spanish sombrero.</p> + +<p>Exaggerated as this description may appear, we can assure +our readers that it is not overdrawn; and that a counterpart +of the sketch we have given of the ruffler certainly "strutted +his hour" upon the stage of human life, and that the very +ancient and discriminating city of Canterbury—to which be all +honor—was his theatre of action. His history is so far curious, +that it exemplifies, more strongly than a thousand discourses +could do, how prone we are to be governed by appearances, +and how easily we may be made the dupes of a plausible +impostor. Be it remembered, however, that we treat of the +eighteenth century, before the march of intellect had commenced; +we are much too knowing to be similarly practised +upon in these enlightened times. But we will let the knight +of Malta, for such was the title assumed by the ruffler, tell his +own story in his own way hereafter; contenting ourselves with +the moral precepts we have already deduced from it.</p> + +<p>Next to the knight of Malta stood the whip-jack, habited in +his sailor gear—striped shirt and dirty canvas trousers; and +adjoining him was the palliard, a loathsome tatterdemalion, +his dress one heap of rags, and his discolored skin one mass of +artificial leprosy and imposthumes.</p> + +<p>As Turpin's eye shifted from one to another of these figures, +he chanced upon an individual who had been long endeavoring +to arrest his attention. This personage was completely in +the background. All that Dick could discern of him was a +brown curly head of hair, carelessly arranged 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 individual reconnoitered +him. A cocked hat was placed in a very <i>dégagée</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +manner under his arm, and he held an ebony cane in his hand, +very much in the style of a "<i>fassionable</i>," as the French have +it, of the present day. This glimpse was sufficient to satisfy +Turpin. He recognized in this whimsical personage an +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Jerry Juniper was what the classical Captain Grose would +designate a "gentleman with three outs," and, although he +was not entirely without wit, nor, his associates avouched, without +money, nor, certainly, in his own opinion, had that been +asked, without manners; yet was he assuredly without shoes, +without stockings, without shirt. This latter deficiency was +made up by a voluminous cravat, tied with proportionately +large bows. A jaunty pair of yellow breeches, somewhat faded; +a waistcoat of silver brocade, richly embroidered, somewhat +tarnished and lack-lustre; a murrey-colored velvet coat, somewhat +chafed, completed the costume of this beggar Brummell, +this mendicant macaroni!</p> + +<p>Jerry Juniper was a character well known at the time, as a +constant frequenter of all races, fairs, regattas, ship-launches, +bull-baits, and prize-fights, all of which he attended, and to +which he transported himself with an expedition little less +remarkable than that of Turpin. You met him at Epsom, at +Ascot, at Newmarket, at Doncaster, at the Roodee of Chester, +at the Curragh of Kildare. The most remote as well as the +most adjacent meeting attracted him. The cock-pit was his +constant haunt, and in more senses than one was he a <i>leg</i>. No +opera-dancer could be more agile, more nimble; scarcely, +indeed, more graceful, than was Jerry, with his shoeless and +stockingless feet; and the manner in which he executed a +pirouette, or a pas, before a line of carriages, seldom failed to +procure him "golden opinions from all sorts of dames." With +the ladies, it must be owned, Jerry was rather upon too easy +terms; but then, perhaps, the ladies were upon too easy terms +with Jerry; and if a bright-eyed fair one condescended to jest +with him, what marvel if he should sometimes slightly transgress<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +the laws of decorum. These aberrations, 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 his +other faculties, no one cut a sly joke, or trolled a merry ditty, +better than Jerry. His peculiarities, in short, were on the +pleasant side, and he was a general favorite in consequence.</p> + +<p>No sooner did Jerry perceive that he was recognized, than, +after kissing his hand, with the air of a <i>petit-maître</i>, to the +highwayman, he strove to 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 practised with +success in harlequinades, and not unfrequently in real life, +where a flying leap is occasionally taken over our heads. He +ran back a few yards to give himself an impetus, returned, +and, placing his hands upon the shoulders of a stalwart vagabond +near to him, threw a summerset upon the broad cap of +a palliard, who was so jammed in the midst that he could not +have stirred to avoid the shock; thence, without pausing, he +vaulted forwards, and dropped lightly upon the ground in front +of Zoroaster, and immediately before the highwayman.</p> + +<p>Dick laughed immoderately at Jerry's manœuvre. He +shook his old chum cordially by the hand, saying, in a +whisper, "What the devil brings you here, Jerry?"</p> + +<p>"I might retort, and ask you that question, Captain Turpin," +replied Jerry, <i>sotto voce</i>. "It is odd to see me here, +certainly—quite out of my element—lost amongst this <i>canaille</i>—this +Canting Crew—all the fault of a pair of gipsy eyes, +bright as a diamond, dark as a sloe. You comprehend—a +little affair, ha! Liable to these things. Bring your ear +closer, my boy; be upon your guard—keep a sharp look out—there's +a devil of a reward upon your head—I won't answer +for all those rascals."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for the hint, Jerry," replied Dick, in the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +tone. "I calculated my chances pretty nicely when I came +here. But if I should perceive 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't be silent upon +the occasion. Rest assured I shall have my eye upon the +gnarling scoundrels. I won't be sold for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Trust you for that," returned Juniper, with a wink. +"Stay," added he; "a thought strikes me. I have a scheme +<i>in petto</i> which may, perhaps, afford you some fun, and will, at +all events, insure your safety during your stay."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Just amuse yourself with a flirtation for a moment or two +with that pretty damsel, who has been casting her ogles at you +for the last five minutes without success, while I effect a master-stroke."</p> + +<p>And as Turpin, nothing loth, followed his advice, Jerry +addressed himself to Zoroaster. After a little conference, accompanied +by that worthy and the knight of Malta, the trio +stepped forward from the line, and approached Dick, when +Juniper, assuming some such attitude as our admirable Jones, +the comedian, is wont to display, delivered himself of the +following address. Turpin listened with the gravity of one of +the distinguished persons alluded to, at the commencement of +the present chapter, upon their receiving the freedom of the city +at the hands of a mayor and corporation. Thus spoke Jerry:</p> + +<p>"Highest of High-Tobymen! rummest of rum Padders, and +most scampish of Scampsmen! We, in the name of Barbara, +our most tawny queen; in the name of Zoroaster, our Upright +Man, Dimber Damber, or Olli Campolli, by all which titles his +excellency is distinguished; in our own respective names, as +High Pads and Low Pads, Rum Gills and Queer Gills, Patricos, +Palliards, Priggers, Whip-Jacks, and Jarkmen, from the Arch +Rogue to the Needy Mizzler, fully sensible of the honor you +have conferred upon us in gracing Stop-Hole Abbey with your +presence; and conceiving that we can in no way evince our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +sense of your condescension so entirely as by offering you the +freedom of our crew, together with the privileges of an Upright +Man,<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> which you may be aware are considerable, and by +creating you an honorary member of the Vagrant Club, which +we have recently established; and in so doing, we would fain +express the sentiments of gratification and pride which we experience +in enrolling among our members one who has extended +the glory of roguery so widely over the land, and who has +kicked up such a dust upon the highways of England, as most +effectually to blind the natives—one who is in himself a legion—of +highwaymen! Awaiting, with respectful deference, the +acquiescence of Captain Richard Turpin, we beg to tender +him the freedom of our crew."</p> + +<p>"Really, gentlemen," said Turpin, who did not exactly see +the drift of this harangue, "you do me a vast deal of honor. +I am quite at a loss to conceive how I can possibly have +merited so much attention at your hands; and, indeed, I feel +myself so unworthy——" Here Dick received an expressive +wink from Juniper, and therefore thought it prudent to alter +his expression. "Could I suppose myself at all deserving of +so much distinction," continued the modest speaker, "I should +at once accept your very obliging offer; but——"</p> + +<p>"None so worthy," said the upright man.</p> + +<p>"Can't hear of a refusal," said the knight of Malta.</p> + +<p>"Refusal—impossible!" reiterated Juniper.</p> + +<p>"No; no refusal," exclaimed a chorus of voices. "Dick +Turpin must be one of us. He shall be our dimber damber."</p> + +<p>"Well, gentlemen, since you are so pressing," replied Turpin, +"even so be it. I <i>will</i> be your dimber damber."</p> + +<p>"Bravo! bravo!" cried the mob, <i>not</i> "of gentlemen."</p> + +<p>"About it, pals, at once," said the knight of Malta, flourishing +Excalibur. "By St. Thomas à Becket, we'll have as fine a +scene as I myself ever furnished to the Canterbury lieges."</p> + +<p>"About what?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Your matriculation," replied Jerry. "There are certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +forms to be gone through, with an oath to be taken, merely a +trifle. We'll have a jolly booze when all's over. Come bing +avast, my merry pals; to the green, to the green: a Turpin! a +Turpin! a new brother!"</p> + +<p>"A Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!" echoed the crew.</p> + +<p>"I've brought you through," said Jerry, taking advantage of +the uproar that ensued to whisper to his chum; "none of them +will dare to lift a finger against you now. They are all your +friends for life."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," returned Turpin, "I should be glad to know +what has become of Bess."</p> + +<p>"If it's your prancer you are wanting," chirped a fluttering +creature, whom Turpin recognized as Luke's groom, Grasshopper, +"I gave her a fresh loaf and a stoup of stingo, as +you bade me, and there she be, under yon tree, as quiet as a +lamb."</p> + +<p>"I see her," replied Turpin; "just tighten her girths, Grasshopper, +and bring her after me, and thou shalt have wherewithal +to chirp over thy cups at supper."</p> + +<p>Away bounded the elfin dwarf to execute his behest.</p> + +<p>A loud shout now rent the skies, and presently afterwards +was heard the vile scraping of a fiddle, accompanied by the +tattoo of a drum. Approaching Turpin, a host of gipsies elevated +the highwayman upon their shoulders, and in this way he +was carried to the centre of the green, where the long oaken +table, which had once served the Franciscans for refection, was +now destined for the stage of the pageant.</p> + +<p>Upon this table three drums were placed; and Turpin was +requested to seat himself on the central one. A solemn prelude, +more unearthly than the incantation in the Freyschütz, +was played by the orchestra of the band, conducted by the +Paganini of the place, who elicited the most marvellous notes +from his shell. A couple of shawms<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> emitted sepulchral +sounds, while the hollow rolling of a drum broke ever and anon +upon the ear. The effect was prodigiously fine. During this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +overture the patrico and the upright man had ascended the +rostrum, each taking his place; the former on the right hand +of Turpin, the latter upon his left. Below them stood the +knight of Malta, with Excalibur drawn in his hand, and gleaming +in the sunshine. On the whole, Dick was amused with +what he saw, and with the novel situation in which he found +himself placed. Around the table were congregated a compact +mass of heads; so compact, indeed, that they looked like one +creature—an Argus, with each eye upturned upon the highwayman. +The idea struck Turpin that the restless mass of +parti-colored shreds and patches, of vivid hues and varied tintings, +singularly, though accidentally, disposed to produce such +an effect, resembled an immense tiger-moth, or it might be a +Turkey carpet spread out upon the grass!</p> + +<p>The scene was a joyous one. It was a brilliant sunshiny +morning. Freshened and purified by the storm of the preceding +night, the air breathed a balm upon the nerves and senses +of the robber. The wooded hills were glittering in light; the +brook was flowing swiftly past the edge of the verdant slope, +glancing like a wreathed snake in the sunshine—its "quiet +song" lost in the rude harmony of the mummers, as were the +thousand twitterings of the rejoicing birds; the rocks bared +their bosoms to the sun, or were buried in deep-cast gloom; +the shadows of the pillars and arches of the old walls of the +priory were projected afar, while the rose-like ramifications of +the magnificent marigold window were traced, as if by a pencil, +upon the verdant tablet of the sod.</p> + +<p>The overture was finished. With the appearance of the +principal figures in this strange picture the reader is already +familiar. It remains only to give him some idea of the patrico. +Imagine, then, an old superannuated goat, reared upon its hind +legs, and clad in a white sheet, disposed in folds like those of a +simar about its limbs, and you will have some idea of Balthazar, +the patrico. This resemblance to the animal before mentioned +was rendered the more striking by his huge, hanging, goat-like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +under lip, his lengthy white beard, and a sort of cap, covering +his head, which was ornamented with a pair of horns, such as +are to be seen in Michael Angelo's tremendous statue of Moses. +Balthazar, besides being the patrico of the tribe, was its principal +professor of divination, and had been the long-tried and +faithful minister of Barbara Lovel, from whose secret instructions +he was supposed to have derived much of his magical +skill.</p> + +<p>Placing a pair of spectacles upon his "prognosticating nose," +and unrolling a vellum skin, upon which strange characters +were written, Balthazar, turning to Turpin, thus commenced +in a solemn voice:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 15em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou who wouldst our brother be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say how we shall enter thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Name the name that thou wilt bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere our livery thou wear?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"I see no reason why I should alter my designation," replied +the noviciate; "but as popes change their titles on their +creation, there can be no objection to a scampsman following so +excellent an example. Let me be known as the Night Hawk."</p> + +<p>"The Night Hawk—good," returned the hierophant, proceeding +to register the name upon the parchment. "Kneel +down," continued he.</p> + +<p>After some hesitation, Turpin complied.</p> + +<p>"You must repeat the 'salamon,' or oath of our creed, +after my dictation," said the patrico; and Turpin, signifying +his assent by a nod, Balthazar propounded the following abjuration:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">OATH OF THE CANTING CREW</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I, Crank-Cuffin, swear to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True to this fraternity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I will in all obey<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rule and order of the lay.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Never blow the gab, or squeak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never snitch to bum or beak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But religiously maintain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Authority of those who reign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over Stop-Hole Abbey Green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be they tawny king, or queen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their cause alone will fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think what they think, wrong or right;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serve them truly, and no other,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be faithful to my brother;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suffer none, from far or near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their rights to interfere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No strange Abram, ruffler crack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hooker of another pack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rogue or rascal, frater, maunderer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Irish toyle, or other wanderer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dimber damber, angler, dancer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prig of cackler, prig of prancer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No swigman, swaddler, clapperdudgeon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cadge-gloak, curtal, or curmudgeon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No whip-jack, palliard, patrico;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No jarkman, be he high or low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dummerar, or romany;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No member of "<i>the Family</i>;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No ballad-basket, bouncing buffer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any other, will I suffer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But stall-off now and for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All outliers whatsoever:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I keep to the foregone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may help me Salamon!<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"So help me Salamon!" repeated Turpin, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Zoroaster," said the patrico to the upright man, "do thy +part of this ceremonial."</p> + +<p>Zoroaster obeyed; and, taking Excalibur from the knight of +Malta, bestowed a hearty thwack with the blade upon the +shoulders of the kneeling highwayman, assisting him afterwards +to arise.</p> + +<p>The inauguration was complete.</p> + +<p>"Well," exclaimed Dick, "I'm glad it's all over. My leg<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +feels a little stiffish. I'm not much given to kneeling. I +must dance it off;" saying which, he began to shuffle upon +the boards. "I tell you what," continued he, "most reverend +patrico, that same 'salmon' of yours has a cursed long tail. +I could scarce swallow it all, and it's strange if it don't give +me an indigestion. As to you, sage Zory, from the dexterity +with which you flourish your sword, I should say you had +practised at court. His majesty could scarce do the thing +better, when, slapping some fat alderman 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 booze together +ere I depart, for I don't think my stay will be long in +the land of Egypt."</p> + +<p>This suggestion of Turpin was so entirely consonant to the +wishes of the assemblage, that it met with universal approbation; +and upon a sign from Zoroaster, some of his followers +departed in search of supplies for the carousal. Zoroaster +leaped from the table, and his example was followed by Turpin, +and more leisurely by the patrico.</p> + +<p>It was rather early in the day for a drinking bout. But the +Canting Crew were not remarkably particular. The chairs +were removed, and the jingling of glasses announced the arrival +of the preliminaries of the matutine symposion. Poles, canvas, +and cords were next brought; and in almost as short a space of +time as one scene is substituted for another in a theatrical representation, +a tent was erected. Benches, stools, and chairs +appeared with equal celerity, and the interior soon presented an +appearance like that of a booth at a fair. A keg of brandy was +broached, and the health of the new brother quaffed in brimmers.</p> + +<p>Our highwayman returned thanks. Zoroaster was in the +chair, the knight of Malta acting as croupier. A second toast +was proposed—the tawny queen. This was drunk with a like +enthusiasm, and with a like allowance of the potent spirit; but +as bumpers of brandy are not to be repeated with impunity, it +became evident to the president of the board that he must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +not repeat his toasts quite so expeditiously. To create a temporary +diversion, therefore, he called for a song.</p> + +<p>The dulcet notes of the fiddle now broke through the +clamor; and, in answer to the call, Jerry Juniper volunteered +the following:</p> + +<p class="hd1">JERRY JUNIPER'S CHANT</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In a box<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> of the stone jug<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> I was born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a hempen widow<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> the kid forlorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my father, as I've heard say,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a merchant of capers<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who cut his last fling with great applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who cut his last fling with great applause,<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the tune of a "hearty choke with caper sauce."<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The knucks in quod<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> did my schoolmen play,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And put me up to the time of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until at last there was none so knowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Until at last there was none so knowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No such sneaksman<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> or buzgloak<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> going.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fogles<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> and fawnies<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> soon went their way,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the spout<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> with the sneezers<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> in grand array.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dummy hunter<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> had forks<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> so fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No dummy hunter had forks so fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No knuckler<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> so deftly could fake a cly,<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No slour'd hoxter<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> my snipes<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> could stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knap a reader<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> like me in the lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon then I mounted in swell-street high.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon then I mounted in swell-street high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sported my flashiest toggery<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a>,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firmly resolved I would make my hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Mercury's star shed a single ray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my strummel faked in the newest twig.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my fawnied famms,<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> and my onions gay,<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thimble of ridge<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a>, and my driz kemesa<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my togs were so niblike<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> and splash,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All my togs were so niblike and splash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Readily the queer screens I then could smash;<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my nuttiest blowen,<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> one fine day,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the beaks<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> did her fancy man betray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus was I bowled out at last<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thus was I bowled out at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And into the jug for a lag was cast;<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I slipped my darbies<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> one morn in May,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Fake away,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave to the dubsman<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> a holiday.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here I am, pals, merry and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A regular rollicking romany.<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Nix my doll pals, fake away.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Much laughter and applause rewarded Jerry's attempt to +please; and though the meaning of his chant, even with the +aid of the numerous notes appended to it, may not be quite +obvious to our readers, we can assure them that it was perfectly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +intelligible to the Canting Crew. Jerry was now entitled to a +call; and happening, at the moment, to meet the fine dark +eyes of a sentimental gipsy, one of that better class of mendicants +who wandered about the country with a guitar at his back, +his election fell upon him. The youth, without prelude, struck +up a</p> + + +<p class="hd1">GIPSY SERENADE</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 31em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Merry maid, merry maid, wilt thou wander with me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will roam through the forest, the meadow, and lea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will haunt the sunny bowers, and when day begins to flee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our couch shall be the ferny brake, our canopy the tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>No life like the gipsy's, so joyous and free!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Merry maid, merry maid, though a roving life be ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will laugh away the laughing and quickly fleeting hours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hearts are free, as is the free and open sky above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we know what tamer souls know not, how lovers ought to love.<br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>No life like the gipsy's so joyous and free!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Zoroaster now removed the pipe from his upright lips to +intimate his intention of proposing a toast.</p> + +<p>A universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> was +followed by profound silence. The sage spoke:</p> + +<p>"The city of Canterbury, pals," said he; "and may it never +want a knight of Malta."</p> + +<p>The toast was pledged with much laughter, and in many +bumpers.</p> + +<p>The knight, upon whom all eyes were turned, rose, "with +stately bearing and majestic motion," to return thanks.</p> + +<p>"I return you an infinitude of thanks, brother pals," said he, +glancing round the assemblage; and bowing to the president, +"and to you, most upright Zory, for the honor you have done +me in associating my name with that city. Believe me, I +sincerely appreciate the compliment, and echo the sentiment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +from the bottom of my soul. I trust it never <i>will</i> want a knight +of Malta. In return for your consideration, but a poor one +you will say, you shall have a ditty, which I composed upon +the occasion of my pilgrimage to that city, and which I have +thought proper to name after myself."</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE KNIGHT OF MALTA</p> + +<p class="center"><i>A Canterbury Tale</i><a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 31em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come list to me, and you shall have, without a hem or haw, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Canterbury pilgrimage, much better than old Chaucer's.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis of a hoax I once played off upon that city clever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The memory of which, I hope, will stick to it for ever.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i16"><i>Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To execute my purpose, in the first place, you must know, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My locks I let hang down my neck—my beard and whiskers grow, sirs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A purple cloak I next clapped on, a sword lagged to my side, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two pages were there by my side, upon two little ponies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as macaronies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er my long and curly locks, I wore a broad-brimmed castor.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The people all flocked forth, amazed to see a man so hairy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh I such a sight had ne'er before been seen in Canterbury!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My flowing robe, my flowing beard, my horse with flowing mane, sirs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stared—the days of chivalry, they thought, were come again, sirs!<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I told them a long rigmarole romance, that did not halt a<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jot, that they beheld in me a real knight of Malta!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tom à Becket had I sworn I was, that saint and martyr hallowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I doubt not just as readily the bait they would have swallowed.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I rode about, and speechified, and everybody gullied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tavern-keepers diddled, and the magistracy bullied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like puppets were the townsfolk led in that show they call a raree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gotham sages were a joke to those of Canterbury.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The theatre I next engaged, where I addressed the crowd, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on retrenchment and reform I spouted long and loud, sirs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tithes and on taxation I enlarged with skill and zeal, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who so able as a Malta knight, the malt tax to repeal, sirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As a candidate I then stepped forth to represent their city,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my non-election to that place was certainly a pity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For surely I the fittest was, and very proper, very,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To represent the wisdom and the wit of Canterbury.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the trial of some smugglers next, one thing I rather queer did,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the justices upon the bench I literally <i>bearded</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I swore that I some casks did see, though proved as clear as day, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I happened at the time to be some fifty miles away, sirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With my coal-black beard, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This last assertion, I must own, was somewhat of a blunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for perjury indicted they compelled me to knock under;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my prosperous career this slight error put a stop, sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus <i>crossed</i>, the knight of Malta was at length obliged to <i>hop</i>, sirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>With his coal-black beard, and purple cloak,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i16"><i>Good-by to the knight of Malta.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The knight sat down amidst the general plaudits of the +company.</p> + +<p>The party, meanwhile, had been increased by the arrival of +Luke and the sexton. The former, who was in no mood for +revelry, refused to comply with his grandsire's solicitation to +enter, and remained sullenly at the door, with his arms folded, +and his eyes fixed upon Turpin, whose movements he commanded +through the canvas aperture. The sexton walked up +to Dick, who was seated at the post of honor, and, clapping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +him upon the shoulder, congratulated him upon the comfortable +position in which he found him.</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha! Are you there, my old death's-head on a mop-stick?" +said Turpin, with a laugh. "Ain't we merry mumpers, +eh? Keeping it up in style. Sit down, old Noah—make +yourself comfortable, Methusalem."</p> + +<p>"What say you to a drop of as fine Nantz as you ever tasted +in your life, old cove?" said Zoroaster.</p> + +<p>"I have no sort of objection to it," returned Peter, "provided +you will all pledge my toast."</p> + +<p>"That I will, were it old Ruffin himself," shouted Turpin.</p> + +<p>"Here's to the three-legged mare," cried Peter. "To the +tree that bears fruit all the year round, and yet has neither +bark nor branch. You won't refuse that toast, Captain +Turpin?"</p> + +<p>"Not I," answered Dick; "I owe the gallows no grudge. +If, as Jerry's song says, I must have a 'hearty choke and caper +sauce' for my breakfast one of these fine mornings, it shall +never be said that I fell to my meal without appetite, or +neglected saying grace before it. Gentlemen, here's Peter +Bradley's toast: 'The scragging post—the three-legged mare,' +with three times three."</p> + +<p>Appropriate as this sentiment was, it did not appear to be +so inviting to the party as might have been anticipated, and +the shouts soon died away.</p> + +<p>"They like not the thoughts of the gallows," said Turpin +to Peter. "More fools they. A mere bugbear to frighten +children, believe me; and never yet alarmed a brave man. +The gallows, pshaw! One can but die once, and what signifies +it how, so that it be over quickly. I think no more of the last +leap into eternity than clearing a five-barred gate. A rope's +end for it! So let us be merry, and make the most of our +time, and that'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 a stave, my antediluvian file,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +and, in the meantime, tip me a gage of fogus,<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> Jerry; and if +that's a bowl of huckle-my-butt<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> you are brewing, Sir William," +added he, addressing the knight of Malta, "you may send me +a jorum at your convenience."</p> + +<p>Jerry handed the highwayman a pipe, together with a tumbler +of the beverage which the knight had prepared, which he pronounced +excellent; and while the huge bowl was passed +round to the company, a prelude of shawms announced that +Peter was ready to break into song.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, after the symphony was ended, accompanied +at intervals by a single instrument, Peter began his melody, in +a key so high, that the utmost exertions of the shawm-blower +failed to approach its altitudes. The burden of his minstrelsy +was</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE MANDRAKE<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0" title="Môly de min kaleousi theoi, chalnpon de t' oryssein">Μῶλύ δέ μιν καλέουσι θεοί, χαλνπὸν δέ τ' ὀρύσσειν<br /></span> +<span class="i0" title="Andrasi ge thnêtoisi theoi, de te panta dynantai.">Ἀνδράσι γε θνητοισι θεοι, δέ τε πάντα δύνανται.<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><span class="smcap">Homerus.</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mandrake grows 'neath the gallows-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rank and green are its leaves to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green and rank, as the grass that waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the unctuous earth of graves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though all around it lie bleak and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freely the mandrake flourisheth there.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Maranatha—Anathema!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dread is the curse of mandragora!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Euthanasy!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the foot of the gibbet the mandrake springs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just where the creaking carcase swings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some have thought it engendered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the fat that drops from the bones of the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some have thought it a human thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this is a vain imagining.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Maranatha—Anathema!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dread is the curse of mandragora!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Euthanasy!</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A charnel leaf doth the mandrake wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A charnel fruit doth the mandrake bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet none like the mandrake hath such great power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such virtue resides not in herb or flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aconite, hemlock, or moonshade, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None hath a poison so subtle and keen.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Maranatha—Anathema!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dread is the curse of mandragora!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Euthanasy!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And whether the mandrake be create<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flesh with the power incorporate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not; yet, if from the earth 'tis rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrieks and groans from the root are sent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrieks and groans, and a sweat like gore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oozes and drops from the clammy core.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Maranatha—Anathema!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Dread is the curse of mandragora!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Euthanasy!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood for blood is his destiny.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some who have plucked it have died with groans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to the mandrake's expiring moans;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some have died raving, and some beside—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With penitent prayers—but <i>all</i> have died.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Jesu! save us by night and day!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>From the terrible death of mandragora!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i20"><i>Euthanasy!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"A queer chant that," said Zoroaster, coughing loudly, in +token of disapprobation.</p> + +<p>"Not much to my taste," quoth the knight of Malta. "We +like something more sprightly in Canterbury."</p> + +<p>"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 shall never cry Euthanasy at the Triple +Tree."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart," replied Turpin. "You shall have—but +what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke—nay, nay, man, no +shrinking—stand forward; I've a word or two to say to you. +We must have a hob-a-nob glass together for old acquaintance +sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you're not a lord yet, nor +a baronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; +never look glum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the Canting +Crew now; no man shall sneer 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. Make ready +there, you gut-scrapers, you shawm-shavers; I'll put your +lungs in play for you presently. In the meantime—charge, +pals, charge—a toast, a toast! Health and prosperity to Sir +Luke Rookwood! I see you are surprised—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?"</p> + +<p>Astonishment prevailed amongst the crew. Luke himself +had been taken by surprise. When Turpin discovered him +at the door of the tent, and summoned him to appear, he +reluctantly complied with the request; but when, in a half-bantering +vein, Dick began to rally him upon his pretensions, +he would most gladly have retreated, had it been in his power. +It was then too late. He felt he must stand the ordeal. +Every eye was fixed upon him with a look of inquiry.</p> + +<p>Zoroaster took his everlasting pipe from his mouth.</p> + +<p>"This ain't true, sure<i>ly</i>?" asked the perplexed Magus.</p> + +<p>"He has said it," replied Luke; "I may not deny it."</p> + +<p>This was sufficient. There was a wild hubbub of delight +amongst the crew, for Luke was a favorite with all.</p> + +<p>"Sir Luke Rookwood!" cried Jerry Juniper, who liked a +title as much as Tommy Moore is said to dote upon a lord. +"Upon my soul I sincerely congratulate you; devilish fortunate +fellow. Always cursed unlucky myself. I could never find +out my own father, unless it were one Monsieur des Capriolles, +a French dancing-master, and <i>he</i> never left anything behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +him that I could hear of, except a broken kit and a hempen +widow. Sir Luke Rookwood, we shall do ourselves the +pleasure of drinking your health and prosperity."</p> + +<p>Fresh bumpers and immense cheering.</p> + +<p>Silence being in a measure restored, Zoroaster claimed +Turpin's promise of a song.</p> + +<p>"True, true," replied Dick; "I have not forgotten it. +Stand to your bows, my hearties."</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Oliver<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> puts his black nightcap on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every star its glim<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> is hiding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forth to the heath is the scampsman<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His matchless cherry-black<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> prancer riding;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merrily over the common he flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fast and free as the rush of rocket,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His tol<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> by his side, and his pops<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> in his pocket.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p class="center"><b>CHORUS</b></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Then who can name</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>So merry a game,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As the game of all games—high toby?</i><a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The traveller hears him, away! away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the wide wide heath he scurries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ever the faster and faster he hurries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is caught—he must "stand and deliver;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then out with the dummy<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a>, and off with the bit,<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! the game of high toby for ever!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p class="center"><b>CHORUS</b></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Then who can name</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>So merry a game,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As the game of all games—high toby?</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +</div></div></div> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To compare with the game of high toby;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To blue devils, blue plumbs<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> give the go-by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap!<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even rack punch has <i>some</i> bitter in it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the mare-with-three-legs<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a>, boys, I care not a rap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twill be over in less than a minute.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p class="center"><b>GRAND CHORUS</b></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Then hip, hurrah!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Fling care away!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurrah for the game of high toby!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"And now, pals," said Dick, who began to feel the influence +of these morning cups, "I vote that we adjourn. Believe me +I shall always bear in mind that I am a brother of your band. +Sir Luke and I must have a little chat together ere I take my +leave. Adieu!"</p> + +<p>And taking Luke by the arm, he walked out of the tent. +Peter Bradley rose, and followed them.</p> + +<p>At the door they found the dwarfish Grasshopper with Black +Bess. Rewarding the urchin for his trouble, and slipping the +bridle of his mare over his hand, Turpin continued his walk +over the green. For a few minutes he seemed to be lost in +rumination.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what, Sir Luke," said he; "I should like to do +a generous thing, and make you a present of this bit of paper. +But one ought not to throw away one's luck, you know—there +is a tide in the affairs of thieves, as the player coves say, which +must be taken at the flood, or else——no matter! Your old +dad, Sir Piers—God help him!—had the gingerbread, <i>that</i> I +know; he was, as we say, a regular rhino-cerical cull. You +won't feel a few thousands, especially at starting; and besides, +there are two others, Rust and Wilder, who row in the same +boat with me, and must therefore come in for their share of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +the reg'lars. All this considered, you can't complain, I think +if I ask five thousand for it. That old harridan, Lady Rookwood, +offered me nearly as much."</p> + +<p>"I will not talk to you of fairness," said Luke; "I will not +say that document 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 it to the best advantage. I must, perforce, +agree to your terms."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," replied Dick, "it's quite optional; Lady Rookwood +will give as much, and make no mouths about it. Soho, +lass! What makes Bess prick her ears in that fashion?—Ha! +carriage-wheels in the distance! that jade knows the sound as +well as I do. I'll just see what it's like!—you will have ten +minutes for reflection. Who knows if I may not have come +in for a good thing here?"</p> + +<p>At that instant the carriage passed the angle of a rock some +three hundred yards distant, and was seen slowly ascending +the hill-side. Eager as a hawk after his quarry, Turpin dashed +after it.</p> + +<p>In vain the sexton, whom he nearly overthrew in his career, +called after him to halt. He sped like a bolt from the +bow.</p> + +<p>"May the devil break his neck!" cried Peter, as he saw +him dash through the brook; "could he not let them +alone?"</p> + +<p>"This must not be," said Luke; "know you whose carriage +it is?"</p> + +<p>"It is a shrine that holds the jewel that should be dearest +in your eyes," returned Peter; "haste, and arrest the spoiler's +hand."</p> + +<p>"Whom do you mean?" asked Luke.</p> + +<p>"Eleanor Mowbray," replied Peter. "She is there. To +the rescue—away."</p> + +<p>"Eleanor Mowbray!" echoed Luke—"and Sybil?——"</p> + +<p>At this instant a pistol-shot was heard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you let murder be done, and upon your cousin?" cried +Peter, with a bitter look. "You are not what I took you for."</p> + +<p>Luke answered not, but, swift as the hound freed from the +leash, darted in the direction of the carriage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI3" id="CHAPTER_VI3"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>ELEANOR MOWBRAY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">——Mischiefs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are like the visits of Franciscan friars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They never come to prey upon us single.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Devil's Law Case.</i></p></div> + + +<p>The course of our tale returns now to Eleanor Mowbray. +After she had parted from Ranulph Rookwood, and had +watched him disappear beneath the arches of the church +porch, her heart sank, and, drawing herself back within the +carriage, she became a prey to the most poignant affliction. +In vain she endeavored to shake off this feeling of desolation. +It would not be. Despair had taken possession of her; the +magic fabric of delight melted away, or only gleamed to tantalize, +at an unreachable distance. A presentiment that +Ranulph would never be hers had taken root in her imagination, +and overshadowed all the rest.</p> + +<p>While Eleanor pursued this train of reflection, the time +insensibly wore away, until the sudden stoppage of the carriage +aroused the party from their meditation. Major Mowbray +perceived that the occasion of the halt was the rapid +advance of a horseman, who was nearing them at full speed. +The appearance of the rider was somewhat singular, and +might have created some uneasiness as to the nature of his +approach, had not the major immediately recognized a friend; +he was, nevertheless, greatly surprised to see him, and turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +to Mrs. Mowbray to inform her that Father Ambrose, to his +infinite astonishment, was coming to meet them, and appeared, +from his manner, to be the bearer of unwelcome tidings.</p> + +<p>Father Ambrose was, perhaps, the only being whom Eleanor +disliked. She had felt an unaccountable antipathy towards +him, which she could neither extirpate nor control, during +their long and close intimacy. It may be necessary to mention +that her religious culture had been in accordance with +the tenets of the Romish Church, in whose faith—the faith of +her ancestry—her mother had continued; and that Father +Ambrose, with whom she had first become acquainted during +the residence of the family near Bordeaux, was her ghostly +adviser and confessor. An Englishman by birth, he had been +appointed pastor to the diocese in which they dwelt, and was, +consequently, a frequent visitor, almost a constant inmate of +the château; yet though duty and respect would have prompted +her to regard the father with affection, Eleanor could never +conquer the feelings of dislike and distrust which she had at +first entertained towards him; a dislike which was increased +by the strange control in which he seemed to hold her mother, +who regarded him with a veneration approaching to infatuation. +It was, therefore, with satisfaction that she bade him adieu. +He had, however, followed his friends to England under a +feigned name as—being a recusant Romish priest, and supposed +to have been engaged in certain Jesuitical plots, his return +to his own country was attended with considerable risk—, +and had now remained domesticated with 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—she fancied he might have been engaged in political +intrigue with Sir Reginald, which would have well accorded +with his ardent, ambitious temperament—, and the knowledge +of this circumstance made her doubly apprehensive lest the +nature of his present communication should have reference +to her lover, towards whose cause the father had never been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +favorable, and respecting whose situation he might have made +some discovery, which she feared he might use to Ranulph's +disadvantage.</p> + +<p>Wrapped in a long black cloak, with a broad-brimmed hat +drawn closely over his brows, it was impossible to distinguish +further of the priest's figure and features beyond the circumstance +of his height, which was remarkable, until he had reached +the carriage window, when, raising his hat, he disclosed a head +that Titian might have painted, and which, arising from the +dark drapery, looked not unlike the visage of some grave 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 were hollow, and blue veins might be traced +beneath the sallow skin; the cheek-bones were high, and there +was something in the face that spoke of self-mortification; +while the thin livid lips, closely compressed, and the austere +and sinister expression of his countenance, showed that his +self-abasement, if he had ever practised it, had scarcely prostrated +the demon of pride, whose dominion might still be traced +in the lines and furrows of his haughty physiognomy. The +father looked at Mrs. Mowbray, and then glanced suspiciously +at Eleanor. The former appeared to understand him.</p> + +<p>"You would say a word to me in private," said Mrs. Mowbray; +"shall I descend?"</p> + +<p>The priest bowed assent.</p> + +<p>"It is not to you alone that my mission extends," said he, +gravely; "you are all in part concerned; your son had better +alight with you."</p> + +<p>"Instantly," replied the major. "If you will give your +horse in charge to the postilion, we will attend you at once."</p> + +<p>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 subject of their conversation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +she watched their motions as narrowly as her situation permitted. +From the earnest manner of the priest, and the interest +his narrative seemed to excite in his hearers, it was +evident that his communication was of importance.</p> + +<p>Presently, accompanied by Father Ambrose, Mrs. Mowbray +returned to the carriage, while the major, mounting the priest's +horse, after bidding a hasty adieu to his sister, adding, with +a look that belied the consolation intended to be conveyed +by his words, that "all was well," but without staying to offer +her any explanation of the cause of his sudden departure, rode +back the way they had just traversed, and in the direction of +Rookwood. Bereft of the only person to whom she could have +applied for information, though dying with curiosity and anxiety +to know the meaning of this singular interview and of the sudden +change of plans which she felt so intimately concerned herself, +Eleanor was constrained to preserve silence, as, after their +entrance into the carriage, her mother again seemed lost in +painful reflection, and heeded her not; and the father, drawing +from his pocket a small volume, appeared intently occupied +in its perusal.</p> + +<p>"Dear mother," said Eleanor, at length, turning to Mrs. +Mowbray, "my brother is gone——"</p> + +<p>"To Rookwood," said Mrs. Mowbray, in a tone calculated +to check further inquiry; but Eleanor was too anxious to +notice it.</p> + +<p>"And wherefore, mother?" said she. "May I not be informed?"</p> + +<p>"Not as yet, my child—not as yet," replied Mrs. Mowbray. +"You will learn all sufficiently early."</p> + +<p>The priest raised his cat-like eyes from the book to watch the +effect of this speech, and dropped them instantly as Eleanor +turned towards him. She had been about to appeal to him, +but having witnessed this look, she relinquished her scarce-formed +purpose, and endeavored to divert her tristful thoughts +by gazing through the glimmering medium of her tears upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +the soothing aspect of external nature—that aspect which, in +sunshine or in storm, has ever relief in store for a heart embittered +by the stormy coldness of the world.</p> + +<p>The road, meanwhile, led them through a long woody valley, +and was now climbing the sides of a steep hill. They were +soon in the vicinity of the priory, and of the gipsies' encampment. +The priest leaned forward, and whispered something +in Mrs. Mowbray's ear, who looked towards the ruined shrine, +part of the mouldering walls being visible from the road.</p> + +<p>At the moment the clatter of a horse's hoofs, and the sound +of a loud voice, commanding the postilion, in a menacing tone, +to stop, accompanied by a volley of imprecations, interrupted +the conference, and bespoke the approach of an unwelcome +intruder, and one whom all, too truly, feared would not be +readily dismissed. The postilion did his best to 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 his command, and disregarded even the +pistol which he saw, in a casual glimpse over his near side, +presented at his person. Clapping spurs into his horse's +flanks, he sought succor in flight. Turpin was by his side +in an instant. As the highwayman endeavored to catch his +reins, the lad suddenly wheeled the carriage right upon +him, and but for the dexterity of Turpin, and the clever conduct +of his mare, would inevitably have crushed him against +the roadside. As it was, his left leg was slightly grazed. +Irritated at this, Turpin fired over the man's head, and with +the butt-end of the pistol felled him from his seat. Startled +by the sound, and no longer under the governance of their +rider, the horses rushed with frantic violence towards a ditch +that bounded the other side of the highway, down which the +carriage was precipitated, and at once overturned. Turpin's +first act, after he had ascertained that no mischief had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +occasioned to those within, beyond the alarm incident to the +shock, was to compel the postilion, who had by this time gained +his legs, to release the horses from their traces. This done, +with the best grace he could assume, and, adjusting his mask, he +opened the carriage, and proceeded to liberate the captives.</p> + +<p>"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 much unnecessary alarm to you—all the fault, +I assure you, of that rascal of a postilion; had the fellow only +pulled up when I commanded him, this botheration might have +been avoided. You will remember that, when you pay him—all +his fault, I assure you, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Receiving no reply, he proceeded to extricate Eleanor, +with whose beauty the inflammable highwayman was instantly +smitten. Leaving the father to shift for himself, he turned to +address some observation of coarse gallantry to her; but she +eluded his grasp, and flew to her mother's side.</p> + +<p>"It is useless, sir," said Mrs. Mowbray, as Turpin drew near +them, "to affect ignorance of your intentions. You have +already occasioned us serious alarm; much delay and inconvenience. +I trust, therefore, that beyond our purses, to which, +though scantily supplied, you are welcome, we shall sustain no +molestation. You seem to have less of the ruffian about you +than the rest of your lawless race, and are not, I should hope, +destitute of common humanity."</p> + +<p>"Common humanity!" replied Turpin: "bless you, ma'am, +I'm the most humane creature breathing—would not hurt a +fly, much less a lady. Incivility was never laid to my charge. +This business may be managed in a few seconds; and as soon +as we have settled the matter, I'll lend your stupid jack-boy a +hand to put the horses to the carriage again, and get the wheels +out of the ditch. You have a banker, ma'am, I suppose, in +town—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 I mean. My ears have been so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +stunned with those Romany patterers, I almost <i>think</i> in flash. +Just draw me a check; I've pen and ink always ready: a check +for fifty pounds, ma'am—only fifty. What's your banker's +name? I've blank checks of all the best houses in my pocket; +that and a kiss from the pretty lips of that cherry-cheeked +maid," winking to Eleanor, "will fully content me. You see +you have neither an exorbitant nor uncivil personage to deal +with."</p> + +<p>Eleanor shrank closer towards her mother. Exhausted by +previous agitation of the night, greatly frightened by the shock +which she had just sustained, and still more alarmed by the +words and gestures of the highwayman, she felt that she was +momentarily in danger of fainting, and with difficulty prevented +herself from falling. The priest, who had succeeded in freeing +himself from the carriage, now placed himself between Turpin +and the ladies.</p> + +<p>"Be satisfied, misguided man," said the father, in a stern +voice, offering a purse, which Mrs. Mowbray hastily extended +towards him, "with the crime you have already committed, +and seek not to peril your soul by deeper guilt; be content +with the plunder you now obtain, and depart; for, by my holy +calling, I affirm to you, that if you advance one footstep +towards the further molestation of these ladies, it shall be at +the hazard of your life."</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" exclaimed Turpin. "Now this is what I like; +who would have thought the old autem-bawler had so much +pluck in him? Sir, I commend you for your courage, but you +are mistaken. I am the quietest man breathing, and never +harm a human being; in proof of which, only look at your +rascal of a postilion, whom any one of my friends would have +sent post-haste to the devil for half the trouble he gave me. +Easy as I am, I never choose to be balked in my humors. +I must have the fifty and the buss, and then I'm off, as soon +as you like; and I may as well have the kiss while the old +lady signs the check, and then we shall have the seal as well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +as the signature. Poh—poh—no nonsense! Many a pretty +lass has thought it an honor to be kissed by Turpin."</p> + +<p>Eleanor recoiled with deepest disgust, as she saw the highwayman +thrust aside the useless opposition of the priest, and +approach her. He had removed his mask; his face, flushed +with insolent triumph, was turned towards her. Despite the +loathing, which curdled the blood within her veins, she could +not avert her eyes. He drew near her; she uttered a shrill +scream. At that moment a powerful grasp was laid upon +Turpin's shoulder; he turned and beheld Luke.</p> + +<p>"Save me! save me," cried Eleanor, addressing the new +comer.</p> + +<p>"Damnation!" said the highwayman, "what has brought +<i>you</i> here? one would think you were turned assistant to all +distressed damsels. Quit your hold, or, by the God above us, +you will repent it."</p> + +<p>"Fool!" exclaimed Luke, "talk thus to one who heeds +you." And as he spoke he hurled Turpin backwards with so +much force that, staggering a few yards, the highwayman fell +to the ground.</p> + +<p>The priest stood like one stunned with surprise at Luke's +sudden appearance and subsequent daring action.</p> + +<p>Luke, meanwhile, approached Eleanor. He gazed upon her +with curiosity mixed with admiration, for his heart told him +she was very fair. A deathlike paleness had spread over her +cheeks; yet still, despite the want of color, she looked exquisitely +beautiful, and her large blue eyes eloquently thanked +her deliverer for her rescue. The words she wanted were supplied +by Mrs. Mowbray, who thanked him in appropriate terms, +when they were interrupted by Turpin, who had by this time +picked himself up, and was drawing near them. His countenance +wore a fierce expression.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," said he, "Luke Bradley, or Luke Rookwood, +or whatever else you may call yourself, you have taken +a damned unfair advantage of me in this matter, and deserve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +nothing better at my hands than that I should call you to +instant account for it—and curse me, if I don't too."</p> + +<p>"Luke Bradley!" interrupted Mrs. Mowbray—"are you +that individual?"</p> + +<p>"I have been so called, madam," replied Luke.</p> + +<p>"Father Ambrose, is this the person of whom you spoke?" +eagerly asked the lady.</p> + +<p>"So I conclude," returned the priest, evasively.</p> + +<p>"Did he not call you Luke Rookwood?" eagerly demanded +Eleanor. "Is that also your name?"</p> + +<p>"Rookwood is my name, fair cousin," replied Luke, "if I +may venture to call you so."</p> + +<p>"And Ranulph Rookwood is——"</p> + +<p>"My brother."</p> + +<p>"I never heard he had a brother," rejoined Eleanor, with +some agitation. "How can that be?"</p> + +<p>"I am his brother, nevertheless," replied Luke, moodily—"his +<span class="smcapl">ELDER BROTHER</span>!"</p> + +<p>Eleanor turned to her mother and the priest with a look +of imploring anguish; she saw a confirmation of the truth of +this statement in their glances. 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 sudden +departure. The truth flashed with lightning swiftness across +her brain.</p> + +<p>Chagrined and mortified, Luke remarked that glance of +inquiry. His pride was hurt at the preference thus naturally +shown towards his brother. He had been struck, deeply +struck, with her beauty. He acknowledged the truth of Peter's +words. Eleanor's loveliness was without parallel. He had +seen naught so fair, and the instant he beheld her, he felt that for +<i>her</i> alone could he cancel his vows to Sybil. The spirit of +rivalry and jealousy was instantly aroused by Eleanor's exclamations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"His elder brother!" echoed Eleanor, dwelling upon his +words, and addressing Luke—"then you must be—but no, you +are not, you cannot be—it is Ranulph's title—it is not yours—you +are not——"</p> + +<p>"I am Sir Luke Rookwood," replied Luke, proudly.</p> + +<p>Ere the words were uttered Eleanor had fainted.</p> + +<p>"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 down the hill towards the encampment, +whither he was followed by Mrs. Mowbray and the priest, +between whom, during the hurried dialogue we have detailed, +very significant glances had been exchanged. Turpin, who, as +it may be supposed, had not been an incurious observer of the +scene passing, burst into his usual loud laugh on seeing Luke +bear away his lovely burden.</p> + +<p>"Cousin! Ha, ha!" said he. "So the wench is his cousin. +Damme, I half suspect he has fallen in love with his new-found +cousin; and if so, Miss Sybil, or I'm mistaken, will look as yellow +as a guinea. If that little Spanish devil gets it into her pretty +jealous pate that he is about to bring home a new mistress, +we shall have a tragedy-scene in the twinkling of a bed-post. +However, I shan't lose sight of Sir Luke until I have settled +my accounts with him. Hark ye, boy," continued he, +addressing the postilion; "remain where you are; you won't +be wanted yet awhile, I imagine. There's a guinea for you, +to drink Dick Turpin's health."</p> + +<p>Upon which he mounted his mare, and walked her easily +down the hill.</p> + +<p>"And so that be Dick Turpin, folks talk so much about," +soliloquized the lad, looking curiously after him; "well, he's +as civil-speaking a chap as need be, blow my boots if he ain't! +and if I'd had a notion it were he, I'd have pulled up at +first call, without more ado. Nothing like experience—I +shall know better another time," added he, pocketing the +douceur.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rushing swiftly down the hill, Luke tarried at the river's +brink, to sprinkle some of the cool element upon the pale +brow of Eleanor. As he held her in his arms, thoughts which +he fain would have stifled in their birth took possession of his +heart. "Would she were mine!" murmured he. "Yet no! +the wish is unworthy." But that wish returned unbidden.</p> + +<p>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. Mowbray to follow, crossed the brook by +means of stepping-stones, and conducted his charge along a +bypath towards the priory, so as to avoid meeting with the +crew assembled upon the green.</p> + +<p>They had gained one of the roofless halls, when he encountered +Balthazar. Astonished at the sight of the party, the +patrico was about to address the priest as an acquaintance, +when his more orthodox brother raised his finger to his lips, in +token of caution. The action passed unobserved.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>As Balthazar passed the priest, he pointed with a significant +glance towards a chasm in the wall, which seemed to be an +opening to some subterraneous chamber. The father again +made a gesture of silence, and Balthazar hastened upon his +mission.</p> + +<p>Luke led them to the refectory. He brought a chair for +Eleanor's support; but so far from reviving, after such attention +as could be afforded her, she appeared to become weaker. +He was about to issue forth in search of Sybil, when to his +surprise he found the door fastened.</p> + +<p>"You cannot pass this way," said a voice, which Luke instantly +recognized as that of the knight of Malta.</p> + +<p>"Not pass!" echoed Luke. "What does this mean?"</p> + +<p>"Our orders are from the queen," returned the knight.</p> + +<p>At this instant the low tone of a muffled bell was heard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Luke; "some danger is at hand."</p> + +<p>His heart smote him as he thought of Sybil, and he looked +anxiously towards Eleanor.</p> + +<p>Balthazar rushed into the room.</p> + +<p>"Where is Sybil?" cried Luke. "Will she not come?"</p> + +<p>"She will be here anon," answered the patrico.</p> + +<p>"I will seek her myself, then," said Luke. "The door by +which you entered is free."</p> + +<p>"It is <i>not</i> free," replied Balthazar. "Remain where you +are."</p> + +<p>"Who will prevent my going forth?" demanded Luke, +sternly.</p> + +<p>"I will," said Barbara Lovel, as she suddenly appeared in +the doorway. "You stir not, excepting at my pleasure. +Where is the maiden?" continued she, looking around with a +grim smile of satisfaction at the consternation produced by +her appearance. "Ha! I see; she faints. Here is a cordial +that shall revive her. Mrs. Mowbray, you are welcome to +the gipsies' dwelling—you and your daughter. And you, Sir +Luke Rookwood, I congratulate you upon your accession of +dignity." Turning to the priest, who was evidently overwhelmed +with confusion, she exclaimed, "And you too, sir, +think you I recognize you not? We have met ere this, at Rookwood. +Know you not Barbara Lovel? Ha, ha! It is long since +my poor dwelling 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. "It will instantly restore her."</p> + +<p>"It is poison," cried Luke. "She shall not drink it."</p> + +<p>"Poison!" reiterated Barbara. "Behold!" and she drank +of the liquid. "I would not poison your bride," added she, +turning to Luke.</p> + +<p>"My bride!" echoed Luke.</p> + +<p>"Ay, your bride," repeated Barbara.</p> + +<p>Luke recoiled in amazement. Mrs. Mowbray almost felt +inclined to believe she was a dreamer, so visionary did the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +whole scene appear. A dense crowd of witnesses stood at the +entrance. Foremost amongst them was the sexton. Suddenly +a shriek was heard, and the crowd opening to allow her passage, +Sybil rushed forward.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII3" id="CHAPTER_VII3"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. MOWBRAY</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Shakerley Marmion's</span> <i>Antiquary</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Sybil's sudden entrance filled the group that surrounded +Miss Mowbray with new dismay. But she saw them not. +Her soul seemed riveted by Eleanor, towards whom she rushed; +and while her eye wandered over her beauty, she raised the +braided hair from her brow, revealing the clear, polished forehead. +Wonder, awe, devotion, pity, usurped the place of +hatred. The fierce expression that had lit up her dark orbs +was succeeded by tender commiseration. She looked an imploring +appeal at Barbara.</p> + +<p>"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 her pallid cheeks, and kindle the fire +within her eyes. Give her of this."</p> + +<p>The effect of the potion was almost instantaneous, amply +attesting Barbara's skill in its concoction. Stifled respiration +first proclaimed Eleanor's recovery. She opened her large +and languid eyes; her bosom heaved almost to bursting; +her pulses throbbed quickly and feverishly; and as the stimulant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +operated, the wild lustre of excitement blazed in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>Sybil took her hand to chafe it. The eyes of the two +maidens met. They gazed upon each other steadfastly and in +silence. Eleanor knew not whom she regarded, but she could +not mistake that look of sympathy; she could not mistake the +tremulous pressure of her hand; she felt the silent trickling +tears. She returned the sympathizing glance, and gazed with +equal wonder upon the ministering fairy, for such she almost +seemed, that knelt before her. As her looks wandered from +the kindly glance of Sybil to the withered and inauspicious +aspect of the gipsy queen, and shifted thence to the dusky +figures of her attendants, filled with renewed apprehension, +she exclaimed, "Who are these, and where am I?"</p> + +<p>"You are in safety," replied Luke. "This is the ruined +priory of St. Francis; and those strange personages are a horde +of gipsies. You need fear no injury from them."</p> + +<p>"My deliverer!" murmured Eleanor; when all at once the +recollection that he had avowed himself a Rookwood, and +the elder brother of Ranulph, flashed across her memory. +"Gipsies! did you not say these people were gipsies? Your +own attire is the same as theirs. You are not, cannot be, the +brother of Ranulph."</p> + +<p>"I do not boast the same mother," returned Luke, proudly, +"but my father was Sir Piers Rookwood, and I am his elder +born."</p> + +<p>He turned away. Dark thoughts swept across his brain. +Maddened by the beauty of Eleanor, stung by her slights, and +insensible to the silent agony of Sybil, who sought in vain to +catch his eye, he thought of nothing but of revenge, and the +accomplishment of his purposes. All within was a wild and +fearful turmoil. His better principles were stifled by the +promptings of evil. "Methinks," cried he, half aloud, "if +the Tempter were near to offer the maiden to me, even at +the peril of my soul's welfare, I could not resist it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Tempter <i>was</i> at hand. He is seldom absent on occasions +like the present. The sexton stood beside his grandson. +Luke started. He eyed Peter from head to foot, almost expecting +to find the cloven foot, supposed to be proper to the fiend. +Peter grinned in ghastly derision.</p> + +<p>"Soh! you would summon hell to your aid; and lo! the +devil is at your elbow. Well, she is yours."</p> + +<p>"Make good your words," cried Luke, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Softly—softly," returned Peter. "Moderate yourself, and +your wishes shall be accomplished. Your own desires chime +with those of others; nay, with those of Barbara. <i>She</i> would +wed you to Miss Mowbray. You stare. But it is so. This is +a cover for some deeper plot; no matter. It shall go 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 +hatched within the crocodile's egg; yet she shall find her +match. Do not thwart her; leave all to me. She is about it +now," added he, noticing Barbara and Mrs. Mowbray in conference +together. "Be patient—I will watch her." And he +quitted his grandson for the purpose of scanning more closely +the manœuvres of the old gipsy.</p> + +<p>Barbara, meanwhile, had not remained inactive.</p> + +<p>"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 the maiden's side," continued she, +addressing her grandchild, adding, in a whisper, "Be cautious—alarm +her not—mine eye will be upon you—drop not a word."</p> + +<p>So saying, she shuffled to a little distance with Mrs. Mowbray, +keeping Sybil in view, and watching every motion, as the +panther watches the gambols of a fawn.</p> + +<p>"Know you who speaks to you?" said the old crone, in the +peculiar low and confidential tone assumed by her tribe to +strangers. "Have you forgotten the name of Barbara Lovel?"</p> + +<p>"I have no distinct remembrance of it," returned Mrs. +Mowbray.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Think again," said Barbara; "and though years are flown, +you may perchance recall the black gipsy woman, who, when +you were surrounded with gay gallants, with dancing plumes, +perused your palm, and whispered in your ear the favored +suitor's name. Bide with me a moment, madam," said Barbara, +seeing that Mrs. Mowbray shrank from the recollection +thus conjured 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 take too much upon myself with +others." The old gipsy paused here, and then, assuming a +more familiar tone, exclaimed, "The estates of Rookwood +are ample——"</p> + +<p>"Woman, what mean you?"</p> + +<p>"They should have been yours, lady, and would have been, +but for that marriage. You would have beseemed them +bravely. Sir Reginald was wilful, and erased the daughter's +name to substitute that of his son. Pity it is that so fair a +creature as Miss Mowbray should lack the dower her beauty +and her birth entitle her to expect. Pity that Ranulph Rookwood +should lose his title, at the moment when he deemed it +was dropping into his possession. Pity that those broad lands +should pass away from you and your children, as they will do, +if Ranulph and Eleanor are united."</p> + +<p>"They never shall be united," replied Mrs. Mowbray, +hastily.</p> + +<p>"'Twere indeed to wed your child to beggary," said +Barbara.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>"There is a way," continued the old crone, in a deep whisper, +"by which the estates might still be hers and yours."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mowbray, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Sir Piers Rookwood had two sons."</p> + +<p>"Ha!"</p> + +<p>"The elder is here."</p> + +<p>"Luke—Sir Luke. He brought us hither."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He loves your daughter. I saw his gaze of passion just now. +I am old now, but I have some skill in lovers' glances. Why +not wed her to him? I read hands—read hearts, you know. +They were born for each other. Now, madam, do you understand +me?"</p> + +<p>"But," returned Mrs. Mowbray, with hesitation, "though I +might wish for—though I might sanction this, Eleanor is betrothed +to Ranulph—she loves him."</p> + +<p>"Think not of <i>her</i>, if <i>you</i> are satisfied. She cannot judge +so well for herself as you can for her. She is a child, and +knows not what she loves. Her affection will soon be Luke's. +He is a noble youth—the image of his grandfather, your father, +Sir Reginald; and if your daughter be betrothed to any one, +'twas to the heir of Rookwood. That was an essential part of +the contract. Why should the marriage not take place at +once, and here?"</p> + +<p>"Here! How were that possible?"</p> + +<p>"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. Your companion, Father Ambrose, as you +call him, will do the office fittingly. He has essayed his +clerkly skill already on others of your house."</p> + +<p>"To what do you allude, mysterious woman?" asked Mrs. +Mowbray, with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"To Sir Piers and Susan Bradley," returned Barbara. +"That priest united them."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! He never told me this."</p> + +<p>"He dared not do so; he had an oath which bound him +to concealment. The time is coming when greater mysteries +will be revealed."</p> + +<p>"'Tis strange I should not have heard of this before," said +Mrs. Mowbray, musingly; "and yet I might have guessed as +much from his obscure hints respecting Ranulph. I see it all +now. I see the gulf into which I might have been plunged; +but I am warned in time. Father Ambrose," continued she,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +to the priest, who was pacing the chamber at some little distance +from them, "is it true that my brother was wedded by +you to Susan Bradley?"</p> + +<p>Ere the priest could reply the sexton presented himself.</p> + +<p>"Ha, the very father of the girl!" said Mrs. Mowbray, +"whom I met within our family vault, and who was so strangely +moved when I spoke to him of Alan Rookwood. Is he here +likewise?"</p> + +<p>"Alan Rookwood!" echoed Barbara, upon whom a light +seemed suddenly to break; "ha! what said he of him?"</p> + +<p>"Ill-boding raven," interposed Peter, fiercely, "be content +with what thou knowest of the living, and trouble not the repose +of the dead. Let them rest in their infamy."</p> + +<p>"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 a foul deed, I grant, and yet there +was expiation. Blood flowed—blood——"</p> + +<p>"Silence, thou night hag!" thundered Peter, "or I will have +thee burned at the stake for the sorcery thou practisest. Beware," +added he, in a deep tone—"I am thy friend."</p> + +<p>Barbara's withered countenance exhibited for an instant the +deepest indignation at the sexton's threat. The malediction +trembled on her tongue; 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 <i>friend</i>, sayest thou? See +that it prove so, or beware of <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>And, with a malignant scowl, the gipsy queen slowly shuffled +towards her satellites, who were stationed at the door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII3" id="CHAPTER_VIII3"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE PARTING</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No marriage I esteem it, where the friends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Force love upon their children; where the virgin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not so truly given as betrayed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not have betrothed people—for<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can by no means call them lovers—make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their rites no wedlock, but a sacrifice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Combat of Love and Friendship.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Eleanor Mowbray had witnessed her mother's withdrawal +from her side with much uneasiness, and was with difficulty +prevented by Sybil from breaking upon her conference with +the gipsy queen. Barbara's dark eye was fixed upon them +during the whole of the interview, and communicated an indefinite +sense of dread to Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"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 she look so at us? She terrifies +me; and yet she cannot mean me ill, or my mother—we have +never injured her?"</p> + +<p>"Alas!" sighed Sybil.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" whispered Sybil, maintaining an unmoved demeanor +under the lynx-like gaze of Barbara. "Stir not, as +you value your life; you know not where you are, or what may +befall you. Your safety depends upon your composure. 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 to wed +you to another."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Heavens!" ejaculated Eleanor, "and to whom?"</p> + +<p>"To Sir Luke Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"I would die sooner! Marry <i>him</i>? They shall kill me ere +they force me to it!"</p> + +<p>"Could you not love him?"</p> + +<p>"Love him! I have only seen him within this hour. I +knew not of his existence. He rescued me from peril. I would +thank him. I would love him, if I could, for Ranulph's sake; +and yet for Ranulph's sake I hate him."</p> + +<p>"Speak not of him thus to me," said Sybil, angrily. "If +<i>you</i> love him not, <i>I</i> love him. Oh! forgive me, lady; pardon +my impatience—my heart is breaking, yet it has not ceased +to beat for him. You say you will die sooner than consent to +this forced union. Your faith shall not be so cruelly 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."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, Sybil burst into a flood of passionate tears. +Eleanor regarded her with the deepest commiseration; but +the feeling was transient; for Barbara, now advancing, exclaimed: +"Hence to your mother. The bridegroom is waiting: +to your mother, girl!" And she motioned Eleanor fiercely +away. "What means this?" continued the old gipsy. "What +have you said to that girl? Did I not caution you against +speech with her? and you have dared to disobey me. You, +my grandchild—the daughter of my Agatha, with whom my +slightest wish was law. I abandon you! I curse you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, curse me not!" cried Sybil. "Add not to my +despair."</p> + +<p>"Then follow my advice implicitly. Cast off this weakness; +all is in readiness. Luke shall descend into the vaulted chapel, +the ceremony shall there take place—there also shall Eleanor +<i>die</i>—and there again shall you be wedded. Take this phial, +place it within the folds of your girdle. When all is over, I will +tell you how to use it. Are you prepared? Shall we set out?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am prepared," replied Sybil, in accents hollow as despair; +"but let me speak with Luke before we go."</p> + +<p>"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 will free you from your troubles."</p> + +<p>"'Tis in that hope I guard it," replied Sybil, as she departed +in the direction of Luke. Barbara watched her join him, +and then turned shortly towards Mrs. Mowbray and her +daughter.</p> + +<p>"You are ill, dear Luke," said Sybil, who had silently approached +her faithless lover; "very ill."</p> + +<p>"Ill!" echoed Luke, breaking into frantic laughter. "Ill! +Ha, ha!—upon my wedding-day. No, I am well—well. +Your eyes are jaundiced by jealousy."</p> + +<p>"Luke, dear Luke, laugh not thus. It terrifies me. I shall +think you insane. 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 were possessed by demons."</p> + +<p>"And if I were possessed, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Horrible! hint not at it. You almost make me credit +the dreadful tales I have heard, that on their wedding-day the +Rookwoods are subject to the power of the 'Evil One.'"</p> + +<p>"Upon their wedding-day—and <i>I</i> look thus?"</p> + +<p>"You do—you do. Oh! cast this frenzy from you."</p> + +<p>"She is mine—she is mine! I care not though fiends possess +me, if it is my wedding-day, and Eleanor is my bride. And +you say I look like a Rookwood. Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"That wild laughter again. Luke, I implore you, hear me +one word—my last——"</p> + +<p>"I will not bear reproaches."</p> + +<p>"I mean not to reproach you. I come to bless you—to +forgive you—to bid you farewell. Will you not say farewell?"</p> + +<p>"Farewell."</p> + +<p>"Not so—not so. Mercy! my God! compassionate him and +me! My heart will break with agony. Luke, if you would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +not kill me, recall that word. Let not the guilt of my death +be yours. 'Tis to save you from that remorse that I die!"</p> + +<p>"Sybil, you have said rightly, I am not myself. I know +not what demons have possession of my soul, that I can behold +your agonies without remorse; that your matchless +affection should awaken no return. Yet so it is. Since the +fatal moment when I beheld yon maid, I have loved her."</p> + +<p>"No more. <i>Now</i> I can part with you. Farewell!"</p> + +<p>"Stay, stay! wretch that I am. Stay, Sybil! If we must +part—and that it <i>must</i> 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 happier days—may you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, to die thus!" sobbed Sybil, disengaging herself from +his embrace. "Live to happier days, said you? When have +<i>I</i> given you reason to doubt, for an instant, the sincerity of <i>my</i> +love, that you should insult me thus?"</p> + +<p>"Then live with me—live for me."</p> + +<p>"If you can love me still, I will live as your slave, your +minion, your wife; 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 +your hands. If you love me yet—if you can forsake Eleanor, +speak—if not, be silent."</p> + +<p>Luke averted his head.</p> + +<p>"Enough!" continued Sybil, in a voice of agony; "I understand. +May God forgive you! Fare you well! We shall +meet no more."</p> + +<p>"Do we part for ever?" asked Luke, without daring to regard +her.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">For ever!</span>" answered Sybil.</p> + +<p>Before her lover could reply, she shot from his side, and +plunging amidst the dark and dense assemblage near the door, +disappeared from view. An instant after, she emerged into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +the open air. She stood within the roofless hall. It was filled +with sunshine—with the fresh breath of morn. The ivied ruins, +the grassy floor, the blue vault of heaven, seemed to greet her +with a benignant smile. All was <i>riant</i> and rejoicing—all, save +her heart. Amid such brightness, her sorrow seemed harsh +and unnatural; as she felt the glad influence of day, she was +scarcely able to refrain from tears. It was terrible to leave +this beautiful world, that blue sky, that sunshine, and all she +loved—so young, so soon.</p> + +<p>Entering a low arch that yawned within the wall, she vanished +like a ghost at the approach of morn.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX3" id="CHAPTER_IX3"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE PHILTER</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou hast practised on her with foul charms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abused her delicate youth with drugs and minerals.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>: <i>Othello</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>To return to Eleanor Mowbray. In a state of mind bordering +upon distraction, she rushed to her mother, and, flinging her +arms wildly round her neck, besought her to protect her. +Mrs. Mowbray gazed anxiously upon the altered countenance +of her daughter, but a few moments relieved her from much +of her uneasiness.—The expression of pain gradually subsided, +and the look of vacuity was succeeded by one of frenzied +excitement. A film had, for an instant or two, dimmed her +eyes; they now gleamed with unnatural lustre. She smiled—the +smile was singular; it was not the playful, pleasurable +lighting up of the face that it used to be; but it <i>was</i> a smile, +and the mother's heart was satisfied.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray knew not to what circumstance she could +attribute this wondrous change. She looked at the priest. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +was more apt in divining the probable cause of the sudden +alteration in Eleanor's manner.</p> + +<p>"What if she has swallowed a love-powder?" said he, +approaching Mrs. Mowbray, and speaking in a whisper. "I +have heard of such abominable mixtures; indeed, the holy St. +Jerome himself relates an instance of similar sorcery, in his +life of Hilarius; and these people are said to compound +them."</p> + +<p>"It may be so," replied Mrs. Mowbray, in the same tone. +"I think that the peculiar softness in the eye is more than +natural."</p> + +<p>"I will at least hazard an experiment, to attest the truth or +fallacy of my supposition," returned the father. "Do you see +your destined bridegroom yonder?" continued he, addressing +Eleanor.</p> + +<p>She followed with her eyes in the direction which Father +Ambrose pointed. She beheld Luke. We know not how to +describe the sensations which now possessed her. She thought +not of Ranulph; or, if she did, it was with vague indifference. +Wrapped in a kind of mental trance, she yielded to the pleasurable +impulse that directed her unsettled fancies towards Luke. +For some moments she did not take her eyes from him. The +priest and Mrs. Mowbray watched her in silence.</p> + +<p>Nothing passed between the party till Luke joined them. +Eleanor continued gazing at him, and the seeming tenderness +of her glance emboldened Luke to advance towards her. The +soft fire that dwelt in those orbs was, however, cold as the shining +wing of the luciola.</p> + +<p>Luke approached her; he took her hand—she withdrew it +not. He kissed it. Still she withdrew it not, but gazed at +him with gently-glimmering eyes.</p> + +<p>"My daughter is yours, Sir Luke Rookwood," exclaimed +Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"What says the maid herself?" asked Luke.</p> + +<p>Eleanor answered not. Her eyes were still fixed on him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She will not refuse me her hand," said Luke.</p> + +<p>The victim resisted not.</p> + +<p>"To the subterranean shrine," cried Barbara. And she +gave the preconcerted signal to the band.</p> + +<p>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 of passing events, but had, on the contrary, +indulged themselves in a variety of conjectures as to their +probable issue. Several bets were pending as to whether it +would be a match or not after all. Zoroaster took long odds +that the match was off—offering a <i>bean</i> to <i>half-a-quid</i>—in +other words, a guinea to a half-guinea—that Sybil would be the +bride. His offer was taken at once by Jerry Juniper, and +backed by the knight of Malta.</p> + +<p>"Ha! there's the signal," cried the knight; "I'll trouble +you for the bean."</p> + +<p>"And I," added Jerry Juniper, "for another."</p> + +<p>"See 'em fairly spliced first," replied the Magus; "that's +vot I betted."</p> + +<p>"Vell, vell, a few minutes will settle that. Come, pals, to +the autem ken. Avay. Mind and obey orders."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay," answered the crew.</p> + +<p>"Here's a torch for the altar of Hymen," said the knight, +flashing his torch in the eyes of the patrico as he passed him.</p> + +<p>"For the halter of Haman, you might say," returned Balthazar, +sulkily. "It's well if some of us don't swing for it."</p> + +<p>"You don't say," rejoined the perplexed Magus, "swing! +Egad I fear it's a ticklish business. But there's no fighting shy, +I fear, with Barbara present; and then there's that infernal +autem-bawler; it will be so cursedly regular. If you had done +the job, Balty, it would not have signified a brass farden. +Luckily there will be no vitnesses to snitch upon us. There +will be no one in the vault besides ourselves."</p> + +<p>"There will be a silent and a solemn witness," returned +Balthazar, "and one whom you expect not."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh! Vot's that you say? a spy?"</p> + +<p>But the patrico was gone.</p> + +<p>"Make way there—make way, pals, for the bride and bridegroom," +cried the knight of Malta, drawing Excalibur, and preparing +to lead the way to the vault.</p> + +<p>The train began to move. Eleanor leaned upon the arm of +her mother. Beside them stalked Barbara, with an aspect of +triumph. Luke followed with the priest. One by one the assemblage +quitted the apartment.</p> + +<p>The sexton alone lingered. "The moment is at hand," +said he, musingly, "when all shall be consummated."</p> + +<p>A few steps brought him into the court. The crowd was +there still. A brief delay had taken place. The knight of +Malta then entered the mouth of the vault. He held his +torch so as to reveal a broken flight of steps, conducting, it +would seem, to regions of perpetual night. So thought +Eleanor, as she shudderingly gazed into the abyss. She +hesitated; she trembled; she refused. But her mother's +entreaties, and Barbara's threatening looks, induced, in the end, +reluctant compliance. At length the place was empty. Peter +was about to follow, when the sound of a horse's hoofs broke +upon his ear. He tarried for an instant, and the mounted +figure of the highwayman burst within the limits of the court.</p> + +<p>"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 his new-found cousin, eh?"</p> + +<p>Peter hastily explained.</p> + +<p>"A wedding under ground? famous! the thing of all others +I should like to see. I'll hang Bess to this ivy tod, and grub +my way with you thither, old mole."</p> + +<p>"You must stay here, and keep guard," returned Peter.</p> + +<p>"May I be hanged if I do, when such fun is going on."</p> + +<p>"Hanged, in all probability, you will be," returned Peter; +"but I should not, were I you, desire to anticipate my destiny. +Stay here you must, and shall—that's peremptory. You will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +be the gainer by it. Sir Luke will reward you nobly. I will +answer for him. You can serve him most effectually. Ranulph +Rookwood and Major Mowbray are expected here."</p> + +<p>"The devil they are. But how, or why——"</p> + +<p>"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 a double part, and we may need +your assistance below."</p> + +<p>"Sir Luke may command me. Here's a pipe as shrill as +the devil's own cat-call."</p> + +<p>"If it will summon you to our assistance below, 'tis all I +need. May we rely on you?"</p> + +<p>"When did Dick Turpin desert his friends? Anywhere on +this side the Styx the sound of that whistle will reach me. I'll +ride about the court, and stand sentry."</p> + +<p>"Enough," replied the sexton, as he dived under ground.</p> + +<p>"Take care of your shins," shouted Dick. "That's a cursed +ugly turn, but he's used to the dark. A surprise, eh! I'll +just give a look to my snappers—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 of the subterranean +chapel, to be within hearing of Peter's whistle, and, +throwing his right leg lazily over his saddle, proceeded coolly +to light a short pipe—the luxury of the cigar being then unknown,—humming +the while snatches of a ballad, the theme of +which was his own calling.</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE SCAMPSMAN</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><p class="center">Quis verè rex?</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Seneca.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is not a king, should you search the world round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blithe as the king of the road to be found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pistol's his sceptre, his saddle's his throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence he levies supplies, or enforces a loan.<br /></span> +<span class="i18"><i>Derry down.</i><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To this monarch the highway presents a wide field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where each passing subject a tribute must yield;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His palace—the tavern!—receives him at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sweet lips and sound liquor crown all with delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i18"><i>Derry down.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The soldier and sailor, both robbers by trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full soon on the shelf, if disabled, are laid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one gets a patch, and the other a peg,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, while luck lasts, the highwayman shakes a loose leg!<br /></span> +<span class="i18"><i>Derry down.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Most fowl rise at dawn, but the owl wakes at e'en,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a jollier bird can there nowhere be seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the owl, our snug scampsman his snooze takes by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when night draws her curtain, scuds after his prey!<br /></span> +<span class="i18"><i>Derry down.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dies not as other men die, by <i>degrees</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But <span class="smcapl">at once</span>! without wincing, and quite at his ease!<br /></span> +<span class="i18"><i>Derry down.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>And thus, for the present, we leave him. O rare Dick +Turpin!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X3" id="CHAPTER_X3"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>SAINT CYPRIAN'S CELL</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Dante.</span></p></div> + + +<p>Cyprian de Mulverton, fifth prior of the monastery of Saint +Francis, a prelate of singular sanctity, being afflicted, in his +latter days, with a despondency so deep that neither penance +nor fasting could remove it, vowed never again to behold, with +earthly eyes, the blessed light of heaven, nor to dwell longer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +with his fellowmen; but, relinquishing his spiritual dignity, +"the world forgetting, by the world forgot," to immure himself, +while living, within the tomb.</p> + +<p>He kept his vow. Out of the living rock that sustained the +saintly structure, beneath the chapel of the monastery, was +another chapel wrought, and thither, after bidding an eternal +farewell to the world, and bestowing his benediction upon his +flock, whom he committed to the care of his successor, the +holy man retired.</p> + +<p>Never, save at midnight, and then only during the performance +of masses for his soul's repose, did he ascend from his +cell: and as the sole light allowed within the dismal dungeon +of his choice was that of a sepulchral lamp, as none spoke with +him when in his retreat, save in muttered syllables, what effect +must the lustre emanating from a thousand tapers, the warm +and pungent odors of the incense-breathing shrine, contrasted +with the earthy vapors of his prison-house, and the solemn +swell of the Sanctus, have had upon his excited senses? +Surely they must have seemed like a foretaste of the heaven he +sought to gain!</p> + +<p>Ascetic to the severest point to which nature's endurance +could be stretched, Cyprian even denied himself repose. He +sought not sleep, and knew it only when it stole on him unawares. +His couch was the flinty rock; and long afterwards, +when the zealous resorted to the sainted prior's cell, and were +shown those sharp and jagged stones, they marvelled how one +like unto themselves could rest, or even recline upon their +points without anguish, until it was explained to them that, +doubtless, He who tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb had +made that flinty couch soft to the holy sufferer as a bed of +down. His limbs were clothed in a garb of horsehair of the +coarsest fabric; his drink was the dank drops that oozed from +the porous walls of his cell; and his sustenance, such morsels +as were bestowed upon him by the poor—the only strangers +permitted to approach him. No fire was suffered, where perpetual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +winter reigned. None were admitted to his nightly +vigils; none witnessed any act of penance; nor were any +groans heard to issue from that dreary cave; but the knotted, +blood-stained thong, discovered near his couch, too plainly +betrayed in what manner those long lone nights were spent. +Thus did a year roll on. Traces of his sufferings were visible +in his failing strength. He could scarcely crawl; but he +meekly declined assistance. He appeared not, as had been +his wont, at the 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 heard the distant reverberations of +the deep <i>Miserere</i>; and breathed odors as if wafted from +Paradise.</p> + +<p>One morn it chanced that they who sought his cell found +him with his head upon his bosom, kneeling before the image +of the virgin patroness of his shrine. Fearing to disturb his +devotions, they stood reverently looking on; and thus silently +did they tarry for an hour; but, as in that space he had shown +no signs of motion, fearing the worst, they ventured to +approach him. He was cold as the marble before which he +knelt. In the act of humblest intercession—it may be, in the +hope of grace—had Cyprian's spirit fled.</p> + +<p>"Blessed are they who die in the Lord," exclaimed his +brethren, regarding his remains with deepest awe. On being +touched, the body fell to the ground. It was little more than +a skeleton.</p> + +<p>Under the cloisters of the holy pile were his bones interred, +with a degree of pomp and ostentation that little accorded +with the lowliness and self-abasement of this man of many +sorrows.</p> + +<p>This chapel, at the time of which we treat, was pretty much +in the same condition as it existed in the days of its holy inmate. +Hewn out of the entrails of the rock, the roof, the +vaults, the floor, were of solid granite. Three huge cylindrical +pillars, carved out of the native rock, rough as the stems of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +gnarled oak-trees, lent support to the ceiling. Support, however, +was unneeded; an earthquake would scarce have shaken +down those solid rafters. Only in one corner, where the water +welled through a crevice of the rock, in drops that fell like +tears, was decay manifest. Here the stone, worn by the constant +dripping, had, in some places, given way. In shape, the +vault was circular. The integral between each massive pillar +formed a pointed arch. Again, from each pillar sprang other +arches, which, crossed by diagonal, ogive branches, weaving +one into the other, and radiating from the centre, formed +those beautifully intricate combinations upon which the eye of +the architectural enthusiast loves to linger. Within the ring +formed by these triple columns, in which again the pillars had +their own web of arches, was placed an altar of stone, and +beside it a crucifix of the same rude material. Here also stood +the sainted image of her who had filled the prior with holy +aspirations, now a shapeless stone. The dim lamp, that, like +a star struggling with the thick gloom of a wintry cell, had +shed its slender radiance over the brow of the Virgin Thecla, +was gone. But around the keystone of the central arches, +whence a chain had once depended, might be traced in ancient +characters, half effaced by time, the inscription:</p> + +<p class="cb">STA. THECLA ORA PRO NOBIS.</p> + +<p>One outlet only was there from the chapel—that which led +by winding steps to the monastery; one only recess—the +prior's cell. The former faced 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 they refused to +return the murmured orisons of the anchorite. One uniform +sad coloring prevailed throughout. The gray granite was +grown hoar with age, and had a ghostly look; the columns +were ponderous, and projected heavy shadows. Sorrow and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +superstition had their tale, and a moral gloom deepened +the darkness of the spot. Despair, which had inspired its +construction, seemed to brood therein. Hope shunned its +inexorable recesses.</p> + +<p>Alone, within this dismal sanctuary, with hands outstretched +towards the desecrated image of its tutelar saint, knelt Sybil. +All was darkness. Neither the heavy vapors that surrounded +her, nor the shrine before which she bent, were visible; but, +familiar with the dreary spot, she knew that she had placed +herself aright. Her touch had satisfied her that she bowed +before the altar of stone; that her benighted vision was turned +towards the broken image of the saint, though now involved in +gloom the most profound; and with clasped hands and streaming +eyes, in low and mournful tones, she addressed herself in +the following hymn to the tutelar saint of the spot:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">HYMN TO SAINT THECLA</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In my trouble, in my anguish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the depths of my despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in grief and pain I languish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto thee I raise my prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let thy countenance incline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon one with woes o'erladen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kneeling lowly at thy shrine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in agony, in terror,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her blind perplexity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wandering weak in doubt and error,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calleth feebly upon thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinful thoughts, sweet saint, oppress me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thoughts that will not be dismissed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Temptations dark possess me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which my strength may not resist.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am full of pain, and weary<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my life; I fain would die:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto me the world is dreary;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the grave for rest I fly.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For rest!—oh! could I borrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy bright wings, celestial dove!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They should waft me from my sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where peace dwells in bowers above.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon one with woes o'erladen,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Kneeling lowly at thy shrine;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Let thy countenance incline!<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Mei miserere Virgo,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>Requiem æternam dona!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By thy loveliness, thy purity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unpolluted, undefiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in serene security<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon earth's temptations smiled;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the fetters that constrain'd thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By thy flame-attested faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the fervor that sustain'd thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By thine angel-ushered death;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thy soul's divine elation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid thine agonies assuring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy sanctified translation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To beatitude enduring;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the mystic interfusion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thy spirit with the rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in ever bright profusion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round the Throne Eternal blaze;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thy portion now partaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the pain-perfected just;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on one of hope forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the gates, of mercy thrust.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon one with woes o'erladen,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Kneeling lowly at thy shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sainted virgin! martyr'd maiden!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Let thy countenance incline!<br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Ora pro me mortis horâ!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>Sancta Virgo, oro te!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Kyrie Eleison!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The sweet, sad voice of the singer died faintly away. The +sharpness of her sorrow was assuaged. Seldom, indeed, is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +it that fervent supplication fails to call down solace to the +afflicted. Sybil became more composed. She still, however, +trembled at the thoughts of what remained to be done.</p> + +<p>"They will be here ere my prayer is finished," murmured +she—"ere the end is accomplished for which I came hither +alone. Let me, oh! let me make 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 in lowly prayer.</p> + +<p>Again raising her hands, and casting her eyes towards the +black ceiling, she implored, in song, the intercession of the +saintly man who had bequeathed his name to the cell.</p> + + +<p class="hd1">HYMN TO SAINT CYPRIAN</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hear! oh! hear me, sufferer holy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who didst make thine habitation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid these rocks, devoting wholly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life to one long expiation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy guiltiness, and solely<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By severe mortification<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didst deliver thee. Oh! hear me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In my dying moments cheer me.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By thy penance, self-denial,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Aid me in the hour of trial.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">May, through thee, my prayers prevailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the Majesty of Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the hosts of hell, assailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul, in this dark hour be driven!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So my spirit, when exhaling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May of sinfulness be shriven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And His gift unto the Giver<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May be rendered pure as ever!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By thy own dark, dread possession,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Aid me with thine intercession!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Scarcely had she concluded this hymn, when the torch of +the knight of Malta in part dissipated the gloom that hung +around the chapel.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI3" id="CHAPTER_XI3"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE BRIDAL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Cari.</i> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">I will not die; I must not. I am contracted</span><br /></span> +<span class="i5">To a young gentleman.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Executioner.</i> Here's your wedding-ring.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Duchess of Malfy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Slowly did the train descend; solemnly and in silence, as +if the rites at which they were about to assist had been those +of funereal, and not of nuptial, solemnization. Indeed, to look +upon those wild and fierce faces by the ruddily-flashing torchlight, +which lent to each a stern and savage expression; to see +those scowling visages surrounding a bride from whose pallid +cheeks every vestige of color, and almost of animation, had +fled; and a bridegroom, with a countenance yet more haggard, +and demeanor yet more distracted—the beholder must have +imagined that the spectacle was some horrible ceremonial, +practised by demons rather than human beings. The arched +vault, the pillars, the torchlight, the deep shadows, and the +wild figures, formed a picture worthy of Rembrandt or +Salvator.</p> + +<p>"Is Sybil within the chapel?" asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I am here," returned a voice from the altar.</p> + +<p>"Why do we tarry?" said the gipsy queen. "We are all +assembled. To the altar."</p> + +<p>"To the altar!" shrieked Eleanor. "Oh! no—no——"</p> + +<p>"Remember my threat, and obey," muttered Barbara. +"You are in my power now."</p> + +<p>A convulsive sob was all the answer Eleanor could make.</p> + +<p>"Our number is not complete," said the priest, who had +looked in vain for the sexton. "Peter Bradley is not with +us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Barbara. "Let him be sought for instantly."</p> + +<p>"Their search need not extend beyond this spot," said +Peter, stepping forward.</p> + +<p>The knight of Malta advanced towards the altar. The +torchlight reddened upon the huge stone pillars. It fell upon +the shrine, and upon the ghastly countenance of Sybil, who +stood beside it. Suddenly, as the light approached her, an +object, hitherto hidden from view, was revealed. Sybil uttered +a prolonged and fearful shriek; the knight recoiled likewise in +horror; and a simultaneous cry of astonishment burst from the +lips of the foremost of the group. All crowded forwards, and +universal consternation prevailed amongst the assemblage. +Each one gazed at his neighbor, anxious to learn the occasion +of this tumult, and vague fears were communicated to those +behind, from the terrified glances, which were the only answers +returned by their comrades in front.</p> + +<p>"Who has dared to bring that body here?" demanded +Barbara, in a tone in which anger struggled with apprehension, +pointing at the same time to the ghastly corpse of a female, +with streaming hair, at the altar's feet. "Who has dared to +do this, I say? Quick! remove it. What do you stare 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 a clod—ay, less than a clod. Away with it! away, I say."</p> + +<p>"Touch it not," cried Luke, lifting a cloud of black hair +from off the features; "it is my mother's body."</p> + +<p>"My daughter!" exclaimed the sexton.</p> + +<p>"What!" vociferated Barbara, "is that your daughter—is +that the first Lady Rookwood? Are the dead arisen to do +honor to these nuptials? Speak! you can, perchance, explain +how she came hither."</p> + +<p>"I know not," returned Peter, glancing fiercely at Barbara; +"I may, anon, demand that question of you. How came this +body here?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ask of Richard Checkley," said Barbara, turning to the +priest. "He can, perchance, inform you. Priest," added +she, in a low voice, "this is your handiwork."</p> + +<p>"Checkley!" screamed Peter. "Is that Richard Checkley? +is that——"</p> + +<p>"Peace!" thundered Barbara; "will none remove the +body? Once more I ask you, do you fear the dead?"</p> + +<p>A murmur arose. Balthazar alone ventured to approach +the corpse.</p> + +<p>Luke started to his feet as he advanced, his eyes glaring +with tiger fury.</p> + +<p>"Back, old man," cried he, "and dare not, any of you, to +lay a sacrilegious finger on her corse, or I will stretch him that +advances as lowly 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—<i>my</i> fate! o'er which the +dead preside. Her ring shall link me to my bride. I knew +not, when I snatched it from her death-cold finger, to what +end I preserved it. I learn it now. It is here." And he +held forth a ring.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a fatal boon, that twice-used ring," cried Sybil; "such +a ring my mother, on her death-bed, said should be mine. +Such a ring she said should wed me——"</p> + +<p>"Unto whom?" fiercely demanded Luke.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Unto Death!</span>" she solemnly rejoined.</p> + +<p>Luke's countenance fell. He turned aside, deeply abashed, +unable further to brook her gaze; while in accents of such +wildly touching pathos as sank into the hearts of each who +heard her—hearts, few of them framed of penetrable stuff—the +despairing maiden burst into the following strain:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE TWICE-USED RING</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Beware thy bridal day!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On her death-bed sighed my mother;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Beware, beware, I say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death shall wed thee, and no other.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cold the hand shall grasp thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cold the arms shall clasp thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Colder lips thy kiss shall smother!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beware thy bridal kiss!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thy wedding ring shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From a clay-cold finger taken;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From one that, like to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was by her love forsaken.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For a twice-used ring<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is a fatal thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her griefs who wore it are partaken—,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beware that fatal ring!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The altar and the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Many steps are not asunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright banners o'er thee wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shrouded horror lieth under.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Blithe may sound the bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet 'twill toll thy knell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scathed thy chaplet by the thunder—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Beware that blighted wreath!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beware my bridal day!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dying lips my doom have spoken;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep tones call me away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the grave is sent a token.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cold, cold fingers bring<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That ill-omen'd ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon will a <i>second</i> heart be broken;<br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>This</i> is my bridal day.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>There was a deep, profound silence as the last melancholy +cadence died away, and many a rugged heart was melted, even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +to tears. Eleanor, meanwhile, remained in a state of passive +stupefaction, vacantly gazing at Sybil, upon whom alone her +eyes were fixed, and appearing indistinctly to apprehend the +meaning of her song.</p> + +<p>"This is my bridal day," murmured she, in a low tone, when +Sybil had finished. "Said not that sweet voice so? I know +'tis my bridal day. What a church you have chosen, mother! +A tomb—a sepulchre—but 'tis meet for such nuptials as mine—and +what wedding guests! Was that pale woman in her +shroud-like dress invited here by you? Tell me that, mother."</p> + +<p>"My God, her senses are gone!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. +"Why did I venture into this horrible place?"</p> + +<p>"Ask not <i>why</i> now, madam," rejoined the priest. "The +hour for consideration is past. We must act. Let the marriage +proceed, at all hazards; we will then take means to extricate +ourselves from this accursed place."</p> + +<p>"Remove that horrible object," said Mrs. Mowbray; "it +fascinates the vision of my child."</p> + +<p>"Lend me your hand, Richard Checkley," said Peter, +sternly regarding the priest.</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied the priest, shuddering; "I will not, cannot +touch it. Do you alone remove it."</p> + +<p>Peter approached Luke. The latter now offered no further +opposition, and the body was taken away. The eyes of Eleanor +followed it into the dark recesses of the vault; and when she +could no longer distinguish the white flutter of the cereclothes, +her laboring bosom seemed torn asunder with the profound +sigh that burst from it, and her head declined upon her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Let me see that ring," said the priest, addressing Luke, +who still held the wedding-ring between his fingers.</p> + +<p>"I am not naturally superstitious," said Mrs. Mowbray; +"whether my mind be affected with the horrors of this place, +I know not; but I have a dread of that ring. She shall not +use it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where no other can be found," said the priest, with a +significant and peculiar look at Mrs. Mowbray, "I see no +reason why this should be rejected. 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 +<i>not</i>—as how should there be, to a harmless piece of gold?—my +benediction, and aspersion with holy lymph, will have +sufficient power to exorcise and expel it. To remove your +fears it shall be done at once."</p> + +<p>A cup containing water was brought, together with a plate +of salt—which condiment the devil is said to abhor, and which +is held to be a symbol of immortality and of eternity; in that, +being itself incorruptible, it preserves all else from corruption,—and, +with the customary Romish formula of prayer and exorcism, +the priest thrice mingled the crystal particles with the +pure fluid; after which, taking the ring in his hand with much +solemnity, he sprinkled it with a few drops of the water which +he had blessed; made the sign of the cross upon the golden +circlet; uttered another and more potent exorcism to eradicate +and expel every device of Satan, and delivered it back to Luke.</p> + +<p>"She may wear it now in safety," said the sexton, with +strong contempt. "Were the snake himself coiled round +that consecrated bauble, the prayers of the devout Father +Checkley would unclasp his lithest folds. But wherefore do +we tarry now? Naught lies between us and the altar. The +path is clear. The bridegroom grows impatient."</p> + +<p>"And the bride?" asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Is ready," replied the priest. "Madam, delay not longer. +Daughter, your hand."</p> + +<p>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 where they stood. She offered +no resistance, but did not raise her head. Luke was 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +full force. He saw it in its darkest colors. It was one of +those terrible moments when the headlong wheel of passion +stands suddenly still.</p> + +<p>"There is yet time," groaned he. "Oh! let me not damn +myself perpetually! Let me save her; save Sybil; save myself."</p> + +<p>They were at the altar—that wild wedding train. High over +head the torch was raised. The red light flashed on bridegroom +and on bride, giving to the pale features of each an +almost livid look; it fell upon the gaunt aspect of the sexton, +and lit up the smile of triumphant malice that played upon his +face; it fell upon the fantastical habiliments of Barbara, and +upon the haughty but perturbed physiognomy of Mrs. Mowbray; +it fell upon the salient points of the Gothic arches; +upon one molded pillar; upon the marble image of the virgin +Thecla; and on the scarcely less marble countenance of Sybil +who stood behind the altar, silent, statue-like, immovable. +The effect of light and shade on other parts of the scene, upon +the wild drapery, and harsh lineaments of many of the group, +was also eminently striking.</p> + +<p>Just as the priest was about to commence the marriage +service, a yelling chorus, which the gipsies were accustomed to +sing at the celebration of the nuptials of one of their own +tribe, burst forth. Nothing could be more horribly discordant +than their song.</p> + + +<p class="hd1">WEDDING CHORUS OF GIPSIES</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Scrape the catgut! pass the liquor!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let your quick feet move the quicker.<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ta-ra-la!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Dance and sing in jolly chorus,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bride and bridegroom are before us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the patrico stands o'er us.<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ta-ra-la!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">To unite their hands he's ready;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For a moment, pals, be steady;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Cease your quaffing,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Dancing, laughing;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Leave off riot,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And be quiet,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">While 'tis doing.<br /></span> +<span class="i7">'Tis begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">All is over!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Two are <span class="smcapl">ONE</span>!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The patrico has link'd 'em;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Daddy Hymen's torch has blink'd 'em.<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Amen!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">To 't again!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Now for quaffing,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Now for laughing,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Stocking-throwing,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Liquor flowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For our bridals are no bridles, and our altars never alter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the flagon never flinch we, in the jig we never falter.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No! that's not <i>our</i> way, for <i>we</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are staunch lads of Romany.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">For our wedding, then, hurrah!<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>This uncouth chorus ended, the marriage proceeded. Sybil +had disappeared. Had she fled? No! she was by the bride. +Eleanor mechanically took her place. A faint voice syllabled +the responses. You could scarcely have seen Miss Mowbray's +lips move. But the answers were given, and the priest was +satisfied.</p> + +<p>He took the ring, and sprinkled it once again with the holy +water, in the form of the cross. He pronounced the prayer: +"<i>Benedic, Domine, annulum hunc, quem nos in tuo nomine +benedicimus, ut quæ eum gestaverit, fidelitatem integram suo +sponso tenens, in pace et voluntate tua permaneat atque in +mutua charitate semper vivat.</i>"</p> + +<p>He was about to return the ring to Luke, when the torch, +held by the knight of Malta, was dashed to the ground by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +some unseen hand, and instantly extinguished. The wild +pageant vanished as suddenly as the figures cast by a magic-lantern +upon a wall disappear when the glass is removed. A +wild hubbub succeeded. Hoarsely above the clamor arose the +voice of Barbara.</p> + +<p>"To the door, quickly!—to the door! Let no one pass, I +will find out the author of this mishap anon. Away!"</p> + +<p>She was obeyed. Several of the crew stationed themselves +at the door.</p> + +<p>"Proceed now with the ceremony," continued Barbara. "By +darkness, or by light, the match shall be completed."</p> + +<p>The ring was then placed upon the finger of the bride; and +as Luke touched it, he shuddered. It was cold as that of the +corpse which he had clasped but now. The prayer was said, +the blessing given, the marriage was complete.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there issued from the darkness deep dirge-like +tones, and a voice solemnly chanted a strain, which all knew +to be the death-song of their race, hymned by wailing women +over an expiring sister. The music seemed to float in the +air.</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE SOUL-BELL</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fast the sand of life is falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast her latest sigh exhaling,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Fast, fast, is she dying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With death's chills her limbs are shivering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With death's gasp the lips are quivering,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Fast her soul away is flying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'er the mountain-top it fleeteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the skyey wonders greeteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing loud as stars it meeteth<br /></span> +<span class="i7">On its way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark! the sullen Soul-bell tolling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hollowly in echoes rolling,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Seems to say—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"She will ope her eyes—oh, never!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quenched their dark light—gone for ever!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">She is dead."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>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 he would have moved, her +tightened grasp prevented his departure.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray's patience was exhausted by the delay. She +was not altogether free from apprehension. "Why do we +linger here?" she whispered to the priest. "Do you, father, +lead the way."</p> + +<p>"The crowd is dense," replied Checkley. "They resist my +effort."</p> + +<p>"Are we prisoners here?" asked Mrs. Mowbray, in alarm.</p> + +<p>"Let me make the attempt," cried Luke, with fiery impatience. +"I will force a passage out."</p> + +<p>"Quit not your bride," whispered Peter, "as you value her +safety. Heed not aught else. She alone is in danger. Suffer +her not to be withdrawn from your hand, if you would not +lose her. Remain here. I will bring the matter to a speedy +issue."</p> + +<p>"Enough," replied Luke; "I stir not hence." And he +drew his bride closer towards him. He stooped to imprint +a kiss upon her lips. A cold shudder ran through +her frame as he touched them, but she resisted not his +embrace.</p> + +<p>Peter's attempt to effect an egress was as unsuccessful as +that of the priest. Presenting Excalibur at his bosom, the +knight of Malta challenged him to stand.</p> + +<p>"You cannot pass," exclaimed the knight; "our orders are +peremptory."</p> + +<p>"What am I to understand by this?" said Peter, angrily. +"Why are we detained?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will learn all anon," returned Barbara. "In the +meantime you are my prisoners—or, if you like not the phrase, +my wedding guests."</p> + +<p>"The wedding is complete," returned the sexton; "the +bride and bridegroom are impatient to depart, and we, the +guests—albeit some of us may be no foes to darkness—desire +not to hold our nuptial revels here."</p> + +<p>"Sybil's wedding has not taken place," said Barbara; "you +must tarry for that."</p> + +<p>"Ha! now it comes," thought Peter. "And who, may I +ask," said he, aloud, "amongst this goodly company, is to be +her bridegroom?"</p> + +<p>"The best amongst them," returned Barbara—"Sir Luke +Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"He has a bride already," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>"She may be <i>removed</i>," said Barbara, with bitter and peculiar +emphasis. "Dost understand my meaning now?"</p> + +<p>"I will not understand it," said Peter. "You cannot mean +to destroy her who now stands at the altar?"</p> + +<p>"She who now stands at the altar must make way for a successor. +She who grasps the bridegroom's hand shall die. I +swear it by the oath of my tribe."</p> + +<p>"And think you, you will be allowed to execute your murderous +intention with impunity?" shrieked Mrs. Mowbray, in +an agony of terror. "Think you that I will stand by and see +my child slaughtered before my face; that my friends will suffer +it? Think you that even your own tribe will dare to 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 and dreadful? What object can you have?"</p> + +<p>"The same as your own," reiterated Barbara—"the advancement +of my child. Sybil is as dear to me as Eleanor is +to you. She is my child's child, the daughter of my best beloved +daughter. I have sworn to marry her to Sir Luke Rookwood. +The means are in my power. I will keep my vow; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +will wed her to him. You did not hesitate to tear your daughter +from the man she loved, to give her to the man she hated; +and for what? For gold—for power—for rank. I have the +same motive. I love my child, and she loves Sir Luke—has +loved him long and truly; therefore shall she have him. +What to me is <i>your</i> child, or <i>your</i> feelings, except they are +subservient to my wishes? She stands in my way. I remove +her."</p> + +<p>"Who placed her in your path?" asked the sexton. "Did +you not lend a helping hand to create that obstacle yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I did," replied Barbara. "Would you know wherefore? +I will tell you. I had 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. Have you never heard of +it?"</p> + +<p>"I have! And did that idle legend sway you?"</p> + +<p>"And do you call it idle? <i>You!</i> Well—I had another +motive—a prophecy."</p> + +<p>"By yourself uttered," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>"Even so," replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. +The stray rook is found. The rook hath with rook mated. +Luke hath wedded Eleanor. He will hold possession of his +lands. The prophecy is fulfilled."</p> + +<p>"But <i>how</i>?" asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and +why he shall now hold possession? Can you tell me that?"</p> + +<p>"My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It +has come to pass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be +it mine to free him from that yoke." And Barbara laughed +exultingly.</p> + +<p>The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand +with violence upon her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Hear <i>me</i>," cried he, "and I will tell you that which your +juggling art refuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the +lands of Rookwood! The estates are <i>hers</i>! They were +bequeathed to her by her grandsire, Sir Reginald."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She was unborn when he died," cried Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"True," replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your +issue <i>female</i>, should such issue be born."</p> + +<p>"And did Sir Piers, my brother, know of this? did he see +this will," asked Mrs. Mowbray, with trembling impatience.</p> + +<p>"He did; and withheld the knowledge of it from you and +yours."</p> + +<p>"Ah! why knew I not this before? Why did you not tell +me ere that was done which cannot be undone? I have +sacrificed my child."</p> + +<p>"Because it did not chime with my purposes to tell you," +replied Peter, coldly.</p> + +<p>"It is false—it is false," cried Mrs. Mowbray, her anger +and vexation getting the better of her fears. "I will not +believe it. Who are you, that pretend to know the secrets of +our house?"</p> + +<p>"One of that house," replied the sexton.</p> + +<p>"Your name?"</p> + +<p>"Would you know my name?" answered Peter, sternly. +"The time is come when I will no longer conceal it. I am +Alan Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"My father's brother!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Alan Rookwood. The sworn enemy of your father—of +you—of all of ye: your fate—your destiny—your curse. I +am that Alan Rookwood whose name you breathed in the +vault. I am he, the avenger—the avenged. I saw your +father die. I heard his groans—<i>his groans!</i>—ha, ha! I saw +his sons die: one fell in battle—I was with him there. The +other expired in his bed. I was with Sir Piers when he +breathed his last, and listened to his death agonies. 'Twas I +who counselled him to keep the lands from you and 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—Luke Rookwood. And even he shall minister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +to my vengeance. He will be your curse—your daughter's +curse—for he loves her not. Yet he is her husband, and +hath her land;—ha, ha!" And he laughed till he became +convulsed with the paroxysm of fiendish exultation.</p> + +<p>"Mine ears are stunned," cried Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"The bride is mine; relinquish her to me," said Barbara. +"Advance and seize her, my children."</p> + +<p>Alan Rookwood—for so we shall henceforth denominate the +sexton—suddenly grew calm: he raised the whistle to his lips, +and blew a call so loud and shrill, that those who were advancing +hung back irresolute.</p> + +<p>There was a rush at the door of the vault. The sentinels +were struck down; and with pistols in each hand, and followed by +two assistants, Dick Turpin sprang into the thick of the crew.</p> + +<p>"Here we are," cried he, "ready for action. Where is Sir +Luke Rookwood? where my churchyard pal, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Here," cried the sexton and Luke simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"Then stand aside," cried Dick, pushing in the direction of +the sounds, and bearing down all opposition. "Have a care +there—these triggers are ticklish. Friend or foe, he who +touches me shall have a bullet in his gizzard. Here I am, pal +Peter; and here are my two chums, Rust and Wilder. Cut +the whid."</p> + +<p>"Have we license to pass scathless now?" asked the sexton; +"or shall we make good our way?"</p> + +<p>"You shall not pass," cried Barbara, furiously. "Think +you to rob me of my prey? What, cowards! do you hesitate? +Ha!"</p> + +<p>"Kindle the torches," cried several voices. "We fight not +in the dark."</p> + +<p>A pistol was flashed. The torch again blazed. Its light +fell upon a tumultuous group.</p> + +<p>"Seize the bride," cried Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Hold!" exclaimed a voice from the altar. The voice +was that of Sybil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her hand was clasped in that of Luke. Eleanor had fainted +in the arms of the gipsy girl Handassah.</p> + +<p>"Are you my bride?" ejaculated Luke, in dismay.</p> + +<p>"Behold the ring upon my finger! Your own hand placed +it there."</p> + +<p>"Betrayed!" screamed Alan, in a voice of anguish. "My +schemes annihilated—myself undone—my enemies triumphant—lost! +lost! All is destroyed—all!"</p> + +<p>"Joy! joy!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray: "my child is +saved."</p> + +<p>"And <i>mine</i> destroyed," groaned Barbara. "I have sworn +by the cross to slay the bride—and Sybil is that bride."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII3" id="CHAPTER_XII3"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>ALAN ROOKWOOD</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to devour the corse, but to discover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horrid murther.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Webster.</span></p></div> + + +<p>"Bravo! capital!" cried Turpin, laughing loud and long +as an Olympian deity; "has this simple wench outwitted you +all; turned the tables upon the whole gang of plotters, eh? +Excellent! ha, ha, ha! The next time you wed, Sir Luke, +let me advise you not to choose a wife in the dark. A man +should have all his senses about him on these occasions. Make +love when the liquor's in; marry when it's out, and, above all, +with your eyes open. This beats cock-fighting—ha, ha, ha!—you +must excuse me; but, upon my soul, I can't help it." +And his laughter seemed inextinguishable.</p> + +<p>"Take your men without," whispered Alan Rookwood; +"keep watch as before, and let the discharge of a pistol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +bespeak the approach of danger as agreed upon; much yet +remains to be done here."</p> + +<p>"How so?" asked Dick; "it seems to me the job's entirely +settled—if not to <i>your</i> 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 of foul 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——"</p> + +<p>"No harm is intended her," replied Alan. "I applaud +your magnanimity," added he, sarcastically; "such sentiments +are, it must be owned, in excellent keeping with your conduct."</p> + +<p>"In keeping or not," replied Turpin, gravely, "cold-blooded +murder is altogether out of my line, and I wash my hands of +it. A shot or two in self defence is another matter; and +when——"</p> + +<p>"A truce to this," interrupted Alan; "the girl is safe. Will +you mount guard again?"</p> + +<p>"If that be the case, certainly," replied Dick. "I shall be +glad to get back to Bess. I couldn't bring her with me into +this black hole. A couple of shots will tell you 'tis Ranulph +Rookwood. But mind, no harm to the gipsy girl—to Lady +Rookwood, I should say. She's a jewel, take my word for it, +which Sir Luke must be mad to throw away." And calling +his companions, he departed.</p> + +<p>Alan Rookwood bent his steps towards the gipsy queen. +Dark thoughts gathered quickly o'er his brow. He smiled as +he drew nigh to Barbara—a smile it was</p> + +<p class="hd4">That wrinkled up his skin even to the hair.</p> + +<p>Barbara looked at him at first with distrust; but as he developed +his secret purposes, that smile became reflected upon +her own features. Their conference took place apart. We +willingly leave them to return to the altar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray and the priest were still there. Both were +occupied in ineffectual endeavors to restore Eleanor to consciousness. +She recovered from her swoon; but it was evident +her senses still wandered; and vainly did Mrs. Mowbray lavish +her tenderest caresses upon her child. Eleanor returned +them not.</p> + +<p>Luke, meanwhile, had given vent to the wildest fury. He +shook away Sybil's grasp; he dashed her from him; he +regarded her with withering glances; he loaded her with +reproaches. She bore his violence with meekest submission; +she looked imploringly—but she replied not to his taunts. +Again she clung to the hem of his garment when cast aside. +Luke appeared unmoved; what passed within we pause not to +examine. He grew calmer; his calmness was more terrible to +Sybil than his previous wrath had been.</p> + +<p>"You are my wife," said he; "what then? By fraud, by +stratagem, you have obtained that title, and, perforce, must +keep it. But the title <i>only</i> shall you retain. No rights of +wife shall ever be yours. It will be in your power to call +yourself Lady Rookwood—you will be so in name—in nothing +else."</p> + +<p>"I shall not bear it long," murmured Sybil.</p> + +<p>Luke laughed scornfully, "So you said before," replied +he; "and yet I see not why you are likely to abandon it. The +event will show. Thus far you 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, you grasp it +clandestinely. Am I to believe you now? The wind will +change—the vane veer with it."</p> + +<p>"It will not veer from you," she meekly answered.</p> + +<p>"Why did you step between me and my bride?"</p> + +<p>"To save her life; to lay down mine for hers."</p> + +<p>"An idle subterfuge. You know well that you run no risk +of being called upon to do so. Your life is in no danger. The +sacrifice was unnecessary. I could have dispensed with <i>your</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +assistance; my own arm would have sufficed to protect +Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"Your single arm would not have prevailed against numbers: +they would have killed you likewise."</p> + +<p>"Tush!" said Luke, fiercely. "Not only have you snatched +from me my bride, you have robbed me of my fair estates, of +all, save of my barren title, and that, even <i>that</i>, you have +tarnished."</p> + +<p>"True, true," sighed Sybil. "I knew not that the lands +were hers, else had I never done it."</p> + +<p>"False, false," cried Luke; "false as the rest. <i>They</i> will +be Ranulph's. <i>She</i> will be Ranulph's. I shall still be an outcast, +while Ranulph will riot in my halls—will press her to +his bosom. Cling not to me. Hence! or I will spurn +you from me. I am undone, undone by you, accursed +one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, curse me not! your words cut deep enough."</p> + +<p>"Would they could kill you," cried Luke, with savage bitterness. +"You have placed a bar between me and my prospects, +which nothing can now remove—nothing but—ha!" +and his countenance assumed a deadly hue and fearful expression. +"By Heaven, you almost rouse the fell spirit which it +is said dwells within the breast of my devoted race. I feel as +if I could stab thee."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" shrieked Sybil; "for mercy's sake, for your own +sake, do not stab me. It is not too late. I will repair my +wrong!"</p> + +<p>"Ever deceiving! you would again delude me. You cannot +repair it. One way alone remains, and that——"</p> + +<p>"I will pursue," responded Sybil, sadly, but firmly.</p> + +<p>"Never!" cried Luke; "you shall not. Ha!" exclaimed +he, as he found his arms suddenly pinioned behind him. +"What new treachery is this? By whose orders am I thus +fettered?"</p> + +<p>"By mine," said Alan Rookwood, stepping forward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By yours?" echoed Luke. "And wherefore? Release +me."</p> + +<p>"Be patient," replied Alan. "You will hear all anon. In +the meantime you must be content to remain my prisoner. +Quit not your hold," added he, addressing the gipsies, who +kept charge of Luke.</p> + +<p>"Their lives shall answer for their obedience," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>Upon a further signal from Alan, Eleanor was torn from her +mother's arms, and a bandage passed so suddenly over Mrs. +Mowbray's face, that, before she could raise a cry of alarm, all +possibility of utterance was effectually prevented. The priest +alone was left at liberty.</p> + +<p>Barbara snatched the hand of Eleanor. She dragged her to +Sybil.</p> + +<p>"You are Lady Rookwood," whispered she; "but she has +your domains. I give her to you."</p> + +<p>"She is the <i>only bar</i> between thy husband and his rights," +whispered Alan Rookwood, in a tone of horrible irony; "<i>it is +not too late to repair your wrong</i>."</p> + +<p>"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 done him wrong. One mode of +atonement remains; and, horrible though it be, I will embrace +it. Let me not pause. Give her to me." And she seized +upon the unresisting hand of Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Do you need my aid?" asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Sybil; "let none approach us. A clapping +of hands will let you know when all is over." And she dragged +her passive victim deeper into the vault.</p> + +<p>"Sybil, Sybil!" cried Luke, struggling with frantic violence +to liberate himself; "hurt her not. I was rash. I was mad. +I am calmer now. She hears me not—she will not turn. God +of heaven! she will murder her. It will 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."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>At a signal from the sexton, Luke also was blindfolded. He +ceased to struggle. But his laboring breast told of the strife +within.</p> + +<p>"Miscreants!" exclaimed the priest, who had hitherto witnessed +the proceedings in horror. "Why do not these rocks +fall in, and crush you and your iniquities? Save her! oh, save +her! Have you no pity for the innocent?"</p> + +<p>"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 <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"Heaven is my witness," exclaimed the priest, "that I never +injured her."</p> + +<p>"Take not Heaven's name in vain," cried Alan. "Who +stood by while it was doing? Whose firmer hand lent aid to +the murderer's trembling efforts? Whose pressure stifled her +thrilling screams, and choked her cries for mercy? Yours—yours; +and now you prate to me of pity—you, the slayer of +the sleeping and the innocent!"</p> + +<p>"'Tis false!" exclaimed the priest, in extremity of terror.</p> + +<p>"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? He told me <i>how</i>, +by awakening a spirit of jealousy and pride, that o'ermastered +all his better feelings. False! He told me of your hellish +machinations; your Jesuitical plots; your schemes. He was +too weak, too feeble an instrument to serve you. You left him, +but not before <i>she</i> had left him. False! ha, I have that shall +instantly convict you. The corpse is here, within this cell. +Who brought it hither?"</p> + +<p>The priest was silent: he seemed confounded by Alan's +violence.</p> + +<p>"I will answer that question," said Barbara. "It was brought +hither by that false priest. His agent, Balthazar, has betrayed +him. It was brought hither to prevent the discovery of Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +Luke Rookwood's legitimacy. He meant to make his own +terms about it. It has come hither to proclaim his guilt—to +be a fearful witness against him." Then, turning to Checkley, +she added, "You have called Heaven to witness your innocence: +you shall attest it by oath upon that body; and should +aught indicate your guilt, I will hang you as I would a dog, +and clear off one long score with justice. Do you shrink from +this?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied the priest, in a voice hollow and broken. +"Bring me to the body."</p> + +<p>"Seize each an arm," said Barbara, addressing Zoroaster +and the knight of Malta, "and lead him to the corse."</p> + +<p>"I will administer the oath," said Alan Rookwood, sternly.</p> + +<p>"No, not you," stammered the priest.</p> + +<p>"And wherefore not?" asked Alan. "If you are innocent, +you need fear nothing from her."</p> + +<p>"I fear nothing from the <i>dead</i>," replied Checkley; "lead +on."</p> + +<p>We will now return to Sybil. She was alone with her victim. +They were near the mouth of the cell which had been Prior +Cyprian's flinty dormitory, and were almost involved in darkness. +A broken stream of light glanced through the pillars. +Eleanor had not spoken. She suffered herself to be dragged +thither without resistance, scarcely conscious, it would seem, of +her danger. Sybil gazed upon her for some minutes with sorrow +and surprise. "She comprehends not her perilous situation," +murmured Sybil. "She knows not that she stands upon +the brink of the grave. Oh! would that she could pray. +Shall I, her murderess, pray for her? My prayers would not +be heard. And yet, to kill her unshriven will be a twofold +crime. Let me not look on her. My hand trembles. I can +scarce grasp the dagger. Let me think on all he has said. I +have wronged him. I am his bane, his curse! I have robbed +him of all: there is but one remedy—'tis <i>this</i>!—Oh, God! +she recovers. I cannot do it now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a fearful moment for Eleanor's revival, when the +bright steel flashed before her eyes. Terror at once restored +her. She cast herself at Sybil's feet.</p> + +<p>"Spare, spare me!" cried she. "Oh! what a dream I have +had. And to waken thus, 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 will not."</p> + +<p>"Appeal no more to me," said Sybil, fiercely. "Make +your peace with Heaven. Your minutes are numbered."</p> + +<p>"I cannot pray," said Eleanor, "while you are near me."</p> + +<p>"Will you pray if I retire and leave you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I dare not—cannot," shrieked Eleanor, in +extremity of terror. "Oh! do not leave me, or let me go."</p> + +<p>"If you stir," said Sybil, "I stab you to the heart."</p> + +<p>"I will not stir. I will kneel here forever. Stab me as I +kneel—as I pray to you. You cannot kill me while I cling +to you thus—while I kiss your hands—while I bedew them +with my tears. Those tears will not sully them like my +blood."</p> + +<p>"Maiden," said Sybil, endeavoring to withdraw her hand, +"let go your hold—your sand is run."</p> + +<p>"Mercy!"</p> + +<p>"It is in vain. Close your eyes."</p> + +<p>"No, I will fix them on you thus—you cannot strike then. +I will cling to you—embrace you. Your nature is not cruel—your +soul is full of pity. It melts—those tears—you will be +merciful. You cannot deliberately kill me."</p> + +<p>"I cannot—I cannot!" said Sybil, with a passionate outburst +of grief. "Take your life on one condition."</p> + +<p>"Name it."</p> + +<p>"That you wed Sir Luke Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Eleanor, "all rushes back upon me at +that name; the whole of that fearful scene passes in review +before me."</p> + +<p>"Do you reject my proposal?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I dare not."</p> + +<p>"I must have your oath. Swear by every hope of eternity +that you will wed none other than him."</p> + +<p>"By every hope, I swear it."</p> + +<p>"Handassah, you will bear this maiden's oath in mind, and +witness its fulfilment."</p> + +<p>"I will," replied the gipsy girl, stepping forward from a +recess, in which she had hitherto remained unnoticed.</p> + +<p>"Enough. I am satisfied. Tarry with me. Stir not—scream +not, whatever you may see or hear. Your life depends +upon your firmness. When I am no more——"</p> + +<p>"No more?" echoed Eleanor, in horror.</p> + +<p>"Be calm," said Sybil. "When I am dead, clap your +hands together. They will come to seek you—they will find +me in your stead. Then rush to him—to Sir Luke Rookwood. +He will protect you. Say to him hereafter that I died for +the wrong I did him—that I died, and blessed him."</p> + +<p>"Can you not live, and save me?" sobbed Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Ask it not. While I live, your life is in danger. When I +am gone, none will seek to harm you. Fare you well! Remember +your oath, and you, too, remember it, Handassah. +Remember also—ha! that groan!"</p> + +<p>All started, as a deep groan knelled in their ears.</p> + +<p>"Whence comes that sound?" cried Sybil. "Hist!—a +voice?"</p> + +<p>"It is that of the priest," cried Eleanor. "Hark! he groans. +They have murdered him! Kind Heaven, receive his soul!"</p> + +<p>"Pray for me," cried Sybil: "pray fervently; avert your +face; down on your knees—down—down! Farewell, Handassah!" +And breaking from them, she rushed into the +darkest recesses of the vault.</p> + +<p>We must now quit this painful scene for another scarcely +less painful, and return to the unfortunate priest.</p> + +<p>Checkley had been brought before the body of Susan Rookwood. +Even in the gloom, the shimmer of the white cereclothes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +and the pallid features of the corpse, were ghastly +enough. The torchlight made them terrible.</p> + +<p>"Kneel!" said Alan Rookwood. The priest complied. +Alan knelt beside him.</p> + +<p>"Do you know these features?" demanded he. "Regard +them well. Fix your eyes full upon them. Do you know +them?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Place your hand upon her breast. Does not the flesh +creep and shrink beneath your touch? Now raise your hand—make +the cross of your faith upon her bosom. By that faith +you swear you are innocent."</p> + +<p>"I do," returned the priest; "are you now satisfied?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Alan. "Let the torch be removed. Your +innocence must be more deeply attested," continued he, as +the light was withdrawn. "This proof will not fail. Entwine +your fingers round her throat."</p> + +<p>"Have I not done enough?"</p> + +<p>"Your hesitation proves your guilt," said Alan.</p> + +<p>"That proof is wanting, then?" returned the priest; "my +hand is upon her throat—what more?"</p> + +<p>"As you hope for mercy in your hour of need, swear that +you never conspired against her life, or refused her mercy."</p> + +<p>"I swear it."</p> + +<p>"May the dead convict you of perjury if you have forsworn +yourself," said Alan; "you are free. Take away your hand!"</p> + +<p>"Ha! what is this?" exclaimed the priest. "You have +put some jugglery upon 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 liberate myself. Why do you +grin at me? The corpse grins likewise. It is jugglery. I am +innocent. You would take away my life. Tear me away, I +say: the veins rise; they blacken; they are filling with new +blood. I feel them swell; they coil like living things around +my fingers. She is alive."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you are innocent?"</p> + +<p>"I am—I am. Let not my ravings convict me. For Jesu's +sake, release me."</p> + +<p>"Blaspheme not, but arise. I hold you not."</p> + +<p>"You do," groaned the priest. "Your grasp tightens round +my throat; your hard and skinny fingers are there—I strangle—help!"</p> + +<p>"Your own fears strangle you. My hand is at my side," +returned Alan calmly.</p> + +<p>"Villain, you lie. Your grasp is like a vice. The strength +of a thousand devils is in your hand. Will none lend help? +I never pressed so hard. Your daughter never suffered this +torture—never—never. I choke—choke—oh!" And the +priest rolled heavily backwards.</p> + +<p>There was a deep groan; a convulsive rattle in the throat; +and all was still.</p> + +<p>"He is dead—strangled," cried several voices, holding +down the torch. The face of the priest was blackened and +contorted; his eyeballs protruded from their sockets; his +tongue was nearly bitten through in the desperate efforts he +had made to release himself from Alan's gripe; his hair was +erect with horror. It was a ghastly sight.</p> + +<p>A murmur arose amongst the gipsies. Barbara deemed it +prudent to appease them.</p> + +<p>"He was guilty," cried she. "He was the murderer of +Susan Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"And I, <i>her father</i>, have avenged her," said Alan, +sternly.</p> + +<p>The dreadful silence that followed this speech was broken +by the report of a pistol. The sound, though startling, was +felt almost as a relief.</p> + +<p>"We are beset," cried Alan. "Some of you fly to reconnoitre."</p> + +<p>"To your posts," cried Barbara.</p> + +<p>Several of the crew flocked to the entrance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Unbind the prisoners," shouted Alan.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray and Luke were accordingly set free.</p> + +<p>Two almost simultaneous reports of a pistol were now heard.</p> + +<p>"'Tis Ranulph Rookwood," said Alan; "that was the preconcerted +signal."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph Rookwood," echoed Eleanor, who caught the +exclamation: "he comes to save me."</p> + +<p>"Remember your oath," gasped a dying voice. "He is no +longer yours."</p> + +<p>"Alas! alas!" sobbed Eleanor, tremblingly.</p> + +<p>A moment afterwards a faint clapping of hands reached the +ears of Barbara.</p> + +<p>"All is over," muttered she.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Alan Rookwood, with a frightful look. +"Is it done?"</p> + +<p>Barbara motioned him towards the further end of the vault.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII3" id="CHAPTER_XIII3"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>MR. COATES</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 29em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Grimm.</i> Look, captain, here comes one of the bloodhounds of justice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Schw.</i> Down with him. Don't let him utter a word.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Moor.</i> Silence, I will hear him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Schiller</span>: <i>The Robbers</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>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. Upon regaining the verdant ruins of the +ancient priory, all appeared pretty much as our highwayman +had left it. Dick wended towards his mare. Black Bess +uttered an affectionate whinnying sound as he approached her, +and yielded her sleek neck to his caresses. No Bedouin Arab +ever loved his horse more tenderly than Turpin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Twill be a hard day when thou and I part!" murmured +he, affectionately patting 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 in the language +of the Houyhnhnms. "I would rather lose my right hand than +<i>that</i> should happen," sighed he; "but there's no saying: the +best of friends must part; and thou and I may be one day +separated: thy destination is the knacker—mine, perhaps, the +gibbet.—We are neither of us cut out for old age, that's certain. +Curse me if I can tell how it is; since I've been in that +vault, I've got some queer crotchet into my head. I can't +help likening thee to that poor gipsy wench, Sybil; but may 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 his +companions, Rust and Wilder, start, "we are watched. See +you not how yon shadow falls from behind the wall?"</p> + +<p>"I do," replied Rust.</p> + +<p>"The varmint shall be speedily unearthed," said Wilder, +rushing to the spot.</p> + +<p>In another instant the shadow manifested itself in a substantial +little personage, booted, spurred, and mud-bespattered. +He was brought before our highwayman, who had, meanwhile, +vaulted into his saddle.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coates!" cried Dick, bursting into a loud laugh at +the ridiculous figure presented to his view, "or the mud +deceives me."</p> + +<p>"It does not deceive you, Captain Turpin," replied the +attorney; "you do, indeed, behold that twice unfortunate +person."</p> + +<p>"What brings you here?" asked Dick. "Ah! I see, you +are come to pay me my wager."</p> + +<p>"I thought you gave me a <i>discharge</i> for that," rejoined +Coates, unable, even in his distress, to resist the too-tempting +quibble.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> + +<p>"True, but it was <i>in blank</i>," replied Turpin readily; "and +that don't hold good in law, you know. You have thrown +away a second chance. Play or pay, all the world over. I +shan't <i>let you off</i> 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 his +clies, pals. Let us see what he has about him."</p> + +<p>"In the twinkling of a bed-post," replied Rust. "We'll +turn him inside out. What's here?" cried he, searching +the attorney's pockets. "A brace of barkers," handing a pair +of pistols to Turpin, "a haddock, stuffed with nothing, I'm +thinking; one quid, two coach-wheels, half a bull, three hogs, +and a kick; a d—d dicky concern, captain."</p> + +<p>"Three hogs and a kick," muttered Coates; "the knave +says true enough."</p> + +<p>"Is there nothing else?" demanded Dick.</p> + +<p>"Only an old snuffy fogle and a pewter sneezer."</p> + +<p>"No reader?<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> Try his hoxter."<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a></p> + +<p>"Here's a pit-man,<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> captain."</p> + +<p>"Give it me. Ah! this will do," cried Dick, examining +the contents of the pocket-book. "This is a glorious windfall +indeed; a bill of exchange for 500<i>l.</i>, payable <i>on demand</i>, eh, +Mr. Coates? Quick! indorse it, sir. Here's pen and ink. +Rascal! if you attempt to tear the bill, I'll blow your brains +out. Steady, sir, sign. Good!" added he, as Coates most +reluctantly indorsed the bill. "Good! good! I'll be off with +this bill to London to-night, before you can stop it. No +courier can beat Bess—ha, ha! Eh! what's this?" continued +Dick, as, unfolding another leaf of the pocket-book, he chanced +upon a letter; "My Lady Rookwood's superscription! Excuse +me, Mr. Coates, I must have a peep at her ladyship's +billet-doux. All's safe with me—man of honor. I must detain +your <i>reader</i> a moment longer."</p> + +<p>"You should take charge of yourself, then," replied Coates, +sulkily. "<i>You</i> appear to be my reader."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bravo!" cried Turpin. "You may jest now with impunity, +Mr. Coates. You have paid dear enough for your jokes; and +when should a man be allowed to 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 her ladyship'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 <i>such</i> a favor +from <i>such</i> a lady—ha, ha! Meantime, I'll take care of it for +you," continued Dick, slipping the ring on his little finger.</p> + +<p>Turpin, we have before remarked, had a turn for mimicry; +and it was with an irresistible feeling of deferential awe creeping +over him that Coates heard the contents of Lady Rookwood's +epistle delivered with an enunciation as peremptory +and imperious as that of her ladyship's self. The letter was +hastily indited, in a clear, firm hand, and partook of its writer's +decision of character. Dick found no difficulty in deciphering +it. Thus ran the missive:</p> + +<div style="margin: 2em;"><p>"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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +mark me. <span class="smcap">That body must not be found!</span> 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</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">"<span class="smcap">Maud Rookwood.</span></span></p> +<p>"Haste, and God speed you!"</p></div> + + +<p>"God speed you!" echoed Dick, in his own voice, contemptuously. +"The devil drive you! would have been a +fitter postscript. And it was upon this precious errand you +came, Mr. Coates?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," replied the attorney; "but I find the premises +preoccupied. Fast as I have ridden, you are here before me."</p> + +<p>"And what do you now propose to do?" asked Turpin.</p> + +<p>"Bargain with you for the body," replied Coates, in an insinuating +tone.</p> + +<p>"With <i>me</i>!" said Dick; "do you take me for a resurrection +cove; for a dealer in dead stock, eh! sirrah?"</p> + +<p>"I take you for one sufficiently <i>alive</i>, in a general way, to +his own interests," returned Coates. "These gentlemen may +not, perhaps, be quite so scrupulous, when they hear my +proposals."</p> + +<p>"Be silent, sir," interrupted Turpin. "Hist! I hear the +tramp of horses' hoofs without. Hark! that shout."</p> + +<p>"Make your own terms before they come," said Coates. +"Leave all to me. I'll put 'em on a wrong scent."</p> + +<p>"To the devil with your terms," cried Turpin; "the signal!" +And he pulled the trigger of one of Coates's pistols, +the shot of which rang in the ears of the astounded attorney<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +as it whizzed past him. "Drag him into the mouth of the +vault," thundered Turpin: "he will be a capital cover in case +of attack. Look to your sticks, and be on the alert;—away!"</p> + +<p>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; and his legs tripped from under him. +Thus blind, dumb, and half-suffocated, he was hurried into the +entrance of the cell.</p> + +<p>Dick, meanwhile, dashed to the arched outlet of the ruin. +He there drew in the rein, and Black Bess stood motionless as +a statue.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV3" id="CHAPTER_XIV3"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>DICK TURPIN</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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?—<span class="smcap">Schiller</span>: <i>The +Robbers</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Turpin's quick eye ranged over the spreading sward in front +of the ancient priory, and his brow became contracted. The +feeling, however, was transient. The next instant saw him +the same easy, reckless being he had been before. There +was a little more paleness in his cheek than usual; but his +look was keener, and his knees involuntarily clasped the saddle +more firmly. No other symptom of anxiety was perceptible. +It would be no impeachment to Dick's valor were it necessary +to admit that a slight tremor crossed him as he scanned the +formidable array of his opponents. The admission is needless. +Dick himself would have been the last man to own it; nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +shall we do the memory of our undaunted highwayman any +such injustice. Turpin was intrepid to a fault. He was rash; +apt to run into risks for the mere pleasure of getting out of +them: danger was his delight, and the degree of excitement +was always in proportion to the peril incurred. After the first +glance, he became, to use his own expressive phrase, "as cool +as a cucumber;" and continued, as long as they permitted +him, like a skilful commander, calmly to calculate the numerical +strength of his adversaries, and to arrange his own plan of +resistance.</p> + +<p>This troop of horsemen, for such it was, might probably +amount in the aggregate to twenty men, and presented an appearance +like that of a strong muster at a rustic fox-chase, due +allowance being made for the various weapons of offence; to-wit: +naked sabers, firelocks, and a world of huge horse-pistols, +which the present <i>field</i> carried along with them. This resemblance +was heightened by the presence of an old huntsman +and a gamekeeper or two, in scarlet and green jackets, and a few +yelping hounds that had followed after them. The majority of +the crew consisted of sturdy yeomen; some of whom, mounted +upon wild, unbroken colts, had pretty lives of it to maintain their +seats, and curvetted about in "most admired disorder;" others +were seated upon more docile, but quite as provoking specimens +of the cart-horse breed, whose sluggish sides, reckless +alike of hobnailed heel or ash sapling, refused to obey their +riders' intimations to move; while others again, brought stiff, +wrong-headed ponies to the charge—obstinate, impracticable +little brutes, who seemed to prefer revolving on their own axis, +and describing absurd rotatory motions, to proceeding in the +direct and proper course pointed out to them. Dick could +scarcely forbear laughing at these ridiculous manœuvres; but +his attention was chiefly attracted towards three individuals, who +were evidently the leaders of this warlike expedition. In the +thin, tall figure of the first of these he recognized Ranulph +Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +the group he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied—nor +incorrectly fancied—that his military bearing, or, as he would +have expressed it, "the soldier-like cut of his jib," could belong +to no other than Major Mowbray, whom he had once +eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In the round, rosy +countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio he +discovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there?" exclaimed Dick, +as he distinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have <i>one</i> friend +among them whom I may welcome. So, they see me now. +Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess, back!—slowly, wench, +slowly—there—stand!" And Bess again remained motionless.</p> + +<p>The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; +and as all were upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself +at the gateway, when a loud shout was raised, and the +whole cavalcade galloped towards him, creating, as may be +imagined, the wildest disorder; each horseman yelling, as he +neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasioned by +the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while +oaths and blows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such +hearty good-will, that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, +or heard of the discord of King Agramante's camp, +this <i>mêlée</i> must have struck him as its realization. As it was, +entertaining little apprehension of the result, he shouted +encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremost +horseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling +to the door, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's +head, when a well-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, +and horse and man rolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, +a second succeeded, and was in like manner compelled to bite +the dust.</p> + +<p>"That will let Old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at +hand," exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot."</p> + +<p>The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. +Terrified by the shots, some of the boors would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +drawn back, while others, in mid career, advanced, and propelled +them forwards. It was like the meeting of two tides. +Here and there, regardless of the bit, and scared by the +firing, a wild colt broke all bounds, and, hurling his rider in +the air, darted off into the green; or, in another case, rushed +forward, and encountering the prostrate cattle cumbering the +entrance to the priory hall, stumbled, and precipitated his +master neck-over-heels at the very feet of his enemy. During +all this tumult, a few shots were fired at the highwayman, which, +without doing him a jot of mischief, tended materially to increase +their own confusion.</p> + +<p>The voice of Turpin was now heard above the din and +turmoil to sound a parley; and as he appeared disposed +to offer no opposition, some of his antagonists ventured +to raise themselves from the ground, and to approach +him.</p> + +<p>"I demand to be led to Sir Ranulph Rookwood," said +Turpin.</p> + +<p>"He is here," said Ranulph, riding up. "Villain, you are +my prisoner."</p> + +<p>"As you list, Sir Ranulph," returned Dick, coolly; "but let +me have a word in private with you ere you do aught you may +repent hereafter."</p> + +<p>"No words, sir—deliver up your arms, or——"</p> + +<p>"My pistols are at your service," replied Dick. "I have +just discharged them."</p> + +<p>"You may have others. We must search you."</p> + +<p>"Hold!" cried Dick; "if you will not listen to me, read +that paper." And he handed Ranulph his mother's letter to +Mr. Coates. It was without the superscription, which he had +thrown aside.</p> + +<p>"My mother's hand!" exclaimed Ranulph, reddening with +anger, as he hastily perused its contents. "And she sent this +to you? You lie, villain—'tis a forgery."</p> + +<p>"Let this speak for me," returned Dick, holding out the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +finger upon which Lady Rookwood's ring was placed. "Know +you that cipher?"</p> + +<p>"You have stolen it," retorted Ranulph. "My mother," +added he, in a deep, stern whisper, articulated only for Turpin's +hearing, "would never have entrusted her honor to a highwayman's +keeping."</p> + +<p>"She has entrusted more—her life," replied Dick, in a +careless tone. "She would have bribed me to do murder."</p> + +<p>"Murder!" echoed Ranulph, aghast.</p> + +<p>"Ay, to murder your brother," returned Dick; "but let that +pass. You have read that note. I have acted solely upon +your mother's responsibility. Lady Rookwood's <i>honor</i> is +pledged for my safety. Of course her son will set me free."</p> + +<p>"Never!"</p> + +<p>"Well, as you please. Your mother is in my power. Betray +me, and you betray her."</p> + +<p>"No more!" returned Ranulph, sternly. "Go your ways. +You are free."</p> + +<p>"Pledge me your word of honor I am safe." Ranulph +had scarcely given his pledge, when Major Mowbray rode +furiously up. A deep flush of anger burnt upon his cheeks; +his sword was drawn in his hand. He glanced at Turpin, as if +he would have felled him from his saddle.</p> + +<p>"This is the ruffian," cried the major, fiercely, "by whom I +was attacked some months ago, and for whose apprehension +the reward of three hundred pounds is offered by his majesty's +proclamation, with a free pardon to his accomplices. This is +Richard Turpin. He has just added another 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!"</p> + +<p>"I know not," replied Turpin, calmly. "Did not the lad +tell you they were rescued?"</p> + +<p>"Rescued!—by whom?" asked Ranulph, with great emotion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By one who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood," answered +Turpin, with a meaning smile.</p> + +<p>"By him!" ejaculated Ranulph. "Where are they now?"</p> + +<p>"I have already answered that question," said Dick. "I +repeat, I know not."</p> + +<p>"You are my prisoner," cried the major, seizing Turpin's +bridle.</p> + +<p>"I have Sir Ranulph's word for my safety," rejoined Turpin. +"Let go my rein."</p> + +<p>"How is this?" asked Major Mowbray, incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Ask me not. Release him," replied Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Ranulph," said the major, "you ask an impossibility. My +honor—my duty—is implicated in this man's capture."</p> + +<p>"The honor of all of us is involved in his deliverance," returned +Ranulph, in a whisper. "Let him go. I will explain all +hereafter. Let us search for them—for Eleanor. Surely, after +this, you will help us to find them," added he, addressing Turpin.</p> + +<p>"I wish, with all my soul, I could do so," replied the highwayman.</p> + +<p>"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 from where 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 they ever comed out again."</p> + +<p>"Some one is hidden within yon fissure in the wall," exclaimed +Ranulph; "I see a figure move."</p> + +<p>And he flung himself from his horse, rushing towards the +mouth of the cell. Imitating his example, Major Mowbray +followed his friend, sword in hand.</p> + +<p>"The game begins now in right earnest," said Dick to himself; +"the old fox will be soon unearthed. I must look to my +snappers." And he thrust his hand quietly into his pocket in +search of a pistol.</p> + +<p>Just as Ranulph and the major reached the recess they +were startled by the sudden apparition of the ill-fated attorney.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Coates!" exclaimed Ranulph, in surprise. "What do +you here, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I—I—that is—Sir Ranulph—you must excuse me, sir—particular +business—can't say," returned the trembling attorney; +for at this instant his eye caught that of Turpin, and the +ominous reflexion of a polished-steel barrel, held carelessly +towards him. He was aware, also, that on the other hand +he was, in like manner, the mark of Rust and Wilder; those +polite gentlemen having threatened him with a brace of slugs +in his brain if he dared to betray their hiding-place. "It is +necessary that I should be <i>guarded</i> in my answers," murmured +he.</p> + +<p>"Is there any one within that place besides yourself?" said +the major, making a movement thither.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, nobody at all," answered Coates, hastily, fancying +at the same time that he heard the click of the pistol that +was to be his death-warrant.</p> + +<p>"How came you here, sir?" demanded Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean in this identical spot?" replied Coates, +evasively.</p> + +<p>"You can have no difficulty in answering that question," +said the major, sternly.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir. I find considerable difficulty in answering +any question, situated as I am."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen Miss Mowbray?" asked Ranulph, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Or my mother?" said the major, in the same breath.</p> + +<p>"Neither," replied Coates, rather relieved by these questions.</p> + +<p>"I suspect you are deceiving us, sir," said the major. "Your +manner is confused. I am convinced you know more of this +matter than you choose to explain; and if you do not satisfy +me at once, fully and explicitly, I vow to Heaven——" and +the major's sword described a glittering circle round his head.</p> + +<p>"Are you privy to their concealment?" asked Ranulph. +"Have you seen aught of them, or of Luke Bradley?"</p> + +<p>"Speak, or this moment is your last," said the major.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If it <i>is</i> my last, I <i>cannot</i> speak," returned Coates. "I can +make neither head nor tail of your questions, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>"And you positively assure me you have not seen Mrs. +Mowbray and her daughter?" said Ranulph.</p> + +<p>Turpin here winked at Coates. The attorney understood +him.</p> + +<p>"I don't positively assert that," faltered he.</p> + +<p>"How!—you <i>have</i> seen them?" shouted Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Where are they?—in safety—speak!" added the major.</p> + +<p>Another expressive gesture from the highwayman communicated +to the attorney the nature of his reply.</p> + +<p>"Without, sir—without—yonder," he replied. "I will show +you myself. Follow, gentlemen, follow." And away scampered +Coates, without once venturing to look behind him.</p> + +<p>In an instant the ruined hall was deserted, and Turpin +alone left behind. In the excitement of the moment his +presence had been forgotten. In an instant afterwards the +<i>arena</i> was again occupied by a company equally numerous. +Rust and Wilder issued from their hiding-places, followed by +a throng of the gipsy crew.</p> + +<p>"Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked Turpin.</p> + +<p>"He remains below," was the answer returned.</p> + +<p>"And Peter Bradley?"</p> + +<p>"Stays there likewise."</p> + +<p>"No matter. Now make ready, pals. Give 'em one +shout—Hurrah!"</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" replied the crowd, at the top of their voices.</p> + +<p>Ranulph Rookwood and his companions heard this shout. +Mr. Coates had already explained the stratagem practised +upon them by the wily highwayman, as well as the perilous +situation in which he himself had been placed; and they were +in the act of returning to make good his capture, when the +loud shouts of the crew arrested them. From the clamor, it +was evident that considerable reinforcement must have arrived +from some unlooked-for quarter; and, although burning to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +avenged upon the audacious highwayman, the major felt it +would be a task of difficulty, and that extreme caution could +alone ensure success. With difficulty restraining the impatience +of Ranulph, who could scarcely brook these few minutes +of needful delay, Major Mowbray gave particular instructions +to each of the men in detail, and caused several of them to +dismount. By this arrangement Mr. Coates found himself +accommodated with a steed and a pair of pistols, with which +latter he vowed to wreak his vengeance upon some of his +recent tormentors. After a short space of time occupied in +this manner, the troop slowly advanced towards the postern, +in much better order than upon the previous occasion; but +the stoutest of them quailed as they caught sight of the numerous +gipsy-gang drawn out in battle array within the abbey +walls. Each party scanned the other's movements in silence +and wonder, anxiously awaiting, yet in a measure dreading, +their leader's signal to begin. That signal was not long +delayed. A shot from the ranks of Rookwood did instant and +bitter execution. Rob Rust was stretched lifeless upon the +ground. Nothing more was needed. The action now became +general. Fire arms were discharged on both sides, without +much damage to either party. But a rush being made by a +detachment of horse, headed by Major Mowbray, the conflict +soon became more serious. The gipsies, after the first fire, +threw aside their pistols, and fought with long knives, with +which they inflicted desperate gashes, both on men and +horses. Major Mowbray was slightly wounded in the thigh, +and his steed receiving the blow intended for himself, stumbled +and threw his rider. Luckily for the major, Ranulph Rookwood +was at hand, and with the butt-end of a heavy-handled +pistol felled the ruffian to the earth, just as he was upon the +point of repeating the thrust.</p> + +<p>Turpin, meanwhile, had taken comparatively a small share +in the conflict. He seemed to content himself with acting +upon the defensive, and except in the case of Titus Tyrconnel,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +whom, espying amidst the crowd, he had considerably alarmed +by sending a bullet through his wig, he did not fire a single +shot. He also succeeded in unhorsing Coates, by hurling, +with great dexterity, the empty pistol at his head. Though +apparently unconcerned in the skirmish, he did not flinch +from it, but kept his ground unyieldingly. "A charmed life" +he seemed to bear; for amid the shower of bullets, many of +which were especially aimed at himself, he came off unhurt.</p> + +<p>"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's spoiled my best hat and wig, anyhow. +There's a hole in my beaver as big as a crown piece."</p> + +<p>"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 could only get behind him."</p> + +<p>The strife continued to rage without intermission; and +though there were now several ghastly evidences of its fury, in +the shape of wounded men and slaughtered or disabled horses, +whose gaping wounds flooded the turf with gore, it was still +difficult to see upon which side victory would eventually +declare herself. The gipsies, though by far the greater sufferers +of the two, firmly maintained their ground. Drenched in the +blood of the horses they had wounded, and brandishing their +long knives, they presented a formidable and terrific appearance, +the effect of which was not at all diminished by their +wild yells and savage gesticulations. On the other hand, +headed by Major Mowbray and Ranulph, the troop of yeomen +pressed on undauntedly; and where the sturdy farmers could +get a firm gripe of their lithe antagonists, or deliver a blow +with their ox-like fists, they seldom failed to make good the +advantages which superior weight and strength gave them. It +will thus be seen that as yet they were pretty well matched. +Numbers were in favor of the gipsies, but courage was equally +distributed, and, perhaps, what is emphatically called "bottom," +was in favor of the rustics. Be this as it may, from what had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> +already occurred, there was every prospect of a very serious +termination to the fray.</p> + +<p>From time to time Turpin glanced to the entrance of +the cell, in the expectation of seeing Sir Luke Rookwood +make his appearance; and, as he was constantly +disappointed in his expectation, he could not conceal his +chagrin. At length he resolved to despatch a messenger to +him, and one of the crew accordingly departed upon this +errand. He returned presently with a look of blank dismay.</p> + +<p>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 trenchant blade had been +shivered by Ranulph Rookwood in the early stage of the business, +and the knight left weaponless. Zoroaster, who was not +merely a worshipper of fire, but a thorough milling-cove, had +engaged to some purpose in a pugilistic encounter with the +rustics; and, having fought several rounds, now "bore his +blushing honors thick upon him." Jerry, like Turpin, had +remained tolerably quiescent. "The proper moment," he +said, "had not arrived." A fatality seemed to attend Turpin's +immediate companions. Rust was the first who fell; Wilder +also was now among the slain. Things were precisely in this +condition when the messenger returned. A marked change +was instantly perceptible in Turpin's manner. He no longer +looked on with indifference. He seemed angry and distrustful. +He gnawed his lip, ever a sign with him of vexation. Addressing +a few words to those about him, he then spoke more +loudly to the rest of the crew. Being in the jargon of the +tawny tribe, his words were not intelligible to the opposite +party; but their import was soon made known by the almost +instant and total relinquishment of the field by the gipsies. +They took to their heels at once, to a man, leaving only a few +desperately wounded behind them; and, flying along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +intricate ruins of the priory, baffled all pursuit, wherever it +was attempted. Jerry Juniper was the last in the retreat; but, +upon receiving a hint from Dick, he vaulted like a roe over +the heads of his adversaries, and made good his escape. Turpin +alone remained. He stood like a lion at bay, quietly +regarding the huntsmen hurtling around him. Ranulph Rookwood +rode up and bade him surrender.</p> + +<p>"Detain me not," cried he, in a voice of thunder. "If you +would save her who is dear to you, descend into that vault. Off, +I say."</p> + +<p>And Turpin shook away, with ease, the grasp that Ranulph +had laid upon him.</p> + +<p>"Villain! you do not escape me this time," said Major +Mowbray, interposing himself between Turpin and the outlet.</p> + +<p>"Major Mowbray, I would not have your blood upon my +head," said Dick. "Let me pass," and he levelled a pistol.</p> + +<p>"Fire, if you dare!" said the major, raising his sword. +"You pass not. I will die rather than allow you to escape. +Barricade the door. Strike him down if he attempts to pass. +Richard Turpin, I arrest you in the king's name. You hear, +my lads, in his majesty's name. I command you to assist me +in this highwayman's capture. Two hundred pounds for his +head."</p> + +<p>"Two hundred devils!" exclaimed Dick, with a laugh of +disdain. "Go, seek your mother and sister within yon +vault, Major Mowbray; you will find employment enough +there."</p> + +<p>Saying which, he suddenly forced Bess to back a few yards; +then, striking his heels sharply into her sides, ere his purpose +could be divined by the spectators, charged, and cleared the +lower part of the mouldering priory walls. This feat was +apparently accomplished with no great effort by his admirable +and unequalled mare.</p> + +<p>"By the powers!" cried Titus, "and he's given us the slip +after all. And just when we thought to make sure of him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +too. Why, Mr. Coates, that wall must be higher than a five-barred +gate, or any stone wall in my own country. It's just +the most extraordinary lepp I ever set eyes on!"</p> + +<p>"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's off to London with my bill of +exchange. I'll be up with him. I'll track him 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 race is not always to the swift. What say you? 'Tis a +match for five hundred pounds; nay, for five thousand: for +there is a certain marriage certificate 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?"</p> + +<p>"With all my sowl," replied Titus. "I'm with you." And +away this <i>par nobile</i> scoured.</p> + +<p>Ranulph, meantime, plunged into the vault. The floor +was slippery, and he 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 at the further +extremity of the vault attracted his attention. He was +filled with terrible forebodings; but the worst reality was not +so terrible as suspense. He rushed towards the light. He +passed the massive pillars, and there, by the ruddy torch +flame, discovered two female figures. One was an old woman, +fantastically attired, wringing her hands, and moaning, or gibbering +wild strains in broken, discordant, yet pathetic 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. It was the lifeless body of a +female. The light fell imperfectly upon the face; he could +not discern the features, but the veil in which it was swathed: +that veil was Eleanor's! He asked no more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p> + +<p>With a wild cry he rushed forward. "Eleanor, my +beloved!" shrieked he.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray started at his voice, but appeared stunned +and helpless.</p> + +<p>"She is dead," said Ranulph, stooping towards the body. +"Dead—dead!"</p> + +<p>"Ay," echoed the old woman, in accents of equal anguish—"dead—dead!"</p> + +<p>"But this is <i>not</i> Eleanor," exclaimed he, as he viewed +the features more closely. "This face, though beautiful, is +not hers. This dishevelled hair is black. The long lashes +that shade her cheek are of the same hue. She is scarce +dead. The hand I clasp is yet warm—the fingers are +pliant."</p> + +<p>"Yet she is dead," said the old woman, in a broken voice, +"she is slain."</p> + +<p>"Who hath slain her?" asked Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"I—I—her mother, slew her."</p> + +<p>"You!" exclaimed Ranulph, horror-stricken. "And where +is Eleanor?" asked he. "Was she not here?"</p> + +<p>"Better she were here now, even though she were as that +poor maid," groaned Mrs. Mowbray, "than where she is."</p> + +<p>"Where is she, then?" asked Ranulph, with frantic eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Fled. Whither I know not."</p> + +<p>"With whom?"</p> + +<p>"With Sir Luke Rookwood—with Alan Rookwood. They +have borne her hence. Ranulph, you are too late."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" cried Ranulph, fiercely springing to his feet. +"How escaped they? There appears to be but one entrance +to this vault. I will search each nook and cranny."</p> + +<p>"'Tis vain," replied Mrs. Mowbray. "There is another +outlet through yon cell. By that passage they escaped."</p> + +<p>"Too true, too true," shouted Ranulph, who flew to examine +the cell. "And wherefore followed you not?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The stone rolled to its mouth, and resisted my efforts. I +could not follow."</p> + +<p>"Torture and death! She is lost to me for ever!" cried +Ranulph, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"No!" exclaimed Barbara, clutching his arm. "Place your +trust in me, and I will find her for you."</p> + +<p>"You!" ejaculated Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Even I," replied Barbara. "Your wrongs shall be righted—my +Sybil be avenged."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_IV" id="BOOK_IV"></a>BOOK IV</h2> + + +<h3>THE RIDE TO YORK</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then one halloo, boys! one loud cheering halloo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Richard Turpin.</span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I4" id="CHAPTER_I4"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE RENDEZVOUS AT KILBURN</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Hind.</i> Drink deep, my brave boys, of the bastinado;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of stramazons, tinctures, and slié passatas;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the carricado, and rare embrocado;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of blades, and rapier-hilts of surest guard;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the Vincentio and Burgundian ward.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Have we not bravely tossed this bombast foil-button?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Win gold and wear gold, boys, 'tis we that merit it.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Prince of Prigs' Revels.</i></p></div> +<p class="center" style="margin: 0 auto 1.5em;"><i>An excellent Comedy, replete with various conceits and Tarltonian mirth.</i></p> + +<p>The present straggling suburb at the north-west of the metropolis, +known as Kilburn, had scarcely been called into existence +a century ago, and an ancient hostel, with a few detached +farmhouses, were the sole habitations to be found in the present +populous vicinage. The place of refreshment for the +ruralizing cockney of 1737 was a substantial-looking tenement +of the good old stamp, with great bay windows, and a balcony +in front, bearing as its ensign the jovial visage of the lusty +knight, Jack Falstaff. Shaded by a spreading elm, a circular +bench embraced the aged trunk of the tree, sufficiently tempting, +no doubt, to incline the wanderer on those dusty ways to +"rest and be thankful," and to cry <i>encore</i> to a frothing tankard +of the best ale to be obtained within the chimes of Bow bells.</p> + +<p>Upon a table, green as the privet and holly that formed the +walls of the bower in which it was placed, stood a great china +bowl, one of those leviathan memorials of bygone wassailry +which we may sometimes espy—reversed in token of its desuetude—perched +on the top of an old japanned closet, but seldom, +if ever, encountered in its proper position at the genial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> +board. All the appliances of festivity were at hand. Pipes and +rummers strewed the board. Perfume, subtle, yet mellow, as +of pine and lime, exhaled from out the bowl, and, mingling with +the scent of a neighboring bed of mignonette and the subdued +odor of the Indian weed, formed altogether as delectable +an atmosphere of sweets as one could wish to inhale on a melting +August afternoon. So, at least, thought the inmates of the +arbor; nor did they by any means confine themselves to the +gratification of a single sense. The ambrosial contents of the +china bowl proved as delicious to the taste as its bouquet was +grateful to the smell; while the eyesight was soothed by reposing +on the smooth sward of a bowling-green spread out immediately +before it, or in dwelling upon gently undulating meads, +terminating, at about a mile's distance, in the woody, spire-crowned +heights of Hampstead.</p> + +<p>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 often communicated by dissipation; an expression +which, we regret to say, is sometimes found more pleasing +than it ought to be in the eyes of the gentle sex. Habited +in a light summer riding-dress, fashioned according to the +taste of the time, of plain and unpretending material, and rather +under than overdressed, he had, perhaps, on that very account, +perfectly the air of a gentleman. There was, altogether, an +absence of pretension about him, which, combined with great +apparent self-possession, contrasted very forcibly with the +vulgar assurance of his showy companions. The figure of the +youth was slight, even to fragility, giving little outward manifestation +of the vigor of frame he in reality possessed. This spark +was a no less distinguished personage than Tom King, a noted +high-tobygloak of his time, who obtained, from his appearance +and address, the <i>sobriquet</i> of the "Gentleman Highwayman."</p> + +<p>Tom was indeed a pleasant fellow in his day. His career +was brief, but brilliant: your meteors are ever momentary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> +He was a younger son of a good family; had good blood in +his veins, though not a groat in his pockets. According to +the old song—</p> + +<p class="hd4">When he arrived at man's estate,<br /> +It was <i>all the estate</i> he had;</p> + +<p>and all the estate he was ever likely to have. Nevertheless, if +he had no income, he contrived, as he said, to live as if he had +the mines of Peru at his control—a miracle not solely confined +to himself. For a moneyless 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 we are to place any +faith in certain scandalous chronicles to which we have had +access, he was for some time the favored lover of a celebrated +actress, who, for the time, supplied him with the means of +keeping up his showy establishment. But things could not +long hold thus. Tom was a model of infidelity, and that was +the only failing his mistress could not overlook. She dismissed +him at a moment's notice. Unluckily, too, he had other propensities +which contributed to involve him. He had a taste +for 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. He was the glory of the Smyrna, D'Osyndar's, +and other chocolate houses of the day; and it was at this +time he fell into the hands of certain dexterous sharpers, by +whom he was at first plucked and subsequently patronized. +Under their tuition he improved wonderfully. He turned his +wit and talent to some account. He began to open his eyes. +His nine days' 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 that left 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +no scruples to get over. Tom had what Sir Walter Scott +happily denominates "an indistinct notion of <i>meum</i> and +<i>tuum</i>," and became confirmed in the opinion that everything +he could lay hands upon constituted lawful spoil. And then, +even those he robbed, admitted that he was the most gentlemanlike +highwayman they had ever the fortune to meet with, +and trusted they might always be so lucky. So popular did +he become upon the road, that it was accounted a distinction +to be stopped by him; he made a point of robbing none but +gentlemen, and—Tom's shade would quarrel with us were we +to omit them—ladies. His acquaintance with Turpin was +singular, and originated in a rencontre. Struck with his appearance, +Dick presented a pistol, and bade King deliver. +The latter burst into a laugh, and an explanation immediately +ensued. Thenceforward they became sworn brothers—the +Pylades and Orestes of the road; and though seldom seen +together in public, had many a merry moonlight ride in +company.</p> + +<p>Tom still maintained three mistresses, his valet, his groom—tiger, +we should have called him,—"and many a change of +clothes besides," says his biographer, "with which he appeared +more like a lord than a highwayman." And what more, we +should like to know, would a lord wish to have? Few younger +sons, we believe, can boast so much; and it is chiefly on their +account, with some remote view to the benefit of the unemployed +youth of all professions, that we have enlarged so much +upon Tom King's history. The road, we must beg to repeat, +is still open; the chances are greater than they ever were; we +fully believe it is <i>their</i> only road to preferment, and we are +sadly in want of highwaymen!</p> + +<p>Fancy Tom lounging at D'Osyndar's, carelessly tapping his +boots on the steps; there he stands! Is he not a devilish +good-looking, gentlemanlike sort of fellow? You could never +have taken him for a highwayman but for our information. A +waiter appears—supper is ordered at twelve—a broiled chicken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +and a bottle of Burgundy—his groom brings his nags to the +door—he mounts. It is his custom to ride out on an evening—he +is less liable to interruption.<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> At Marylebone Fields—now +the Regent's Park,—his groom leaves him. He has a mistress +in the neighborhood. He is absent for a couple of hours, +and returns gay or dispirited, as his luck may have turned out. +At twelve he is at supper, and has the night before him. How +very easy all this seems. Can it be possible we have no Tom +Kings?</p> + +<p>To return to Tom as he was in the arbor. Judging from his +manner, he appeared to be almost insensible to the presence +of his companions, and to be scarcely a partaker in their revelry. +His back was towards his immediate neighbor; his +glass sparkled untouched at his elbow; and one hand, beautifully +white and small, a mark of his birth and breeding—<i>crede</i> +Byron—rested upon the edge of the table, while his thin, delicate +digits, palpably demonstrative of his faculty of adaptation—<i>crede</i> +James Hardy Vaux—were employed with a silver toothpick. +In other respects, he seemed to be lost in reverie, and +was, in all probability, meditating new exploits.</p> + +<p>Next to King sat our old friend Jerry Juniper; not, however, +the Jerry of the gipsies, but a much more showy-looking +personage. Jerry was no longer a gentleman of "three <i>outs</i>"—the +difficulty would now have been to say what he was +"without." Snakelike he had cast his slough, and rejoiced in +new and brilliant investiture. His were "speaking garments, +speaking pockets too." His linen was of the finest, his hose +of the smartest. Gay rings glittered on his fingers; a crystal +snuff-box underwent graceful manipulation; a handsome gold +repeater was sometimes drawn from its location with a monstrous +bunch of onions—<i>anglicè</i>, seals—depending from its +massive chain. Lace adorned his wrists, and shoes—of which +they had been long unconscious,—with buckles nearly as large +as themselves, confined his feet. A rich-powdered peruke and +silver-hilted sword completed the gear of the transmogrified<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +Jerry, or, as he now chose to be designated, Count Albert +Conyers. The fact was, that Jerry, after the <i>fracas</i>, apprehensive +that the country would be too hot for him, had, in company +with Zoroaster, quitted the ranks of the Canting Crew, +and made the best of his way to town. A lucky <i>spice</i> on the +road set them up; and having some acquaintance with Tom +King, the party, on their arrival, sought him out at his customary +haunt, D'Osyndar's, and enlisted under his banners.</p> + +<p>Tom received them with open arms, gave them unlimited +use of his wardrobe, and only required a little trifling assistance +in return. He had a grand scheme <i>in petto</i>, in the execution +of which they could mainly assist him. Jerry was a <i>Greek</i> by +nature, and could <i>land</i> a flat as well as the best of them. +Zoroaster was just the man to <i>lose</i> a fight; or, in the language +of the <i>Fancy</i>, to <i>play a cross</i>. No two <i>legs</i> could serve +Tom's purposes better. He welcomed them with fraternal +affection.</p> + +<p>We will now proceed to reconnoitre Jerry's opposite neighbor, +who was, however, no other than that Upright Man,</p> + +<p class="hd4">The Magus Zoroaster, that great name.</p> + +<p>Changed as was Juniper, the Magus was yet more whimsically +metamorphosed. Some traces of Jerry still remained, but not +a vestige was left of the original Dimber Damber. His tawny +mother had not known her son. This alteration, however, +was not owing to change of dress; it was the result of the +punishment he had received at the "<i>set-to</i>" at the priory. Not +a feature was in its place; his swollen lip trespassed upon the +precincts of his nose; his nose trod hard upon his cheek; +while his cheek again, not to be behind the rest, rose up like +an apple-dumpling under his single eye,—single, we say—for, +alas! there was no speculation in the other. His dexter daylight +was utterly darkened, and, indeed, the orb that remained +was as sanguinary a luminary as ever struggled through a London<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> +fog at noonday. To borrow a couplet or so from the +laureate of the <i>Fancy</i>:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">————One of his peepers was put<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the bankruptcy list, with his shop windows shut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the other made nearly as tag-rag a show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All rimmed round with black like the <i>Courier</i> in woe.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>One black patch decorated his rainbow-colored cheek; +another adorned his chin; a grinder having been dislodged, +his pipe took possession of the aperture. His toggery was that +of a member of the prize-ring; what we now call a "belcher" +bound his throat; a spotted <i>fogle</i> bandaged his <i>jobbernowl</i>, +and shaded his right peeper, while a white beaver crowned the +occiput of the Magus. And though, at first sight, there would +appear to be some incongruity in the association of such a +battered character as the Upright Man with his smart companions, +the reader's wonder will rapidly diminish, when he +reflects that any distinguished P. C. man can ever find a ready +passport to the most exclusive society. Viewed in this light, +Zoroaster's familiarity with his <i>swell</i> acquaintance occasioned +no surprise to old Simon Carr, the bottle-nosed landlord of the +Falstaff, who was a man of discernment in his way, and knew +a thing or two. Despite such striking evidences to the contrary, +the Magus was perfectly at his ease, and sacrificing as +usual to the god of flame. His mithra, or pipe, the symbol of +his faith, was zealously placed between his lips, and never did +his Chaldean, Bactrian, Persian, Pamphylian, Proconnesian, or +Babylonian namesake, whichever of the six was the true Zoroaster—<i>vide</i> +Bayle,—respire more fervently at the altar of fire, +than our Magus at the end of his enkindled tube. In his +creed we believe Zoroaster was a dualist, and believed in the +co-existence and mystical relation of the principles of good +and ill; his pipe being his Yezdan, or benign influence; his +empty pouch his Ahreman, or the devil. We shall not pause<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> +to examine his tenets; we meddle with no man's religious +opinions, and shall leave the Magus to the enjoyment of his +own sentiments, be they what they may.</p> + +<p>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 those keen gray eyes; those exuberant red whiskers; +that airy azure frock. It was</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our brave co-partner of the roads.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skilful surveyor of highways and hedges;<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>in a word—Dick Turpin!</p> + +<p>Dick had been called upon to act as president of the board, +and an excellent president he made, sedulously devoting himself +to the due administration of the punch-bowl. Not a +rummer was allowed to stand empty for an instant. Toast, +sentiment, and anacreontic song, succeeded each other at +speedy intervals; but there was no speechifying—no politics. +He left church and state to take care of themselves. Whatever +his politics might be, Dick never allowed them to interfere with +his pleasures. His maxim was to make the most of the passing +moment; the <i>dum vivimus vivamus</i> was never out of his +mind; a precautionary measure which we recommend to the +adoption of all gentlemen of the like, or any other precarious +profession.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all Dick's efforts to promote conviviality, +seconded by the excellence of the beverage itself, conversation, +somehow or other, began to flag; from being general it +became particular. Tom King, who was no punch-bibber, +especially at that time of day, fell into a deep reverie; your +gamesters often do so; while the Magus, who had smoked +himself drowsy, was composing himself to a doze. Turpin +seized this opportunity of addressing a few words on matters +of business to Jerry Juniper, or, as he now chose to be called, +Count Conyers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear count," said Dick, in a low and confidential tone, +"you are aware that my errand to town is accomplished. I +have <i>smashed</i> Lawyer Coates's <i>screen</i>, pocketed the <i>dimmock</i>—here +'tis," continued he, parenthetically, slapping his pockets,—"and +done t'other trick in prime twig 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 be moving. +So I shall start to Yorkshire to-night."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said the <i>soi-disant</i> count, in a languid tone—"so +soon?"</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to detain me," replied Dick. "And, to +tell you the truth, I want to see how matters stand with Sir +Luke Rookwood. I should be sorry if he went to the wall for +want of any assistance I can render him."</p> + +<p>"True," returned the count; "one would regret such an +occurrence, certainly. But I fear your assistance may arrive +a little too late. He is pretty well done up, I should imagine, +by this time."</p> + +<p>"That remains to be seen," said Turpin. "His case is a +bad one, to be sure, but I trust not utterly hopeless. With all +his impetuosity and pride, I like the fellow, and will help him, +if I can. It will be a difficult game to set him on his legs, but +I think it may be done. That underground marriage was +sheer madness, and turned out as ill as such a scheme might +have been expected to do. Poor Sybil! if I could pipe an +eye 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, old Alan did right to take the law into +his own hands, and throttle him in return. I'd have done the +same thing myself; and, being a proscribed Jesuit, returned, +as I understand, without the king's license for so doing, why +Father Checkley's murder—if it must be so called, I can't +abide hard terms—won't lie very heavy at Alan's door. That, +however, has nothing to do with Sir Luke. He was neither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +accessory nor principal. Still he will be in danger, at least +from Lady Rookwood. The whole county of York, I make no +doubt, is up in arms by this time."</p> + +<p>"Then why go thither?" asked the count, somewhat ironically; +"for my part, I've a strange fancy for keeping out of +harm's way as long as possible."</p> + +<p>"Every man to his taste," returned Turpin; "I love to +confront danger. Run away! pshaw! always meet your +foe."</p> + +<p>"True," replied the count, "half-way! but you go the +whole distance. What prudent man would beard the lion in +his den?"</p> + +<p>"I never was a prudent man," rejoined Dick, smiling; "I +have no superfluous caution about me. Come what will, I +shall try to find out this Luke Rookwood, and offer him my +purse, such as it is, and it is now better lined than usual; a +hand free to act as he lists; and a head which, imprudent +though it be, can often think better for others than for its own +master."</p> + +<p>"Vastly fine!" exclaimed the count, with an ill-disguised +sneer. "I hope you don't forget that the marriage certificate +which you hold is perfectly valueless now. The estates, you +are aware——"</p> + +<p>"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 to the title, and he shall have it. While he was +Sir Luke, with ten thousand a year, I drove a hard bargain, +and would have stood out for the last stiver. Now that he is +one of '<i>us</i>', a mere Knight of the Road, he shall have it and +welcome."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Lady Rookwood, or Mrs. Mowbray, might be +inclined to treat," maliciously insinuated the count; "the title +may be worth something to Ranulph."</p> + +<p>"It is worth more to Luke; and if it were <i>not</i>, he gets it. +Are you satisfied?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perfectly," replied the count, with affected <i>bonhomie</i>; +"and I will now let you into a secret respecting Miss Mowbray, +from which you may gather something for your guidance +in this matter; and if the word of a woman is at all to be +trusted, though individually I cannot say I have much faith in +it, Sir Luke's planetary hour is not yet completely overcast."</p> + +<p>"That's exactly what I wish to know, my dear fellow," said +Turpin, eagerly. "You have already told me you were witness +to a singular interview between Miss Mowbray and Sir Luke +after my departure from the priory. If I mistook you not, +the whole business will hinge upon that. What occurred? +Let me have every particular. The whole history and +mystery."</p> + +<p>"You shall have it with pleasure," said the count; "and I +hope it may tend to your benefit. After I had quitted the +scene of action at the priory, 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 a council 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 those +who had wives, daughters, and sisters, should join them as +speedily as possible at their retreat in the Grange. As I happened +to have none of these attractive ties, and had only a +troublesome mistress, who I thought could take care of herself, +I did not care to follow them, but struck deeper into the +wood, and made my way, guided by destiny, I suppose, towards +the cave."</p> + +<p>"The cave!" cried Dick, rubbing his hands; "I delight in +a cave. Tom King and I once had a cave of our own at +Epping, and I'll have another one of these fine days. A cave +is as proper to a high-tobyman as a castle to a baron. Pray +go on."</p> + +<p>"The cave I speak of," continued the count, "was seldom +used, except upon great emergencies, by any of the Stop Hole +Abbey crew. It was a sort of retiring den of our old lioness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +Barbara, and, like all belonging to her, respected by her dupes. +However, the cave is a good cave for all that; is well concealed +by brushwood, and comfortably lighted from a crevice in the +rock above; it lies near the brink of the stream, amongst the +woods just above the waterfall, and is somewhat difficult of +approach."</p> + +<p>"I know something of the situation," said Turpin.</p> + +<p>"Well," returned the count, "not to lose time, into this den +I crept, and, expecting to find it vacant, you may imagine my +surprise on discovering that it was already occupied, and that +Sir Luke Rookwood, his granddad, old Alan, Miss Mowbray, +and, worst of all, the very person I wished most to avoid, my +old flame Handassah, constituted the party. Fortunately, they +did not perceive my entrance, and I took especial care not to +introduce myself. Retreat, however, was for the moment impracticable, +and I was compelled to be a listener. I cannot +tell what had passed between the parties before my arrival, but +I heard Miss Mowbray implore Sir Luke to conduct her to +her mother. He seemed half inclined to comply with her +entreaties; but old Alan shook his head. It was then Handassah +put in a word; the minx was ever ready at that. 'Fear +not,' said she, 'that she will wed Sir Ranulph. Deliver her to +her friends, I beseech you, Sir Luke, and woo her honorably. +She will accept you.' Sir Luke stared incredulously, and grim +old Alan smiled. 'She has sworn to be yours,' continued +Handassah; 'sworn it by every hope of heaven, and the oath +has been sealed by blood—by Sybil's blood.'—'Does she +speak the truth?' asked Sir Luke, trembling with agitation. +Miss Mowbray answered not. 'You will not deny it, lady,' +said Handassah. 'I heard that oath proposed. I saw it registered. +You cannot deny it.'—'I do not,' replied Miss Mowbray, +with much anguish of manner; 'if he claim me, I am +his.'—'And he will claim you,' said Alan Rookwood, triumphantly. +'He has your oath, no matter how extorted—you +must fulfil your vow.'—'I am prepared to do so,' said Eleanor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +'But if you would not utterly destroy me, let this maid conduct +me to my mother, to my friends.'—'To Ranulph?' asked +Sir Luke, bitterly.—'No, no,' returned Miss Mowbray, in +accents of deepest despair, 'to my mother—I wish not to +behold him again.'—'Be it so,' cried Sir Luke; 'but remember, +in love or hate, you are mine; I shall claim the fulfilment of +your oath. Farewell. Handassah will lead you to your +mother.' Miss Mowbray bowed her head, but returned no +answer, while, followed by old Alan, Sir Luke departed from +the cavern."</p> + +<p>"Whither went they?" demanded Turpin.</p> + +<p>"That I know not," replied Jerry. "I was about to follow, +when I was prevented by the abrupt entrance of another party. +Scarcely, I think, could the two Rookwoods have made good +their retreat, when shouts were heard without, and young +Ranulph and Major Mowbray forced their way, sword in hand, +into the cave. Here was a situation—for <i>me</i>, I mean—to the +young lady, I make no doubt, it was pleasant enough. But +my neck was in jeopardy. However, you know I am not +deficient in strength, and, upon the present occasion, I made +the best use of the agility with which nature has endowed me. +Amidst the joyous confusion—the sobbings, and embracings, +and congratulations that ensued—I contrived, like a wild cat, +to climb the rocky sides of the cave, and concealed myself +behind a jutting fragment of stone. It was well I did so, for +scarcely was I hidden, when in came old Barbara, followed by +Mrs. Mowbray, and a dozen others."</p> + +<p>"Barbara!" ejaculated Dick. "Was she a prisoner?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Jerry; "the old hell-cat is too deep for +that. She had betrayed Sir Luke, and hoped they would +seize him and his granddad. But the birds were flown."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad she was baulked," said Dick. "Was any search +made after them?"</p> + +<p>"Can't say," replied Jerry. "I could only indistinctly +catch the sounds of their voices from my lofty retreat. Before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> +they left the cavern, I made out that Mrs. Mowbray resolved +to go to Rookwood, and to take her daughter thither—a proceeding +to which the latter demurred."</p> + +<p>"To Rookwood," said Dick, musingly. "Will she keep her +oath, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"That's more than I can say," said Jerry, sipping his punch. +"'Tis a deceitful sex!"</p> + +<p>"'Tis a deceitful sex, indeed," echoed Dick, tossing off a +tumbler. "For one Sybil we meet with twenty Handassahs, +eh, count?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty!—say rather a hundred," replied Jerry. "'Tis a +vile sex."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II4" id="CHAPTER_II4"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>TOM KING</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Grimm.</i> How gloriously the sun sets to-night.</p> + +<p><i>Moor.</i> When I was a boy, my favorite thought was, that I should +live and die like yonder glorious orb. It was a boyish thought.</p> + +<p><i>Grimm.</i> True, captain.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><i>The Robbers.</i></p></div> + + +<p>"Peace, base calumniators," exclaimed Tom King, aroused +from his toothpick reverie by these aspersions of the best part +of creation. "Peace, I say. None shall dare abuse that dear +devoted sex in the hearing of their champion, without pricking +a lance with him in their behalf. What do you, either of you, +who abuse woman in that wholesale style, 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 <i>do</i> 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 is faithful, loving, self-sacrificing. +<i>We</i> 'tis that make her otherwise; <i>we</i>, selfish, exacting, neglectful +men; we teach her indifference, and then blame her apt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +scholarship. We spoil our own hand, and then blame the +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 the bargain." Saying which, in a mellow, +plaintive tone, Tom gave the following:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">PLEDGE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 30em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, fill up a bumper to Eve's fairest daughters,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who have lavished their smiles on the brave and the free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toast the sweethearts of <span class="smcap">Dudley</span>, <span class="smcap">Hind</span>, <span class="smcap">Wilmot</span>, and <span class="smcap">Waters</span>,<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er their attraction, whate'er their degree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pledge! pledge in a bumper, each kind-hearted maiden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose bright eyes were dimmed at the highwayman's fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who stood by the gallows with sorrow o'erladen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bemoaning the fate of the gallant <span class="smcap">Du-Val</span>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here's to each lovely lass chance of war bringeth near one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom, with manner impassioned, we tenderly stop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to whom, like the lover addressing his dear one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In terms of entreaty <i>the question</i> we pop.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How oft, in such case, rosy lips have proved sweeter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the rosiest book, bright eyes saved a bright ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While that <i>one other</i> kiss has brought off a <i>repeater</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a bead as a <i>favor</i>—the <i>favorite</i> string.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With our hearts ready rifled, each pocket we rifle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the pure flame of chivalry stirring our breasts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's risk for our <i>mistress's praise</i> is a trifle;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And each purse as a <i>trophy</i> our <i>homage</i> attests.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then toss off your glasses to all girls of spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ne'er with names, or with number, your memories vex;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our toast, boys, embraces each woman of merit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, for fear of omission, we'll drink the <span class="smcapl">WHOLE SEX</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Well," replied Dick, replenishing King's rummer, while he +laughed heartily at his ditty, "I shan't refuse your toast, +though my heart don't respond to your sentiments. Ah, +Tom! the sex you praise so much will, I fear, prove your +undoing. Do as you please, but curse me if ever I pin my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +life to a petticoat. I'd as soon think of neglecting the four +cautions."</p> + +<p>"The four cautions," said King; "what are they?"</p> + +<p>"Did you never hear them?" replied Dick. "Attend, +then, and be edified."</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE FOUR CAUTIONS</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pay attention to these cautions four,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through life you will need little more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should you dole out your days to threescore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a pistol before!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Before! before!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a pistol before!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when backward his ears are inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his tail with his ham is combined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caution two you will bear in your mind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a prancer behind!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Behind! behind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a prancer behind!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thirdly, when in the park you may ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On your best bit of blood, sir, astride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chatting gay to your old friend's young bride:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a coach at the side!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">At the side! at the side!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a coach at the side!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lastly, whether in purple or gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Canter, ranter, grave, solemn, or gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er he may do or may say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a priest every way!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Every way! every way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware of a priest every way!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Well," said Tom King, "all you can sing or say don't +alter my good opinion of the women. Not a secret have I +from the girl of my heart. She could have sold me over and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +over again if she had chosen, but my sweet Sue is not the +wench to do that."</p> + +<p>"It is not too late," said Dick. "Your Delilah may yet +hand you over to the Philistines."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall die in a good cause," said King; "but</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 16em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The Tyburn Tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has no terrors for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let better men swing—I'm at liberty.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>I shall never come to the scragging-post, unless you turn topsman, +Dick Turpin. My nativity has been cast, and the stars +have declared I am to die by the hand of my best friend—and +that's you—eh? Dick?"</p> + +<p>"It sounds like it," replied Turpin; "but I advise you not +to become too intimate with Jack Ketch. He may prove your +best friend, after all."</p> + +<p>"Why, faith, that's true," replied King, laughing; "and if +I must ride backwards up Holborn Hill, I'll do the thing in +style, and honest Jack Ketch shall never want his dues. A +man should always die game. We none of us know how soon +our turn may come; but come when it will, <i>I</i> shall never +flinch from it.</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the highwayman's life is the fullest of zest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the highwayman's death is the briefest and best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dies not as other men die, by degrees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But at once! without flinching—and quite at his ease!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>as the song you are so fond of says. When I die it will not be +of consumption. And if the surgeon's knife must come near +me, it will be after death. There's some comfort in that reflection, +at all events."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p> + +<p>"True," replied Turpin, "and, with a little alteration, my +song would suit you capitally:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is not a king, should you search the world round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blithe as the king's king, <span class="smcap">Tom King</span>, to be found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear woman's his empire, each girl is his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he'd have a long reign if he'd let 'em alone.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" laughed Tom. "And now, Dick, to change +the subject. You are off, I understand, to Yorkshire to-night. +'Pon my soul, you are a wonderful fellow—an <i>alibi</i> personified!—here +and everywhere at the same time—no wonder you +are called the flying highwayman. To-day in town—to-morrow +at York—the day after at Chester. The devil only knows where +you will pitch your quarters a week hence. There are rumors +of you in all counties at the same moment. This man +swears you robbed him at Hounslow; that on Salisbury Plain; +while another avers you monopolize Cheshire and Yorkshire, +and that it isn't safe even to <i>hunt</i> without pops in your pocket. +I heard some devilish good stories of you at D'Osyndar's +t'other day; the fellow who told them to me little thought I +was a brother blade."</p> + +<p>"You flatter me," said Dick, smiling complacently; "but +it's no merit of mine. 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 she once did for me in Cheshire. +Meantime, a glass to the best mare in England. You won't +refuse that toast, Tom. Ah! if your mistress is only as true to +you as my nag to me, you might set at naught the tightest hempen +cravat that was ever twisted, and defy your best friend to hurt +you. Black Bess! and God bless her! And now for the +song." Saying which, with much emotion, Turpin chanted +the following rhymes:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="hd1">BLACK BESS</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let the lover his mistress's beauty rehearse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laud her attractions in languishing verse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be it mine in rude strains, but with truth to express,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love that I bear to my bonny Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the west was her dam, from the east was her sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the one came her swiftness, the other her fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No peer of the realm better blood can possess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than flows in the veins of my bonny Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look! Look! how that eyeball grows bright as a brand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That neck proudly arches, those nostrils expand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark! that wide flowing mane! of which each silky tress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might adorn prouder beauties—though none like Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mark! that skin sleek as velvet, and dusky as night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its jet undisfigured by one lock of white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That throat branched with veins, prompt to charge or caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now is she not beautiful?—bonny Black Bess!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over highway and by-way, in rough and smooth weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some thousands of miles have we journeyed together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our couch the same straw, and our meal the same mess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No couple more constant than I and Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By moonlight, in darkness, by night, or by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her headlong career there is nothing can stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She cares not for distance, she knows not distress:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can you show me a courser to match with Black Bess?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Egad! I should think not," exclaimed King; "you are as +sentimental on the subject of your mare, as I am when I think +of my darling Susan. But pardon my interruption. Pray +proceed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let me first clear my throat," returned Dick; "and now +to resume:"</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once it happened in Cheshire, near Dunham, I popped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a horseman alone, whom I speedily stopped;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I lightened his pockets you'll readily guess—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick work makes Dick Turpin when mounted on Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now it seems the man knew me; "Dick Turpin," said he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You shall swing for this job, as you live, d'ye see;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I laughed at his threats and his vows of redress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was sure of an <i>alibi</i> then with Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The road was a hollow, a sunken ravine,<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Overshadowed completely by wood like a screen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I clambered the bank, and I needs must confess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one touch of the spur grazed the side of Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brake, brook, meadow, and plough'd field, Bess fleetly bestrode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the crow wings her flight we selected our road;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes, or less—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My neck it was saved by the speed of Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taking excellent care that by all I am seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some remarks on time's flight to the squires I address,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I mention the hour—it was just about four—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Play a rubber at bowls—think the danger is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes the horsemen in search of the rider of Bess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What matter details? Off with triumph I came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He swears to the hour, and the squires swear the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had robbed him at <i>four</i>!—while at four <i>they</i> profess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was quietly bowling—all thanks to Black Bess!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then one halloo, boys, one loud cheering halloo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the swiftest of coursers, the gallant, the true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the horse of the highwayman, bonny Black Bess!<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>Loud acclamations rewarded Dick's performance. Awakened +from his doze, Zoroaster beat time to the melody, the only +thing, Jerry said, he was capable of <i>beating</i> in his present +shattered condition. After some little persuasion, the Magus +was prevailed upon to enliven the company with a strain, +which he trolled forth after a maudlin manner:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE DOUBLE CROSS</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though all of us have heard of <i>crost</i> fights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And certain <i>gains</i>, by certain <i>lost</i> fights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rather fancies that it's news,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How in a mill, <i>both</i> men should <i>lose</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For vere the <i>odds</i> are thus made <i>even</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It plays the dickens with the <i>steven</i>;<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Besides, against all rule they're sinning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vere <i>neither</i> has <i>no</i> chance of vinning.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Ri, tol, lol, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two <i>milling coves</i>, each vide avake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vere backed to fight for heavy stake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the mean time, so it vos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both <i>kids</i> agreed to <i>play a cross</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bold came each <i>buffer</i><a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> to the <i>scratch</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make it look a <i>tightish match</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They <i>peeled</i><a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> in style, and bets vere making,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tvos six to four, but few vere <i>taking</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Ri, tol, lol, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Quite cautiously the mill began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For neither knew the other's plan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each <i>cull</i><a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> completely in the <i>dark</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of vot might be his neighbor's <i>mark</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resolved his <i>fibbing</i><a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> not to mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet to <i>pay him back in kind</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So on each other <i>kept they tout</i>,<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>sparred</i> a bit, and <i>dodged</i> about,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Ri, tol, lol, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vith <i>mawleys</i><a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> raised, Tom bent his back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to <i>plant</i> a heavy thwack:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Vile Jem, with neat left-handed <i>stopper</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight threatened Tommy with a <i>topper</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis all my eye! no <i>claret</i> flows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No <i>facers</i> sound—no smashing blows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five minutes pass, yet not a <i>hit</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can it end, pals?—vait a bit.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Ri, tol, lol, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each cove vas <i>teazed</i> with double duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To please his backers, yet <i>play booty</i>;<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ven, luckily for Jem, a <i>teller</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vos planted right upon his <i>smeller</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down dropped he, stunned; ven time vas called,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seconds in vain the <i>seconds</i> bawled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <i>mill</i> is o'er, the crosser <i>crost</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loser's <i>von</i>, the vinner's <i>lost</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><i>Ri, tol, lol, &c.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The party assumed once more a lively air, and the glass was +circulated so freely, that at last a final charge drained the +ample bowl of its contents.</p> + +<p>"The best of friends must part," said Dick; "and I would +willingly order another whiff of punch, but I think we have all +had <i>enough to satisfy us</i>, as you milling coves have it, Zory! +Your one eye has got a drop in it already, old fellow; and, to +speak the truth, I must be getting into the saddle without +more delay, for I have a long ride before me. And now, +friend Jerry, before I start, suppose you tip us one of your +merry staves; we haven't heard your pipe to-day, and never a +cross cove of us all can throw off so prime a chant as yourself. +A song! a song!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, a song!" reiterated King and the Magus.</p> + +<p>"You do me too much honor, gemmen," said Jerry, modestly, +taking a pinch of 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, he forthwith +warbled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE MODERN GREEK</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Not</i> translated from the Romaic.)</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, gemmen, name, and make your game,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, round the ball is spinning.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black, red, or blue, the colors view,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Une</i>, <i>deux</i>, <i>cinque</i>, 'tis beginning,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Then make your game,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The color name,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While round the ball is spinning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This sleight of hand my <i>flat</i> shall <i>land</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">While <i>covered</i> by my <i>bonnet</i>,<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I <i>plant</i> my ball, and boldly call,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come make your game upon it!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thus rat-a-tat!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I land my flat!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis black—not red—is winning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At gay <i>roulette</i> was never met<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lance like mine for <i>bleeding</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm ne'er <i>at fault</i>, at nothing halt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All other <i>legs</i> preceding.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To all awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I never shake<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A <i>mag</i><a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> unless I nip it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Blind-hookey</i> sees how well I squeeze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The <i>well-packed</i> cards in shuffling.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ecarté, whist, I never missed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A nick the <i>broads</i><a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> while ruffling.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Mogul or loo,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The same I do,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I am down to trumps as trippet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>French hazard</i> ta'en, <i>I nick the main</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was ne'er so prime a <i>caster</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No <i>crabs</i> for me, I'm fly, d'ye see;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bank shall change its master.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Seven <i>quatre</i>, <i>trois</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The stakes are high!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ten <i>mains</i>! ten <i>mains</i> are mine, pals!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At <i>Rouge et Noir</i>, you <i>hellite</i><a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> choir<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll make no bones of stripping;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One glorious <i>coup</i> for me shall <i>do</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While they may deal each <i>pip</i> in.<br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>Trente-un-après</i><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ne'er clogs my way;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The game—the game's divine, pals.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At billiards set, I make my bet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll <i>score</i> and win the <i>rub</i>, pals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss my <i>cue</i>, my <i>hazard</i>, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yet my foe I'll drub, pals.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">That <i>cannon-twist</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I ne'er had missed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unless to suit my views, pals.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To make all right, the match look <i>tight</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This trick, you know, is done, pals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now be gay, I'll <i>show</i> my play—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hurrah! the game is won, pals.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">No hand so fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">No wrist like mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No odds I e'er refuse, pals.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then choose your game; whate'er you name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To me alike all offers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chic-hazard, whist, whate'er you list,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Replenish quick your coffers.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thus, rat-a-tat!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I <i>land</i> my <i>flat</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To every purse I <i>speak</i>, pals.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Cramped boxes</i> 'ware, all's right and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Barred balls</i> I <i>bar</i> when goaded;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deuce an ace is out of place!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deuce a die is <i>loaded</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Then make your game,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Your color name;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Success attend the <i>Greek</i>, pals.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Bravo, Jerry—bravissimo!" chorused the party.</p> + +<p>"And now, pals, farewell!—a long farewell!" said Dick, in a +tone of theatrical valediction. "As I said before, the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +friends must separate. We may soon meet again, or we now +may part forever. We cannot command 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 the success +he deserves."</p> + +<p>"Egad! I hope not," said King. "I'm afraid, in that +case, the chances would be against us."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, the success we anticipate, if you prefer it," +rejoined Dick. "I have only to observe one thing more, +namely, that I must insist upon standing Sam upon the present +occasion. Not a word. I won't hear a syllable. Landlord, +I say—what oh!" continued Dick, stepping out of the +arbor. "Here, my old Admiral of the White, what's the +reckoning?—what's to pay, I say?"</p> + +<p>"Let ye know directly, sir," replied mine host of the +Falstaff.</p> + +<p>"Order my horse—the black mare," added Dick.</p> + +<p>"And mine," said King, "the sorrel colt. I'll ride with +you a mile or two on the road, Dick; perhaps we may stumble +upon something."</p> + +<p>"Very likely."</p> + +<p>"We meet at twelve, at D'Osyndar's, Jerry," said King, "if +nothing happens."</p> + +<p>"Agreed," responded Juniper.</p> + +<p>"What say you to a rubber at bowls, in the mean time?" +said the Magus, taking his everlasting pipe from his lips.</p> + +<p>Jerry nodded acquiescence. And while they went in search +of the implements of the game, Turpin and King sauntered +gently on the green.</p> + +<p>It was a delicious evening. The sun was slowly declining, +and glowed like a ball of fire amid the thick foliage of a neighboring +elm. Whether, like the robber Moor, Tom King was +touched by this glorious sunset, we pretend not to determine. +Certain it was that a shade of inexpressible melancholy passed +across his handsome countenance, as he gazed in the direction<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> +of Harrow-on-the Hill, which, lying to the west of the green +upon which they walked, stood out with its pointed spire and +lofty college against the ruddy sky. He spoke not. But Dick +noticed the passing emotion.</p> + +<p>"What ails you, Tom?" said he, with much kindness of +manner—"are you not well, lad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am well enough," said King; "I know not what +came over me, but looking at Harrow, I thought of my school +days, and what I was <i>then</i>, and that bright prospect reminded +me of my boyish hopes."</p> + +<p>"Tut—tut," said Dick, "this is idle—you are a man now."</p> + +<p>"I know I am," replied Tom, "but I <i>have</i> been a boy. +Had I any faith in presentiments, I should say this is the last +sunset I shall ever see."</p> + +<p>"Here comes our host," said Dick, smiling. "I've no +presentiment that this is the last bill I shall ever pay."</p> + +<p>The bill was brought and settled. As Turpin paid it, the +man's conduct was singular, and awakened his suspicions.</p> + +<p>"Are our horses ready?" asked Dick, quickly.</p> + +<p>"They are, sir," said the landlord.</p> + +<p>"Let us be gone," whispered Dick to King; "I don't like +this fellow's manner. I thought I heard a carriage draw up at +the inn door just now—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."</p> + +<p>Dick's hint was not lost upon the two bowlers. They +watched their comrades; and listened intently for any manifestation +of alarm.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III4" id="CHAPTER_III4"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>A SURPRISE</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">Was this well done, Jenny?—<i>Captain Macheath.</i></p></div> + + +<p>While Turpin and King are walking across the bowling-green, +we will see what has taken place outside the inn. +Tom's presentiments of danger were not, it appeared, without +foundation. Scarcely had the ostler brought forth our two +highwaymen's steeds, when a post-chaise, escorted by two or +three horsemen, drove furiously up to the door. The sole occupant +of the carriage was a lady, whose slight and pretty +figure was all that could be distinguished, her face being +closely veiled. The landlord, who was busied in casting up Turpin's +account, rushed forth at the summons. A word or two +passed between him and the horsemen, upon which the former's +countenance fell. He posted in the direction of the +garden; and the horsemen instantly dismounted.</p> + +<p>"We have him now, sure enough," said one of them, a very +small man, who looked, in his boots, like Buckle equipped for +the Oaks.</p> + +<p>"By the powers! I begin to think so," replied the other +horseman. "But don't spoil all, Mr. Coates, by being too +precipitate."</p> + +<p>"Never fear that, Mr. Tyrconnel," said Coates; for it was +the gallant attorney: "he's sure to come for his mare. That's +a <i>trap</i> certain to catch him, eh, Mr. Paterson? With the chief +constable of Westminster to back us, the devil's in it if we are +not a match for him."</p> + +<p>"And for Tom King, too," replied the chief constable; +"since his blowen's peached, the game's up with him, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> +We've long had an eye upon him, and now we'll have a finger. +He's one of your dashing trouts to whom we always give a long +line, but we'll <i>land</i> him this time, anyhow. If you'll look after +Dick Turpin, gemmen, I'll make sure of Tom."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather you would help <i>us</i>, Mr. Paterson," said Coates; +"never mind Tom King; another time will do for him."</p> + +<p>"No such thing," said Paterson; "one <i>weighs</i> just as much +for that matter as t'other. I'll take Tom to myself, and surely +you two, with the landlord and ostler, can manage Turpin +amongst you."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that," said Coates, doubtfully; "he's a devil +of a fellow to deal with."</p> + +<p>"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 chief constable, walking +to the carriage, and touching his hat to the lady within. +Having received a satisfactory nod from the bonnet and veil, +he returned to his companions. "And now, gemmen," added +he, "let's step aside a little. Don't use your fire-arms too +soon."</p> + +<p>As if conscious of what was passing around her, and of the +danger that awaited her master, Black Bess exhibited so much +impatience, and plunged so 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 was quiet enough a +few minutes since. Soho! lass, stand."</p> + +<p>Turpin and King, meanwhile, walked quickly through the +house, preceded by the host, who conducted them, and not +without some inward trepidation, towards the door. Arrived +there, each man rushed swiftly to his horse. Dick was in the +saddle in an instant, and stamping her foot on the ostler's leg, +Black Bess compelled the man, yelling with pain, to quit his +hold of the bridle. Tom King was not equally fortunate. +Before he could mount his horse, a loud shout was raised, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> +startled the animal, and caused him to swerve, so that Tom +lost his footing in the stirrup, and fell to the ground. He was +instantly seized by Paterson, and a struggle commenced, King +endeavoring, but in vain, to draw a pistol.</p> + +<p>"Flip him,<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> Dick; fire, or I'm taken," cried King. "Fire! +damn you, why don't you fire?" shouted he, in desperation, +still struggling vehemently with Paterson, who was a strong +man, and more than a match for a light weight like King.</p> + +<p>"I can't," cried Dick; "I shall hit you, if I fire."</p> + +<p>"Take your chance," shouted King. "Is <i>this</i> your friendship?"</p> + +<p>Thus urged, Turpin fired. The ball ripped up the sleeve of +Paterson's coat, but did not wound him.</p> + +<p>"Again!" cried King. "Shoot him, I say. Don't you +hear me? Fire again!"</p> + +<p>Pressed as he was by foes on every side, himself their mark, +for both Coates and Tyrconnel had fired upon him, and were +now mounting their steeds to give chase, it was impossible +that Turpin could take sure aim; added to which, in the +struggle, Paterson and King were each moment changing their +relative positions. He, however, would no longer hesitate, but +again, at his friend's request, fired. The ball lodged itself in +King's breast! He fell at once. At this instant a shriek was +heard from the chaise: the window was thrown open, and her +thick veil being drawn aside, the features of a very pretty +female, now impressed with terror and contrition, were suddenly +exhibited.</p> + +<p>King fixed his glazing eyes upon her.</p> + +<p>"Susan!" sighed he, "is it you that I behold?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, 'tis she, sure enough," said Paterson. "You +see, ma'am, what you and such like have brought him to. +However, you'll lose your reward; he's going fast enough."</p> + +<p>"Reward!" gasped King; "reward! Did she betray me?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir," said Paterson, "she blowed the gaff, if it's +any consolation to you to know it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Consolation!" repeated the dying man; "perfidious!—oh!—the +prophecy—my best friend—Turpin—I die by his +hand."</p> + +<p>And vainly striving to raise himself, he fell backwards and +expired. Alas, poor Tom!</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paterson! Mr. Paterson!" cried Coates; "leave the +landlord to look after the body of that dying ruffian, and +mount with us in pursuit of the living rascal. Come, sir; +quick! mount! despatch! You see he is yonder; he seems +to hesitate; we shall have him now."</p> + +<p>"Well, gemmen, I'm ready," said Paterson; "but how the +devil came you to let him escape?"</p> + +<p>"Saint Patrick only knows!" said Titus; "he's as slippery +as an eel—and, like a cat, turn him which way you will, he is +always sure to alight 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."</p> + +<p>"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 are neither 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 hundred pound job, Mr. Coates, +and well worth a race."</p> + +<p>"You shall have another hundred from me, sir, if you take +him," said Coates, urging his steed forward.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, thank you. Follow my directions, and +we'll make sure of him," said the constable. "Gently, gently, +not so fast up the hill—you see he's breathing his horse. All +in good time, Mr. Coates—all in good time, sir."</p> + +<p>And maintaining an equal distance, both parties cantered +leisurely up the ascent now called Windmill Hill. We shall +now return to Turpin.</p> + +<p>Aghast at the deed he had accidentally committed, Dick +remained for a few moments irresolute; he perceived that +King was mortally wounded, and that all attempts at rescue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> +would be fruitless; he perceived, likewise, that Jerry and the +Magus had effected their escape from the bowling-green, as +he could detect their figures stealing along the hedge-side. +He hesitated no longer. Turning his horse, he galloped +slowly off, little heeding the pursuit with which he was +threatened.</p> + +<p>"Every bullet has its billet," said Dick; "but little did I +think that I really should turn poor Tom's executioner. To +the devil with this rascally snapper," cried he, throwing the +pistol over the hedge. "I could never have used it again. +'Tis strange, too, that he should have foretold his own fate—devilish +strange! And then that he should have been +betrayed by the very blowen he trusted! that's a lesson, if I +wanted any. But trust a woman!—not I, the length of my +little finger."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV4" id="CHAPTER_IV4"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE HUE AND CRY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 16em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Six gentlemen upon the road<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus seeing Gilpin fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With postboy scampering in the rear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They raised the hue and cry:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not one of them was mute;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all and each that passed that way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did join in the pursuit.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>John Gilpin.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Arrived at the brow of the hill, whence such a beautiful +view of the country surrounding the metropolis is obtained,<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> +Turpin turned for an instant to reconnoitre his pursuers. +Coates and Titus he utterly disregarded; but Paterson was a +more formidable foe, and he well knew that he had to deal +with a man of experience and resolution. It was then, for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> +first time, that the thoughts of executing his extraordinary ride +to York first flashed across him; his bosom throbbed high +with rapture, and he involuntarily exclaimed aloud, as he raised +himself in the saddle, "By God! I will do it!"</p> + +<p>He took one last look at the great Babel that lay buried in +a world of trees beneath him; and as his quick eye ranged +over the magnificent prospect, lit up by that gorgeous sunset, +he could not help thinking of Tom King's last words. "Poor +fellow!" thought Dick, "he said truly. He will never see +another sunset." Aroused by the approaching clatter of his +pursuers, Dick struck into a lane which lies on the right of the +road, now called Shoot-up-hill Lane, and set off at a good +pace in the direction of Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Now," cried Paterson, "put your tits to it, my boys. We +must not lose sight of him for a second in these lanes."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, as Turpin was by no means desirous of inconveniencing +his mare in this early stage of the business, and as +the ground was still upon an ascent, the parties preserved their +relative distances.</p> + +<p>At length, after various twistings and turnings in that deep +and devious lane; after scaring one or two farmers, and riding +over a brood or two of ducks; dipping into the verdant valley +of West End, and ascending another hill, Turpin burst upon +the gorsy, sandy, and beautiful heath of Hampstead. Shaping +his course to the left, Dick then made for the lower part of +the heath, and skirted a path that leads towards North End, +passing the furze-crowned summit which is now crested by a +clump of lofty pines.</p> + +<p>It was here that the chase first assumed a character of interest. +Being open ground, the pursued and pursuers were in full +view of each other; and as Dick rode swiftly across the heath, +with the shouting trio hard at his heels, the scene had a very +animated appearance. He crossed the hill—the Hendon +Road—passed Crackskull Common—and dashed along the +cross road to Highgate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hitherto no advantage had been gained by the pursuers; +they had not lost ground, but still they had not gained an inch, +and much spurring was required to maintain their position. +As they approached Highgate, Dick slackened his pace, and +the other party redoubled their efforts. To avoid the town, +Dick struck into a narrow path at the right, and rode easily +down the hill.</p> + +<p>His pursuers were now within a hundred yards, and shouted +to him to stand. Pointing to a gate which seemed to bar +their further progress, Dick unhesitatingly charged it, clearing +it in beautiful style. Not so with Coates's party; and the +time they lost in unfastening the gate, which none of them +chose to leap, enabled Dick to put additional space betwixt +them. It did not, however, appear to be his intention altogether +to outstrip his pursuers: the chase seemed to give him +excitement, which he was willing to prolong as much as was +consistent with his safety. Scudding rapidly past Highgate, +like a swift-sailing schooner, with three lumbering Indiamen +in her wake, Dick now took the lead along a narrow lane that +threads the fields in the direction of Hornsey. The shouts of +his followers had brought others to join them, and as he +neared Crouch End, traversing the lane which takes its name +from Du-Val, and in which a house frequented by that gayest +of robbers stands, or stood, "A highwayman! a highwayman!" +rang in his ears, in a discordant chorus of many voices.</p> + +<p>The whole neighborhood was alarmed by the cries, and by +the tramp of horses: the men of Hornsey rushed into the +road to seize the fugitive, and women held up their babes to +catch a glimpse of the flying cavalcade, which seemed to gain +number and animation as it advanced. Suddenly three horsemen +appear in the road—they hear the uproar and the din. +"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 his bridle in his teeth, Turpin passed +boldly on. His fierce looks—his furious steed—the impetus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> +with which he pressed forward, bore down all before him. +The horsemen gave way, and only served to swell the list of +his pursuers.</p> + +<p>"We have him now—we have him now!" cried Paterson, +exultingly. "Shout for your lives. The turnpike man will +hear us. Shout again—again! The fellow has heard it. +The gate is shut. We have him. Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>The old Hornsey toll-bar was a high gate, with chevaux-de-frise +on the upper 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 upon the runaway. +But Dick kept steadily on. He coolly calculated the height +of the gate; he looked to the right and to the left—nothing +better offered; he spoke a few words of encouragement to +Bess, gently patted her neck, then struck his spurs into her +sides, and cleared the spikes by an inch. Out rushed the +amazed turnpike man, thus unmercifully bilked, and was +nearly trampled to death under the feet of Paterson's horse.</p> + +<p>"Open the gate, fellow, and be expeditious," shouted the +chief constable.</p> + +<p>"Not I," said the man, sturdily, "unless I gets my dues. +I've been done once already. But strike me stupid if I'm +done a second time."</p> + +<p>"Don't you perceive that's a highwayman? Don't you +know that I'm chief constable of Westminster?" said Paterson, +showing his staff. "How dare you oppose me in the discharge +of my duty?"</p> + +<p>"That may be, or it may not be," said the man, doggedly. +"But you don't pass, unless I gets the blunt, and that's the +long and short on it."</p> + +<p>Amidst a storm of oaths, Coates flung down a crown piece, +and the gate was thrown open.</p> + +<p>Turpin took advantage of this delay to breathe his mare; +and, striking into a by-lane at Duckett's Green, cantered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> +easily along in the direction of Tottenham. Little repose +was allowed him. Yelling like a pack of hounds in full cry, +his pursuers were again at his heels. He had now to run the +gauntlet of the long straggling town of Tottenham, and various +were the devices of the populace to entrap him. The whole +place was up in arms, shouting, screaming, running, dancing, +and hurling every possible description of missile at the horse +and her rider. Dick merrily responded to their clamor as he +flew past, and laughed at the brickbats that were showered +thick as hail, and quite as harmlessly, around him.</p> + +<p>A few more miles' hard riding tired the volunteers, and +before the chase reached Edmonton most of them were +"<i>nowhere</i>." Here fresh relays were gathered, and a strong +field was again mustered. John Gilpin himself could not have +excited more astonishment amongst the good folks of Edmonton, +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," he rode for a wager. Presently, +however, borne on the wings of the blast, came the cries of +"Turpin! Dick Turpin!" and the hurrahs were changed to +hootings; but such was the rate at which our highwayman +rode, that no serious opposition could be offered to him.</p> + +<p>A man in a donkey-cart, unable to get out of the way, drew +himself up in the middle of the road. Turpin treated him as +he had done the <i>dub</i> at the <i>knapping jigger</i>, and cleared the +driver and his little wain with ease. This was a capital stroke, +and well adapted to please the multitude, who are ever taken +with a brilliant action. "Hark away, Dick!" resounded on +all hands, while hisses were as liberally bestowed upon his +pursuers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V4" id="CHAPTER_V4"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE SHORT PIPE</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Head's</span> <i>Rough Notes</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Away they fly past scattered cottages, swiftly and skimmingly, +like eagles on the wing, along the Enfield highway. +All were well mounted, and the horses, now thoroughly warmed, +had got into their paces, and did their work beautifully. None +of Coates's party lost ground, but they maintained it at the +expense of their steeds, which were streaming like water-carts, +while Black Bess had scarcely turned a hair.</p> + +<p>Turpin, the reader already knows, was a crack rider; he +was <i>the</i> crack rider of England of his time, and, perhaps, of +any time. The craft and mystery of jockeyship was not so +well understood in the eighteenth as it is in the nineteenth +century; men treated their horses differently, and few rode +them as well as many ride now, when every youngster takes to +the field as naturally as if he had been bred a Guacho. Dick +Turpin was a glorious exception to the rule, and anticipated a +later age. He rode wonderfully lightly, yet sat his saddle to +perfection, distributing the weight so exquisitely that his horse +scarcely felt his pressure; he yielded to every movement made +by the animal, and became, as it were, part and parcel of +itself; he took care Bess should be neither strained nor 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> +of covering the ground; and many a first-rate Meltonian +might have got a wrinkle from Turpin's seat and conduct.</p> + +<p>We have before stated that it was not Dick's object to <i>ride +away</i> from his pursuers—he could have done that at any +moment. He liked the fun of the chase, and would have been +sorry to put a period to his own excitement. Confident in his +mare, he just kept her at such speed as should put his pursuers +completely <i>to it</i>, without in the slightest degree inconveniencing +himself. Some judgment of the speed at which they +went may be formed, when we state that little better than an +hour had elapsed and nearly twenty miles had been ridden +over. "Not bad travelling that," methinks we hear the reader +exclaim.</p> + +<p>"By the mother that bore me," said Titus, as they went +along in this slapping style—Titus, by-the-by, rode a big, +Roman-nosed, powerful horse, well adapted to his weight, but +which required a plentiful exercise both of leg and arm to call +forth all his action, and keep his rider alongside his companions—"by +the mother that bore me," said he, almost +thumping the wind out of his flea-bitten Bucephalus with his +calves, 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 smoky chimney on a frosty morning! See, he +turns his impudent phiz, with the pipe in his mouth! Are we +to stand that, Mr. Coates?"</p> + +<p>"Wait awhile, sir—wait awhile," said Coates; "we'll smoke +<i>him</i> by-and-by."</p> + +<p>Pæans have been sung in honor of the Peons of the Pampas +by the <i>Head</i>long Sir Francis; but what the gallant major extols +so loudly in the South American horsemen, viz., the lighting of +a cigar when in mid career, was accomplished with equal ease +by our English highwayman a hundred years ago, nor was it +esteemed by him any extravagant feat either. Flint, steel, and +tinder were bestowed within Dick's ample pouch, the short +pipe was at hand, and within a few seconds there was a stream<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> +of vapor exhaling from his lips, like the smoke from a steamboat +shooting down the river, and tracking his still rapid +course through the air.</p> + +<p>"I'll let 'em see what I think of 'em!" said Dick, coolly, +as he turned his head.</p> + +<p>It was now gray twilight. The mists of coming night were +weaving a thin curtain over the rich surrounding landscape. +All the sounds and hum of that delicious hour were heard, +broken only by the regular clatter of the horses' hoofs. Tired +of shouting, the chasers now kept on their way in deep silence; +each man held his breath, and plunged his spurs, rowel deep, +into his horse; but the animals were already at the top of +their speed, and incapable of greater exertion. Paterson, who +was a hard rider, and perhaps a thought better mounted, kept +the lead. The rest followed as they might.</p> + +<p>Had it been undisturbed by the rush of the cavalcade, the +scene would have been still and soothing. Overhead a cloud +of rooks were winging their garrulous flight to the ancestral +avenue of an ancient mansion to the right; the bat was on the +wing; the distant lowing of a herd of kine saluted the ear at +intervals; the blithe whistle of the rustic herdsman, and the +merry chime of waggon bells, rang pleasantly from afar. But +these cheerful sounds, which make the still twilight hour delightful, +were lost in the tramp of the horsemen, now three +abreast. The hind fled to the hedge for shelter, and the waggoner +pricked up his ears, and fancied he heard the distant +rumbling of an earthquake.</p> + +<p>On rush the pack, whipping, spurring, tugging for very life. +Again they gave voice, in hopes the waggoner might succeed +in stopping the fugitive. But Dick was already by his side. +"Harkee, my tulip," cried he, taking the pipe from his mouth +as he passed, "tell my friends behind they will hear of me +at York."</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" asked Paterson, coming up the next +moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That you'll find him at York," replied the waggoner.</p> + +<p>"At York!" echoed Coates, in amaze.</p> + +<p>Turpin was now out of sight, and although our trio flogged +with might and main, they could never catch a glimpse of him +until, within a short distance 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, and rode +off.</p> + +<p>"Devil seize you, sir! why didn't you stop him?" exclaimed +Paterson, as he rode up. "My horse is dead lame. I cannot +go any further. Do you know what a prize you have missed? +Do you know who that was?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I don't," said the publican. "But I know he +gave his mare more ale than he took himself, and he has given +me a guinea instead of a shilling. He's a regular good +'un."</p> + +<p>"A good 'un!" said Paterson; "it was Turpin, the notorious +highwayman. We are in pursuit of him. Have you any +horses? our cattle are all blown."</p> + +<p>"You'll find the post-house in the town, gentlemen. I'm +sorry I can't accommodate you. But I keeps no stabling. I +wish you a very good evening, sir." Saying which, the publican +retreated to his domicile.</p> + +<p>"That's a flash crib, I'll be bound," said Paterson. "I'll +chalk you down, 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."</p> + +<p>"Right, sir—right," said the attorney. "A very proper +spirit, Mr. Constable. You would be guilty of neglecting your +duty were you to act otherwise. You must recollect my +father, Mr. Paterson—Christopher, or Kit Coates; a name as +well known at the Old Bailey as Jonathan Wild's. You recollect +him—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly well, sir," replied the chief constable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The greatest thief-taker, though I say it," continued +Coates, "on record. I inherit all his zeal—all his ardor. +Come along, sir. We shall have a fine moon in an hour—bright +as day. To the post-house! to the post-house!"</p> + +<p>Accordingly to the post-house they went; and, with as little +delay as circumstances admitted, fresh hacks being procured, +accompanied by a postilion, the party again pursued their +onward course, encouraged to believe they were still in the +right scent.</p> + +<p>Night had now spread her mantle over the earth; still it +was not wholly dark. A few stars were twinkling in the deep, +cloudless heavens, and a pearly radiance in the eastern horizon +heralded the rising of the orb of night. A gentle breeze was +stirring; the dews of evening had already fallen; and the air +felt bland and dry. It was just the night one would have +chosen for a ride, if one ever rode by choice at such an hour; +and to Turpin, whose chief excursions were conducted by +night, it appeared little less than heavenly.</p> + +<p>Full of ardor and excitement, determined to execute what +he had mentally undertaken, Turpin held on his solitary course. +Everything was favorable to his project; the roads were in admirable +condition, his mare was in like order; she was inured +to hard work, had rested sufficiently in town to recover from +the fatigue of her recent journey, and had never been in more +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 could see her now," added he, as he felt her +almost fly away with him.</p> + +<p>Encouraged by her master's voice and hand, Black +Bess started forward at a pace which few horses could +have equalled, and scarcely any have sustained so long. +Even Dick, accustomed as he was to her magnificent +action, felt electrified at the speed with which he was +borne along. "Bravo! bravo!" shouted he, "hark away, +Bess!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span></p> + +<p>The deep and solemn woods through which they were rushing +rang with his shouts, and the sharp rattle of Bess's hoofs; +and thus he held his way, while, in the words of the ballad,</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 16em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fled past, on right and left, how fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each forest, grove, and bower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On right and left, fled past, how fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each city, town, and tower.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI4" id="CHAPTER_VI4"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>BLACK BESS</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Dauphin.</i> I will not change my horse with any that treads but on +four pasterns. <i>Ca, ha!</i> He bounds from the earth as if his entrails +were hairs; <i>le cheval volant</i>, the Pegasus <i>qui a les narines de feu</i>! +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.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>: <i>Henry V., Act III.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Black Bess being undoubtedly the heroine of the Fourth +Book of this Romance, we may, perhaps, be pardoned for +expatiating a little in this place upon her birth, parentage, +breeding, appearance, and attractions. And first as to her +pedigree; for in the horse, unlike the human species, nature +has strongly impressed the noble or ignoble caste. He is the +real aristocrat, and the pure blood that flows in the veins of +the gallant steed will infallibly be transmitted, if his mate be +suitable, throughout all his line. Bess was no <i>cock-tail</i>. She +was thorough-bred; she boasted blood in every bright and +branching vein:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 17em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If blood can give nobility,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A noble steed was she;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sire was blood, and blood her dam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all her pedigree.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>As to her pedigree. Her sire was a desert Arab, renowned +in his day, and brought to this country by a wealthy traveller; +her dam was an English racer, coal-black as her child. Bess +united all the fire and gentleness, the strength and hardihood, +the abstinence and endurance of fatigue of the one, with the +spirit and extraordinary fleetness of the other. How Turpin +became possessed of her is of little consequence. We never +heard that he paid a heavy price for her; though we doubt if +any sum would have 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 white hair could be detected in her +satin coat. In make she was magnificent. Every point was +perfect, beautiful, compact; modelled, in little, for strength +and speed. Arched was her neck, as that of the swan; clean +and fine were her lower limbs, as those of the gazelle; round +and sound as a drum was her carcase, and as broad as a cloth-yard +shaft her width of chest. Hers were the "<i>pulchræ clunes, +breve caput, arduaque cervix</i>," of the Roman bard. There +was no redundancy of flesh, 'tis true; her flanks might, to +please some tastes, have been rounder, and her shoulders fuller; +but look at the nerve and sinew, palpable through the veined +limbs! She was built more for strength than beauty, and yet +she <i>was</i> beautiful. Look at that elegant little head; those +thin, tapering ears, closely placed together; that broad, +snorting nostril, which seems to snuff the gale with disdain; +that eye, glowing and large as the diamond of Giamschid! +Is she not beautiful? Behold her paces! how gracefully +she moves! She is off!—no eagle on the wing could +skim the air more swiftly. Is she not superb? As to her +temper, the lamb is not more gentle. A child might guide +her.</p> + +<p>But hark back to Dick Turpin. We left him rattling along +in superb style, and in the highest possible glee. He could +not, in fact, be otherwise than exhilarated; nothing being so +wildly intoxicating as a mad gallop. We seem to start out of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> +ourselves—to be endued, for the time, with new energies. +Our thoughts take wings rapid as our steed. We feel as if his +fleetness and boundless impulses were for the moment our +own. We laugh; we exult; we shout for very joy. We +cry out with Mephistopheles, but in anything but a sardonic +mood, "What I enjoy with spirit, is it the less my own on +that account? If I can pay for six horses, 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 sentiments precisely. +Give him four legs and a wide plain, and he needed no Mephistopheles +to bid him ride to perdition as fast as his nag could +carry 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 breaks forth! Her silvery light is thrown +over the woody landscape. Dark shadows are cast athwart the +road, and the flying figures of thy rider and thyself are traced, +like giant phantoms, in the dust!</p> + +<p>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 cheering cry—hark! he sings. The reader will +bear in mind that Oliver means the moon—to "whiddle" is +to blab.</p> + + +<p class="hd1">OLIVER WHIDDLES!</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oliver whiddles—the tattler old!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Telling what best had been left untold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oliver ne'er was a friend of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All glims I hate that so brightly shine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give me a night black as hell, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See what I'll show to you, my merry men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oliver whiddles!—who cares—who cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If down upon us he peers and stares?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mind him who will, with his great white face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boldly <i>I'll</i> ride by his glim to the chase;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give him a Rowland, and loudly as ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, as I show myself, "Stand and deliver!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>"Egad," soliloquized Dick, as he concluded his song, looking +up at the moon. "Old Noll's no bad fellow, either. I +wouldn't be without his white face to-night for a trifle. He's +as good as a lamp to guide one, and let Bess 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 the mare, +she cares for nothing." And as they ascended the hill, Dick's +voice once more awoke the echoes of night.</p> + + + +<p class="hd1">WILL DAVIES AND DICK TURPIN</p> + +<p class="center">Hodiè mihi, cràs tibi.—<span class="smcap">Saint Augustin.</span></p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One night, when mounted on my mare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Bagshot Heath I did repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw Will Davies hanging there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the gibbet bleak and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With a rustified, fustified, mustified air!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within his chains bold Will looked blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone were his sword and snappers too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which served their master well and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Says I, "Will Davies, how are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With your rustified, fustified, mustified air!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Says he, "Dick Turpin, here I be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the gibbet, as you see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I take the matter easily;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>You'll</i> have your turn as well as me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With your whistle-me, pistol-me, cut-my-throat air!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Says I, "That's very true, my lad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, with pistol and with prad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm quite contented as I am,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heed the gibbet not a d—n!<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With its rustified, fustified, mustified air!</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Poor Will Davies!" sighed Dick; "Bagshot ought never +to forget him."<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span></p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For never more shall Bagshot see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A highwayman of such degree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appearance, and gentility,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Will, who hangs upon the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With his rustified, fustified, mustified air!</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Well," mused Turpin, "I suppose one day it will be with +me like all the rest of 'em, and that I shall dance a long lavolta +to the music of the four 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 me speak, as I +have ever felt, like a man who never either feared death, or +turned his back upon his friend. In the mean time I'll give +them something to talk about. This ride of mine shall ring in +their ears long after I'm done for—put to bed with a mattock, +and tucked up with a spade.</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when I am gone, boys, each huntsman shall say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None rode like Dick Turpin, so far in a day.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>And thou, too, brave Bess!—thy name shall be linked with +mine, and we'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 die now, while I am with +thee, than fall into the knacker's hands. Better die with all +thy honors upon thy head, than drag out thy old age at the +sand-cart. Hark forward, lass—hark forward!"</p> + +<p>By what peculiar instinct is it that this noble animal, the +horse, will at once perceive the slightest change in his rider's +physical temperament, and allow himself so to be influenced +by it, that, according as his master's spirits fluctuate, will his +own energies rise and fall, wavering</p> + +<p class="hd4">From walk to trot, from canter to full speed?</p> + +<p>How is it, we ask of those more intimately acquainted with +the metaphysics of the Houyhnhnm than we pretend to be?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> +Do the saddle or the rein convey, like metallic tractors, vibrations +of the spirit betwixt the two? We know not, but this +much is certain, that no servant partakes so much of the character +of his master as the horse. The steed we are wont to +ride becomes a portion of ourselves. He thinks and feels with +us. As we are lively, he is sprightly; as we are depressed, his +courage droops. In proof of this, let the reader see what horses +some men make—<i>make</i>, we say, because in such hands their +character is wholly altered. Partaking, in a measure, of the +courage and the firmness of the hand that guides them, and of +the resolution of the frame that sways them—what their rider +wills, they do, or strive to do. When that governing power is +relaxed, their energies are relaxed likewise; and their fine +sensibilities supply them with an instant knowledge of the +disposition and capacity of the rider. A gift of the gods is the +gallant steed, which, like any other faculty we possess, to use +or to abuse—to command or to neglect—rests with ourselves; +he is the best general test of our own self-government.</p> + +<p>Black Bess's action amply verified what we have just asserted; +for during Turpin's momentary despondency, her pace was +perceptibly diminished and her force retarded; but as he revived, +she rallied instantly, and, seized apparently with a kindred +enthusiasm, snorted joyously as she recovered her speed. Now +was it that the child of the desert showed herself the undoubted +offspring of the hardy loins from whence she sprung. Full +fifty miles had she sped, yet she showed no symptoms of distress. +If possible, she appeared fresher than when she started. +She had breathed; her limbs were suppler; her action was +freer, easier, lighter. Her sire, who, upon his trackless wilds, +could have outstripped the pestilent simoom; and with throat +unslaked, and hunger unappeased, could thrice have seen the +scorching sun go down, had not greater powers of endurance. +His vigor was her heritage. Her dam, who upon the velvet +sod was of almost unapproachable swiftness, and who had often +brought her owner golden assurances of her worth, could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> +scarce have kept pace with her, and would have sunk under a +third of her fatigue. But Bess was a paragon. We ne'er shall +look upon her like again, unless we can prevail upon some +Bedouin chief to present us with a brood mare, and then the +racing world shall see what a breed we will introduce into this +country. Eclipse, Childers, or Hambletonian, shall be nothing +to our colts, and even the railroad slow travelling, compared +with the speed of our new nags!</p> + +<p>But to return to Bess, or rather to go along with her, for +there is no halting now; we are going at the rate of twenty +knots an hour—sailing before the wind; and the reader must +either keep pace with us, or drop astern. Bess is now in her +speed, and Dick happy. Happy! he is enraptured—maddened—furious—intoxicated +as with wine. Pshaw! wine could +never throw him into such a burning delirium. Its choicest +juices have no inspiration like this. Its fumes are slow and +heady. This is ethereal, transporting. His blood spins +through his veins; winds round his 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 scarcely perceptible—it +is impetus! volition! The horse and her rider +are driven forward, as it were, by self-accelerated speed. A +hamlet is visible in the moonlight. It is scarcely discovered +ere the flints sparkle beneath the mare's hoofs. A moment's +clatter upon the stones, and it is left behind. Again it is the +silent, smiling country. Now they are buried in the darkness +of woods; now sweeping along on the wide plain; now clearing +the unopened toll-bar; now trampling over the hollow-sounding +bridge, their shadows momently reflected in the +placid mirror of the stream; now scaling the hill-side a +thought more slowly; now plunging, as the horses of Phœbus +into the ocean, down its precipitous sides.</p> + +<p>The limits of two shires are already past. They are within +the confines of a third. They have entered the merry county<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> +of Huntingdon; they have surmounted the gentle hill that slips +into Godmanchester. They are by the banks of the rapid Ouse. +The bridge is past; and as Turpin rode through the deserted +streets of Huntingdon, he heard the eleventh hour given from +the iron tongue of St. Mary's spire. In four hours—it was about +seven when he started—Dick had accomplished full sixty miles!</p> + +<p>A few reeling topers in the streets saw the horseman flit +past, and one or two windows were thrown open; but Peeping +Tom of Coventry would have had small chance of beholding +the unveiled beauties of Queen Godiva had she ridden at the +rate of Dick Turpin. He was gone, like a meteor, almost as +soon as he appeared.</p> + +<p>Huntingdon is left behind, and he is once more surrounded +by dew-gemmed hedges and silent slumbering trees. Broad +meadows, or pasture land, with drowsy cattle, or low bleating +sheep, lie on either side. But what to Turpin, at that moment, +is nature, animate or inanimate? He thinks only of his mare—his +future fame. None are by to see him ride; no stimulating +plaudits ring in his ears; no thousand hands are clapping; +no thousand voices huzzaing; no handkerchiefs are +waved; no necks strained; no bright eyes rain influence upon +him; no eagle orbs watch his motions; no bells are rung; no +cup awaits his achievement; no sweepstakes—no plate. But +his will be renown—everlasting renown; his will be fame +which will not die with him—which will keep his reputation, +albeit a tarnished one, still in the mouths of men. He wants +all these adventitious excitements, but he has that within +which is a greater excitement than all these. He is conscious +that he is doing a deed to live by. If not riding for <i>life</i>, he is +riding for <i>immortality</i>; and as the hero may perchance feel—for +even a highwayman may feel like a hero,—when he willingly +throws away his existence in the hope of earning a +glorious name, Turpin cared not what might befall himself, so +he could proudly signalize himself as the first of his land,</p> + +<p class="hd4"><i>And witch the world with noble horsemanship!</i></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p> + +<p>What need had he of spectators? The eye of posterity was +upon him; he felt the influence of that Argus glance which +has made many a poor wight spur on his Pegasus with not half +so good a chance of reaching the goal as Dick Turpin. Multitudes, +yet unborn, he knew would hear and laud his deeds. +He trembled with excitement, and Bess trembled under him. +But the emotion was transient. On, on they fly! The torrent +leaping from the crag—the bolt from the bow—the air-cleaving +eagle—thoughts themselves are scarce more winged +in their flight!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII4" id="CHAPTER_VII4"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE YORK STAGE</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">York, Four Days!</span>—<i>Stage Coach begins on Friday, the 18th of +April, 1706.</i> 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 <i>Stage +Coach</i>, 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.—<i>Placard, preserved in the +coffee-room, of the Black Swan Inn at York.</i></p></div> + + +<p>The night had hitherto been balmy and beautiful, with a +bright array of stars, and a golden harvest moon, which seemed +to diffuse even warmth with its radiance; but now Turpin was +approaching the region of fog and fen, and he began to feel +the influence of that dank atmosphere. The intersecting +dykes, yawners, gullies, or whatever they are called, began to +send forth their steaming vapors, and chilled the soft and +wholesome air, obscuring the void, and in some instances, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> +it were, choking up the road itself with vapor. But fog or fen +was the same to Bess; her hoofs rattled merrily along the road, +and she burst from a cloud, like Eöus at the break of dawn.</p> + +<p>It chanced, as he issued from a fog of this kind, that Turpin +burst upon the York stage coach. It was no uncommon thing +for the coach to be stopped; and so furious was the career of +our highwayman, that the man involuntarily drew up his horses. +Turpin had also to draw in the rein, a task of no little difficulty, +as charging a huge, lumbering coach, with its full complement +of passengers, was more than even Bess could accomplish. +The moon shone brightly on Turpin and his mare. He was +unmasked, and his features were distinctly visible. An exclamation +was uttered by a gentleman on the box, who, it +appeared, instantly recognized him.</p> + +<p>"Pull up—draw your horses across the road!" cried the +gentleman; "that's Dick Turpin, the highwayman. His capture +would be worth three hundred pounds to you," added he, +addressing the coachman, "and is of equal importance to me. +Stand!" shouted he, presenting a cocked pistol.</p> + +<p>This resolution of the gentleman was not apparently agreeable, +either to the coachman or the majority of the passengers—the +name of Turpin acting like magic upon them. One man +jumped off behind, and was with difficulty afterwards recovered, +having tumbled into a deep ditch at the roadside. An old +gentleman with a cotton nightcap, who had popped out his +head to swear at the coachman, drew it suddenly back. A +faint scream in a female key issued from within, and there was +a considerable hubbub on the roof. Amongst other ominous +sounds, the guard was heard to click his long horse-pistols. +"Stop the York four-day stage!" said he, forcing his smoky +voice through a world of throat-embracing shawl; "the fastest +coach in the kingdom: vos ever such atrocity heard of? I +say, Joe, keep them ere leaders steady; we shall all be in the +ditch. Don't you see where the hind wheels are? Who—whoop, +I say."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span></p> + +<p>The gentleman on the box now discharged his pistol, and +the confusion within was redoubled. The white nightcap was +popped out like a rabbit's head, and as quickly popped back +on hearing the highwayman's voice. Owing to the plunging +of the horses, the gentleman had missed his aim.</p> + +<p>Prepared for such emergencies as the present, and seldom +at any time taken aback, Dick received the fire without flinching. +He then lashed the horses out of his course, and rode +up, pistol in hand, to the gentleman who had fired.</p> + +<p>"Major Mowbray," said he, in a stern tone, "I know you. +I meant not either to assault you or these gentlemen. Yet +you have attempted my life, sir, a second time. But you are +now in my power, and by hell! if you do not answer the +questions I put to you, nothing earthly shall save you."</p> + +<p>"If you ask aught I may not answer, fire!" said the major; +"I will never ask life from such as you."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen aught of Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked +Dick.</p> + +<p>"The villain you mean is not yet secured," replied the +major, "but we have traces of him. 'Tis with a view of procuring +more efficient assistance that I ride to town."</p> + +<p>"They have not met then, since?" said Dick, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Met! whom do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Your sister and Sir Luke," said Dick.</p> + +<p>"My sister meet him!" cried the major, angrily—"think +you he dares show himself at Rookwood?"</p> + +<p>"Ho! ho!" laughed Dick—"she <i>is</i> at Rookwood, then? +A thousand thanks, major. Good night to you, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>"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 to be the highwayman's head, but +which, luckily for Dick, was his hat, which he had raised to +salute the passengers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Remember you," said Dick, coolly replacing his perforated +beaver on his brow; "you may rely upon it, my fine fellow, +I'll not forget you the next time we meet."</p> + +<p>And off he went like the breath of the whirlwind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII4" id="CHAPTER_VIII4"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>ROADSIDE INN</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Moor.</i> Take my horse, and dash a bottle of wine over him. 'Twas +hot work.</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Schiller</span>: <i>The Robbers</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>We will now make inquiries after Mr. Coates and his party, +of whom both we and Dick Turpin have for some time lost +sight. With unabated ardor the vindictive man of law and his +myrmidons pressed forward. A tacit compact seemed to have +been entered into between the highwayman and his pursuers, +that he was to fly while they were to follow. Like bloodhounds, +they kept steadily upon his trail; nor were they so +far behind as Dick imagined. At each post-house they passed +they obtained fresh horses, and, while these were saddling, a +postboy was despatched <i>en courrier</i> to order relays at the next +station. In this manner they proceeded after the first stoppage +without interruption. Horses were in waiting for them, +as they, "bloody with spurring, fiery hot with haste," and their +jaded hacks arrived. Turpin had been heard or seen in all +quarters. 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.</p> + +<p>At length the coach which Dick had encountered hove in +sight. There was another stoppage and another hubbub. The +old gentleman's nightcap was again manifested, and suffered a +sudden occultation, as upon the former occasion. The postboy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> +who was in advance, had halted, and given up his horse +to Major Mowbray, who exchanged his seat on the box for one +on the saddle, deeming it more expedient, after his interview +with Turpin, to return to Rookwood, rather than to proceed +to town. The postboy was placed behind Coates, as being +the lightest weight; and, thus reinforced, the party pushed +forward as rapidly as heretofore.</p> + +<p>Eighty and odd miles had now been traversed—the boundary +of another county, Northampton, passed; yet no rest nor +respite had Dick Turpin or his unflinching mare enjoyed. But +here he deemed it fitting to make a brief halt.</p> + +<p>Bordering the beautiful domains of Burleigh House stood a +little retired hostelry of some antiquity, which bore the great +Lord Treasurer's arms. With this house Dick was not altogether +unacquainted. The lad who acted as ostler was known +to him. It was now midnight, but a bright and beaming +night. To the door of the stable then did he ride, and +knocked in a peculiar manner. Reconnoitering Dick through +a broken pane of glass in the lintel, and apparently satisfied +with his scrutiny, the lad thrust forth a head of hair as full of +straw as Mad Tom's is represented to be upon the stage. A +chuckle of welcome followed his sleepy salutation. "Glad to +see you, Captain Turpin," said he; "can I do anything for +you?"</p> + +<p>"Get me a couple of bottles of brandy and a beefsteak," +said Dick.</p> + +<p>"As to the brandy, you can have that in a jiffy—but the +steak, Lord love you, the old ooman won't stand it at this +time; but there's a cold round, mayhap a slice of that might +do—or a knuckle of ham?"</p> + +<p>"A pest on your knuckles, Ralph," cried Dick; "have you +any raw meat in the house?"</p> + +<p>"Raw meat!" echoed Ralph, in surprise. "Oh, yes, +there's a rare rump of beef. You can have a cut off that, if +you like."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the thing I want," said Dick, ungirthing his mare. +"Give me the scraper. There, I can get a whisp of straw +from your head. Now run and get the brandy. Better bring +three bottles. Uncork 'em, and let me have half a pail of +water to mix with the spirit."</p> + +<p>"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 went about the execution of his task, "I +always thought them Rum-padders, as they call themselves, +rum fellows, but now I'm sartin sure on it."</p> + +<p>The most sedulous groom could not have bestowed more +attention upon the horse of his heart than Dick Turpin now +paid to his mare. He scraped, chafed, and dried her, sounded +each muscle, traced each sinew, pulled her ears, examined the +state of her feet, and, ascertaining that her "withers were un-wrung," +finally washed her from head to foot in the diluted +spirit, not, however, before he had conveyed a thimbleful of +the liquid to his own parched throat, and replenished what +Falstaff calls a "pocket-pistol," which he had about him. +While Ralph was engaged in rubbing her down after her bath, +Dick occupied himself, not in dressing the raw steak in the +manner the stable-boy had anticipated, but in rolling it round +the bit of his bridle.</p> + +<p>"She will now go as long as there's breath in her body," +said he, putting the flesh-covered iron within her mouth.</p> + +<p>The saddle being once more replaced, after champing a +moment or two at the bit, Bess began to snort and paw the +earth, as if impatient of delay; and, acquainted as he was with +her indomitable spirit and power, her condition was a surprise +even to Dick himself. Her vigor seemed inexhaustible, her +vivacity was not a whit diminished, but, as she was led into +the open space, her step became as light and free as when +she started on her ride, and her sense of sound as quick as +ever. Suddenly she pricked her ears, and uttered a low neigh. +A dull tramp was audible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Dick, springing into his saddle; "they +come."</p> + +<p>"Who come, captain?" asked Ralph.</p> + +<p>"The road takes a turn here, don't it?" asked Dick—"sweeps +round to the right by the plantations in the hollow?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, captain," answered Ralph; "it's plain you knows +the ground."</p> + +<p>"What lies behind yon shed?"</p> + +<p>"A stiff fence, captain—a reg'lar rasper. Beyond that a +hill-side steep as a house, no oss as was ever shoed can go +down it."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>A loud halloo from Major Mowbray, who seemed advancing +upon the wings of the wind, told Dick that he was discovered. +The major was a superb horseman, and took the lead of his +party. Striking his spurs deeply into his horse, and giving him +bridle enough, the major seemed to shoot forward like a shell +through the air. The Burleigh Arms retired some hundred +yards from the road, the space in front being occupied by a +neat garden, with low, clipped edges. No tall timber intervened +between Dick and his pursuers, so that the motions of +both parties were visible to each other. Dick saw in an instant +that if he now started he should come into collision with +the major exactly at the angle of the road, and he was by no +means desirous of hazarding such a rencontre. He looked +wistfully back at the double fence.</p> + +<p>"Come into the stable. Quick, captain, quick!" exclaimed +Ralph.</p> + +<p>"The stable!" echoed Dick, hesitating.</p> + +<p>"Ay, the stable; it's your only chance. Don't you see he's +turning the corner, and they are all coming? Quick, sir, +quick!"</p> + +<p>Dick, lowering his head, rode into the tenement, the door +of which was unceremoniously slapped in the major's face, and +bolted on the other side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Villain!" cried Major Mowbray, thundering at the door, +"come forth! You are now fairly trapped at last—caught like +the woodcock in your own springe. We have you. Open the +door, I say, and save us the trouble of forcing it. You cannot +escape us. We will burn the building down but we will have +you."</p> + +<p>"What dun you want, measter?" cried Ralph, from the +lintel, whence he reconnoitered the major, and kept the door +fast. "You're clean mista'en. There be none here."</p> + +<p>"We'll soon see that," said Paterson, who had now arrived; +and, leaping from his horse, the chief constable took a short +run to give himself impetus, and with his foot burst open the +door. This being accomplished, in dashed the major and +Paterson, but the stable was vacant. A door was open at the +back; they rushed to it. The sharply sloping sides of a hill +slipped abruptly downwards, within a yard of the door. It +was a perilous descent to the horseman, yet the print of a +horse's heels were visible in the dislodged turf and scattered +soil.</p> + +<p>"Confusion!" cried the major, "he has escaped us."</p> + +<p>"He is yonder," said Paterson, pointing out Turpin moving +swiftly through the steaming meadow. "See, he makes +again for the road—he clears the fence. A regular throw he +has given us, by the Lord!"</p> + +<p>"Nobly done, by Heaven!" cried the major. "With all +his faults, I honor the fellow's courage and admire his prowess. +He's already ridden to-night as I believe never man rode before. +I would not have ventured to slide down that wall, for +it's nothing else, with the enemy at my heels. What say you, +gentlemen, have you had enough? Shall we let him go, +or——?"</p> + +<p>"As far as chase goes, I don't care if we bring the matter to +a conclusion," said Titus. "I don't think, as it is, that I +shall have a sate to sit on this week to come. I've lost leather +most confoundedly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What says Mr. Coates?" asked Paterson. "I look to +him."</p> + +<p>"Then mount, and off," cried Coates. "Public duty requires +that we should take him."</p> + +<p>"And private pique," returned the major. "No matter! +The end is the same. Justice shall be satisfied. To your +steeds, my merry men all. Hark, and away."</p> + +<p>Once more upon the move, Titus forgot his distress, and addressed +himself to the attorney, by whose side he rode.</p> + +<p>"What place is that we're coming to?" asked he, pointing +to a cluster of moonlit spires belonging to a town they were +rapidly approaching.</p> + +<p>"Stamford," replied Coates.</p> + +<p>"Stamford!" exclaimed Titus; "by the powers! then we've +ridden a matter of ninety miles. Why, the great deeds of +Redmond O'Hanlon were nothing to this! I'll remember it +to my dying day, and with reason," added he, uneasily shifting +his position on the saddle.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX4" id="CHAPTER_IX4"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>EXCITEMENT</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How fled what moonshine faintly showed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How fled what darkness hid!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How fled the earth beneath their feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heaven above their head.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>William and Helen.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Dick Turpin, meanwhile, held bravely on his course. Bess +was neither strained by her gliding passage down the slippery +hill-side nor shaken by <i>larking</i> the fence in the meadow. As +Dick said, "It took a devilish deal to take it out of her." On +regaining the high road she resumed her old pace, and once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> +more they were distancing Time's swift chariot in its whirling +passage o'er the earth. Stamford, and the tongue of Lincoln's +fenny shire, upon which it is situated, were passed almost in a +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 <i>furor venaticus</i> which now inspires all who come +within twenty miles of this Charybdis of the chase, Bess here <i>let +out</i> in a style with which it would have puzzled the best Leicestershire +squire's best prad to have kept pace. The spirit she imbibed +through the pores of her skin, and the juices of the meat +she had champed, seemed to have communicated preternatural +excitement to her. Her pace was absolutely terrific. Her +eyeballs were dilated, and glowed like flaming carbuncles; +while her widely-distended nostril seemed, in the cold moonshine, +to snort forth smoke, as from a hidden fire. Fain +would Turpin have controlled her; but, without bringing into +play all his tremendous nerve, no check could be given her +headlong course, and for once, and the only time in her submissive +career, Bess resolved to have her own way—and she +had it. Like a sensible fellow, Dick conceded the point. +There was something even of conjugal philosophy in his self-communion +upon the occasion. "E'en let her take her own +way and be hanged 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 rattles away like a woman's tongue, and +when that once begins, we all know what chance the curb has. +Best to let her have it out, or rather to lend her a lift. 'Twill +be over the sooner. Tantivy, lass! tantivy! I know which +of us will tire first."</p> + +<p>We have before said that the vehement excitement of continued +swift riding produces a paroxysm in the sensorium +amounting to delirium. Dick's blood was again on fire. He +was first giddy, as after a deep draught of kindling spirit; this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> +passed off, but the spirit was still in his veins—the <i>estro</i> was +working in his brain. All his ardor, his eagerness, his fury, +returned. He rode like one insane, and his courser partook of +his frenzy. She bounded; she leaped; she tore up the ground +beneath her; while Dick gave vent to his exultation in one +wild, prolonged halloo. More than half his race is run. He +has triumphed over every difficulty. He will have no further +occasion to halt. Bess carries her forage along with her. The +course is straightforward—success seems certain—the goal +already reached—the path of glory won. Another wild halloo, +to which the echoing woods reply, and away!</p> + +<p>Away! away! thou matchless steed! yet brace fast thy +sinews—hold, hold thy breath, for, alas! the goal is not yet +attained!</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 17em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But forward! forward, on they go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High snorts the straining steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick pants the rider's laboring breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As headlong on they speed!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X4" id="CHAPTER_X4"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE GIBBET</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See there, see there, what yonder swings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And creaks 'mid whistling rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gibbet and steel—the accursed wheel—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A murderer in his chain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>William and Helen.</i></p></div> + + +<p>As the eddying currents sweep over its plains in howling, +bleak December, the horse and her rider passed over what remained +of Lincolnshire. Grantham is gone, and they are now +more slowly looking up the ascent of Gonerby Hill, a path well +known to Turpin; where often, in bygone nights, many a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> +purse had changed its owner. With that feeling of independence +and exhilaration which every one feels, we believe, on +having climbed the hill-side, Turpin turned to gaze around. +There was triumph in his eye. But the triumph was checked +as his glance fell upon a gibbet near him to the right, on the +round point of hill which is a landmark to the wide vale of +Belvoir. Pressed as he was for time, Dick immediately struck +out of the road, and approached the spot where it stood. Two +scarecrow objects, covered with rags and rusty links of chains, +depended from the tree. A night crow screaming around the +carcases added to the hideous effect of the scene. Nothing +but the living highwayman and his skeleton brethren was visible +upon the solitary spot. Around him was the lonesome +waste of hill, o'erlooking the moonlit valley: beneath his feet, +a patch of bare and lightning-blasted sod: above, the wan, +declining moon and skies, flaked with ghostly clouds; before +him, the bleached bodies of the murderers, for such they were.</p> + +<p>"Will this be my lot, I marvel?" said Dick, looking upwards, +with an involuntary shudder.</p> + +<p>"Ay, marry will it," rejoined a crouching figure, suddenly +springing from beside a tuft of briars that skirted the blasted +ground.</p> + +<p>Dick started in his saddle, while Bess reared and plunged at +the sight of this unexpected apparition.</p> + +<p>"What, ho! thou devil's dam, Barbara, is it thou?" exclaimed +Dick, reassured upon discovering it was the gipsy +queen, and no spectre whom he beheld. "Stand still, Bess—stand, +lass. What dost thou here, mother of darkness? Art +gathering mandrakes for thy poisonous messes, or pilfering +flesh from the dead? Meddle not with their bones, or I will +drive thee hence. What dost thou here, I say, old dam of the +gibbet?"</p> + +<p>"I came to die here," replied Barbara, in a feeble tone; +and, throwing back her hood, she displayed features well-nigh +as ghastly as those of the skeletons above her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed," replied Dick. "You've made choice of a pleasant +spot, it must be owned. But you'll not die yet?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know whose bodies these are?" asked Barbara, +pointing upwards.</p> + +<p>"Two of your race," replied Dick; "right brethren of the +blade."</p> + +<p>"Two of my sons," returned Barbara; "my twin children. +I am come to lay my bones beneath their bones—my sepulchre +shall be their sepulchre; my body shall feed the fowls of +the air as theirs have fed them. And if ghosts can walk, we'll +scour this heath together. I tell you what, Dick Turpin," +said the hag, drawing as near to the highwayman as Bess would +permit her; "dead men walk and ride—ay, <i>ride</i>!—there's +a comfort for you. I've seen these do it. I have seen them +fling off their chains, and dance—ay, dance with me—with +their mother. No revels like dead men's revels, Dick. I +shall soon join 'em."</p> + +<p>"You will not lay violent hands upon yourself, mother?" +said Dick, with difficulty mastering his terror.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Barbara, in an altered tone. "But I will let +nature do her task. Would she could do it more quickly. +Such a life as mine won't go out without a long struggle. What +have I to live for now? All are gone—she and her child! +But what is this to you? You have no child; and if you had, +you could not feel like a father. No matter—I rave. Listen +to 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 of moisture, save Heaven's dew, cooled this +parched throat, nor shall they to the last. That time cannot +be far off; and now can you not guess <i>how</i> I mean to die? +Begone and leave me; your presence troubles me. I would +breathe my last breath alone, with none to witness the parting +pang."</p> + +<p>"I will not trouble you longer, mother," said Dick, turning +his mare; "nor will I ask your blessing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My blessing!" scornfully ejaculated Barbara. "You shall +have it if you will, but you will find it a curse. Stay! a +thought strikes me. Whither are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To seek Sir Luke Rookwood," replied Dick. "Know you +aught of him?"</p> + +<p>"Sir Luke Rookwood! You seek him, and would find +him?" screamed Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I would," said Dick.</p> + +<p>"And you <i>will</i> find him," said Barbara; "and that ere long. +I shall ne'er again behold him. Would I could. I have a +message for him—one of life and death. Will you convey it +to him?"</p> + +<p>"I will," said the highwayman.</p> + +<p>"Swear by those bones to do so," cried Barbara, pointing +with her skinny fingers to the gibbet; "that you will do my +bidding."</p> + +<p>"I swear," cried Dick.</p> + +<p>"Fail not, or <i>we</i> will haunt thee to thy life's end," cried Barbara; +adding, as she handed a sealed package to the highwayman, +"Give this to Sir Luke—to him alone. I would have sent +it to him by other hands ere this, but my people have deserted +me—have pillaged my stores—have rifled me of all save this. +Give this, I say, to Sir Luke, with your own hands. You have +sworn it, and will obey. Give it to him, and bid him think of +Sybil as he opens it. But this must not be till Eleanor is in +his power; and she must be present when the seal is broken. +It relates to both. Dare not to tamper with it, or my curse +shall pursue you. That packet is guarded with a triple spell, +which to you were fatal. Obey me, and my dying breath +shall bless thee."</p> + +<p>"Never fear," said Dick, taking the packet; "I'll not disappoint +you, mother, depend upon it."</p> + +<p>"Hence!" cried the crone; and as she watched Dick's +figure lessening upon the Waste, and at length beheld him +finally disappear down the hill-side, she sank to the ground,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> +her frail strength being entirely exhausted. "Body and +soul may now part in peace," gasped she. "All I live for +is accomplished." And ere one hour had elapsed, the night +crow was perched upon her still breathing frame.</p> + +<p>Long pondering upon this singular interview, Dick pursued +his way. At length he thought fit to examine the packet with +which the old gipsy had entrusted him.</p> + +<p>"It feels like a casket," thought he. "It can't be gold. But +then it may be 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's certain, about it; but I will not +break the seal, not I. As to her spell, 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 have it." +So saying, he replaced it in his pocket.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI4" id="CHAPTER_XI4"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE PHANTOM STEED</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'll speak to thee, though hell itself should gape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid me hold my peace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Hamlet.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Time presses. We may not linger in our course. We must +fly on before our flying highwayman. Full forty miles shall +we pass over in a breath. Two more hours have elapsed, and +he still urges his headlong career, with heart resolute as ever, +and purpose yet unchanged. Fair Newark, and the dashing +Trent, "most loved of England's streams," are gathered to his +laurels. Broad Notts, and its heavy paths and sweeping +glades; its waste—forest no more—of Sherwood past; bold +Robin Hood and his merry men, his Marian and his moonlight +rides, recalled, forgotten, left behind. Hurrah! hurrah! That +wild halloo, that waving arm, that enlivening shout—what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> +means it? He is once more upon Yorkshire ground; his +horse's hoof beats once more the soil of that noble shire. So +transported was Dick, that he could almost have flung himself +from the saddle 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!</p> + +<p>Bawtrey is past. He takes the lower road by Thorne and +Selby. He is skirting the waters of the deep-channelled Don.</p> + +<p>Bess now began to manifest some slight symptoms of distress. +There was a strain in the carriage of her throat, a +dulness in her eye, a laxity in her ear, and a slight stagger in +her gait, which Turpin noticed with apprehension. Still she +went on, though not at the same gallant pace as heretofore. +But, as the tired bird still battles with the blast upon the +ocean, as the swimmer still stems the stream, though spent, on +went she: nor did Turpin dare to check her, fearing that, if +she stopped, she might lose her force, or, if she fell, she would +rise no more.</p> + +<p>It was now that gray and grimly hour ere one flicker of +orange or rose has gemmed the east, and when unwearying +Nature herself seems to snatch brief repose. In the roar of +restless cities, this is the only time when their strife is hushed. +Midnight is awake—alive; the streets ring with laughter and +with rattling wheels. At the third hour, a dead, deep silence +prevails; the loud-voiced streets grow dumb. They are deserted +of all, save the few guardians of the night and the +skulking robber. But even 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 reigns +throughout. Our feelings are, in a great measure, influenced +by the hour. Exposed to the raw, crude atmosphere, which +has neither the nipping, wholesome shrewdness of morn, nor +the profound chillness of night, the frame vainly struggles +against the dull, miserable sensations engendered by the damps,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> +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. We conjure up a thousand restless, disheartening +images. We abandon projects we have formed, and which, +viewed through this medium, appear fantastical, chimerical, +absurd. We want rest, refreshment, energy.</p> + +<p>We will not say that Turpin had all these misgivings. But +he had to struggle hard with himself to set sleep and exhaustion +at defiance.</p> + +<p>The moon had set. The stars,</p> + +<p class="hd4">Pinnacled deep in the intense main,</p> + +<p>had all—save one, the herald of the dawn—withdrawn their +luster. A dull mist lay on the stream, and the air became +piercing cold. Turpin's chilled fingers could scarcely grasp +the slackening rein, while his eyes, irritated by the keen atmosphere, +hardly enabled him to distinguish surrounding objects, +or even to guide his steed. It was owing, probably, to this +latter circumstance, that Bess suddenly floundered and fell, +throwing her master over her head.</p> + +<p>Turpin instantly recovered himself. His first thought was +for his horse. But Bess was instantly upon her legs—covered +with dust and foam, sides and cheeks—and with her large +eyes glaring wildly, almost piteously, upon her master.</p> + +<p>"Art hurt, lass?" asked Dick, as she shook herself, and +slightly shivered. And he proceeded to the horseman's scrutiny. +"Nothing but a shake; though that dull eye—those +quivering flanks——" added he, looking earnestly at her. +"She won't go much further, and I must give it up—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, who was a knowing cove and famous jockey in his day, +which he swore would make a horse go as long as he'd a leg<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> +to carry him, and bade me keep it for some great occasion. +I've never used it; but I'll try it now. It should be in this +pocket. Ah! Bess, wench, I fear I'm using thee, after all, as +Sir Luke did his mistress, that I thought so like thee. No +matter! It will be a glorious end."</p> + +<p>Raising her head upon his shoulder, Dick poured the contents +of the bottle down the throat of his mare. Nor had he +to wait long before its invigorating effects were instantaneous. +The fire was kindled in the glassy orb; her crest was once +more erected; her flank ceased to quiver; and she neighed +loud and joyously.</p> + +<p>"Egad, the old fellow was right," cried Dick. "The drink +has worked wonders. 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. But here's that will do +as well." And he drained his flask of the last drop of +brandy.</p> + +<p>Dick's limbs were now become so excessively stiff, that it +was with difficulty he could remount his horse. But this +necessary preliminary being achieved by the help of a stile, he +found no difficulty in resuming his accustomed position upon +the saddle. We know not whether there was any likeness +between our Turpin and that modern Hercules of the sporting +world, Mr. Osbaldeston. Far be it from us to institute any +comparison, though we cannot help thinking that, in one particular, +he resembled that famous "copper-bottomed" squire. +This we will leave to our reader's discrimination. Dick bore +his fatigues wonderfully. He suffered somewhat of that martyrdom +which, according to Tom Moore, occurs "to weavers +and M. P.'s, from sitting too long;" but again on his courser's +back, he cared not for anything.</p> + +<p>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 more swiftly than its current to its confluence with the +Aire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span></p> + +<p>Snaith was past. He was on the road to Selby when dawn +first began to break. Here and there a twitter was heard in +the hedge; a hare ran across his path, gray-looking as the +morning self; and the mists began to rise from the earth. A +bar of gold was drawn against the east, like the roof of a gorgeous +palace. But the mists were heavy in this world of +rivers and their tributary streams. The Ouse was before him, +the Trent and Aire behind; the Don and Derwent on either +hand, all in their way to commingle their currents ere they +formed the giant Humber. Amid a region so prodigal of +water, no wonder the dews fell thick as rain. Here and there +the ground was clear; but then again came a volley of vapor, +dim and palpable as smoke.</p> + +<p>While involved in one of these fogs, Turpin became aware +of another horseman by his side. It was impossible to discern +the features of the rider, but his figure in the mist seemed +gigantic; neither was the color of his steed distinguishable. +Nothing was visible except the meagre-looking, phantom-like +outline of a horse and his rider, and, as the unknown rode +upon the turf that edged the way, even the sound of the +horse's hoofs was scarcely audible. Turpin gazed, not without +superstitious awe. Once or twice he essayed to address +the strange horseman, but his tongue clave to the roof of his +mouth. He fancied he discovered in the mist-exaggerated +lineaments of the stranger a wild and fantastic resemblance to +his friend Tom King. "It must be Tom," thought Turpin; +"he is come to warn me of my approaching end. I will speak +to him."</p> + +<p>But terror o'ermastered his speech. He could not force +out a word, and thus side by side they rode in silence. Quaking +with fears he would scarcely acknowledge to himself, Dick +watched every motion of his companion. He was still, stern, +spectre-like, erect; and looked for all the world like a demon +on his phantom steed. His courser seemed, in the indistinct +outline, to be huge and bony, and, as he snorted furiously in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> +the fog, Dick's heated imagination supplied his breath with a +due proportion of flame. Not a word was spoken—not a +sound heard, save the sullen dead beat of his hoofs upon the +grass. It was intolerable to ride thus cheek by jowl with a +goblin. Dick could stand it no longer. He put spurs to his +horse, and endeavored to escape. But it might not be. The +stranger, apparently without effort, was still by his side, and +Bess's feet, in her master's apprehensions, were nailed to the +ground. By-and-by, however, the atmosphere became clearer. +Bright quivering beams burst through the vaporous shroud, +and then it was that Dick discovered that the apparition of +Tom King was no other than Luke Rookwood. He was +mounted on his old horse, Rook, and looked grim and haggard +as a ghost vanishing at the crowing of the cock.</p> + +<p>"Sir Luke Rookwood, by this light!" exclaimed Dick, in +astonishment. "Why, I took you for——"</p> + +<p>"The devil, no doubt?" returned Luke, smiling sternly, +"and were sorry to find yourself so hard pressed. Don't disquiet +yourself; I am still flesh and blood."</p> + +<p>"Had I taken you for one of mortal mould," said Dick, +"you should have soon seen where I'd have put you in the +race. That confounded fog deceived me, and Bess acted the +fool as well as myself. However, now I know you, Sir Luke, +you must spur alongside, for the hawks are on the wing; and +though I've much to say, I've not a second to lose." And +Dick briefly detailed the particulars of his ride, concluding +with his rencontre 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, fumbling in his pocket for another +paper, "is the marriage document. You are now your 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 Dick Turpin."</p> + +<p>"I will not," said Luke, eagerly grasping the certificate; +"but she never may be mine."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have her oath?"</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"What more is needed?"</p> + +<p>"Her hand."</p> + +<p>"That will follow."</p> + +<p>"It <i>shall</i> follow," replied Sir Luke, wildly. "You are right. +She is my affianced bride—affianced before hell, if not before +heaven. I have sealed the contract with blood—with Sybil's +blood—and it shall be fulfilled. I have her oath—her oath—ha, +ha! Though I perish in the attempt, 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 her off. I +am from Rookwood even now. To-morrow night I shall renew +the attack. Will you assist me?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow night!" interrupted Dick.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I should say to-night. A new day has already +dawned," replied Luke.</p> + +<p>"I will: she is at Rookwood?"</p> + +<p>"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 we will 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 to wed Eleanor to +Ranulph, and that the marriage is to take place privately to-morrow. +This must be prevented."</p> + +<p>"It must. But why not boldly appear in person at the +hall, and claim her?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am a proscribed felon. A price is set upon +my head. I am hunted through the country—driven to concealment, +and dare not show myself for fear of capture. What +could I do now? They would load me with fetters, bury me +in a dungeon, and wed Eleanor to Ranulph. What would my +rights avail? What would her oath signify to them? No; she +must be mine by force. <i>His</i> she shall never be. Again, I +ask you, will you aid me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have said—I will. Where is Alan Rookwood?"</p> + +<p>"Concealed within the hut on Thorne Waste. You know +it—it was one of your haunts."</p> + +<p>"I know it well," said Dick, "and Conkey Jem, its keeper, +into the bargain: he is a knowing file. I'll join you at the +hut at midnight, if all goes well. We'll bring off the wench, +in spite of them all—just the thing I like. But in case of a +break-down on my part, suppose you take charge of my purse +in the mean time."</p> + +<p>Luke would have declined this offer.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" said Dick. "Who knows what may happen? +and it's not ill-lined either. You'll find an odd hundred or +so in that silken bag—it's not often your highwayman gives +away a purse. Take it, man—we'll settle all to-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 the hut. Keep yourself snug there till midnight, +and we'll ride over to Rookwood."</p> + +<p>"At midnight," replied Sir Luke, wheeling off, "I shall +expect you."</p> + +<p>"'Ware hawks!" hallooed Dick.</p> + +<p>But Luke had vanished. In another instant Dick was +scouring the plain as rapidly as ever. In the mean time, as +Dick has casually alluded to the hawks, it may not be amiss to +inquire how they had flown throughout the night, and whether +they were still in chase of their quarry.</p> + +<p>With the exception of Titus, who was completely done up +at Grantham, "having got," as he said, "a complete bellyful +of it," they were still on 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 and invincible attorney +was not far in their rear, his wrath having been by no means +allayed by the fatigue he had undergone. At Bawtrey they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> +held a council of war for a few minutes, being doubtful which +course he had taken. Their incertitude was relieved by a foot +traveller, who had heard Dick's loud halloo on passing the +boundary of Nottinghamshire, and had seen him take the +lower road. They struck, therefore, into the path at Thorne +at a hazard, and were soon satisfied they were right. Furiously +did they now spur on. They reached Selby, changed horses +at the inn in front of the venerable cathedral church, and +learnt from the postboy that a toilworn horseman, on a jaded +steed, had ridden through the town about five minutes before +them, and could not be more than a quarter of a mile in advance. +"His horse was so dead beat," said the lad, "that +I'm sure he cannot have got far; and, if you look sharp, I'll +be bound you'll overtake him before he reaches Cawood +Ferry."</p> + +<p>Mr. Coates was transported. "We'll lodge him snug in +York Castle before an hour, Paterson," cried he, rubbing his +hands.</p> + +<p>"I hope so, sir," said the chief constable, "but I begin to +have some qualms."</p> + +<p>"Now, gentlemen," shouted the postboy, "come along. I'll +soon bring you to him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII4" id="CHAPTER_XII4"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>CAWOOD FERRY</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 16em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sight renewed my courser's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment, staggering feebly fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment, with a faint low neigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He answered, and then fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reeking limbs immovable,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His first, and last career was done.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Mazeppa.</i></p></div> + + +<p>The sun had just o'ertopped the "high eastern hill," as +Turpin reached the Ferry of Cawood, and his beams were reflected +upon the deep and sluggish waters of the Ouse. Wearily +had he dragged his course thither—wearily and slow. The +powers of his gallant steed were spent, and he could scarcely +keep her from sinking. It was now midway 'twixt the hours +of five and six. Nine miles only lay before him, and that +thought again revived him. He reached the water's edge, +and hailed the ferryboat, which was then on the other side of +the river. At that instant 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 pull fast. The man +obeyed; but he had to breast a strong stream, and had a lazy +bark and heavy sculls to contend with. He had scarcely left +the shore when, another shout was raised from the pursuers. +The tramp of their steeds grew louder and louder.</p> + +<p>The boat had scarcely reached the middle of the stream. +His captors were at hand. Quietly did he walk down the +bank, and as cautiously enter the water. There was a plunge, +and steed and rider were swimming down the river.</p> + +<p>Major Mowbray was at the brink of the stream. He hesitated +an instant, and stemmed the tide. Seized, as it were,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> +by a mania for equestrian distinction, Mr. Coates braved the +torrent. Not so Paterson. He very coolly took out his bulldogs, +and, watching Turpin, cast up in his own mind the <i>pros</i> +and <i>cons</i> of shooting him as he was crossing. "I could certainly +hit him," thought, or said, the constable; "but what of +that? A dead highwayman is worth nothing—alive, he <i>weighs</i> +300<i>l</i>. I won't shoot him, but I'll make a pretence." And +he fired accordingly.</p> + +<p>The shot skimmed over the water, but did not, as it was intended, +do much mischief. It, however, occasioned a mishap, +which had nearly proved fatal to our aquatic attorney. +Alarmed at the report of the pistol, in the nervous agitation of +the moment Coates drew in his rein so tightly that his steed +instantly sank. A moment or two afterwards he rose, shaking +his ears, and floundering heavily towards the shore; and such +was the chilling effect of this sudden immersion, that Mr. +Coates now thought 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 the road. "I shall do it +yet," shouted Dick; "that stream has saved her. Hark away, +lass! Hark away!"</p> + +<p>Bess heard the cheering cry, and she answered to the call. +She roused all her energies; strained every sinew, and put +forth all her remaining strength. Once more, on wings of +swiftness, she bore him away from his pursuers, and Major +Mowbray, who had now gained the shore, and made certain of +securing him, beheld him spring, like a wounded hare, from +beneath his very hand.</p> + +<p>"It cannot hold out," said the major; "it is but an expiring +flash; that gallant steed must soon drop."</p> + +<p>"She be regularly booked, that's certain," said the postboy.</p> + +<p>"We shall find her on the road."</p> + +<p>Contrary to all expectation, however, Bess held on, and set +pursuit at defiance. Her pace was swift as when she started.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> +But it was unconscious and mechanical action. It wanted the +ease, the lightness, the life of her former riding. She seemed +screwed up to a task which she must execute. There was no +flogging, no gory heel; but the heart was throbbing, tugging +at the sides within. Her spirit spurred her onwards. Her +eye was glazing; her chest heaving; her flank quivering; +her crest again fallen. Yet she held on. "She is dying!" +said Dick. "I feel it——" No, she held on.</p> + +<p>Fulford is past. The towers and pinnacles of York burst +upon him in all the freshness, the beauty, and the glory of a +bright, clear, autumnal morn. The ancient city seemed to +smile a welcome—a greeting. The noble Minster and its +serene and massive pinnacles, crocketed, lantern-like, and +beautiful; St. Mary's lofty spire, All-Hallows Tower, the massive +mouldering walls of the adjacent postern, the grim castle, and +Clifford's neighboring keep—all beamed upon him, like a +bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.</p> + +<p>"It is done—it is won," cried Dick. "Hurrah! hurrah!" +And the sunny air was cleft with his shouts.</p> + +<p>Bess was not insensible to her master's exultation. She +neighed feebly in answer to his call, and reeled forwards. It +was a piteous sight to see her,—to mark her staring, protruding +eyeball,—her shaking flanks; but, while life and limb held +together, she held on.</p> + +<p>Another mile is past. York is near.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" shouted Dick; but his voice was hushed. Bess +tottered—fell. There was a dreadful gasp—a parting moan—a +snort; her eye gazed, for an instant, upon her master, with a +dying glare; then grew glassy, rayless, fixed. A shiver ran +through her frame. Her heart had burst.</p> + +<p>Dick's eyes were blinded, as with rain. His triumph, though +achieved, was forgotten—his own safety was disregarded. He +stood weeping and swearing, like one beside himself.</p> + +<p>"And art thou gone, Bess?" cried he, in a voice of agony, +lifting up his courser's head, and kissing her lips, covered with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> +blood-flecked foam. "Gone, gone! and I have killed the +best steed that was ever crossed! And for what?" added +Dick, beating his brow with his clenched hand—"for what? +for what?"</p> + +<p>At this moment the deep bell of the Minster clock tolled +out the hour of six.</p> + +<p>"I am answered," gasped Dick; "<i>it was to hear those +strokes</i>."</p> + +<p>Turpin was roused from the state of stupefaction into which +he had fallen 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: but he was spared the necessity of +using them, by discovering in the intruder the bearded visage +of the gipsy Balthazar. The patrico was habited in mendicant +weeds, and sustained a large wallet upon his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"I am," said Dick, roughly.</p> + +<p>"Your pursuers are at hand?"</p> + +<p>"Within a few hundred yards."</p> + +<p>"Then, why stay here? Fly while you can."</p> + +<p>"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 have won—what?" And his utterance was +again choked.</p> + +<p>"Hark! I hear the tramp of horse, and shouts," cried the +patrico. "Take this wallet. You will find a change of dress +within it. Dart into that thick copse—save yourself."</p> + +<p>"But Bess—I cannot leave her," exclaimed Dick, with an +agonizing look at his horse.</p> + +<p>"And what did Bess die for, but to save you?" rejoined the +patrico.</p> + +<p>"True, true," said Dick; "but take care of her, don't let +those dogs of hell meddle with her carcase."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Away," cried the patrico, "leave Bess to me."</p> + +<p>Possessing himself of the wallet, Dick disappeared in the +adjoining copse.</p> + +<p>He had not been gone many seconds when Major Mowbray +rode up.</p> + +<p>"Who is this?" exclaimed the Major, flinging himself +from his horse, and seizing the patrico; "this is not +Turpin."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," replied Balthazar, coolly. "I am not exactly +the figure for a highwayman."</p> + +<p>"Where is he? What has become of him?" asked Coates, +in despair, as he and Paterson joined the major.</p> + +<p>"Escaped, I fear," replied the major. "Have you seen +any one, fellow?" added he, addressing the patrico.</p> + +<p>"I have seen no one," replied Balthazar. "I am only this +instant arrived. This dead horse lying in the road attracted +my attention."</p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Paterson, leaping from his steed, "this +may be Turpin after all. He has as many disguises as the +devil himself, and may have carried that goat's hair in his +pocket." Saying which, he seized the patrico by the beard, +and shook it with as little reverence as the Gaul handled the +hirsute chin of the Roman senator.</p> + +<p>"The devil! hands off," roared Balthazar. "By Salamon, +I won't stand such usage. Do you think a beard like mine is +the growth of a few minutes? Hands off! I say."</p> + +<p>"Regularly done!" said Paterson, removing his hold of the +patrico's chin, and looking as blank as a cartridge.</p> + +<p>"Ay," exclaimed Coates; "all owing to this worthless piece +of carrion. If it were not that I hope to see him dangling +from those walls"—pointing towards the Castle—"I should +wish her master were by her side now. To the dogs with +her." And he was about to spurn the breathless carcase of +poor Bess, when a sudden blow, dealt by the patrico's staff, +felled him to the ground.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll teach you to molest me," said Balthazar, about to +attack Paterson.</p> + +<p>"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 aches sufficiently without the aid of your +cudgel, old fellow. Come, Mr. Coates, take my arm, and +let's be moving. We've had an infernal long ride for +nothing."</p> + +<p>"Not so," replied Coates; "I've paid pretty dearly for it. +However, let us see if we can get any breakfast at the Bowling-green, +yonder; though I've already had my morning draught," +added the facetious man of law, looking at his dripping +apparel.</p> + +<p>"Poor Black Bess!" said Major Mowbray, wistfully regarding +the body of the mare, as it lay stretched at his feet. +"Thou deservedst a better fate, and a better master. In thee, +Dick Turpin has lost his best friend. His exploits will, henceforth, +want the coloring of romance, which thy unfailing energies +threw over them. Light lie the ground over thee, thou +matchless mare!"</p> + +<p>To the Bowling-green the party proceeded, leaving the patrico +in undisturbed possession of the lifeless body of Black +Bess. Major Mowbray ordered a substantial repast to be +prepared with all possible expedition.</p> + +<p>A countryman, in a smock-frock, was busily engaged at his +morning's meal.</p> + +<p>"To see that fellow bolt down his breakfast, one would think +he had fasted for a month," said Coates; "see the wholesome +effects of an honest, industrious life, Paterson. I envy him his +appetite—I should fall to with more zest were Dick Turpin in +his place."</p> + +<p>The countryman looked up. He was an odd-looking fellow, +with a terrible squint, and a strange, contorted countenance.</p> + +<p>"An ugly dog!" exclaimed Paterson: "what a devil of a +twist he has got!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's that you says about Dick Taarpin, measter?" +asked the countryman, with his mouth half full of bread.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen aught of him?" asked Coates.</p> + +<p>"Not I," mumbled the rustic; "but I hears aw the folks +hereabouts talk on him. They say as how he sets all the lawyers +and constables at defiance, 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!"</p> + +<p>"That's all over now," said Coates, peevishly. "He has +cut his own throat—ridden his famous mare to death."</p> + +<p>The countryman almost choked himself, in the attempt to +bolt a huge mouthful. "Ay—indeed, measter! How happened +that?" asked he, so soon as he recovered speech.</p> + +<p>"The fool rode her from London to York last night," returned +Coates; "such a feat was never performed before. +What horse could be expected to live through such work as +that?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, he were a foo' to attempt that," observed the countryman; +"but you followed belike?"</p> + +<p>"We did."</p> + +<p>"And took him arter all, I reckon?" asked the rustic, +squinting more horribly than ever.</p> + +<p>"No," returned Coates, "I can't say we did; but we'll +have him yet. I'm pretty sure he can't be far off. We may +be nearer him than we imagine."</p> + +<p>"May be so, measter," returned the countryman; "but +might I be so bold as to ax how many horses you used i' the +chase—some half-dozen, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"Half a dozen!" growled Paterson; "we had twenty at the +least."</p> + +<p>"And I <span class="smcapl">ONE</span>!" mentally ejaculated Turpin, for he was the +countryman.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_V" id="BOOK_V"></a>BOOK V</h2> + + +<h3>THE OATH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was an ill oath better broke than kept—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laws of nature, and of nations, do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispense with matters of divinity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such a case.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Tateham.</span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I5" id="CHAPTER_I5"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE HUT ON THORNE WASTE</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Hind.</i> Are all our horses and our arms in safety?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Furbo.</i> They feed, like Pluto's palfreys, under ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our pistols, swords, and other furniture,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are safely locked up at our rendezvous.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Prince of Prigs' Revels.</i></p></div> + + +<p>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, situate on the banks of the deep and oozy Don, at +the eastern extremity of that extensive moor. Ostensibly +its owner fulfilled the duties of ferryman to that part of the +river; but as the road which skirted his tenement was little +frequented, his craft was, for the most part, allowed to sleep +undisturbed in her moorings.</p> + +<p>In reality, however, he was the inland agent of a horde of +smugglers who infested the neighboring coast; his cabin was +their rendezvous; and not unfrequently, it was said, the depository +of their contraband goods. Conkey Jem—so was he +called by his associates, on account of the Slawkenbergian promontory +which decorated his countenance—had been an old +hand at the same trade; but having returned from a seven +years' leave of absence from his own country, procured by his +lawless life, now managed matters with more circumspection +and prudence, and had never since been detected in his former +illicit traffic; nor, though so marvellously gifted in that particular +himself, was he ever known to <i>nose</i> 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 from +justice; and although the sanctity of his walls would, in all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> +probability, have been little regarded, had any one been, detected +within them, yet, strange to say, even if a robber had +been tracked—as it often chanced—to Jem's immediate +neighborhood, all traces of him were sure to be lost at the +ferryman's hut; and further search was useless.</p> + +<p>Within, the hut presented such an appearance as might be +expected, from its owner's pursuits and its own unpromising +exterior. Consisting of little more than a couple of rooms, +the rude whitewashed walls exhibited, in lieu of prints of more +pretension, a gallery of choicely-illustrated ballads, celebrating +the exploits of various highwaymen, renowned in song, amongst +which our friend Dick Turpin figured conspicuously upon his +sable steed, Bess being represented by a huge rampant black +patch, and Dick, with a pistol considerably longer than the +arm that sustained it. Next to this curious collection was a +drum-net, a fishing-rod, a landing-net, an eel-spear, and other +piscatorial apparatus, with a couple of sculls and a boat-hook, +indicative of Jem's ferryman's office, suspended by various +hooks; the whole blackened and begrimed by peat-smoke, +there being no legitimate means of <i>exit</i> permitted to the vapor +generated by the turf-covered hearthstone. The only window, +indeed, in the hut, was to the front; the back apartment, +which served Jem for dormitory, had no aperture whatever for +the admission of light, except such as was afforded through +the door of communication between the rooms. A few broken +rush-bottomed chairs, with a couple of dirty tables, formed the +sum total of the ferryman's furniture.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the grotesque effect of his exaggerated +nasal organ, Jem's aspect was at once savage and repulsive; +his lank black hair hung about his inflamed visage in wild elf +locks, the animal predominating throughout; his eyes were +small, red, and wolfish, and glared suspiciously from beneath +his scarred and tufted eyebrows; while certain of his teeth +projected, like the tusks of a boar, from out his coarse-lipped, +sensual mouth. Dwarfish in stature, and deformed in person,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> +Jem was built for strength; and what with his width of shoulder +and shortness of neck, his figure looked as square and as solid as +a cube. 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 of his fingers, presented a knot of +folded muscles, the concentrated force of which few would +have desired to encounter in action.</p> + +<p>It was now on the stroke of midnight; and Jem, who had +been lying extended upon the floor of his hovel, suddenly +aroused by that warning impulse which never fails to awaken +one of his calling at the exact moment when they require to +be upon the alert, now set about fanning into flame the expiring +fuel upon his hearth. Having succeeded in igniting +further portions of the turf, Jem proceeded to examine the +security of his door and window, and satisfied that lock and +bolt were shot, and that the shutter was carefully closed, he +kindled a light at his fire, and walked towards his bedroom. +But it was not to retire for the night that the ferryman entered +his dormitory. Beside his crazy couch stood a litter of empty +bottles and a beer cask, crowding the chamber. The latter +he rolled aside, and pressing his foot upon the plank beneath +it, the board gave way, and a trap-door opening, discovered a +ladder, conducting, apparently, into the bowels of the earth. +Jem leaned over the abyss, and called in hoarse accents +to some one below.</p> + +<p>An answer was immediately returned, and a light became +soon afterwards visible at the foot of the ladder. Two figures +next ascended; the first who set foot within the ferryman's +chamber was Alan Rookwood: the other, as the reader may +perhaps conjecture, was his grandson.</p> + +<p>"Is it the hour?" asked Luke, as he sprang from out the +trap-door.</p> + +<p>"Ay," replied Jem, with a coarse laugh, "or I had not disturbed +myself to call you. But, maybe," added he, softening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> +his manner a little, "you'll like some refreshments before +you start? A stoup of Nantz will put you in cue for the job, +ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Not I," replied Luke, who could ill tolerate his companion's +familiarity.</p> + +<p>"Give me to drink," said Alan, walking feebly towards the +fire, and extending his skinny fingers before it. "I am chilled +by the damps of that swampy cave—the natural heat within +me is nigh extinguished."</p> + +<p>"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'll be the better on't, for you look +desperate queer, man, about the mazard."</p> + +<p>Alan was, in sooth, a ghastly spectacle. The events of the +last few days had wrought a fearful change. His countenance +was almost exanimate; and when, with shaking hand and +trembling lips, he had drained the fiery potion to the dregs, a +terrible grimace was excited upon his features, such as is produced +upon the corpse by the action of the galvanic machine. +Even Jem regarded him with a sort of apprehension. After +he had taken breath for a moment, Alan broke out into +a fit of wild and immoderate laughter.</p> + +<p>"Why, ay," said he, "this is indeed to grow young again, +and to feel fresh fire within one's veins. Who would have +thought so much of life and 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 two back. The +damps of that den had destroyed me—and the solitude—the +<i>waking dreams</i> I've had—the visions! horrible! I will not +think of them. I am better now—ready to execute my plans—<i>your</i> +plans I should say, grandson Luke. Are our horses in +readiness? Why do we tarry? The hour is arrived, and I +would not that my new-blown courage should evaporate ere +the great work for which I live be accomplished. That done, +I ask no further stimulant. Let us away."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We tarry but for Turpin," said Luke; "I am as impatient +as yourself. I fear some mischance must have befallen him, +or he would have been true to his appointment. Do you not +think so?" he added, addressing the ferryman.</p> + +<p>"Why," replied Jem, reluctantly, "since you put it home +to me, and I can't conceal it no longer, I'll tell you what I +didn't tell afore, for fear you should be down in the mouth +about it. Dick Turpin can do nothing for you—he's +grabb'd."</p> + +<p>"Turpin apprehended!" ejaculated Luke.</p> + +<p>"Ay," returned Jem. "I learnt from a farmer who crossed +the ferry at nightfall, that he were grabb'd this morning at +York, after having ridden his famous cherry-colored prad to +death—that's what hurts me more not all the rest; though I +fear Dick will scarce cheat the nubbing cheat this go. His +time's up, I calculate."</p> + +<p>"Will you supply his place and accompany us?" asked +Luke of the ferryman.</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied Jem, shaking his head; "there's too +much risk, and too little profit, in the business for me—it +won't pay."</p> + +<p>"And what might tempt you to undertake the enterprise?" +asked Alan.</p> + +<p>"More than you have to offer, Master Peter," replied Jem, +who had not been enlightened upon the subject of Alan's real +name or condition.</p> + +<p>"How know you that?" demanded Alan. "Name your +demand."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll not say but a hundred pounds, if you had +it, might bribe me——"</p> + +<p>"To part with your soul to the devil, I doubt not," said +Luke, fiercely stamping the ground. "Let us be gone. We +need not his mercenary aid. We will do without him."</p> + +<p>"Stay," said Alan, "you shall have the hundred, provided +you will assure us of your services."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Cut no more blarneyfied whids, Master Sexton," replied +Jem, in a gruff tone. "If I'm to go, I must have the chink +down, and that's more nor either of you can do, I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>"Give me your purse," whispered Alan to his grandson. +"Pshaw," continued he, "do you hesitate? This man can do +much for us. Think upon Eleanor, and be prudent. You +cannot accomplish your task unaided." Taking the amount +from the purse, he gave it to the ferryman, adding, "If we +succeed, the sum shall be doubled; and now let us set out."</p> + +<p>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 treasure before him, as if he +would willingly, by force, have made it all his own.</p> + +<p>Alan saw the error he had committed in exposing the contents +of the purse to the avaricious ferryman, and was about +to restore it to Luke, when the bag was suddenly snatched +from his grasp, and himself levelled by a blow upon the floor. +Conkey Jem found the temptation irresistible. Knowing +himself to be a match for both his companions, and imagining +he was secure from interruption, he conceived the idea of +making away with them, and possessing himself of their +wealth. No sooner had he disposed of Alan, than he assailed +Luke, who met his charge half way. With the vigor and alacrity +of the latter the reader is already acquainted, but he was +no match for the herculean strength of the double-jointed ferryman, +who, with the ferocity of the boar he so much resembled, +thus furiously attacked him. Nevertheless, as may be +imagined, he was not disposed to yield up his life tamely. He +saw at once the villain's murderous intentions, and, well aware +of his prodigious power, would not have risked a close struggle +could he have avoided it. Snatching the eel-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 clasp terrible +as that of a Polar bear. In spite of all his struggles, Luke was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> +speedily hurled to the ground: and Jem, who had thrown +himself upon him, was apparently searching about for some +weapon to put a bloody termination to the conflict, when the +trampling of a horse was heard at the door, three taps were +repeated slowly, one after the other, and a call resounded from +a whistle.</p> + +<p>"Damnation!" ejaculated Jem, gruffly, "interrupted!" +And he seemed irresolute, slightly altering his position on +Luke's body.</p> + +<p>The moment was fortunate for Luke, and, in all probability, +saved his life. He extricated himself from the ferryman's +grasp, regained his feet, and, what was of more importance, +the weapon he had thrown away.</p> + +<p>"Villain!" cried he, about to plunge the spear with all his +force into his enemy's side, "you shall——"</p> + +<p>The whistle was again heard without.</p> + +<p>"Don't you hear that?" cried Jem: "'Tis Turpin's call."</p> + +<p>"Turpin!" echoed Luke, dropping the point of his weapon. +"Unbar the door, you treacherous rascal, and admit him."</p> + +<p>"Well, say no more about it, Sir Luke," said Jem, fawningly; +"I knows I owes you my life, and I thank you for it. +Take back the lowre. He should not have shown it me—it +was that as did all the mischief."</p> + +<p>"Unbar the door, and parley not," said Luke contemptuously.</p> + +<p>Jem complied with pretended alacrity, but real reluctance, +casting suspicious glances at Luke as he withdrew the bolts. +The door at length being opened, haggard, exhausted, and +covered with dust, Dick Turpin staggered into the hut.</p> + +<p>"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 sank upon one of the stools.</p> + +<p>"We heard you were apprehended," said Luke. "I am +glad to find the information was false," added he, glancing +angrily at the ferryman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Whoever told you that, told you a lie, Sir Luke," replied +Dick; "but what are you scowling at, old Charon?—and you, +Sir Luke? Why do you glower at each other? Make fast the +door—bolt it, Cerberus—right! Now give 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 anything +happened to him, that he has taken his measure there +so quietly?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I trust," said Luke, stooping to raise up his +grandsire. "The blow has stunned him."</p> + +<p>"The blow?" repeated Turpin. "What! there <i>has</i> been a +quarrel then? I thought as much from your amiable looks at +each other. Come, come, we must have no differences. Give +the old earthworm a taste of this—I'll engage it will bring him +to fast enough. Ay, rub his temples with it if you'd rather; +but it's a better remedy down the gullet—the natural course; +and hark ye, Jem, search your crib quickly, and see if you +have any <i>grub</i> within it, and any more <i>bub</i> in the cellar: I'm +as hungry as a hunter, and as thirsty as a camel."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II5" id="CHAPTER_II5"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MAJOR MOWBRAY</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center"><i>Mephistopheles.</i> Out with your toasting iron! Thrust away!</p> + +<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Hayward's</span> <i>Translation of Faust</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Conkey Jem went in search of such provisions as his hovel +afforded. Turpin, meantime, lent his assistance towards the +revival of Alan Rookwood; and it was not long before his +efforts, united with those of Luke, were successful, and Alan +restored to consciousness. He was greatly surprised to find +the highwayman had joined them, and expressed an earnest +desire to quit the hut as speedily as possible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That shall be done forthwith, my dear fellow," said Dick. +"But if you had fasted as long as I have done, and gone +through a few of my fatigues into the bargain, you would perceive, +without difficulty, the propriety of supping before +you started. Here comes Old Nosey, with a flitch of bacon +and a loaf. Egad, I can scarce wait for the toasting. In my +present mood, I could almost devour a grunter in the sty." +Whereupon he applied himself to the loaf, and to a bottle of +stout March ale, which Jem placed upon the table, quaffing +copious draughts of the latter, while the ferryman employed +himself in toasting certain rashers of the flitch upon the hissing +embers.</p> + +<p>Luke, meanwhile, stalked impatiently about the room. He +had laid aside his tridental spear, having first, however, placed +a pistol within his breast to be ready for instant service, should +occasion demand it, as he could now put little reliance upon +the ferryman's fidelity. He glanced with impatience at Turpin, +who pursued his meal with steady voracity, worthy of a half-famished +soldier; but the highwayman returned no answer to +his looks, except such as was conveyed by the incessant clatter +of his masticating jaws, during the progress of his, apparently, +interminable repast.</p> + +<p>"Ready for you in a second, Sir Luke," said Dick; "all +right now—capital ale, Charon—strong as Styx—ha, ha!—one +other rasher, and I've done. Sorry to keep you—can't +conceive how cleverly I put the winkers upon 'em at York, in +the dress of a countryman; all owing to old Balty, the patrico, +an old pal—ha, ha! My old pals never <i>nose</i> upon me—eh, +Nosey—always help one out of the water—always staunch. +Here's health to you, old crony."</p> + +<p>Jem returned a sulky response, as he placed the last rasher +on the table, which was speedily discussed.</p> + +<p>"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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span> +be disturbed. Alas! alas! my bonny Black Bess! But no +matter, her name is yet alive—her deeds will survive her—the +trial is over. And now," continued he, rising from his seat, +"I'm with you. Where are the tits?"</p> + +<p>"In the stable, under ground," growled Jem.</p> + +<p>Alan Rookwood, in the mean time, had joined his grandson, +and they conversed an instant or two apart.</p> + +<p>"My strength will not bear me through the night," said he. +"That fellow has thoroughly disabled me. You must go without +me to the hall. Here is the key of the secret passage. +You know the entrance. I will await you in the tomb."</p> + +<p>"The tomb!" echoed Luke.</p> + +<p>"Ay, our family vault," returned Alan, with a ghastly grin—"it +is the only place of security for me now. Let me see <i>her</i> +there. Let me know that my vengeance is complete, that I +triumph in my death over him, the accursed <i>brother</i>, through +you, my grandson. <i>You</i> have a rival brother—a successful +one; you know now what hatred is."</p> + +<p>"I do," returned Luke, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"But not such hate as mine, which, through a life, a long +life, hath endured, intense as when 'twas first engendered in +my bosom; which <i>from one</i> hath spread o'er all my race—o'er +all save <i>you</i>—and which even now, when death stares me in +the face—when the spirit pants to fly from its prison-house, +burns fiercely as ever. You cannot know what hate like that +may be. You must have wrongs—such wrongs as <i>mine</i> +first."</p> + +<p>"My hate to Ranulph is bitter as your own to Sir Reginald."</p> + +<p>"Name him not," shrieked Alan. "But, oh! to think upon +the bride he robbed me of—the young—the beautiful!—whom +I loved to madness; whose memory is a barbed shaft, +yet rankling keen as ever at my heart. God of Justice! how +is it that I have thus long survived? But some men die by +inches. My dying lips shall name him once again, and then +'twill be but to blend his name with curses."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I speak of him no more," said Luke. "I will meet you +in the vault."</p> + +<p>"Remember, to-morrow is her wedding day with Ranulph."</p> + +<p>"Think you I forget it?"</p> + +<p>"Bear it constantly in mind. To-morrow's dawn must see +her <i>yours</i> or <i>his</i>. You have her oath. To you or to death +she is affianced. If she should hesitate in her election, do +not you hesitate. Woman's will is fickle; her scruples of +conscience will be readily overcome; she will not heed her +vows—but let her not escape you. Cast off all your weakness. +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—if you are surrounded—if you cannot bear her +off—use this," and he placed a dagger in Luke's hands. "It +has avenged me, ere now, on a perjured wife, it will avenge +you of a forsworn mistress, and remove all obstacle to Rookwood."</p> + +<p>Luke took the weapon.</p> + +<p>"Would you have me kill her?" demanded he.</p> + +<p>"Sooner than she should be Ranulph's."</p> + +<p>"Ay, aught sooner than that. But I would not murder +both."</p> + +<p>"Both!" echoed Alan. "I understand you not."</p> + +<p>"Sybil and Eleanor," replied Luke; "for, as surely as I +live, Sybil's death will lie at my door."</p> + +<p>"How so?" asked Alan; "the poison was self-ministered."</p> + +<p>"True," replied Luke, with terrible emphasis, "but I <i>spoke +daggers</i>. 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 her death!"</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," replied Alan. "'Tis not for you—a man—to +talk thus. A truce to these womanish fancies."</p> + +<p>"Womanish or not," returned Luke; "either my fancy has +deceived me, or I beheld her, distinctly as I now behold you, +within yon cave, while you were sleeping by my side."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is disordered fancy," said Alan Rookwood. "You will +live—live to inherit Rookwood—live to see them fall crushed +beneath your feet. For myself, if I but see you master of +Eleanor's hand, or know that she no longer lives to bless your +rival, or to mar your prospects, I care not how soon I brave +my threatened doom."</p> + +<p>"Of one or other you shall be resolved to-night," said Luke, +placing the dagger within his vest.</p> + +<p>At this moment a trampling of a horse was heard before the +hovel, and in another instant a loud knocking resounded from +the door. The ferryman instantly extinguished the light, +motioning his companions to remain silent.</p> + +<p>"What, ho!" shouted a voice. "Ferry wanted."</p> + +<p>"Gad zooks!" exclaimed Dick. "As I live, 'tis Major +Mowbray!"</p> + +<p>"Major Mowbray!" echoed Alan, in amazement "What +doth he here?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Scarcely were the words out of Dick's mouth, when further +clatter was heard at the door, and the tones of Coates were +heard, in <i>altissimo</i> key, demanding admittance.</p> + +<p>"Let us retire into the next room," whispered Turpin, "and +then admit them by all means, Conkey. And, hark ye, manage +to detain them a few seconds."</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," said Jem. "There's a bit of a hole you can +peep through."</p> + +<p>Another loud rat-tat was heard at the door, threatening to +burst it from its hinges.</p> + +<p>"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 river none the faster for making so much noise."</p> + +<p>With these words he unbarred the door, and Coates and +Paterson, who, it appeared, were proceeding to Rookwood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span> +entered the hovel. Major Mowbray remained on horseback +at the door.</p> + +<p>"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 of amazing <i>spirit</i>."</p> + +<p>"May be I can, master, if I choose. But won't the other +gemman walk in-doors likewise?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Coates; "Major Mowbray don't choose to +dismount."</p> + +<p>"Well, as you please," said Jem. "It'll take me a minute +or two to get the punt in order for all them prads."</p> + +<p>"The brandy in the first place," said Coates. "What's +here?" added the loquacious attorney, noticing the remnants +of Turpin's repast. "But that we're hurried, I should like a +little frizzled bacon myself."</p> + +<p>Jem opened the door of his dormitory with the greatest +caution, though apparent indifference, and almost instantly +returned with the brandy. Coates filled a glass for Paterson, +and then another for himself. The ferryman left the house +apparently to prepare his boat, half closing the door after him.</p> + +<p>"By my faith! this is the right thing, Paterson," said the +attorney. "We may 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 go through ere we reach +Rookwood. After all, we made but a poor night's work of it, +Master Constable. Cursed stupid in us to let him escape. I +only wish we had such another chance. Ah, if we had him +within reach now, how we would spring upon him—secure him +in an instant. I should glory 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 dies game. Ha, +ha! You think he's sure to swing, Paterson, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," replied the chief constable. "I wish I was as +certain of my reward as that Turpin will eventually figure at +the scragging-post."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your reward!" replied Coates. "Make yourself easy on +that score, my boy; you shall have your dues, depend upon it. +Nay, for the matter of that, I'll give you the money now, if +you think proper."</p> + +<p>"Nothing like time present," said Paterson. "We'll make +all square at once."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Coates, taking out a pocket-book, "you +shall have the hundred I promised. You won't get Turpin's +reward, the three hundred pounds; but that can't be helped. +You shall have mine—always a man of my word, Paterson," +continued the attorney, counting out the money. "My +father, the thief-taker, was a man of his word before me."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," said the chief constable; "I shall always be +happy to serve you."</p> + +<p>"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 rank impostor! 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 tuck him up with his brother blade, why it would +be worth double. He's all along been a thorn in my Lady +Rookwood's side; he's an artful scoundrel."</p> + +<p>"Leave him to me," said Paterson; "I'll have him in less +than a week. What's your charge against him?"</p> + +<p>"Felony, burglary, murder, every description of crime under +the heavens," said Coates. "He's a very devil incarnate. +Dick Turpin is as mild 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 keen file; I'll sound +him. Thirty, forty, fifty—there's the exact amount. So +much for Dick Turpin."</p> + +<p>"Dick Turpin thanks you for it in person," said Dick, suddenly +snatching the whole sum from Paterson's hands, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span> +felling the chief constable with a blow of one of his pistols. +"I wish I was as sure of escaping the gallows 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 at your +elbow."</p> + +<p>Coates, who was terrified almost out of his senses at the +sight of Turpin, scarcely ventured to turn his head; but when +he did so, he was perfectly horror-stricken at the threatening +aspect of Luke, who held a cutlass in his hand, which he +had picked up in the ferryman's bedroom.</p> + +<p>"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 existence to their number."</p> + +<p>"Mercy, for God's sake, mercy!" cried Coates, throwing +himself at Luke's feet. "I meant not what I said."</p> + +<p>"Hence, reptile," said Luke, pushing him aside; "I leave +you to be dealt upon by others."</p> + +<p>At this juncture, the door of the hut was flung open, and +in rushed Major Mowbray, sword in hand, followed by Conkey +Jem.</p> + +<p>"There he stands, sir," cried the latter; "upon him!"</p> + +<p>"What! Conkey Jem turned snitch upon his pals?" cried +Dick; "I scarce believe my own ears."</p> + +<p>"Make yourself scarce, Dick," growled Jem; "the jigger's +open, and the boat loose. Leave Luke to his fate. He's sold."</p> + +<p>"Never! vile traitor," shouted Dick; "'tis thou art <i>sold</i>, +not he;" and, almost ere the words were spoken, a ball was +lodged in the brain of the treacherous ferryman.</p> + +<p>Major Mowbray, meanwhile, had rushed furiously upon +Luke, who met his assault with determined calmness. The +strife was sharp, and threatened a speedy and fatal issue. On +the Major's side it was a desperate attack of cut and thrust, +which Luke had some difficulty in parrying; but as yet no +wounds were inflicted. Soldier as was the Major, Luke was +not a whit inferior to him in his knowledge of the science of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span> +defence, and in the exercise 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; but Luke +shouted to him to stand aside, and all that Dick could do, +amid the terrific clash of steel, was to kick the tables out of +the way of the combatants. Luke's aim was now slightly +grazed by a cut made by the Major, which he had parried. +The smart of the wound roused his ire. He attacked his adversary +in his turn, with so much vigor and good will, that, +driven backwards by the irresistible assault, Major Mowbray +stumbled over the ferryman's body, which happened to lie in +his way; and his sword being struck from his grasp, his life +became at once at his assailant's disposal.</p> + +<p>Luke sheathed his sword. "Major Mowbray," said he, +sternly, "your life is in my power. I spare it for the blood +that is between us—for your sister's sake. I would not raise +my hand against her brother."</p> + +<p>"I disclaim your kindred with me, villain!" wrathfully exclaimed +the Major. "I hold you no otherwise than as a +wretched impostor, who has set up claims he cannot justify; +and as to my sister, if you dare to couple her name——" and +the Major made an ineffectual attempt to raise himself, and to +regain his sword, which Turpin, however, removed.</p> + +<p>"Dare!" echoed Luke, scornfully; "hereafter, you may +learn to fear my threats, and acknowledge the extent of my +daring; and in that confidence I give you life. Listen to me, +sir. I am bound for Rookwood. I have private access to the +house—to your sister's chamber—<i>her chamber</i>—mark you +that! I shall go armed—attended. This night she shall be +mine. From you—from Ranulph—from Lady Rookwood, +from all will I bear her off. She shall be mine, and you, +before the dawn, my brother, or——" And Luke paused.</p> + +<p>"What further villainy remains untold?" inquired the +Major, fiercely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You shall bewail your sister's memory," replied Luke, +gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I embrace the latter alternative with rapture," replied the +Major—"God grant her firmness to resist you. But I tremble +for her." And the stern soldier groaned aloud in his agony.</p> + +<p>"Here is a cord to bind him," said Turpin; "he must +remain a prisoner here."</p> + +<p>"Right," said Alan Rookwood, "unless—but enough blood +has been shed already."</p> + +<p>"Ay, marry has there," said Dick, "and I had rather not +have given Conkey Jem a taste of blue plumb, had there +been any other mode of silencing 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 Turpin stands by. +Come, sir," added he, to the Major, as he bound him hand +and foot with the rope, "I'll do it as gently as I can. You +had better submit with a good grace. There's no help for it. +And now for my friend Paterson, who was so anxious to furnish +me with a hempen cravat, before my 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 at liberation 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'll accommodate +you with a seat behind my own saddle—a distinction I +never yet conferred upon any of your tribe. Recollect the +countryman at the Bowling-green at York—ha, ha! Come +along, sir." And having kicked out the turf fire, Dick +prepared to depart.</p> + +<p>It would be vain to describe the feelings of rage and despair +which agitated the major's bosom, as he saw the party quit the +hovel, accompanied by Coates. Aware as he was of their destination, +after one or two desperate but ineffectual attempts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> +to liberate himself, by which he only increased the painful +constriction of his bonds, without in the slightest degree ameliorating +his condition, he resigned himself, with bitterest forebodings, +to his fate. There was no one even to sympathize +with his sufferings. Beside him lay the gory corpse of the +ferryman, and, at a little distance, the scarcely more animate +frame of the chief constable. And here we must leave him, +to follow, for a short space, the course of Luke and his companions.</p> + +<p>Concerning themselves little about their own steeds, the +party took those which first offered, and embarking man and +horse in the boat, soon pushed across the waters of the lutulent +Don. Arrived at the opposite banks of the river, they +mounted, and, guided by Luke, after half an hour's sharp +riding, arrived at the skirts of Rookwood Park. Entering +this beautiful sylvan domain, they rode for some time silently +among the trees, till they reached the knoll whence Luke +beheld the hall on the eventful night of his discovery of his +mother's wedding ring. A few days only had elapsed, but +during that brief space what storms had swept over his bosom—what +ravages had they not made! He was then all ardor—all +impetuosity—all independence. The future presented a bright +unclouded prospect. Wealth, honors, and happiness apparently +awaited him. It was still the same exquisite scene, +hushed, holy, tranquil—even solemn, as upon 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 bounding deer—upon the water, the misty wreaths of +vapor—all, all was dreamy, delightful, soothing, all save his +heart—<i>there</i> was the conflict—<i>there</i> the change. Was it a +troubled dream, with the dark oppression of which he was +struggling, or was it stern, waking, actual life? That moment's +review of his wild career was terrible. He saw to what extremes +his ungovernable passions had hurried him; he saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span> +their inevitable consequences; he saw also his own fate; but +he rushed madly on.</p> + +<p>He swept round the park, keeping under the covert of the +wood, till he arrived at the avenue leading to the mansion. +The stems of the aged limes gleamed silvery white in the +moonshine. Luke drew in the rein beneath one of the largest +of the trees.</p> + +<p>"A branch has fallen," said he, as his grandsire joined him.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Alan, "a branch from that tree?"</p> + +<p>"It bodes ill to Ranulph," whispered Luke, "does it not?"</p> + +<p>"Perchance," muttered Alan. "'Tis a vast bough!"</p> + +<p>"We meet within an hour," said Luke, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Within the tomb of our ancestry," replied Alan; "I will +await you there."</p> + +<p>And as he rode away, Alan murmured to himself the following +verse from one of his own ballads:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But whether gale or calm prevail, or threatening cloud hath fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By hand of Fate, predestinate, a limb that tree will shed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A verdant bough, untouched, I trow, by axe or tempest's breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Rookwood's head an omen dread of fast approaching death.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III5" id="CHAPTER_III5"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>HANDASSAH</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have heard it rumored for these many years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None of our family dies but there is seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shape of an old woman, which is given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By tradition to us to have been murthered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One night, as the prince sat up late at 's book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared to him; when, crying out for help,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentleman of his chamber found his Grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All in a cold sweat, altered much in face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And language, since which apparition<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hath grown worse and worse, and much I fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cannot live.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Duchess of Malfy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>In one of those large antique rooms, belonging to the suite +of apartments constituting the eastern wing of Rookwood +Place—upon the same night as that in which the events just +detailed took place, and it might be about the same time, sat +Eleanor, and her new attendant, the gipsy Handassah. The +eyes of the former were fixed, with a mixture of tenderness +and pity, upon the lineaments of another lovely female countenance, +bearing a striking resemblance to her own, though +evidently, from its attire, and bygone costume, not intended +for her, depicted upon a tablet, and placed upon a raised +frame. It was nigh the witching hour of night. The room +was sombre and dusky, partially dismantled of its once flowing +arras, and the lights set upon the table feebly illumined its +dreary extent. Tradition marked it out as the chamber in +which many of the hapless dames of Rookwood had expired; +and hence Superstition claimed it as her peculiar domain. +The room was reputed to be haunted, and had for a long space<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span> +shared the fate of haunted 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 shudderingly +from the picture.</p> + +<p>"Take it hence," exclaimed Eleanor; "I have looked at +that image of my ancestors, till it has seemed endowed with +life—till its eyes have appeared to return my gaze, and weep. +Remove it, Handassah."</p> + +<p>Handassah silently withdrew the tablet, placing it against +the wall of the chamber.</p> + +<p>"Not there—not there," cried Eleanor; "turn it with its +face to the wall. I cannot bear those eyes. And now come +hither, girl—draw nearer—for I know not what of sudden +dread has crossed me. This was <i>her</i> room, Handassah—the +chamber of my ancestress—of all the Ladies Rookwood—where +they say——Ha! did you not hear a noise?—a rustle +in the tapestry—a footstep near the wall? Why, you look as +startled as I look, wench; stay by me—I will not have you +stir from my side—'twas mere fancy."</p> + +<p>"No doubt, lady," said Handassah, with her eyes fixed +upon the arras.</p> + +<p>"Hist!" exclaimed Eleanor, "there 'tis again."</p> + +<p>"'Tis nothing," replied Handassah. But her looks belied +her words.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will command myself," said Eleanor, endeavoring +to regain her calmness; "but the thoughts of the Lady +Eleanor—for <i>she</i> was an Eleanor like to me, Handassah—and +ah! even more ill-fated and unhappy—have brought a +whole train of melancholy fancies into my mind. I cannot +banish them: nay, though painful to me, I recur to these +images of dread with a species of fascination, as if in their +fate I contemplated mine own. Not one, who hath wedded +a Rookwood, but hath rued it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yet you will wed one," said Handassah.</p> + +<p>"He is not like the rest," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"How know you that, lady?" asked Handassah. "His +time may not yet be come. See what to-morrow will bring +forth."</p> + +<p>"You are averse to my marriage with Ranulph, Handassah."</p> + +<p>"I was Sybil's handmaid ere I was yours, lady. I bear in +mind a solemn compact with the dead, which this marriage +will violate. You are plighted by oath to another, if he should +demand your hand."</p> + +<p>"But he has not demanded it."</p> + +<p>"Would you accept him were he to do so?" asked Handassah, +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I meant not that," replied Eleanor. "My oath is annulled."</p> + +<p>"Say not so, lady," cried Handassah—"'twas not for this +that Sybil spared your life. I love you, but I loved Sybil, and +I would see her dying behests complied with."</p> + +<p>"It may not be, Handassah," replied Eleanor. "Why, +from a phantom sense of honor, am I to sacrifice my whole +existence to one who neither can love me, nor whom I myself +could love? Am I to wed this man because, in her blind +idolatry of him, Sybil enforced an oath upon me which I had +no power to resist, and which was mentally cancelled while +taken? Recall not the horrors of that dreadful cell—urge not +the subject more. 'Tis in the hope that I may be freed for +ever from this persecution that I have consented thus early to +wed with Ranulph. This will set Luke's fancied claims at +rest for ever."</p> + +<p>Handassah answered not, but bent her head, as if in acquiescence.</p> + +<p>Steps were now heard near the door, and a servant ushered +in Dr. Small and Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"I am come to take leave of you for the night, my dear +young lady," said the doctor; "but before I start for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> +Vicarage, I have a word or two to say, in addition to the +advice you were so obliging as to receive from me this morning. +Suppose you allow your attendant to retire for a few +minutes. What I have got to say concerns yourself solely. +Your mother will bear us company. There," continued the +doctor, as Handassah was 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 I should make +at my powers, were I to be your husband, should be to discharge +the handmaiden. To the point of my visit. We are +alone, I think. This is a queer old house, Miss Mowbray; +and this is the queerest part of it. Walls have ears, they say; +and there are so many holes and corners in this mansion, that +one ought never to talk secrets above one's breath."</p> + +<p>"I am yet to learn, sir," said Eleanor, "that there is any +secret to be communicated."</p> + +<p>"Why, not much, I own," replied the doctor; "at least +what has occurred is no secret in the house by this time. +What do you think <i>has</i> happened?"</p> + +<p>"It is impossible for me to conjecture. Nothing to Ranulph, +I hope."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of consequence, I trust,—though he is part concerned +with it."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Pray satisfy her curiosity, doctor," interposed Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Small, rather more gravely, "the fact of +the matter stands thus:—Lady Rookwood, who, as you know, +was not the meekest wife in the world, now turns out by +no means the gentlest mother, and has within this hour +found out that she has some objection to your union with her +son."</p> + +<p>"You alarm me, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Don't alarm yourself at all. It will be got over without +difficulty, and only requires a little management. Ranulph is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span> +with her now, and I doubt not will arrange all to her satisfaction."</p> + +<p>"What was her objection?" asked Eleanor; "was it any +one founded upon my obligation to Luke—my oath?"</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut! dismiss that subject from your mind entirely," +said the doctor. "That oath is no more binding on your +conscience than would have been the ties of marriage had you +been wedded by yon recusant Romish priest, Father Checkley, +upon whose guilty head the Lord be merciful! Bestow not a +thought upon it. My anxiety, together with that of your +mother, is to see you now, as speedily as may be, wedded to +Ranulph, and then that idle question is set at rest for ever; +and therefore, even if such a thing were to occur as that Lady +Rookwood should not yield her consent to your marriage, as +that consent is totally unnecessary, we must go through the +ceremonial without it."</p> + +<p>"The grounds of Lady Rookwood's objections——" said Mrs. +Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"Ay, the grounds of her ladyship's objections," interposed +Small, who, when he had once got the lead, liked nobody to +talk but himself, "are simply these, and exactly the sort of +objections one would expect her to raise. She cannot bear +the idea of abandoning the control of the house and estates +to other hands. She cannot, and will not relinquish her station, +as head of the establishment, which Ranulph has insisted +upon as your right. I thought, when I conversed with her on +this subject, that she was changed, but</p> + +<p class="hd4">Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret.</p> + +<p>I beg your pardon. She is, and always will be, the same."</p> + +<p>"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 for me. I could be happy +with Ranulph anywhere—happier anywhere than here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span></p> + +<p>The kind-hearted doctor squeezed her hand in reply, brushing +a tear from his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why did he not concede it?" said Mrs. Mowbray, proudly. +"Because the choice remained not with him. It was not his +to concede. This house—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."</p> + +<p>"Without going quite so far as that, madam," said the +doctor, "it is but justice to your daughter that she should +be put in full possession of her rights; nor should I for one +instant advise, or even allow her to inhabit the same house +with Lady Rookwood. Her ladyship's peculiarities of temper +are such as to preclude all possibility of happiness. At the +same time, I trust by management—always by management, +madam—that her ladyship's quiet departure may be ensured. +I understand that all such legal arrangements in the way of +settlements as could be entered into between your daughter +and her future husband are completed. I have only to regret +the absence of my friend, Mr. Coates, at this momentous +conjuncture. It will be a loss to him. But he inherits from +his father a taste for thief-taking, which he is at present +indulging, to the manifest injury of his legitimate practice. Hark! +I hear Ranulph's step in the gallery. He will tell us the +result of his final interview. I came to give you advice, my +dear," added the doctor in a low tone to Eleanor; "but I find +you need it not. 'Whoso humbleth himself, shall be exalted.' +I am glad you do not split upon the rock which has stranded +half your generation."</p> + +<p>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 of the party, whose attention +was attracted by Ranulph's agitated manner.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" asked Dr. Small and Mrs. Mowbray +in the same breath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ranulph hesitated for a moment in his answer, during +which space he regarded Eleanor with the deepest anxiety, +and seemed revolving within himself how he could frame his +reply in such way as should be least painful to her feelings; +while, with instinctive apprehension of coming misfortune, Miss +Mowbray eagerly seconded the inquiries of her friends.</p> + +<p>"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 the infirmities of a parent, and to censure her +conduct as severely as I may do now. I feel the impropriety +of such a step, and I would willingly avoid it, could I do so in +justice to my own feelings—and especially at a moment like +the present—when every hope of my life is fixed upon uniting +myself to you, dear Eleanor, by ties as near as my own to that +parent. But the interview which I have just had with Lady +Rookwood—bitter and heart-breaking as it has been—compels +me to reprobate her conduct in the strongest terms, as harsh, +unjust, and dishonorable; and if I could wholly throw off the +son, as she avows she has thrown off the mother, I should +unhesitatingly pronounce it as little short of——"</p> + +<p>"Dear Ranulph," said Eleanor, palpitating with apprehension, +"I never saw you so much moved."</p> + +<p>"Nor with so much reason," rejoined Ranulph. "For myself, +I could endure anything—but for <i>you</i>——"</p> + +<p>"And does your dispute relate to <i>me</i>?" asked Eleanor. "Is +it for <i>my</i> sake you have braved your mother's displeasure? +Is it because Lady Rookwood is unwilling to resign the control +of this house and these lands to <i>me</i>, that you have +parted in anger with her? Was this the cause of your +quarrel?"</p> + +<p>"It was the origin of it," replied Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Eleanor, firmly, to Mrs. Mowbray, "go +with me to Lady Rookwood's chamber."</p> + +<p>"Wherefore?" demanded Mrs. Mowbray.</p> + +<p>"Question me not, dear mother, or let me go alone."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Daughter, I guess your meaning," said Mrs. Mowbray, +sternly. "You would relinquish your claims in favor of Lady +Rookwood. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Since you oblige me to answer you, mother," said Eleanor, +crimsoning, "I must admit that you have guessed my +meaning. To Lady Rookwood, as to yourself, I would be +a daughter as far as is consistent with my duty," added she, +blushing still more deeply, "but my first consideration shall +be my husband. And if Lady Rookwood can be content——But +pray question me not further—accompany me to her +chamber."</p> + +<p>"Eleanor," interposed Ranulph, "dearest Eleanor, the +sacrifice you would make is unnecessary—uncalled for. You +do not know my mother. She would not, I grieve to say, appreciate +the generosity of your motives. She would not give +you credit for your feelings. She would only resent your visit +as an intrusion."</p> + +<p>"My daughter comprehends you, sir," said Mrs. Mowbray, +haughtily. "I will take care that, in her own house, Miss +Mowbray shall remain free from insult."</p> + +<p>"Mother, dear mother," said Eleanor, "do not wilfully +misunderstand him."</p> + +<p>"You can be little aware, madam," said Ranulph, calmly, +yet sadly, "how much I have recently endured—how much of +parental anger—how much of parental malediction I have incurred, +to save you and your daughter from the indignity you +apprehend. As I before said, you do not know my mother; +nor could it enter into any well-regulated imagination to conceive +the extremities to which the violence of her passion will, +when her schemes are thwarted, hurry her. The terms upon +which you met together will not escape your recollection; nor +shall I need to recall to your mind her haughtiness, her coldness. +That coldness has since ripened into distrust; and the match +which she was at first all anxiety to promote, she would now +utterly set aside, were it in her power to do so. Whence this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> +alteration in her views has arisen, I have no means of ascertaining; +it is not my mother's custom to give a reason for her +actions, or her wishes: it is all-sufficient to express them. I +have perceived, as the time has drawn nigh for the fulfilment +of my dearest hopes, that her unwillingness has increased; +until to-day, what had hitherto been confined to hints, has +been openly expressed, and absolute objections raised. Such, +however, is the peculiarity of her temper, that I 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 the match. At once, and peremptorily, I refused. +Pardon me, madam, pardon me, dearest Eleanor, if I thus enter +into particulars; it is absolutely necessary I should be +explicit. Enraged at my opposition to her wishes, her fury +became ungovernable. With appalling imprecations upon the +memory of my poor father, and upon <i>your</i> father, madam, +whose chief offence in her eyes was, it seems, the disposition +of his property to Eleanor, she bade me be gone, and take her +curses as my wedding portion. Beneath this roof—beneath +<i>her</i> roof, she added—no marriage of mine should e'er take +place. I might go hence, or might stay, as I thought fitting; +but you and your daughter, whom she characterized as intruders, +should not remain another hour within her house. To +this wild raving I answered, with as much composure as I +could command, that she entirely mistook her own position, +and that, so far from the odium of intrusion resting with you, +if applicable to any one, the term must necessarily affix itself on +those who, through ignorance, had for years unjustly deprived +the rightful owners of this place of their inheritance. Upon this +her wrath was boundless. She disowned me as her son; disclaimed +all maternal regard, and heaped upon my head a +frightful malediction, at the recollection of which I still +tremble. I will spare you further details of this dreadful +scene. To me it is most distressing; for, however firmly +resolved I may be to pursue a line of conduct which every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span> +sound principle within me dictates as the correct one, yet I +cannot be insensible to the awful responsibility I shall incur in +bringing down a mother's curse upon my head, nor to the +jeopardy in which her own excessive violence may place her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mowbray listened to Ranulph's explanation in haughty +displeasure; Eleanor with throbbing, tearful interest; Dr. +Small, with mixed feelings of anger and astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Lady Rookwood's conduct," said the doctor, "is—you +must forgive me, my dear Sir Ranulph, for using strong +expressions—outrageous beyond all precedent, and only excusable +on the ground of insanity, to which I wish it were +possible we could attribute it. There is, however, too much +method in her madness to allow us to indulge any such notion; +she is shrewd, dangerous, and designing; and, since she has +resolved to oppose this match, she will leave no means untried +to do so. I scarcely know how to advise you under the +circumstances—that is, if my advice were asked."</p> + +<p>"Which I scarcely think it likely to be, sir," said Mrs. +Mowbray, coldly. "After what has occurred, <i>I</i> shall think it +my duty to break off this alliance, which I have never considered +to be so desirable that its rupture will occasion me an +instant's uneasiness."</p> + +<p>"A plague on all these Rookwoods!" muttered Small. +"One would think all the pride of the Prince of Darkness +were centered in their bosoms. But, madam," continued +the benevolent doctor, "have you no consideration for the +feelings of your daughter, or for those of one who is no distant +relation to you—your nephew? Your son, Major Mowbray, +is, if I mistake not, most eager for this union to take +place between his sister and his friend."</p> + +<p>"My children have been accustomed to yield implicit +obedience to my wishes," said Mrs. Mowbray, "and Major +Mowbray, I am sure, will see the propriety of the step I +am about to take. I am content, at least, to abide by <i>his</i> +opinion."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Snubbed again!" mentally ejaculated the doctor, with a +shrug of despair. "It is useless attempting to work upon +such impracticable material."</p> + +<p>Ranulph remained mute, in an attitude of profound melancholy. +An eloquent interchange of glances had passed between +him and Eleanor, communicating to each the anxious state of +the other's feelings.</p> + +<p>At this crisis the door was suddenly opened, and old Agnes, +Lady Rookwood's aged attendant, rushed into the room, and +sank upon her knees on the floor, her limbs shaking, her teeth +chattering, and every feature expressive of intense terror. +Ranulph went instantly towards her to demand the cause of +her alarm.</p> + +<p>"No, let me pray," cried Agnes, as he took her hand in +the attempt to raise her; "let me pray while there is yet +time—let the worthy doctor pray beside me. Pray for an +overladen soul, sir; pray heartily, as you would hope for mercy +yourself. Ah! little know the righteous of the terrors of those +that are beyond the pale of mercy. The Lord pardon me +my iniquities, and absolve <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"Whom do you mean?" asked Ranulph, in agitation. "You +do not allude to my mother?"</p> + +<p>"You have no longer a mother, young man," said Agnes, +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed Ranulph, terror-stricken; "is she +dead?"</p> + +<p>"She is gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone! How? Whither?" exclaimed all, their amazement +increasing each instant at the terror of the old woman, +and the apparently terrible occasion of it.</p> + +<p>"Speak!" exclaimed Ranulph; "but why do I loiter? my +mother, perchance, is dying—let me go."</p> + +<p>The old woman maintained her clutching grasp, which was +strong and convulsive as that of one struggling betwixt life and +death. "It's of no use, I tell you; it's all over," said she—"the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span> +dead are come—the dead are come—and she is +gone."</p> + +<p>"Whither?—whither?"</p> + +<p>"To the grave—to the tomb," said Agnes, in a deep and +hollow tone, and with a look that froze Ranulph's soul. +"Listen to me, Ranulph Rookwood, my child, my nursling—listen +while I <i>can</i> speak. We were alone, your mother and I, +after that scene between you; after the dark denunciations +she had heaped upon the dead, when I heard a low and +gasping kind of sob, and there I saw your mother staring +wildly upon the vacancy, as if she saw that of which I dare +not think."</p> + +<p>"What think you she beheld?" asked Ranulph, quaking +with apprehension.</p> + +<p>"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 am sure he was there. There was a +thrilling, speechless horror in the very sight of her countenance +that froze my old blood to ice—to the ice in which 'tis +now—ough! ough! Well, at length she arose, with her eyes +still fixed, and passed through the paneled door without a +word. She is gone!"</p> + +<p>"What madness is this?" cried Ranulph. "Let me go, +woman—'tis that ruffian in disguise—she may be murdered."</p> + +<p>"No, no," shrieked Agnes; "it was no disguise. She is +gone, I tell you—the room was empty, all the rooms were +empty—the passage was void—through the door they went +together—silently, silently—ghostlike, slow. Ha! that tomb—they +are there together now—he has her in his arms—see, they +are here—they glide through the door—do you not see them +now? Did I not speak the truth? She is dead—ha, ha!" +And with a frantic and bewildering laugh the old woman fell +upon her face.</p> + +<p>Ranulph raised her from the floor; but the shock of what +she had beheld had been too much for her. She was dead!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV5" id="CHAPTER_IV5"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE DOWER OF SYBIL</h3> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Card.</i> Now art thou come? Thou look'st ghastly;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There sits in thy face some great determination,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mixed with some fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Bos.</i> Thus it lightens into action:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I am come to kill thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="rgt"><i>Duchess of Malfy.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Ranulph Rookwood was for some moments so much stunned +by the ghastly fate of Agnes, connected, as it appeared to be, +with a supernatural summons similar to that which he imagined +he had himself received, that he was incapable of stirring +from the spot, or removing his gaze from the rigid features +of the corpse, which, even in death, wore the strong impress +of horror and despair. Through life he knew that Agnes, his +own nurse, had been his mother's constant and faithful attendant; +the unhesitating agent of her schemes, and it was to be +feared, from the remorse she had exhibited, the participator +of her crimes; and Ranulph felt, he knew not why, that in +having witnessed her terrible end, he beheld the ultimate +condition of his own parent. Conquering, not without great +effort, the horror which had riveted him to the spot, he turned +to look towards Eleanor. She had sunk upon a chair, a +silent witness of the scene, Mrs. Mowbray and Dr. Small +having, upon the first alarm given by Agnes respecting Lady +Rookwood's departure from the house quitted the room to +ascertain the truth of her statement. Ranulph immediately +flew to Eleanor.</p> + +<p>"Ranulph," said she, though almost overcome by her alarm, +"stay not an instant here with me. I am sure, from that +poor woman's dreadful death, that something terrible has occurred,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span> +perhaps to Lady Rookwood. Go to her chamber. +Tarry not, I entreat of you."</p> + +<p>"But will you, can you remain here alone with that body?" +asked Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"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 life is a troubled volume, of which +each successive leaf grows darker. Fate is opposed to us. +It is useless to contend with our destiny. I fear we shall +never be united."</p> + +<p>"Dismiss me not with words like those, dear Eleanor," +returned Ranulph. "Fate cannot have greater woes in store for +us than those by which we are now opposed. Let us hope +that we are now at that point whence all must brighten. +Once possessed of you, assured of thus much happiness, I +would set even fate at defiance. And you will be mine to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph, dear Ranulph, your suit at this moment is desperate. +I dare not, cannot pledge myself. You yourself +heard, even now, my mother's sentiments, and I cannot marry +without her consent."</p> + +<p>"Your mother, like my own, regards not the feelings of her +children. Forgive my boldness, Eleanor; forgive me if I linger +now, when duty calls me hence; but I cannot tear myself +away. Your mother may return—my hopes be crushed; for +even your love for me seems annihilated in her presence."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph, your vehemence terrifies me," rejoined Eleanor. +"I implore you, by the tender affection which you know I bear +you, not to urge me further at this moment. Recall your +firmer feelings, and obtain some mastery over yourself. I repeat, +I am yours only, if I am bride of any one. But when +our union can take place rests not with myself. And now, I +entreat of you, leave me."</p> + +<p>"You are mine," said Ranulph, with fervor; "mine only."</p> + +<p>"Yours only," replied Eleanor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Be this the earnest of my happiness!" exclaimed Ranulph, +imprinting a long and impassioned kiss upon her lips.</p> + +<p>The lovers were startled from their embrace by a profound +sigh; it proceeded from Handassah, who, unbidden, had replaced +the picture of the Lady Eleanor upon its frame. The +augury seemed sinister. Every one who has gazed steadfastly +upon a portrait must have noticed the peculiar and lifelike +character which, under certain aspects, the eyes will +assume. Seen by the imperfect light upon the table, the +whole character of the countenance of the Lady Eleanor +seemed changed; the features appeared to be stamped with +melancholy, and the eyes to be fixed with pitying tenderness +upon her descendants. Both gazed at each other and at the +picture, struck with the same sentiment of undefined awe. +Beside them stood the dark figure of the gipsy girl, watching, +with ill-concealed satisfaction, the effect of her handiwork. +Ranulph was aroused from his abstraction by hearing a loud +outcry in Mrs. Mowbray's voice. Hastily committing Eleanor +to the care of her attendant, he left the room. Handassah +followed him to the door, closed it after him, and then locked +it within side. This done, she walked back hastily towards +Eleanor, exclaiming, in a tone of exultation, "You have parted +with him forever."</p> + +<p>"What mean you, girl?" cried Eleanor, alarmed at her +manner. "Why have you fastened the door? Open it, I +command you."</p> + +<p>"Command <i>me</i>!" laughed Handassah, scornfully. "What +if I refuse your mandate? What, if, in my turn, I bid <i>you</i> +obey <i>me</i>? I never owned but one mistress. If I have bowed +my neck to you for a time, 'twas to fulfil her dying wishes. If +I have submitted to your control, it was to accomplish what I +have now accomplished. Your oath! Remember your oath. +The hour is come for its fulfilment."</p> + +<p>With these words Handassah clapped her hands. A panel +in the wall opened, and Luke stood suddenly before them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span> +Silently and with stern deliberation he strode towards Eleanor, +and seizing one of her hands, drew her forcibly towards him. +Eleanor resisted not; she had not the power; neither did she +scream, for so paralyzing was her terror, that for the moment +it took away all power of utterance. Luke neither stirred nor +spoke, but, still maintaining his hold, gazed searchingly upon +her features, while Eleanor, as if spell-bound, could not withdraw +her eyes from him. Nothing more terribly impressive +could be conceived than Luke's whole appearance. Harassed +and exhausted by the life he had recently led; deprived +almost of natural rest; goaded by remorse, his frame was +almost worn to the bone, while his countenance, once dark +and swarthy, was now blanched and colorless as marble. This +pallid and deathlike hue was, in all probability, owing to the +loss of blood he had sustained from the wound inflicted by +Major Mowbray, with the stains of which his apparel was dyed; +for, though staunched, the effusion had been sufficient to cause +great faintness. His dark eyes blazed with their wonted fire—nay, +they looked darker and larger from his exceeding paleness, +and such intense mental and bodily suffering was imprinted upon +his countenance, that, despite its fierceness and desperation, +few could have regarded him without sympathy. Real desperation +has so much of agony in its character, that no one can witness +it unmoved. His garb was not that in which the reader +first beheld him, but a rich, dark, simple suit of velvet, corresponding +more with his real rank in life than his former peasant's +attire; but it was disordered by his recent conflict, and stained +with bloody testimonials of the fray; while his long, sable +curls, once his pride and ornament, now hung in intertangled +elf-locks, like a coil of wreathed water-snakes. Even in her +terror, as she dwelt upon his noble features, Eleanor could not +help admitting that she beheld the undoubted descendant, +and the living likeness of the handsomest and most distinguished +of her house—the profligate and criminal Sir +Reginald. As her eye, mechanically following this train of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span> +thought, wandered for an instant to the haughty portraiture of +Sir Reginald, which formed part of the family pictures, and +thence to those of his unfortunate lady, she was struck with +the fancy that, by some terrible fatality, the tragic horrors of +bygone days were to be again enacted in their persons, and +that they were in some way strangely identified with their +unfortunate progenitors. So forcibly was this idea impressed +upon her features that Luke, who had followed the direction of +her glances, became instantly aware of it. Drawing her nearer +to the portrait of the Lady Eleanor, he traced the resemblance +in mute wonder; thence, turning towards that of Sir Reginald, +he proudly exclaimed: "You doubted once my lineage, +maiden—can you gaze on those features, which would almost +seem to be a reflection of mine own, and longer hesitate +whose descendant I am? I glory in my likeness. There is a +wild delight in setting human emotions at naught, which he +was said to feel—which I feel now. Within these halls I seem +to breathe an atmosphere congenial to me. I visit what I oft +have visited in my dreams; or as in a state of pre-existence. +Methinks, as I gaze on you, I could almost deem myself Sir +Reginald, and you his bride, the Lady Eleanor. Our fates were +parallel: <i>she</i> was united to her lord by ties of hatred—by a +<i>vow</i>—<i>a bridal vow</i>! So are you to me. And she could ne'er +escape him—could ne'er throw off her bondage—nor shall +you. I claim the fulfilment of <i>your</i> oath; you are <i>mine</i>."</p> + +<p>"Never, never!" shrieked Eleanor, struggling to disengage +herself. But Luke laughed at her feeble efforts. Handassah +stood by, a passive spectatress of the scene, with her arms +folded upon her bosom.</p> + +<p>"You refuse compliance," said Luke, scornfully. "Have +you no hopes of Heaven, no fears of perdition, that you dare +to violate your vow? Bethink you of the awful nature of that +obligation; of the life that was laid down to purchase it; of +the blood which will cry out for vengeance 'gainst the <i>murderess</i>, +should you hesitate. By that blood-cemented sacrament, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span> +claim you as my own. You are mine." And he dragged her +towards the opening.</p> + +<p>Eleanor uttered a long and terrific scream.</p> + +<p>"Be silent, on your life," added he, searching for the dagger +given to him by Alan Rookwood, when, as his hand sought the +weapon, Eleanor escaped from his grasp, and fled towards the +door. But Handassah had anticipated her intention. The +key was withdrawn from the lock, and the wretched maiden +vainly tried to open it.</p> + +<p>At this instant Turpin appeared at the sliding panel.</p> + +<p>"Quick, quick!" cried he, impatiently—"despatch, in the +devil's name. The house is alarmed. I hear young Ranulph's +voice in the gallery."</p> + +<p>"Ranulph!" shrieked Eleanor—"then I am saved," and +she redoubled her outcries for assistance.</p> + +<p>Luke again seized his victim. Her hands clutched so convulsively +fast in her despairing energy against the handle of +the door that he could not tear her thence. By this time +Ranulph Rookwood, who had caught her reiterated screams +for help, was at the entrance. He heard her struggles; he +heard Luke's threats—his mockery—his derisive laughter—but +vainly, vainly did he attempt to force it open. It was of +the strongest oak, and the bolts resisted all his efforts. A +board alone divided 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 sturdy plank, but all in +vain. At length the handle was still. There was a heavy fall +upon the floor—a stifled scream—and a sound as of a body +being dragged along. The thought was madness.</p> + +<p>"To the panel! to the panel!" cried a voice—it was that +of Turpin—from within.</p> + +<p>"The panel!—ha!" echoed Ranulph, with a sudden gleam +of hope. "I may yet save her." And he darted along the +corridor with the swiftness of thought.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span></p> + +<p>Luke, meanwhile, had for some minutes fruitlessly exhausted +all his force to drag Eleanor from the door. Despair gave +her strength; she clutched at the door; but she felt her +strength failing her—her grasp was relaxing. And then the +maddening thought that she would be shortly his—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. +With savage delight Luke exulted in the lovers' tortures. He +heard Ranulph's ineffectual attempts; he heard his groans; +he heard their mutual cries. Inflamed by jealousy, he triumphed +in his power of vengeance, and even prolonged the +torture which accident had given him the means of inflicting. +He stood like the inquisitor who marks his victim's anguish +on the rack, and calculates his powers of further endurance. +But he could no longer dally, even with this horrible gratification. +His companion grew impatient. Eleanor's fair +long tresses had escaped from their confinement in the +struggle, and fell down her neck in disorder. Twining +his fingers amidst its folds, Luke dragged her backwards +from her hold, and, incapable of further resistance, her +strength completely exhausted, the wretched girl fell to the +ground.</p> + +<p>Luke now raised her almost inanimate form in his arms, +and had nigh reached the aperture, when a crash was heard in +the panel opposite to that by which he was about to escape, +and communicating with a further apartment. It was thrown +open, and Ranulph Rookwood presented himself at the 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 own action, was the person of the unfortunate +Mr. Coates wedged into the aperture.</p> + +<p>"Traitor!" cried Ranulph, regarding Coates with concentrated +fury, "dare you to oppose me?—hence! or, by Heaven, +I will cut you down!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Tis impossible," ejaculated the attorney. "For your +own sake, Sir Ranulph—for my sake—I entreat—implore of +you—not to attempt to pass this way. Try the other door."</p> + +<p>Ranulph said no more. He passed his sword through the +body of the miserable attorney, who, with a deep groan, fell. +The only obstacle to his passage being thus removed, he at +once leaped into the room.</p> + +<p>The brothers were now confronted, together, but little of +brotherly love mingled with the glances which they threw upon +each other. Ranulph's gentle, but withal enthusiastic temperament, +had kindled, under his present excitement, like flax +at the sudden approach of flame. He was wild with frenzy. +Luke was calmer, but his fury was deadly and inextinguishable. +The meeting was terrible on both sides.</p> + +<p>With one arm Luke enfolded Eleanor, with the other he +uplifted the dagger. Its point was towards her bosom. +Scowling grim defiance at Ranulph, he exclaimed, in a determined +tone, "Advance a footstep, and my dagger descends +into her heart."</p> + +<p>Ranulph hesitated, uncertain how to act; foaming with +rage, yet trembling with apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Ranulph," gasped Eleanor, "life without you were valueless. +Advance—avenge me!"</p> + +<p>Ranulph still hesitated. He could not, by any act of his +own, compromise Eleanor's safety.</p> + +<p>Luke saw his advantage, and was not slow to profit by it. +"You seal her destruction if you stir," said he.</p> + +<p>"Villain," returned Ranulph, between his ground teeth, and +with difficulty commanding sufficient coolness to speak with +deliberation, "you perceive your power. Injure her, and +nothing earthly shall protect you. Free her, and take your life +and liberty; nay, reward if you will. You cannot otherwise +escape me."</p> + +<p>"Escape you!" laughed Luke, disdainfully. "Stand aside, +and let me pass. Beware," added he, sternly, "how you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span> +oppose me. I would not have a brother's blood upon my +soul."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," cried Ranulph; "but you pass not." And he +placed himself full in Luke's path.</p> + +<p>Luke, however, steadily moved forward, holding Eleanor +between himself and Ranulph, so as to shield his own person; +but, fancying he saw an opportunity of dealing a blow without +injury to his mistress, the latter was about to hazard the +thrust, when his arms were seized behind, and he was rendered +powerless.</p> + +<p>"Lost, lost," groaned he; "she is lost to me forever!"</p> + +<p>"I fear that's but too true," said Turpin, for it was the +highwayman whose grasp confined Ranulph.</p> + +<p>"Must I see her borne away before my eyes?" cried Ranulph. +"Release me—set me free!"</p> + +<p>"Quite impossible at present," returned Dick. "Mount +and away, Sir Luke," continued he; "never mind me. Leave +me to shift for myself."</p> + +<p>"Eleanor!" cried Ranulph, as she passed close by his +side.</p> + +<p>"Ranulph!" shrieked Eleanor, with a loud scream, recalled +to consciousness by his voice, "farewell for ever."</p> + +<p>"Ay, for ever," responded Luke, triumphantly. "You +meet no more on earth."</p> + +<p>He was about to pass through the panel, when Eleanor +exerted all her remaining strength in a last futile attempt +at liberation. In the struggle, a packet fell from Luke's +bosom.</p> + +<p>Handassah stooped to pick it up.</p> + +<p>"From Sybil!" exclaimed she, glancing at the superscription.</p> + +<p>"Remember my promise to old Barbara," roared Dick, who +had some curiosity, as the reader knows, to learn what the +package contained. "The time is arrived. Eleanor is in your +power—in your presence."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Give me the packet," said Luke, resigning Eleanor for the +instant to Handassah's custody—"take the steel, and grasp +her firmly."</p> + +<p>Handassah, who, though slight of figure, was of singular +personal strength, twined her arms about Miss Mowbray in +such a manner as to preclude all possibility of motion.</p> + +<p>Luke tore open the package. It was a box carefully +enclosed in several folds of linen, and lastly within a sheet of +paper, on which were inscribed these words:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><big>The Dower of Sybil</big></span></p> + +<p>Hastily, and with much curiosity, Luke raised the lid of the +box. It contained one long silken tress of blackest hair enviously +braided. It was 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 had stung him.</p> + +<p>At this moment a loud clamor was heard in the gallery. In +the next, the door was assailed by violent strokes, evidently +proceeding from some weighty instrument, impelled by the +united strength of several assailants.</p> + +<p>The voice of Turpin rose above the deafening din. "A +bullet for the first who enters," shouted he. "Quick, Sir +Luke, and the prize is safe—away, and——"</p> + +<p>But as he seconded his exhortation with a glance at Luke, +he broke off the half-uttered sentence, and started with horror +and amazement. Ere the cause of his alarm could be expressed, +the door was burst open, and a crowd of domestics, +headed by Major Mowbray and Titus Tyrconnel, rushed into +the room.</p> + +<p>"Nay, then, the game's up!" exclaimed Dick; "I have +done with Rookwood." And, springing through the panel, he +was seen no more.</p> + +<p>When the newcomers first looked round, they could perceive +only two figures besides themselves—those of the two lovers—Eleanor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span> +having sunk pale, exhausted, and almost senseless, +into the arms of Ranulph. Presently, however, a ghastly +object attracted their attention. All rushed towards it—all +recoiled, as soon as they discovered that it was the lifeless +body of Luke Rookwood. His limbs were stiff, like those of +a corpse which has for hours been such; his eyes protruded +from their sockets; his face was livid and blotched. All bespoke, +with terrible certainty, the efficacy of the poison, and +the full accomplishment of Barbara's revenge.</p> + +<p>Handassah was gone. Probably she had escaped ere Turpin +fled. At all events, she was heard of no more at Rookwood.</p> + +<p>It required little to recall the senses of Eleanor. Shortly +she revived, and as she gazed around, and became conscious +of her escape, she uttered exclamations of thanksgiving, and +sank into the embraces of her brother.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Mrs. Mowbray and Dr. Small had joined the +assemblage.</p> + +<p>The worthy doctor had been full of alarm; but his meditated +condolences were now changed to congratulations, as he +heard the particulars of the terrible scene that had occurred, +and of Eleanor's singular and almost providential deliverance.</p> + +<p>"After what has befallen, madam," said the doctor to Mrs. +Mowbray, slightly coughing, "you can no longer raise any +objection to a certain union, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I will answer for my mother in that particular," said Major +Mowbray, stepping forward.</p> + +<p>"She will answer for herself, my son," said Mrs. Mowbray. +"The match has her full and entire consent. But to what am +I to attribute the unexpected happiness of your return?"</p> + +<p>"To a chain of singular circumstances," replied the Major, +"which I will hereafter detail to you. Suffice it to say, that but +for this gentleman's fortunate arrival," added he, looking at +Titus Tyrconnel, "at the hut on Thorne Waste, I might have +been detained a prisoner, without <i>parole</i>, and, what is worse, +without provision perhaps for days; and to add to my distress,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span> +fully acquainted with the meditated abduction of my sister. +It was excessively lucky for me, Mr. Tyrconnel, that you +happened to pass that way, and for poor Paterson likewise."</p> + +<p>"Arrah, by my sowl, major, and you may say that with +safety; and it was particularly fortunate that we stumbled +upon the tits in the cellar, or we'd never have been here just +in the nick of it. I begin to think we've lost all chance of +taking Dick Turpin this time. He's got clean away."</p> + +<p>"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 should be sorry to appear as a witness +against him; and I trust it will never be my fate to do +so."</p> + +<p>We shall not pause to describe the affectionate meeting +which now ensued between the brother and sister—the congratulations +upon Eleanor's escape from peril, intermingled +with the tenderest embraces, and the warmest thanks offered +to Ranulph for his gallant service. "She is yours, my dear +boy," said the major; "and though you are a Rookwood, and +she bears the ill-fated name of Eleanor, I predict that, contrary +to the usual custom of our families in such cases, all your +misfortunes will have occurred <i>before</i> marriage."</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing," said Small, with a very peculiar +expression, which might almost be construed into serio-comic, +could we suspect the benevolent doctor of any such waggery, +"that can possibly throw a shade over our present felicity. +Lady Rookwood is not to be found."</p> + +<p>"My poor mother," said Ranulph, starting.</p> + +<p>"Make yourself easy," said the doctor; "I doubt not we +shall hear of her to-morrow. My only apprehension," added +he, half aside, "is, that she may be heard of before."</p> + +<p>"One other circumstance afflicts me," said Ranulph. "Poor +Mr. Coates!"</p> + +<p>"What's that you say of Mr. Coates, Sir Ranulph?" +exclaimed Titus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I fear he was killed in the recent affray," said Ranulph. +"Let some one search for the body."</p> + +<p>"Kilt!" echoed Titus. "Is it kilt that Mr. Coates is? +Ah! <i>ullagone</i>, and is it over with him entirely? Is he gone +to rejoin his father, the thief-taker? Bring me to his remains."</p> + +<p>"He will bring them to you himself," said the attorney, +stepping forward. "Luckily, Sir Ranulph," said the incurable +punster, "it was merely the <i>outer coats</i> that your sword passed +through; the <i>inner</i> remains uninjured, so that you did not act +as my <i>conveyancer</i> to eternity. Body o' me! I've as many +lives as a cat—ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>Ranulph welcomed the facetious man of law with no little +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>We think it unnecessary to enter into further detail. Another +chamber was prepared for Eleanor's reception, to which she +was almost immediately transported. The remains of the +once fierce and haughty Luke, now stiff and stark, but still +wearing, even in death, their proud character, were placed +upon the self-same bier, and covered with the self-same pall +which, but a week ago, had furnished forth his father's funeral. +And as the domestics crowded round the corpse, there was +not one of them but commented upon his startling resemblance +to his grandsire, Sir Reginald; nor, amongst the superstitious, +was the falling of the fatal bough forgotten.</p> + +<p>Tranquillity was at length restored at the hall. Throughout +the night and during the next day, Ranulph made every search +for his mother, but no tidings could be learned of her. Seriously +alarmed, he then caused more strict and general inquiry +to be instituted, but with like unsuccessful effect. It was not, +indeed, till some years afterwards that her fate was ascertained.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V5" id="CHAPTER_V5"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE SARCOPHAGUS</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">So now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.—<span class="smcap">Webster.</span></p></div> + + +<p>Notwithstanding the obscurity which hung over the fate of +Lady Rookwood, the celebration of the nuptials of Sir Ranulph +and Eleanor was not long delayed; the ceremony took place +at the parish church, and the worthy vicar officiated upon the +occasion. It was a joyous sight to all who witnessed it, and +not few were they who did so, for the whole neighborhood +was bidden to the festival. The old avenue was thronged +with bright and beaming faces, rustic maidens decked out in +ribbons of many-colored splendor, and stout youths in their +best holiday trim; nor was the lusty yeoman and his buxom +spouse—nor yet the patriarch of the village, nor prattling +child, wanting. Even the ancestral rooks seemed to participate +in the universal merriment, and returned, from their +eyries, a hoarse greeting, like a lusty chorus of laughter, to the +frolic train. The churchyard path was strewn with flowers—the +church itself a complete garland. Never was there seen a +blither wedding: the sun smiled upon the bride—accounted a +fortunate omen, as dark lowering skies and stormy weather had, +within the memory of the oldest of the tenantry, inauspiciously +ushered in all former espousals. The bride had recovered her +bloom and beauty, while the melancholy which had seemingly +settled for ever upon the open brow of the bridegroom, had now +given place to a pensive shade that only added interest to his +expressive features; and, as in simple state, after the completion +of the sacred rites, the youthful pair walked, arm in +arm, amongst their thronging and admiring tenants towards +the Hall, many a fervent prayer was breathed that the curse of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span> +the house of Rookwood might be averted from their heads; +and, not to leave a doubt upon the subject, we can add that +these aspirations were not in vain, but that the day, which +dawned so brightly, was one of serene and unclouded happiness +to its close.</p> + +<p>After the ceremonial, the day was devoted to festivity. +Crowded with company, from the ample hall to the kitchen +ingle, the old mansion could scarce contain its numerous +guests, while the walls resounded with hearty peals of laughter, +to which they had been long unaccustomed. The tables +groaned beneath the lordly baron of beef, the weighty chine, +the castled pasty flanked on the one hand with neat's tongue, +and on the other defended by a mountainous ham, an excellent +<i>pièce de résistance</i>, and every other substantial appliance of +ancient hospitality. Barrels of mighty ale were broached, and +their nut-brown contents widely distributed, and the health of +the bride and bridegroom was enthusiastically drunk in a +brimming wassail cup of spicy wine with floating toast. Titus +Tyrconnel acted as master of the ceremonies, and was, Mr. +Coates declared, "<i>quite in his element</i>." So much was he elated, +that he ventured to cut some of his old jokes upon the vicar, +and, strange to say, without incurring the resentment of Small.</p> + +<p>To retrace the darker course of our narrative, we must state +that some weeks before this happy event the remains of the +unfortunate Sir Luke Rookwood had been gathered to those +of his fathers. The document that attested his legitimacy +being found upon his person, the claims denied to him in life +were conceded in death; and he was interred, with all the +pomp and peculiar solemnity proper to one of the house, +within the tomb of his ancestry.</p> + +<p>It was then that a discovery was made respecting Alan +Rookwood, in order to explain which we must again revert to +the night of the meditated <i>enlèvement</i> of Eleanor.</p> + +<p>After quitting his grandson in the avenue, Alan shaped his +course among the fields in the direction to the church. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span> +sought his own humble, but now deserted dwelling. The door +had been forced; some of its meagre furniture was removed; +and the dog, his sole companion, had fled. "Poor Mole!" +said he, "thou hast found, I trust, a better master." And +having possessed himself of what he came in search—namely, +a bunch of keys and his lantern, deposited in an out-of-the-way +cupboard, that had escaped notice, he quickly departed.</p> + +<p>He was once more within the churchyard; once more upon +that awful stage whereon he had chosen to enact, for a long +season, his late fantastical character; and he gazed upon the +church tower, glistening in the moonshine, the green and +undulating hillocks, the "chequered cross-sticks," the clustered +headstones, and the black and portentous yew-trees, as upon +"old familiar faces." He mused, for a few moments, upon +the scene, apparently with deep interest. He then walked +beneath the shadows of one of the yews, chanting an odd +stanza or so of one of his wild staves, wrapped the while, it +would seem, in affectionate contemplation of the subject-matter +of his song:</p> + + +<p class="hd1">THE CHURCHYARD YEW</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">—— Metuendaque succo<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Taxus.<br /></span> +<span class="i16"><span class="smcap">Statius</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A noxious tree is the churchyard yew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if from the dead its sap it drew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark are its branches, and dismal to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like plumes at Death's latest solemnity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spectral and jagged, and black as the wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which some spirit of ill o'er a sepulchre flings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! a terrible tree is the churchyard yew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like it is nothing so grimly to view.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet this baleful tree hath a core so sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can nought so tough in the grove be found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From it were fashioned brave English bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boast of our isle, and the dread of its foes.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For our sturdy sires cut their stoutest staves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the branch that hung o'er their fathers' graves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though it be dreary and dismal to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Staunch at the heart is the churchyard yew.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>His ditty concluded, Alan entered the churchyard, taking +care to leave the door slightly ajar, in order to facilitate his +grandson's entrance. For an instant he lingered in the chancel. +The yellow moonlight fell upon 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 the vault, observing a similar caution with +respect to the portal of the cemetery, which he left partially +unclosed, with the key in the lock. Here he resolved to abide +Luke's coming. The reader knows what probability there was +of his expectations being realized.</p> + +<p>For a while he paced the tomb, wrapped in gloomy meditation, +and pondering, it might be, upon the result of Luke's +expedition, and the fulfilment of his own dark schemes, scowling +from time to time beneath his bent eyebrows, counting the +grim array of coffins, and noticing, with something like satisfaction, +that the shell which contained the remains of his daughter +had been restored to its former position. He then +bethought him of Father Checkley's midnight intrusion upon +his conference with Luke, and their apprehension of a supernatural +visitation, and his curiosity was stimulated to ascertain +by what means the priest had gained admission to the spot +unperceived and unheard. He resolved to sound the floor, +and see whether any secret entrance existed; and hollowly +and dully did the hard flagging return the stroke of his heel as +he pursued his scrutiny. At length the metallic ringing of an +iron plate, immediately behind the marble effigy of Sir Ranulph, +resolved the point. There it was that the priest had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span> +found access to the vault; but Alan's disappointment was excessive, +when he discovered that the plate was fastened on the +underside, and all communication thence 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, he +returned to his silent march round the sepulchre.</p> + +<p>At length a sound, like the sudden shutting of the church +door, broke upon the profound stillness of the holy edifice. +In the hush that succeeded, a footstep was distinctly heard +threading the aisle.</p> + +<p>"He comes—he comes!" exclaimed Alan, joyfully; adding, +an instant after, in an altered voice, "but he comes +alone."</p> + +<p>The footstep drew near to the mouth of the vault—it was +upon the stairs. Alan stepped forward to greet, as he supposed, +his grandson, but started back in astonishment and dismay +as he encountered in his stead Lady Rookwood. Alan +retreated, while the lady advanced, swinging the iron door +after her, which closed with a tremendous clang. Approaching +the statue of the first Sir Ranulph, she paused, and Alan then +remarked the singular and terrible expression of her eyes, +which appeared to be fixed upon the statue, or upon some invisible +object near it. There was something in her whole +attitude and manner calculated to impress the deepest terror +on the beholder. And Alan gazed upon her with an awe +which momently increased. Lady Rookwood's bearing was as +proud and erect as we have formerly described it to have been—her +brow was haughtily bent—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. Alan +watched her in amazement. He knew not how the scene was +likely to terminate, nor what could have induced her to visit +this ghostly spot at such an hour, and alone; but he resolved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span> +to abide the issue in silence—profound as her own. After a +time, however, his impatience got the better of his fears and +scruples, and he spoke.</p> + +<p>"What doth Lady Rookwood in the abode of the dead?" +asked he, at length.</p> + +<p>She started at the sound of his voice, but still kept her eye +fixed upon the vacancy.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou not beckoned me hither, and am I not come?" +returned she, in a hollow tone. "And now thou asketh +wherefore I am here—I am here because, as in thy life I +feared thee not, neither in death do I fear thee. I am here +because——"</p> + +<p>"What seest thou?" interrupted Peter, with ill-suppressed +terror.</p> + +<p>"What see I—ha—ha!" shouted Lady Rookwood, amidst +discordant laughter; "that which might appal a heart less +stout than mine—a figure anguish-writhen, with veins that +glow as with a subtle and consuming flame. A substance yet +a shadow, in thy living likeness. Ha—frown if thou wilt; I +can return thy glances."</p> + +<p>"Where dost thou see this vision?" demanded Alan.</p> + +<p>"Where!" echoed Lady Rookwood, becoming for the first +time sensible of the presence of a stranger. "Ha—who are +you that question me?—what are you?—speak!"</p> + +<p>"No matter who or what I am," returned Alan, "I ask you +what you behold."</p> + +<p>"Can you see nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," replied Alan.</p> + +<p>"You knew Sir Piers Rookwood?"</p> + +<p>"Is it he?" asked Alan, drawing near her.</p> + +<p>"It is," replied Lady Rookwood; "I have followed him +hither, and I will follow him whithersoever he leads me, were +it to——"</p> + +<p>"What doth he now?" asked Alan; "do you see him +still?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The figure points to that sarcophagus," returned Lady +Rookwood—"can you raise up the lid?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Alan; "my strength will not avail to lift it."</p> + +<p>"Yet let the trial be made," said Lady Rookwood; "the +figure points there still—my own arm shall aid you."</p> + +<p>Alan watched her in dumb wonder. She advanced towards +the marble monument, and beckoned him to follow. He reluctantly +complied. Without any expectation of being able to +move the ponderous lid of the sarcophagus, at Lady Rookwood's +renewed request he applied himself to the task. What +was his surprise, when, beneath their united efforts, he found +the ponderous slab slowly revolve upon its vast hinges, and, +with little further difficulty, it was completely elevated; though +it still required the exertion of all Alan's strength to prop it +open, and prevent its falling back.</p> + +<p>"What does it contain?" asked Lady Rookwood.</p> + +<p>"A warrior's ashes," returned Alan.</p> + +<p>"There is a rusty dagger upon a fold of faded linen," cried +Lady Rookwood, holding down the light.</p> + +<p>"It is the weapon with which the first dame of the house of +Rookwood was stabbed," said Alan, with a grim smile:</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 17em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Which whoso findeth in the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall clutch until the hour of doom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when 'tis grasped by hand of clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curse of blood shall pass away.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>So saith the rhyme. Have you seen enough?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lady Rookwood, precipitating herself into the +marble coffin. "That weapon shall be mine."</p> + +<p>"Come forth—come forth," cried Alan. "My arm +trembles—I cannot support the lid."</p> + +<p>"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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span> +it lay, by some adhesive substance to the bottom of the +shell.</p> + +<p>At this moment Alan Rookwood happened to cast his eye +upward, and he then beheld what filled him with new terror. +The axe of the sable statue was poised above its head, as in +the act to strike him. Some secret machinery, it was evident, +existed between the sarcophagus lid and this mysterious +image. But in the first impulse of his alarm Alan abandoned +his hold of the slab, and it sunk slowly downwards. He +uttered a loud cry as it moved. Lady Rookwood heard this +cry. She raised herself at the same 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 was within +the sarcophagus, and Alan could discern her features. The +expression was terrible. She uttered one shriek and the lid +closed for ever.</p> + +<p>Alan was in total darkness. The light had been enclosed +with Lady Rookwood. There was something so horrible in +her probable fate, that even <i>he</i> shuddered as he thought upon +it. Exerting all his remaining strength, he essayed to raise +the lid, but now it was more firmly closed than ever. It +defied all his power. Once, for an instant, he fancied that +it yielded to his straining sinews, but it was only his hand +that slided upon the surface of the marble. It was fixed—immovable. +The sides and lid rang with the strokes which +the unfortunate lady bestowed upon 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. +All was silent.</p> + +<p>He now turned his attention to his own situation, which +had become sufficiently alarming. An hour must have elapsed, +yet Luke had not arrived. The door of the vault was closed—the +key was in the lock, and on the outside. He was himself +a prisoner within the tomb. What if Luke should <i>not</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[479]</a></span> +return? What if he were slain, as it might chance, in the +enterprise? That thought flashed across his brain like an +electric shock. None knew of his retreat but his grandson. +He might perish of famine within this desolate vault.</p> + +<p>He checked this notion as soon as it was formed—it was +too dreadful to be indulged in. A thousand circumstances +might conspire to detain Luke. He was sure to come. Yet +the solitude—the darkness was awful, almost intolerable. The +dying and the dead were around him. He dared not stir.</p> + +<p>Another hour—an age it seemed to him—had passed. Still +Luke came not. Horrible forebodings crossed him; but he +would not surrender himself to them. He rose, and crawled +in the direction, as he supposed, of the door—fearful, even of +the stealthy sound of his own footsteps. He reached it, and +his heart once more throbbed with hope. He bent his ear to +the key; he drew in his breath; he listened for some sound, +but nothing was to be heard. A groan would have been almost +music in his ears.</p> + +<p>Another hour was gone! He was now a prey to the most +frightful apprehensions, agitated in turns by the wildest emotions +of rage and terror. He at one moment imagined that +Luke had abandoned him, and heaped curses upon his head; +at the next, convinced that he had fallen, he bewailed with +equal bitterness his grandson's fate and his own. He paced +the tomb like one distracted; he stamped upon the iron plate; +he smote with his hands upon the door; he shouted, and the +vault hollowly echoed his lamentations. But Time's sand ran +on, and Luke arrived not.</p> + +<p>Alan now abandoned himself wholly to despair. He could no +longer anticipate his grandson's coming, no longer hope for +deliverance. His fate was sealed. Death awaited him. He +must anticipate his slow but inevitable stroke, enduring all the +grinding horrors of starvation. The contemplation of such an +end was madness, but he was forced to contemplate it now; +and so appalling did it appear to his imagination, that he half<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[480]</a></span> +resolved to dash out his brains against the walls of the sepulchre, +and put an end at once to his tortures; and nothing, except a +doubt whether he might not, by imperfectly accomplishing his +purpose, increase his own suffering, prevented him from putting +this dreadful idea into execution. His dagger was gone, and he +had no other weapon. Terrors of a new kind now assailed him. +The dead, he fancied, were bursting from their coffins, and he +peopled the darkness with grisly phantoms. They were around +about him on each side, whirling and rustling, gibbering, +groaning, shrieking, laughing, and lamenting. He was stunned, +stifled. The air seemed to grow suffocating, pestilential; the +wild laughter was redoubled; the horrible troop assailed him; +they dragged him along the tomb, and amid their howls he +fell, and became insensible.</p> + +<p>When he returned to himself, it was some time before he +could collect his scattered faculties; and when the agonizing +consciousness of his terrible situation forced itself upon his +mind, he had nigh relapsed into oblivion. He arose. He +rushed towards the door; he knocked against it with his +knuckles till the blood streamed from them; he scratched +against it with his nails till they were torn off by the roots. +With insane 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 which he could +insert a finger's point. He beat it with his clenched hand; +he tore it with his teeth; he jumped upon it; he smote it +with his heel. The iron returned a sullen sound.</p> + +<p>He again essayed the lid of the sarcophagus. Despair nerved +his strength. He raised the slab a few inches. He shouted, +screamed, but no answer was returned; and again the lid +fell.</p> + +<p>"She is dead!" cried Alan. "Why have I not shared her +fate? But mine is to come. And such a death!—oh, oh!" +And, frenzied at the thought, he again hurried to the door,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[481]</a></span> +and renewed his fruitless attempts to escape, till nature gave +way, and he sank upon the floor, groaning and exhausted.</p> + +<p>Physical suffering now began to take the place of his mental +tortures. Parched and consumed with a fierce internal fever, +he was tormented by unappeasable thirst—of all human ills +the most unendurable. His tongue was dry and dusty, his +throat inflamed; his lips had lost all moisture. He licked the +humid floor; he sought to imbibe the nitrous drops from the +walls; but, instead of allaying his thirst, they increased it. +He would have given the world, had he possessed it, for a +draught of cold spring-water. Oh, to have died with his +lips upon some bubbling fountain's marge! But to perish +thus——!</p> + +<p>Nor were the pangs of hunger wanting. He had to endure +all the horrors of famine, as well as the agonies of quenchless +thirst.</p> + +<p>In this dreadful state three days and nights passed over +Alan's fated head. Nor night nor day had he. Time, with +him, was only measured by its duration, and that seemed +interminable. Each hour added to his suffering, and brought +with it no relief. During this period of prolonged misery +reason often tottered on her throne. Sometimes he was under +the influence of the wildest passions. He dragged coffins from +their recesses, hurled them upon the ground, striving to break +them open and drag forth their loathsome contents. Upon +other occasions he would weep 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 he deemed, ringing +in his ears. Then, again, would he call down imprecations +upon himself and his whole line, trampling upon the pile of +coffins he had reared; and lastly, more subdued, would creep +to the boards that contained the body of his child, kissing +them with a frantic outbreak of affection.</p> + +<p>At length he became sensible of his approaching dissolution. +To him the thought of death might well be terrible, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[482]</a></span> +quailed not before it, or rather seemed, in his latest moments, +to resume all his wonted firmness of character. Gathering +together his remaining strength, he dragged himself towards +the niche wherein his brother, Sir Reginald Rookwood, was +deposited, and placing his hand upon the coffin, solemnly +exclaimed, "My curse—my dying curse—be upon thee evermore!"</p> + +<p>Falling with his face upon the coffin, Alan instantly expired. +In this attitude his remains were discovered.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LENVOY" id="LENVOY"></a>L'ENVOY</h2> + + +<p>Our tale is told. Yet, perhaps, we may be allowed to add +a few words respecting two of the subordinate characters of +our drama—melodrama we ought to say—namely Jerry Juniper +and the knight of Malta. What became of the Caper Merchant's +son after his flight from Kilburn Wells we have never +been able distinctly to ascertain. Juniper, however, would +seem to be a sort of Wandering Jew, for certain it is, that +<i>somebody very like him</i> 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 Ascot and Hampton.</p> + +<p>As regards the knight of Malta—Knight of <i>Roads</i>—"Rhodes"—he +should have been—we are sorry to state +that the career of the Ruffler terminated in a madhouse, and +thus the poor knight became in reality a <i>Hospitaller</i>! According +to the custom observed in those establishments, the +knight was deprived of his luxuriant locks, and the loss of his +beard rendered his case incurable; but, in the mean time, the +barber of the place made his fortune by retailing the materials +of all the black wigs he could collect to the impostor's dupes.</p> + +<p>Such is the latest piece of intelligence that has reached us +of the <i>Arch-hoaxer</i> of Canterbury!</p> + +<p>Turpin—why disguise it?—was hanged at York in 1739. +His firmness deserted him not at the last. When he mounted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[483]</a></span> +the fatal tree his left leg trembled; he stamped it impatiently +down, and, after a brief chat with the hangman, threw himself +suddenly and resolutely from the ladder. His sufferings would +appear to have been slight: as he himself sang,</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He died, not as other men, by <i>degrees</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But <i>at once</i>, without wincing, and quite at his ease!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>We may, in some other place, lay before the reader the +particulars—and they are not incurious—of the "night before +Larry was stretched."</p> + +<p>The remains of the vagrant highwayman found a final resting-place +in the desecrated churchyard of Saint George, without +the Fishergate postern, a green and grassy cemetery, but +withal a melancholy one. A few recent tombs mark out the +spots where some of the victims of the pestilence of 1832-33 +have been interred; but we have made vain search for Turpin's +grave—unless—as is more than probable—the plain stone +with the simple initials R. T. belongs to him.</p> + +<p>The gyves by which he was fettered are still shown at York +Castle, and are of prodigious weight and strength; and though +the herculean robber is said to have moved in them with ease, +the present turnkey was scarcely able to lift the ponderous +irons. An old woman of the same city has a lock of hair, said +to have been Turpin's, which she avouches her grandfather +cut off from the body after the execution, and which the +believers look upon with great reverence. O rare Dick +Turpin!</p> + +<p>We shall, perhaps, be accused of dilating too much upon +the character of the highwayman, and we plead guilty to the +charge. But we found it impossible to avoid running a little +into extremes. Our earliest associations are connected with +sunny scenes in Cheshire, said to have been 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—he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[484]</a></span> +a sort of hero. We have had a singular delight in recounting +his feats and hairbreadth escapes; and if the reader derives +only half as much pleasure from the perusal of his adventures +as we have had in narrating them, our satisfaction will be +complete. Perhaps, we may have placed him in too favorable +a point of view—and yet we know not. As upon those of +more important personages, many doubts rest upon his history. +Such as we conceive him to have been, we have drawn him—hoping +that the benevolent reader, upon finishing our Tale, will +arrive at the same conclusion; and, in the words of the +quaint old Prologue to the Prince of Prigs' Revels,</p> + +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——————Thank that man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can make each thief a complete Roscian!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[485]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="NOTES" id="NOTES"></a>NOTES</h2> + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See the celebrated recipe for the Hand of Glory in "<i>Les Secrets du +Petit Albert</i>."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The seven planets, so called by Mercurius Trismegistus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Payne Knight, the scourge of Repton and his school, speaking of +the license indulged in by the modern landscape-gardeners, thus vents +his indignation:</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 26em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But here, once more, ye rural muses weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ivy'd balustrade, and terrace steep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walls, mellowed into harmony by time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which fantastic creepers used to climb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While statues, labyrinths, and alleys pent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within their bounds, at least were innocent!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Our modern taste—alas!—no limit knows;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>O'er hill, o'er dale, through wood and field it flows;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Spreading o'er all its unprolific spawn,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In never-ending sheets of vapid lawn.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9"><i>The Landscape, a didactic Poem,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i11"><i>addressed to Uvedale Price, Esq.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Mason's English Garden.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Cowley.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Query, Damocles?—<i>Printer's Devil.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> James Hind—the "Prince of Prigs"—a royalist captain of some +distinction, was hanged, drawn, and quartered, in 1652. Some good +stories are told of him. He had the credit of robbing Cromwell, +Bradshaw, and Peters. His discourse to Peters is particularly edifying.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> See Du-Val's life by Doctor Pope, or Leigh Hunt's brilliant sketch +of him in <i>The Indicator</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> We cannot say much in favor of this worthy, whose name was +Thomas Simpson. The reason of his <i>sobriquet</i> does not appear. He +was not particularly scrupulous as to his mode of appropriation. One +of his sayings is, however, on record. He told a widow whom he +robbed, "that the end of a woman's husband begins in tears, but the +end of her tears is another husband." "Upon which," says his chronicler, +"the gentlewoman gave him about fifty guineas."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[486]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Tom was a sprightly fellow, and carried his sprightliness to the +gallows; for just before he was turned off he kicked Mr. Smith, the +ordinary, and the hangman out of the cart—a piece of pleasantry which +created, as may be supposed, no small sensation.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Many agreeable stories are related of Holloway. His career, however, +closed with a murder. He contrived to break out of Newgate +but returned to witness the trial of one of his associates; when, upon +the attempt of a turnkey, one Richard Spurling, to seize him, Will +knocked him on the head in the presence of the whole court. For this +offence he suffered the extreme penalty of the law in 1712.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Wicks's adventures with Madame Toly are highly diverting. It +was this hero—not Turpin, as has been erroneously stated—who stopped +the celebrated Lord Mohun. Of Gettings and Grey, and "the five or +six," the less said the better.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> One of Jack's recorded <i>mots</i>. When a Bible was pressed upon his +acceptance by Mr. Wagstaff, the chaplain, Jack refused it, saying, "that +in his situation one file would be worth all the Bibles in the world." A +gentleman who visited Newgate asked him to dinner; Sheppard replied, +"that he would take an early opportunity of waiting upon him." And +we believe he kept his word.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> The word Tory, as here applied, must not be confounded with the +term of party distinction now in general use in the political world. It +simply means a thief on a grand scale, something more than "a snapper-up +of unconsidered trifles," or petty-larceny rascal. We have classical +authority for this:—<span class="smcap">Tory</span>: "An advocate for absolute monarchy; <i>also, +an Irish vagabond, robber, or rapparee</i>."—<span class="smcap">Grose's</span> <i>Dictionary</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> A trio of famous High-Tobygloaks. Swiftneck was a captain of +<i>Irish</i> dragoons, by-the-bye.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Redmond O'Hanlon</span> was the Rob Roy of Ireland, and his adventures, +many of which are exceedingly curious, would furnish as rich +<i>materials</i> for the novelist, as they have already done for the ballad-mongers: +some of them are, however, sufficiently well narrated in a +pleasant little tome, published at Belfast, entitled <i>The History of the +Rapparees</i>. We are also in possession of a funeral discourse, preached +at the obsequies of the "noble and renowned" Henry St. John, Esq., +who was unfortunately killed by the <i>Tories</i>—the <i>Destructives</i> of those +days—in the induction to which we find some allusion to Redmond. +After describing the 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 of insolent bloody outlaws, whom they here call <i>Tories</i>. +These had so riveted themselves in these parts, that by the interest they +had among the natives, and some English, too, <i>to their shame be it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[487]</a></span> +spoken</i>, they exercise a kind of separate sovereignty in three or four +counties in the north of Ireland. <span class="smcap">Redmond O'Hanlon</span> is their chief, +and has been these many years; a cunning, dangerous fellow, who, +though proclaimed an outlaw with the rest of his crew, and sums of +money set upon their heads, yet he reigns still, and keeps all in subjection, +so far that 'tis credibly reported <i>he raises more in a year by contributions +à-la-mode de France than the king's land taxes and chimney-money +come to, and thereby is enabled to bribe clerks and officers</i>, <span class="smcapl">IF NOT THEIR +MASTERS</span>, (!) <i>and makes all too much truckle to him</i>." Agitation, it +seems, was not confined to our own days—but the "finest country in the +world" has been, and ever will be, the same. The old game is played +under a new color—the only difference being, that had Redmond lived +in our time, he would, in all probability, not only have pillaged a county, +but <i>represented</i> it in parliament. The spirit of the Rapparee is still +abroad—though we fear there is little of the <i>Tory</i> left about it. We +recommend this note to the serious consideration of the declaimers +against the sufferings of the "six millions."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Here Titus was slightly in error. He mistook the cause for the +effect. "They were called Rapparees," Mr. Malone says, "from being +armed with a half-pike, called by the Irish a <i>rapparee</i>."—<span class="smcap">Todd's +Johnson</span>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> <i>Tory</i>, so called from the Irish word <i>Toree</i>, give me your +money.—<span class="smcap">Todd's Johnson</span>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> As he was carried to the gallows, Jack played a fine tune of his own +composing on the bagpipe, which retains the name of Macpherson's +tune to this day.—<i>History of the Rapparees</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> "Notwithstanding he was so great a rogue, Delany was a handsome, +portly man, extremely diverting in company, and could behave himself +before gentlemen very agreeably. <i>He had a political genius</i>—not altogether +surprising in so eminent a <i>Tory</i>—and would have made great +proficiency in learning if he had rightly applied his time. He composed +several songs, and put tunes to them; and by his skill in music gained +the favor of some of the leading musicians in the country, who endeavored +to get him reprieved."—<i>History of the Rapparees</i>. The particulars +of the <i>Songster's</i> execution are singular:—"When he was brought into +court to receive sentence of death, the judge told him that he was +informed he should say 'that there was not a rope in Ireland sufficient +to hang him. But,' says he, 'I'll try if Kilkenny can't afford one strong +enough to do your business; and if that will not do, you shall have another, +and another.' Then he ordered the sheriff to choose a rope, and +Delany was ordered for execution the next day. The sheriff having notice +of his mother's boasting that no rope could hang her son—and pursuant +to the judge's desire—provided two ropes, but Delany broke them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[488]</a></span> +one after the other! The sheriff was then in a rage, and went for three +bed-cords, which he plaited threefold together, <i>and they did his business</i>! +Yet the sheriff was afraid he was not dead; and in a passion, to make +trial, stabbed him with his sword in the soles of his feet, and at last cut +the rope. After he was cut down, his body was carried into the courthouse, +where it remained in the coffin for two days, standing up, till the +judge and all the spectators were fully satisfied that he was stiff and +dead, and then permission was given to his friends to remove the corpse +and bury it."-<i>History of the Rapparees</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Highwaymen, as contradistinguished from footpads.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Since Mr. Coates here avows himself the writer of this diatribe +against Sir Robert Walpole, attacked under the guise of <i>Turpin</i> in the +<i>Common Sense</i> of July 30, 1737, it is useless to inquire further into its +authorship. And it remains only to refer the reader to the <i>Gents. Mag.</i>, +vol. vii. p. 438, for the article above quoted; and for a reply to it from +the <i>Daily Gazetteer</i> contained in p. 499 of the same volume.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> In reference to this imaginary charm, Sir Thomas Browne observes, +in his "Vulgar Errors." "What natural effects can reasonably be expected, +when, to prevent the Ephialtes, or Nightmare, we hang a hollow +stone in our stables?" Grose also states, "that a stone with a hole in +it, hung at the bed's head, will prevent the nightmare, and is therefore +called a hag-stone." The belief in this charm still lingers in +some districts, and maintains, like the horse-shoe affixed to the barn-door, +a feeble stand against the superstition-destroying "march of intellect."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Brown's Pastorals.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> The Merry Beggars.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> 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, the patrico +bids them live together till death do them part; and so shaking hands, +the wedding dinner is kept at the next alehouse they stumble into, where +the union is nothing but knocking of cannes, and the sauce, none but +drunken brawles.—<span class="smcap">Dekkar</span>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Receiver.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Memoirs, of the right villainous John Hall, the famous, and notorious +Robber, penned from his Mouth some Time before his Death, 1708.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> A famous highwayman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> A real gentleman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Breeches and boots.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Gipsy flask.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> How he exposes his pistols.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> For an account of these, see Grose. They are much too <i>gross</i> to +be set down here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[489]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> "The shalm, or shawm, was a wind instrument, like a pipe, with a +swelling protuberance in the middle."—<i>Earl of Northumberland's +Household Book</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Perhaps the most whimsical laws that were ever prescribed to a gang +of thieves were those framed by William Holliday, one of the prigging +community, who was hanged in 1695: +</p><p> +Art. I. directs—That none of his company should presume to wear +shirts, upon pain of being cashiered. +</p><p> +II.—That none should lie in any other places than stables, empty houses, +or other bulks. +</p><p> +III.—That they should eat nothing but what they begged, and that +they should give away all the money they got by cleaning boots among +one another, for the good of the fraternity. +</p><p> +IV.—That they should neither learn to read nor write, that he may +have them the better under command. +</p><p> +V.—That they should appear every morning by nine, on the parade, to +receive necessary orders. +</p><p> +VI.—That none should presume to follow the scent but such as he +ordered on that party. +</p><p> +VII.—That if any one gave them shoes or stockings, they should convert +them into money to play. +</p><p> +VIII.—That they should steal nothing they could not come at, for +fear of bringing a scandal upon the company. +</p><p> +IX.—That they should cant better than the Newgate birds, pick +pockets without bungling, outlie a Quaker, outswear a lord at a gaming-table, +and brazen out all their villainies beyond an Irishman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Cell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Newgate.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> A woman whose husband has been hanged.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> A dancing-master.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> "Nothing, comrades; on, on," supposed to be addressed by a +thief to his confederates.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Thus Victor Hugo, in "Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné," makes +an imprisoned felon sing:</p> +<div class="cpoem" style="width: 13em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"J'le ferai danser une danse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Où il n'y a pas de plancher."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Thieves in prison.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Shoplifter.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Pickpocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> Handkerchiefs.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Rings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[490]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> To the pawnbroker.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Snuff-boxes.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> Pickpocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> The two forefingers used in picking a pocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> Pickpocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Pick a pocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> No inside coat-pocket; buttoned up.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> Scissors.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> Steal a pocket-book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> Best-made clothes.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> Thief.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> With my hair dressed in the first fashion.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> With several rings on my hands.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> Seals.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> Gold watch.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> Laced shirt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> Gentlemanlike.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Easily than forged notes could I pass.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Favorite mistress.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> Police.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> Taken at length.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> Cast for transportation.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Fetters.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> Turnkey.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> Gipsy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Pickpockets.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> This song describes pretty accurately the career of an extraordinary +individual, who, in the lucid intervals of a half-crazed understanding, +imposed himself upon the credulous inhabitants of Canterbury, in the +year 1832, as a certain "<span class="smcap">Sir William Percy Honeywood Courtenay, +Knight of Malta</span>;" 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 nearly a century back—will, perhaps, be overlooked, when it is considered +of how much value, in the illustration of "wise saws," are +"<i>modern instances</i>." Imposture and credulity are of all ages; and the +Courtenays of the nineteenth are rivalled by the Tofts and Andrés of +the eighteenth century. The subjoined account of the <i>soi-disant</i> <span class="smcap">Sir +William Courtenay</span> is extracted from "An Essay on his Character, +and Reflections on his Trial," published at the theatre of his exploits: +"About Michaelmas last it was rumored that an extraordinary man was +staying at the Rose Inn of this city—Canterbury—who passed under the +name of Count Rothschild, but had been recently known in London by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[491]</a></span> +the name of Thompson! This would have been sufficient to excite attention, +had no other incidents materially added to the excitement. +His costume and countenance denoted foreign extraction, while his +language and conversation showed that he was well acquainted with +almost every part of this kingdom. He was said to live with singular +frugality, notwithstanding abundant samples of wealth, and professions +of an almost unlimited command of money. He appeared to study +retirement, if not concealment, although subsequent events have proved +that society of every grade, beneath the middle class, is the element in +which he most freely breathes. <i>He often decked his person with a fine +suit of Italian clothing, and sometimes with the more gay and imposing +costume of the Eastern nations; yet these foreign habits were for months +scarcely visible beyond the limits of the inn of his abode, and the chapel +not far from it, in which he was accustomed to offer his Sabbath devotions.</i> +This place was the first to which he made a public and frequent resort; +and though he did not always attempt to advance towards the uppermost +seat in the synagogue, he attracted attention from the mere singularity +of his appearance. +</p><p> +"Such was the eccentric, incongruous individual who surprised our +city by proposing himself as a third candidate for its representation, and +who created an entertaining contest for the honor, long after the sitting +candidates had composed themselves to the delightful vision of an +inexpensive and unopposed return. The notion of representing the +city originated beyond all doubt in the fertile brain of the man himself. +It would seem to have been almost as sudden a thought in his mind, as +it was a sudden and surprising movement in the view of the city; nor +have we been able to ascertain whether his sojourn at the Rose was the +cause or the effect of his offering to advocate our interests in Parliament—whether +he came to the city with that high-minded purpose, or subsequently +formed the notion, when he saw, or thought he saw, an opening +for a stranger of enterprise like himself. +</p> +<hr style='width: 45%; margin: 0 auto 0;' /> +<p> +"As the county election drew on, we believe between the nomination +on Barham Downs and the voting in the cattle market of the city, the +draught of a certain handbill was sent to a printer of this city, with a +request that he would publish it without delay. Our readers will not be +surprised that he instantly declined the task; but as we have obtained +possession of the copy, and its publication can now do no injury to any +one, we entertain them with a sight of this delectable sample of Courtenay +prudence and politeness. +</p><p> +"'O yes! O yes! O yes! I, Lord Viscount William Courtenay, of +Powderham Castle, Devon, do hereby proclaim Sir Thomas Tylden, Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[492]</a></span> +Brook Brydges, Sir Edward Knatchbull, and Sir William Cosway, four +cowards, unfit to represent, or to assist in returning members of Parliament +to serve the brave men of Kent. +</p><p> +"'Percy Honeywood Courtenay, of Hales and Evington Place, Kent, +and Knight of Malta. +</p><p> +"'Any gentleman desiring to know the reasons why Lord Courtenay +so publicly exposes backbiters, any man of honor shall have satisfaction +at his hands, and in a public way, according to the laws of our land—trial +by combat; when the Almighty God, the Lord of Hosts is his +name, can decide the "truth," whether it is a libel or not. I worship +truth as my God, and will die for it—and upon this we will see who is +strongest, God or man.' +</p><p> +"It is a coincidence too curious to be overlooked, that this doughty +champion of <i>truth</i> should so soon have removed himself from public +life by an act of deliberate and wanton perjury. We never read any of +his rhapsodies, periodical or occasional, till the publication of this essay +imposed the self-denying task upon us; but now we find that they +abound in strong and solemn appeals to the <i>truth</i>; in bold proclamations +that <i>truth</i> is his palladium; in evidences that he writes and raves, +that he draws his sword and clenches his fist, that he expends his property +and the property of others committed to his hands, in no cause +but that of <i>truth</i>! His famous periodical contains much vehement declamation +in defence of certain doctrines of religion, which he terms the +truth of the sublime system of Christianity, and for which alone he is +content to live, and also willing to die. All who deviate from his standard +of truth, whether theological or moral, philosophical or political, +he appears to consider as neither fit for life nor death. Now it is a +little strange, his warmest followers being witness, that such an advocate +of truth should have become the willing victim of falsehood, the +ready and eager martyr of the worst form of falsehood—perjury. +</p><p> +"The decline of his influence between the city and county elections +has been partly attributed, and not without reason, to the sudden change +in his appearance from comparative youth to advancing, if not extreme +age. <i>On the hustings of the city he shone forth in all the dazzling lustre of +an Oriental chief; and such was the effect of gay clothing on the meridian +of life, that his admirers, especially of the weaker sex, would insist upon it +that he had not passed the beautiful spring-time of May. There were, +indeed, some suspicious appearances of a near approach to forty, if not two +or three years beyond it; but these were fondly ascribed to his foreign +travels in distant and insalubrious climes; he had acquired his duskiness +of complexion, and his strength of feature and violence of gesture, and his +profusion of beard, in Egypt and Syria, in exploring the catacombs of the +one country, and bowing at the shrines of the other. On the other hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[493]</a></span> +the brilliancy of his eye, the melody of his voice, and the elasticity of his +muscles and limbs, were sufficient arguments in favor of his having scarcely +passed the limit that separates manhood from youth.</i> +</p><p> +"All doubts on these points were removed, when the crowd of his fair +admirers visited him at the retirement of his inn, and the intervals of +his polling. These <i>sub-Rosa</i> interviews—we allude to the name of the +inn, and not to anything like privacy there, which the very place and +number of the visitors altogether precluded—convinced them that he +was even a younger and lovelier man than his rather boisterous behavior +in the hall would allow them to hope. In fact, he was now installed +by acclamation <i>Knight of Canterbury as well as Malta, and King of Kent +as well as Jerusalem</i>! It became dangerous then to whisper a syllable +of suspicion against his wealth or rank, his wisdom or beauty; and all +who would not bow down before this golden image were deemed worthy +of no better fate than Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—to be cast +into a burning fiery furnace." +</p><p> +As a sequel to the above story, it may be added that the knight of +Malta became the inmate of a lunatic asylum; and on his liberation was +shot at the head of a band of Kentish hinds, whom he had persuaded +that he was the Messiah!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> A pipe of tobacco.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> A drink composed of beer, eggs, and brandy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> The supposed malignant influence of this plant is frequently alluded +to by our elder dramatists; and with one of the greatest of them, Webster—as +might be expected from a muse revelling like a ghoul in graves +and sepulchres—it is an especial favorite. But none have plunged so +deeply into the subject as Sir Thomas Browne. He tears up the fable +root and branch. Concerning the danger ensuing from eradication of +the mandrake, the learned physician thus writes: "The last assertion +is, that there follows a hazard of life to them that pull it up, that some +evil 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 this plant, they took the wind thereof, and with a sword describing +three circles about it, they digged it up, looking toward the west. A +conceit not only injurious unto truth and confutable by daily experience, +but somewhat derogatory unto the providence of God; that is, not only +to impose so destructive a quality on any plant, but to conceive a vegetable +whose parts are so useful unto many, should, in the only taking +up, prove mortal unto any. This were to introduce a second forbidden +fruit, and enhance the first malediction, making it not only mortal for +Adam to taste the one, but capital for his posterity to eradicate or dig +up the other."—<i>Vulgar Errors</i>, book ii. c. vi.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[494]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> The moon.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> Light.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> Highwayman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> "Cherry-colored—black; there being black cherries as well +as red."—<span class="smcap">Grose.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> Sword.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> Pistols.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> Highway robbery.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> Pocket-book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> Money.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> Bullets.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> The gallows.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> Ditto.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Pocket-book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> Inside coat-pocket.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> A small pocket-book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> 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 we think King's the simpler plan, and quite practicable still. A +cabriolet would be quite out of the question, but particularly easy to +<i>stop</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> Four celebrated highwaymen, all rejoicing in the honorable distinction +of captain.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> The exact spot where Turpin committed this robbery, which has +often been pointed out to us, lies in what is now a woody hollow, though +once the old road from Altringham to Knutsford skirting the rich and +sylvan domains of Dunham, and descending the hill that brings you to +the bridge crossing the little river Bollin. With some difficulty we +penetrated this ravine. It is just the place for an adventure of the +kind. A small brook wells through it; and the steep banks are overhung +with timber, and were, when we last visited the place, in April, +1834, a perfect nest of primroses and wild flowers. Hough (pronounced +Hoo) Green lies about three miles across the country—the way Turpin +rode. The old Bowling-green is one of the pleasantest inns in +Cheshire.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> Money.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> Man.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> Stripped.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> Fellow.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> A particular kind of pugilistic punishment.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> Kept each an eye upon the other.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> Hands.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> Deceive them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[495]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> Accomplice.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> A farthing.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> Cards.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> Qy. <i>élite</i>.—<span class="smcap">Printer's Devil</span>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> Shoot him.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> Since the earlier editions of this Romance were published, we regret +to state—for to <i>us</i>, at least, it is matter of regret, though probably +not to the travellers along the Edgeware Road—that this gentle ascent +has been cut through, and the fair prospect from its brow utterly destroyed.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> This, we regret to say, is not the case. The memory of bold Will +Davies, the "<i>Golden Farmer</i>"—so named from the circumstances of +his always paying his rent in gold,—is fast declining upon his peculiar +domain, Bagshot. The inn, which once bore his name, still remains to +point out to the traveller the dangers his forefathers had to encounter +in crossing this extensive heath. Just beyond this house the common +spreads out for miles on all aides in a most gallop-inviting style; and +the passenger, as he gazes from the box of some flying coach, as we +have done, upon the gorse-covered waste, may, without much stretch +of fancy, imagine he beholds Will Davies careering like the wind over +its wild and undulating expanse. We are sorry to add that the "<i>Golden</i> +Farmer" has altered its designation to the "<i>Jolly</i> Farmer." This +should be amended; and when next we pass that way, we hope to see +the original sign restored. We cannot afford to lose our <i>golden</i> +farmers.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rookwood, by William Harrison Ainsworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROOKWOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 23564-h.htm or 23564-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/5/6/23564/ + +Produced by Afra Ullah, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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