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.
'Remove his fetters,' said Ranulph. And his manacles were removed.
'You will consent to remain here a prisoner until tomorrow.'
'I consent to nothing,' replied Luke; 'I am in your hands.'
'He does not deserve your clemency, Sir Ranulph,' interposed Coates.
'Let him take his own course,' said Lady Rookwood; 'he will reap the benefit of it anon.'
'Will you pledge yourself not to depart?' asked Ranulph.
'Of course,' cried the attorney; 'to be sure he will. Ha, ha!'
'No,' returned Luke haughtily, 'I will not—and you will detain me at your proper peril.'
'Better and better,' exclaimed the attorney. 'This is the highest joke I ever heard.'
'I shall detain you, then, in custody, until proper enquiries 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.'
'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.'
'Away with him,' cried Lady Rookwood. 'I am out of all patience with this trifling. 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.
'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.'
'That you will,' replied Palmer. 'Shall I be your deputy?'
'No, no,' returned Coates. 'I will have no other than Mr. Tyrconnel. It was Sir Ranulph's express wish.'
'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 tomorrow—what could bring him here, to spoil all?—it's cursedly provoking!'
'Cursed provoking!' echoed Jack.
'But then there's no help, so I must make the best of it,' returned the good-humoured Irishman.
'Body o' me,' said Coates, 'there's something in all this that I can't fathom. As to keeping the prisoner here, that's all moonshine. But I suppose we shall know the whole drift of it to-morrow.'
'Ay,' replied Jack, with a meaning smile, 'to-morrow!'
| Contents |
BOOK II
THE SEXTON
—WEBSTER
CHAPTER I
THE STORM
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 the approach were noted by the weather-wise 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 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 vapours, 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 colour, and thence to ashy, angry grey. 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 grey 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 thunderstorm.
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
