Rookwood

'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 toward the further molestation of these ladies, it shall be at the hazard of your life.'

'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 posthaste to the devil for half the trouble he gave me. Easy as I am, I never choose to be balked in my humours. 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 cheque, and then we shall have the seal as well as the signature. Poh—poh—no nonsense! Many a pretty lass has thought it an honour to be kissed by Turpin.'

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.

'Save me! save me!' cried Eleanor, addressing the newcomer.

'Damnation!' said the highwayman. 'What has brought you here? one would think you were turned assistant to all distressed damsels. Quit your hold, or, by God above us, you will repent it.'

'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.

The priest stood like one stunned with surprise at Luke's sudden appearance and subsequent daring action.

Luke, meanwhile, approached Eleanor. He gazed upon her with curiosity mixed with admiration, for his heart told him she was very fair. A death-like paleness had spread over her cheeks; yet still, despite the want of colour, 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.

'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 nothing better at my hands than that I should call you to instant account for it—and curse me! if I don't too.'

'Luke Bradley!' interrupted Mrs. Mowbray—'are you that individual?'

'I have been so called, madam,' replied Luke.

'Father Ambrose, is this the person of whom you spoke?' eagerly asked the lady.

'So I conclude,' returned the priest, evasively.

'Did he not call you Luke Rookwood?' eagerly demanded Eleanor. 'Is that also your name?'

'Rookwood is my name, fair cousin,' replied Luke, 'if I may venture to call you so.'

'And Ranulph Rookwood is—'

'My brother.'

'I never heard he had a brother,' rejoined Eleanor, with some agitation. 'How can that be?'

'I am his brother, nevertheless,' replied Luke, moodily—'his ELDER BROTHER!'

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.

Chagrined and mortified, Luke remarked that glance of enquiry. 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 nought so fair, and the instant he beheld her—he felt that for her alone could he cancel his vows to Sybil. The spirit of rivalry and jealousy was instantly aroused by Eleanor's exclamations.

'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—'

'I am Sir Luke Rookwood,' replied Luke, proudly.

Ere the words were uttered Eleanor had fainted.

'Assistance is at hand, madam, if you will accept it, and follow me,' said Luke, raising the insensible girl in his arms, and bearing her down the hill towards the encampment, whither he was followed by Mrs. Mowbray and the priest, between whom, 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.

'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 sha'n'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.'

Upon which he mounted his mare, and walked her easily down the hill.

'And so that be Dick Turpin, folks talk so much about,' soliloquised the lad, looked 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.