Out with your toasting iron! Thrust away!

 

--- HAYWARD'S Translation of Faust.

 

Conkey Jem went in search of such provisions as his hovel afforded. Turpin, meantime, lent his assistance towards the revival of 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.

 

"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.

 

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.

 

"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 nose upon me--eh, Nosey--always help one out of the water--always staunch. Here's health to you, old crony."

 

Jem returned a sulky response, as he placed the last rasher on the table, which was speedily discussed.

 

"Poor Bess!" muttered Dick, as he quaffed off the final glass of ale. "Poor lass! we buried her by the roadside, beneath the trees--deep--deep. Her remains shall never be disturbed. Alas! alas! my bonny Black Bess! But no matter, her name is yet alive--her deeds will survive her--the trial is over. And now," continued he, rising from his seat, "I'm with you. Where are the tits?"

 

"In the stable, under ground," growled Jem.

 

Alan Rookwood, in the mean time, had joined his grandson, and they conversed an instant or two apart.

 

"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."

 

"The tomb!" echoed Luke.

 

"Ay, our family vault," returned Alan, with a ghastly grin--"it is the only place of security for me now. Let me see her there. Let me know that my vengeance is complete, that I triumph in my death over him, the accursed brother, through you, my grandson. You have a rival brother--a successful one; you know now what hatred is."

 

"I do," returned Luke, fiercely.

 

"But not such hate as mine, which, through a life, a long life, hath endured, intense as when 'twas first engendered in my bosom; which from one hath spread o'er all my race--o'er all save you--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 mine first."

 

"My hate to Ranulph is bitter as your own to Sir Reginald."

 

"Name him not," shrieked Alan. "But, oh! to think upon the bride 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."

 

"I speak of him no more," said Luke. "I will meet you in the vault."

 

"Remember, to-morrow is her wedding day with Ranulph."

 

"Think you I forget it?"

 

"Bear it constantly in mind. To-morrow's dawn must see her yours or his. You have her oath. To you or to death she is affianced. If 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."

 

Luke took the weapon.

 

"Would you have me kill her?" demanded he.

 

"Sooner than she should be Ranulph's."

 

"Ay, aught sooner than that. But I would not murder both."

 

"Both!" echoed Alan. "I understand you not."

 

"Sybil and Eleanor," replied Luke; "for, as surely as I live, Sybil's death will lie at my door."

 

"How so?" asked Alan; "the poison was self-ministered."

 

"True," replied Luke, with terrible emphasis, "but I spoke daggers. Hearken to me," said he, hollowly whispering in his grandsire's ears. "Methinks I am not long for this world. I have seen her since her death!"

 

"Tut, tut," replied Alan. "'Tis not for you--a man--to talk thus. A truce to these womanish fancies."

 

"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."

 

"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."

 

"Of one or other you shall be resolved to-night," said Luke, placing the dagger within his vest.

 

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.

 

"What, ho!" shouted a voice. "Ferry wanted."

 

"Gad zooks!" exclaimed Dick. "As I live, 'tis Major Mowbray!"

 

"Major Mowbray!" echoed Alan, in amazement "What doth he here?"

 

"He must be on his way from York to Rookwood, I conclude," said Dick. "If he's here, I'll engage the others are not far off."

 

Scarcely were the words out of Dick's mouth, when further clatter was heard at the door, and the tones of Coates were heard, in altissimo key, demanding admittance.

 

"Let us retire into the next room," whispered Turpin, "and then admit them by all means, Conkey. And, hark ye, manage to detain them a few seconds."

 

"I'll do it," said Jem. "There's a bit of a hole you can peep through."

 

Another loud rat-tat was heard at the door, threatening to burst it from its hinges.

 

"Well, I be coming," said Jem, seeing the coast was clear, in a drowsy, yawning tone, as if just awakened from sleep. "You'll cross the river none the faster for making so much noise."

 

With these words he unbarred the door, and Coates and Paterson, who, it appeared, were proceeding to Rookwood, entered the hovel. Major Mowbray remained on horseback at the door.

 

"Can you find us a glass of brandy to keep out the fog?" said Coates, who knew something of our ferryman's vocations. "I know you are a lad of amazing spirit."

 

"May be I can, master, if I choose. But won't the other gemman walk in-doors likewise?"

 

"No, no," said Coates; "Major Mowbray don't choose to dismount."

 

"Well, as you please," said Jem. "It'll take me a minute or two to get the punt in order for all them prads."

 

"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."

 

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.

 

"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?"

 

"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."

 

"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."

 

"Nothin............