Part 44 (2/2)
”Indeed! He never told me this.”
”He dared not do so; he had an oath which bound him to concealment. The time is coming when greater mysteries will be revealed.”
”'Tis strange I should not have heard of this before,” said Mrs.
Mowbray, musingly; ”and yet I might have guessed as much from 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, 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?”
Ere the priest could reply the s.e.xton presented himself.
”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?”
”Alan Rookwood!” echoed Barbara, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break; ”ha! what said he of him?”
”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.”
”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----”
”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.”
Barbara's withered countenance exhibited for an instant the deepest indignation at the s.e.xton'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 _friend_, sayest thou? See that it prove so, or beware of _me_.”
And, with a malignant scowl, the gipsy queen slowly shuffled towards her satellites, who were stationed at the door.
_CHAPTER VIII_
_THE PARTING_
No marriage I esteem it, where the friends Force love upon their children; where the virgin Is not so truly given as betrayed.
I would not have betrothed people--for I can by no means call them lovers--make Their rites no wedlock, but a sacrifice.
_Combat of Love and Friends.h.i.+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.
”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?”
”Alas!” sighed Sybil.
”You sigh!” exclaimed Eleanor, in alarm. ”Is there any real danger, then? Help us to avoid it. Quick, warn my mother; she seems agitated.
Oh, let me go to her.”
”Hus.h.!.+” 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.”
”Heavens!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Eleanor, ”and to whom?”
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