"Your ladyship anticipates my meaning," returned Luke. "Susan Bradley
was the first wife of Sir Piers Rookwood."

"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."

"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_ fear you not. There _have_ been days when the Rookwoods held their
dames in subjection. Discern you nought of that in me?"

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, 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,--

"Follow me!"

"Whither?" asked she, in alarm.

"To the chamber of death!"

"Why there? what would you do? Villain! I will not trust my life with
you. I will _not_ follow you."

"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."

"Go," said Lady Rookwood; "if that be all, I pledge myself you shall not
be interrupted."

"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