s maybe," replied Peter. "The body will
soon be on its way. I am but now arrived from the hall."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the lady. "None of the family will be present, I
suppose. Who is the chief mourner?"

"Young Sir Ranulph," answered the sexton. "There will be more of the
family than were expected."

"Is Sir Ranulph returned?" asked the young lady, with great agitation of
manner. "I thought he was abroad--that he was not expected. Are you sure
you are rightly informed?"

"I parted with him at the hall not ten minutes since," replied Peter.
"He returned from France to-night most unexpectedly."

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed the younger lady, "that this should be--that I
should meet him here. Why did we come?--let us depart."

"Impossible!" replied her mother; "the storm forbids it. This man's
information is so strange, I scarce can credit it. Are you sure you have
asserted the truth?" said she, addressing Peter.

"I am not accustomed to be doubted," answered he. "Other things as
strange have happened at the hall."

"What mean you?" asked the gentleman, noticing this last remark.

"You would not need to ask the question of me, had you been there,
amongst the other guests," retorted Peter. "Odd things, I tell you, have
been done there this night, and stranger things may occur before the
morning."

"You are insolent, sirrah! I comprehend you not."

"Enough! I can comprehend _you_," replied Peter, significantly; "I know
the count of the mourners invited to this ceremonial, and I am aware
that there are three too many."

"Know you this saucy knave, mother?"

"I cannot call him to mind, though I fancy I have seen him before."

"My recollection serves me better, lady," interposed Peter. "I remember
one who was once the proud heiress of Rookwood--ay, proud and beautiful.
Then the house was filled with her gallant suitors. Swords were crossed
for her. Hearts bled for her. Yet she favored none, until one hapless
hour. Sir Reginald Rookwood _had_ a daughter; Sir Reginald _lost_ a
daughter. Ha!--I see I am right. Well, he is dead and buried; and
Reginald, his son, is dead likewise; and Piers is on his road hither;
and you are the last, as in the course of nature you might have been the
first. And, now that they are all gone, you do rightly to bury your
grievances with them."

"Silence, sirrah!" exclaimed the gentleman, "or I will beat your brains
out with your own spade."

"No; let him speak, Vavasour," said the lady,