--a hunting dress. All that her
son had told her rushed to her recollection. The phantom advanced. Its
countenance was pale, and wore a gloomy frown.

"What would you destroy?" demanded the apparition, in a hollow tone.

"The evidence of----"

"What?"

"Your marriage."

"With yourself, accursed woman?"

"With Susan Bradley."

"What's that I hear?" shouted the figure, in an altered tone. "Married
to her! then Luke _is_ legitimate, and heir to this estate!" Whereupon
the apparition rushed to the table, and laid a very substantial grasp
upon the document. "A marriage certificate!" ejaculated the spectre;
"here's a piece of luck! It ain't often in our lottery life we draw a
prize like this. One way or the other, it must turn up a few cool
thousands."

"Restore that paper, villain," exclaimed Lady Rookwood, recovering all
the audacity natural to her character the instant she discovered the
earthly nature of the intruder--"restore it, or, by Heaven, you shall
rue your temerity."

"Softly, softly," replied the pseudo-phantom, with one hand pushing back
the lady, while the other conveyed the precious document to the custody
of his nether man--"softly," said he, giving the buckskin pocket a
slap--"two words to that, my lady. I know its value as well as yourself,
and must make my market. The highest offer has me, your ladyship; he's
but a poor auctioneer that knocks down his ware when only one bidder is
present. Luke Bradley, or, as I find he now is, Sir Luke Rookwood, may
come down more handsomely."

"Who are you, ruffian, and to what end is this masquerade assumed? If
for the purpose of terrifying me into compliance with the schemes of
that madman, Luke Bradley, whom I presume to be your confederate, your
labor is misspent--your stolen disguise has no more weight with me than
his forged claims."

"Forged claims! Egad, he must be a clever hand to have forged that
certificate. Your ladyship, however, is in error. Sir Luke Rookwood is
no associate of mine; I am his late father's friend. But I have no time
to bandy talk. What money have you in the house? Be alive."

"You _are_ a robber, then?"

"Not I. I'm a tax-gatherer--a collector of Rich-Rates--ha, ha! What
plate have you got? Nay, don't be alarmed--take it quietly--these things
can't be helped--better make up your mind to do it without more
ado--much the best plan--no screaming, it may injure your lungs, and can
alarm nobody. Your maids have done as much befo