r beauty.

BROME.

On quitting Lady Rookwood's chamber, Luke speeded along the gloomy
corridor, descended the spiral stairs, and, swiftly traversing sundry
other dark passages, issued from a door at the back of the house. Day
was just beginning to break. His first object had been to furnish
himself with means to expedite his flight; and, perceiving no one in the
yard, he directed his hasty steps towards the stable. The door was
fortunately unfastened; and, entering, he found a strong roan horse,
which he knew, from description, had been his father's favorite hunter,
and to the use of which he now considered himself fully entitled. The
animal roused himself as he approached, shook his glossy coat, and
neighed, as if he recognized the footsteps and voice.

"Thou art mistaken, old fellow," said Luke; "I am not he thou thinkest;
nevertheless, I am glad thy instinct would have it so. If thou bearest
my father's son as thou hast borne thy old master, o'er many a field for
many a day, he need not fear the best mounted of his pursuers. Soho!
come hither, Rook."

The noble steed turned at the call. Luke hastily saddled him, vaulted
upon his back, and, disregarding every impediment in the shape of fence
or ditch, shaped his course across the field towards the sexton's
cottage, which he reached just as its owner was in the act of unlocking
his door. Peter testified his delight and surprise at the escape of his
grandson, by a greeting of chuckling laughter.

"How?--escaped!" exclaimed he. "Who has delivered you from the hands of
the Moabites? Ha, ha! But why do I ask? Who could it have been but Jack
Palmer?"

"My own hands have set me free," returned Luke. "I am indebted to no man
for liberty; still less to _him_. But I cannot tarry here; each moment
is precious. I came to request you to accompany me to the gipsy
encampment. Will you go, or not?"

"And mount behind you?" replied Peter; "I like not the manner of
conveyance."

"Farewell, then." And Luke turned to depart.

"Stay; that is Sir Piers's horse, old Rook. I care not if I do ride
him."

"Quick, then; mount."

"I will not delay you a moment," rejoined the sexton, opening his door,
and throwing his implements into the cottage. "Back, Mole; back, sir,"
cried he, as the dog rushed out to greet him. "Bring your steed nigh
this stone, grandson Luke--there--a little nearer--all's right." And
away they