wrong," replied Luke. "I _was_ thinking
of the gipsies' camp, and of one who dwells amongst its tents."

"I knew it," replied Peter. "Did you hope to deceive me by attributing
all your joyousness of heart to the dawn? Your thoughts have been
wandering all this while upon one who hath, I will engage, a pair of
sloe-black eyes, an olive skin, and yet withal a clear one--'black, yet
comely, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon'--a mesh of
jetty hair, that hath entangled you in its network--ripe lips, and a
cunning tongue--one of the plagues of Egypt.--Ha, ha!"

"You have guessed shrewdly," replied Luke; "I care not to own that my
thoughts were so occupied."

"I was assured of it," replied the sexton. "And what may be the name of
her towards whom your imagination was straying?"

"Sibila Perez," replied Luke. "Her father was a Spanish Gitano. She is
known amongst her people by her mother's name of Lovel."

"She is beautiful, of course?"

"Ay, very beautiful!--but no matter! You shall judge of her charms
anon."

"I will take your word for them," returned the sexton; "and you love
her?"

"Passionately."

"You are not married?" asked Peter, hastily.

"Not as yet," replied Luke; "but my faith is plighted."

"Heaven be praised! The mischief is not then irreparable. I would have
you married--though not to a gipsy girl."

"And whom would you select?"

"One before whom Sybil's beauty would pale as stars at day's approach."

"There lives not such a one."

"Trust me there does. Eleanor Mowbray is lovely beyond parallel. I was
merely speculating upon a possibility when I wished her yours--it is
scarcely likely she would cast her eyes upon you."

"I shall not heed her neglect. Graced with my title, I doubt not, were
it my pleasure to seek a bride amongst those of gentle blood, I should
not find all indifferent to my suit."

"Possibly not. Yet what might weigh with others, would not weigh with
her. There are qualities you lack which she has discovered in another."

"In whom?"

"In Ranulph Rookwood."

"Is _he_ her suitor?"

"I have reason to think so."

"And you would have me abandon my own betrothed love, to beguile from my
brother his destined bride? That were to imitate the conduct of my
grandsire, the terrible Sir Reginald, towards _his_ brother Alan."

The sexton answered not, and Luke fancied he could perceive a quivering
in the hands that grasped his body for support. There was a brief pau