r the
things of the world, nor those that inhabit the world. But I know what
sways the world and its inhabitants; and that is, SELF! AND
SELF-INTEREST! Let Luke reflect on this. The key to Rookwood is Eleanor
Mowbray. The hand that grasps hers, grasps those lands; thus saith the
prophecy."

"It is a lying prophecy."

"It was uttered by one of your race."

"By whom?"

"By Barbara Lovel," said Peter, with a sneer of triumph.

"Ha!"

"Heed him not," exclaimed Luke, as Sybil recoiled at this intelligence.
"I am yours."

"Not mine! not mine!" shrieked she; "but, oh! not _hers_!"

"Whither go you?" cried Luke, as Sybil, half bewildered, tore herself
from him.

"To Barbara Lovel."

"I will go with you."

"No! let me go alone. I have much to ask her; yet tarry not with this
old man, dear Luke, or close your ears to his crafty talk. Avoid him.
Oh, I am sick at heart. Follow me not; I implore you, follow me not."

And with distracted air she darted amongst the mouldering cloisters,
leaving Luke stupefied with anguish and surprise. The sexton maintained
a stern and stoical composure.

"She is a woman, after all," muttered he; "all her high-flown resolves
melt like snow in the sunshine at the thought of a rival. I congratulate
you, grandson Luke; you are free from your fetters."

"Free!" echoed Luke. "Quit my sight; I loathe to look upon you. You have
broken the truest heart that ever beat in woman's bosom."

"Tut, tut," returned Peter; "it is not broken yet. Wait till we hear
what old Barbara has got to say; and, meanwhile, we must arrange with
Dick Turpin the price of that certificate. The knave knows its value
well. Come, be a man. This is worse than womanish."

And at length he succeeded, half by force and half by persuasion, in
dragging Luke away with him.

_CHAPTER IV_

_BARBARA LOVEL_

Los Gitanos son encantadores, adivinos, magos, chyromanticos, que
dicen por las rayas de las manos lo Futuro, que ellos llaman
Buenaventura, y generalmente son dados a toda supersticion.

DOCTOR SANCHO DE MONCADA.
_Discurso sobre Espulsion de los Gitanos._

Like a dove escaped from the talons of the falcon, Sybil fled from the
clutches of the sexton. Her brain was in a whirl, her blood on fire. She
had no distinct perception of external objects; no definite notion of
what she herself was about to do, and glided more like a flitting s