little distance with Mrs. Mowbray, keeping
Sybil in view, and watching every motion, as the panther watches the
gambols of a fawn.

"Know you who speaks to you?" said the old crone, in the peculiar low
and confidential tone assumed by her tribe to strangers. "Have you
forgotten the name of Barbara Lovel?"

"I have no distinct remembrance of it," returned Mrs. Mowbray.

"Think again," said Barbara; "and though years are flown, you may
perchance recall the black gipsy woman, who, when you were surrounded
with gay gallants, with dancing plumes, perused your palm, and whispered
in your ear the favored suitor's name. Bide with me a moment, madam,"
said Barbara, seeing that Mrs. Mowbray shrank from the recollection thus
conjured up; "I am old--very old; I have survived the shows of flattery,
and being vested with a power over my people, am apt, perchance, to take
too much upon myself with others." The old gipsy paused here, and then,
assuming a more familiar tone, exclaimed, "The estates of Rookwood are
ample----"

"Woman, what mean you?"

"They should have been yours, lady, and would have been, but for that
marriage. You would have beseemed them bravely. Sir Reginald was wilful,
and erased the daughter's name to substitute that of his son. Pity it is
that so fair a creature as Miss Mowbray should lack the dower her beauty
and her birth entitle her to expect. Pity that Ranulph Rookwood should
lose his title, at the moment when he deemed it was dropping into his
possession. Pity that those broad lands should pass away from you and
your children, as they will do, if Ranulph and Eleanor are united."

"They never shall be united," replied Mrs. Mowbray, hastily.

"'Twere indeed to wed your child to beggary," said Barbara.

Mrs. Mowbray sighed deeply.

"There is a way," continued the old crone, in a deep whisper, "by which
the estates might still be hers and yours."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mowbray, eagerly.

"Sir Piers Rookwood had two sons."

"Ha!"

"The elder is here."

"Luke--Sir Luke. He brought us hither."

"He loves your daughter. I saw his gaze of passion just now. I am old
now, but I have some skill in lovers' glances. Why not wed her to him? I
read hands--read hearts, you know. They were born for each other. Now,
madam, do you understand me?"

"But," returned Mrs. Mowbray, with hesitation, "though I might wish
for--though I might sanction this, Eleanor is betrothed to Ranulph--she
loves him."

"Think no