, the
torchlight, the deep shadows, and the wild figures, formed a picture
worthy of Rembrandt or Salvator.

"Is Sybil within the chapel?" asked Barbara.

"I am here," returned a voice from the altar.

"Why do we tarry?" said the gipsy queen. "We are all assembled. To the
altar."

"To the altar!" shrieked Eleanor. "Oh! no--no----"

"Remember my threat, and obey," muttered Barbara. "You are in my power
now."

A convulsive sob was all the answer Eleanor could make.

"Our number is not complete," said the priest, who had looked in vain
for the sexton. "Peter Bradley is not with us."

"Ha!" exclaimed Barbara. "Let him be sought for instantly."

"Their search need not extend beyond this spot," said Peter, stepping
forward.

The knight of Malta advanced towards the altar. The torchlight reddened
upon the huge stone pillars. It fell upon the shrine, and upon the
ghastly countenance of Sybil, who stood beside it. Suddenly, as the
light approached her, an object, hitherto hidden from view, was
revealed. Sybil uttered a prolonged and fearful shriek; the knight
recoiled likewise in horror; and a simultaneous cry of astonishment
burst from the lips of the foremost of the group. All crowded forwards,
and universal consternation prevailed amongst the assemblage. Each one
gazed at his neighbor, anxious to learn the occasion of this tumult, and
vague fears were communicated to those behind, from the terrified
glances, which were the only answers returned by their comrades in
front.

"Who has dared to bring that body here?" demanded Barbara, in a tone in
which anger struggled with apprehension, pointing at the same time to
the ghastly corpse of a female, with streaming hair, at the altar's
feet. "Who has dared to do this, I say? Quick! remove it. What do you
stare at? Cravens! is this the first time you have looked upon a corpse,
that you should shrink aghast--that you tremble before it? It is a
clod--ay, less than a clod. Away with it! away, I say."

"Touch it not," cried Luke, lifting a cloud of black hair from off the
features; "it is my mother's body."

"My daughter!" exclaimed the sexton.

"What!" vociferated Barbara, "is that your daughter--is that the first
Lady Rookwood? Are the dead arisen to do honor to these nuptials? Speak!
you can, perchance, explain how she came hither."

"I know not," returned Peter, glancing fiercely at Barbara; "I may,
anon, demand that question of you. How came this body here?"

"