an act so wild and
dreadful? What object can you have?"

"The same as your own," reiterated Barbara--"the advancement of my
child. Sybil is as dear to me as Eleanor is to you. She is my child's
child, the daughter of my best beloved daughter. I have sworn to marry
her to Sir Luke Rookwood. The means are in my power. I will keep my vow;
I will wed her to him. You did not hesitate to tear your daughter from
the man she loved, to give her to the man she hated; and for what? For
gold--for power--for rank. I have the same motive. I love my child, and
she loves Sir Luke--has loved him long and truly; therefore shall she
have him. What to me is _your_ child, or _your_ feelings, except they
are subservient to my wishes? She stands in my way. I remove her."

"Who placed her in your path?" asked the sexton. "Did you not lend a
helping hand to create that obstacle yourself?"

"I did," replied Barbara. "Would you know wherefore? I will tell you. I
had a double motive for it. There is a curse upon the house of Rookwood,
that kills the first fair bride each generation leads to the altar. Have
you never heard of it?"

"I have! And did that idle legend sway you?"

"And do you call it idle? _You!_ Well--I had another motive--a
prophecy."

"By yourself uttered," replied Peter.

"Even so," replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. The stray rook
is found. The rook hath with rook mated. Luke hath wedded Eleanor. He
will hold possession of his lands. The prophecy is fulfilled."

"But _how_?" asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and why he shall
now hold possession? Can you tell me that?"

"My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It has come to
pass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be it mine to free him from
that yoke." And Barbara laughed exultingly.

The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand with violence
upon her shoulder.

"Hear _me_," cried he, "and I will tell you that which your juggling art
refuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the lands of Rookwood! The
estates are _hers_! They were bequeathed to her by her grandsire, Sir
Reginald."

"She was unborn when he died," cried Mrs. Mowbray.

"True," replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your issue _female_,
should such issue be born."

"And did Sir Piers, my brother, know of this? did he see this will,"
asked Mrs. Mowbray, with trembling impatience.

"He did; and withheld the knowledge of it from you and yours."

"Ah! w