hy knew I not this before? Why did you not tell me ere that was
done which cannot be undone? I have sacrificed my child."

"Because it did not chime with my purposes to tell you," replied Peter,
coldly.

"It is false--it is false," cried Mrs. Mowbray, her anger and vexation
getting the better of her fears. "I will not believe it. Who are you,
that pretend to know the secrets of our house?"

"One of that house," replied the sexton.

"Your name?"

"Would you know my name?" answered Peter, sternly. "The time is come
when I will no longer conceal it. I am Alan Rookwood."

"My father's brother!" exclaimed Mrs. Mowbray.

"Ay, Alan Rookwood. The sworn enemy of your father--of you--of all of
ye: your fate--your destiny--your curse. I am that Alan Rookwood whose
name you breathed in the vault. I am he, the avenger--the avenged. I saw
your father die. I heard his groans--_his groans!_--ha, ha! I saw his
sons die: one fell in battle--I was with him there. The other expired in
his bed. I was with Sir Piers when he breathed his last, and listened to
his death agonies. 'Twas I who counselled him to keep the lands from you
and from your child, and he withheld them. One only amongst the race,
whose name I have cast off, have I loved; and him--because," added he,
with something like emotion--"because he was my daughter's child--Luke
Rookwood. And even he shall minister to my vengeance. He will be your
curse--your daughter's curse--for he loves her not. Yet he is her
husband, and hath her land;--ha, ha!" And he laughed till he became
convulsed with the paroxysm of fiendish exultation.

"Mine ears are stunned," cried Mrs. Mowbray.

"The bride is mine; relinquish her to me," said Barbara. "Advance and
seize her, my children."

Alan Rookwood--for so we shall henceforth denominate the
sexton--suddenly grew calm: he raised the whistle to his lips, and blew
a call so loud and shrill, that those who were advancing hung back
irresolute.

There was a rush at the door of the vault. The sentinels were struck
down; and with pistols in each hand, and followed by two assistants,
Dick Turpin sprang into the thick of the crew.

"Here we are," cried he, "ready for action. Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?
where my churchyard pal, Peter?"

"Here," cried the sexton and Luke simultaneously.

"Then stand aside," cried Dick, pushing in the direction of the sounds,
and bearing down all opposition. "Have a care there--these triggers are
ticklish. Fr