essive gesture from the highwayman communicated to the
attorney the nature of his reply.

"Without, sir--without--yonder," he replied. "I will show you myself.
Follow, gentlemen, follow." And away scampered Coates, without once
venturing to look behind him.

In an instant the ruined hall was deserted, and Turpin alone left
behind. In the excitement of the moment his presence had been forgotten.
In an instant afterwards the _arena_ was again occupied by a company
equally numerous. Rust and Wilder issued from their hiding-places,
followed by a throng of the gipsy crew.

"Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked Turpin.

"He remains below," was the answer returned.

"And Peter Bradley?"

"Stays there likewise."

"No matter. Now make ready, pals. Give 'em one shout--Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" replied the crowd, at the top of their voices.

Ranulph Rookwood and his companions heard this shout. Mr. Coates had
already explained the stratagem practised upon them by the wily
highwayman, as well as the perilous situation in which he himself had
been placed; and they were in the act of returning to make good his
capture, when the loud shouts of the crew arrested them. From the
clamor, it was evident that considerable reinforcement must have arrived
from some unlooked-for quarter; and, although burning to be avenged
upon the audacious highwayman, the major felt it would be a task of
difficulty, and that extreme caution could alone ensure success. With
difficulty restraining the impatience of Ranulph, who could scarcely
brook these few minutes of needful delay, Major Mowbray gave particular
instructions to each of the men in detail, and caused several of them to
dismount. By this arrangement Mr. Coates found himself accommodated with
a steed and a pair of pistols, with which latter he vowed to wreak his
vengeance upon some of his recent tormentors. After a short space of
time occupied in this manner, the troop slowly advanced towards the
postern, in much better order than upon the previous occasion; but the
stoutest of them quailed as they caught sight of the numerous gipsy-gang
drawn out in battle array within the abbey walls. Each party scanned the
other's movements in silence and wonder, anxiously awaiting, yet in a
measure dreading, their leader's signal to begin. That signal was not
long delayed. A shot from the ranks of Rookwood did instant and bitter
execution. Rob Rust was stretched lifeless upon the ground. Nothing more
was n