ith impatience at Turpin, who pursued his meal with steady voracity,
worthy of a half-famished soldier; but the highwayman returned no answer
to his looks, except such as was conveyed by the incessant clatter of
his masticating jaws, during the progress of his, apparently,
interminable repast.

"Ready for you in a second, Sir Luke," said Dick; "all right
now--capital ale, Charon--strong as Styx--ha, ha!--one other rasher, and
I've done. Sorry to keep you--can't conceive how cleverly I put the
winkers upon 'em at York, in the dress of a countryman; all owing to old
Balty, the patrico, an old pal--ha, ha! My old pals never _nose_ upon
me--eh, Nosey--always help one out of the water--always staunch. Here's
health to you, old crony."

Jem returned a sulky response, as he placed the last rasher on the
table, which was speedily discussed.

"Poor Bess!" muttered Dick, as he quaffed off the final glass of ale.
"Poor lass! we buried her by the roadside, beneath the trees--deep--deep.
Her remains shall never be disturbed. Alas! alas! my bonny Black Bess!
But no matter, her name is yet alive--her deeds will survive her--the
trial is over. And now," continued he, rising from his seat, "I'm with
you. Where are the tits?"

"In the stable, under ground," growled Jem.

Alan Rookwood, in the mean time, had joined his grandson, and they
conversed an instant or two apart.

"My strength will not bear me through the night," said he. "That fellow
has thoroughly disabled me. You must go without me to the hall. Here is
the key of the secret passage. You know the entrance. I will await you
in the tomb."

"The tomb!" echoed Luke.

"Ay, our family vault," returned Alan, with a ghastly grin--"it is the
only place of security for me now. Let me see _her_ there. Let me know
that my vengeance is complete, that I triumph in my death over him, the
accursed _brother_, through you, my grandson. _You_ have a rival
brother--a successful one; you know now what hatred is."

"I do," returned Luke, fiercely.

"But not such hate as mine, which, through a life, a long life, hath
endured, intense as when 'twas first engendered in my bosom; which _from
one_ hath spread o'er all my race--o'er all save _you_--and which even
now, when death stares me in the face--when the spirit pants to fly from
its prison-house, burns fiercely as ever. You cannot know what hate like
that may be. You must have wrongs--such wrongs as _mine_ first."

"My hate to Ranulph