ed, arm in arm, amongst their thronging and
admiring tenants towards the Hall, many a fervent prayer was breathed
that the curse of the house of Rookwood might be averted from their
heads; and, not to leave a doubt upon the subject, we can add that these
aspirations were not in vain, but that the day, which dawned so
brightly, was one of serene and unclouded happiness to its close.

After the ceremonial, the day was devoted to festivity. Crowded with
company, from the ample hall to the kitchen ingle, the old mansion could
scarce contain its numerous guests, while the walls resounded with
hearty peals of laughter, to which they had been long unaccustomed. The
tables groaned beneath the lordly baron of beef, the weighty chine, the
castled pasty flanked on the one hand with neat's tongue, and on the
other defended by a mountainous ham, an excellent _piece de resistance_,
and every other substantial appliance of ancient hospitality. Barrels of
mighty ale were broached, and their nut-brown contents widely
distributed, and the health of the bride and bridegroom was
enthusiastically drunk in a brimming wassail cup of spicy wine with
floating toast. Titus Tyrconnel acted as master of the ceremonies, and
was, Mr. Coates declared, "_quite in his element_." So much was he
elated, that he ventured to cut some of his old jokes upon the vicar,
and, strange to say, without incurring the resentment of Small.

To retrace the darker course of our narrative, we must state that some
weeks before this happy event the remains of the unfortunate Sir Luke
Rookwood had been gathered to those of his fathers. The document that
attested his legitimacy being found upon his person, the claims denied
to him in life were conceded in death; and he was interred, with all the
pomp and peculiar solemnity proper to one of the house, within the tomb
of his ancestry.

It was then that a discovery was made respecting Alan Rookwood, in order
to explain which we must again revert to the night of the meditated
_enlevement_ of Eleanor.

After quitting his grandson in the avenue, Alan shaped his course among
the fields in the direction to the church. He sought his own humble,
but now deserted dwelling. The door had been forced; some of its meagre
furniture was removed; and the dog, his sole companion, had fled. "Poor
Mole!" said he, "thou hast found, I trust, a better master." And having
possessed himself of what he came in search--namely, a bunch of keys and