Rookwood

"None so worthy," said the upright man.

"Can't hear of a refusal," said the knight of Malta.

"Refusal—impossible!" reiterated Juniper.

"No; no refusal," exclaimed a chorus of voices. "Dick Turpin must be one of us. He shall be our dimber damber."

"Well, gentlemen, since you are so pressing," replied Turpin, "even so be it. I will be your dimber damber."

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the mob, not "of gentlemen."

"About it, pals, at once," said the knight of Malta, flourishing Excalibur. "By St. Thomas à Becket, we'll have as fine a scene as I myself ever furnished to the Canterbury lieges."

"About what?" asked Dick.

"Your matriculation," replied Jerry. "There are certain forms to be gone through, with an oath to be taken, merely a trifle. We'll have a jolly booze when all's over. Come bing avast, my merry pals; to the green, to the green: a Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!"

"A Turpin! a Turpin! a new brother!" echoed the crew.

"I've brought you through," said Jerry, taking advantage of the uproar that ensued to whisper to his chum; "none of them will dare to lift a finger against you now. They are all your friends for life."

"Nevertheless," returned Turpin, "I should be glad to know what has become of Bess."

"If it's your prancer you are wanting," chirped a fluttering creature, whom Turpin recognized as Luke's groom, Grasshopper, "I gave her a fresh loaf and a stoup of stingo, as you bade me, and there she be, under yon tree, as quiet as a lamb."

"I see her," replied Turpin; "just tighten her girths, Grasshopper, and bring her after me, and thou shalt have wherewithal to chirp over thy cups at supper."

Away bounded the elfin dwarf to execute his behest.

A loud shout now rent the skies, and presently afterwards was heard the vile scraping of a fiddle, accompanied by the tattoo of a drum. Approaching Turpin, a host of gipsies elevated the highwayman upon their shoulders, and in this way he was carried to the centre of the green, where the long oaken table, which had once served the Franciscans for refection, was now destined for the stage of the pageant.

Upon this table three drums were placed; and Turpin was requested to seat himself on the central one. A solemn prelude, more unearthly than the incantation in the Freyschütz, was played by the orchestra of the band, conducted by the Paganini of the place, who elicited the most marvellous notes from his shell. A couple of shawms³⁵ emitted sepulchral sounds, while the hollow rolling of a drum broke ever and anon upon the ear. The effect was prodigiously fine. During this overture the patrico and the upright man had ascended the rostrum, each taking his place; the former on the right hand of Turpin, the latter upon his left. Below them stood the knight of Malta, with Excalibur drawn in his hand, and gleaming in the sunshine. On the whole, Dick was amused with what he saw, and with the novel situation in which he found himself placed. Around the table were congregated a compact mass of heads; so compact, indeed, that they looked like one creature—an Argus, with each eye upturned upon the highwayman. The idea struck Turpin that the restless mass of parti-colored shreds and patches, of vivid hues and varied tintings, singularly, though accidentally, disposed to produce such an effect, resembled an immense tiger-moth, or it might be a Turkey carpet spread out upon the grass!

The scene was a joyous one. It was a brilliant sunshiny morning. Freshened and purified by the storm of the preceding night, the air breathed a balm upon the nerves and senses of the robber. The wooded hills were glittering in light; the brook was flowing swiftly past the edge of the verdant slope, glancing like a wreathed snake in the sunshine—its "quiet song" lost in the rude harmony of the mummers, as were the thousand twitterings of the rejoicing birds; the rocks bared their bosoms to the sun, or were buried in deep-cast gloom; the shadows of the pillars and arches of the old walls of the priory were projected afar, while the rose-like ramifications of the magnificent marigold window were traced, as if by a pencil, upon the verdant tablet of the sod.

The overture was finished. With the appearance of the principal figures in this strange picture the reader is already familiar. It remains only to give him some idea of the patrico. Imagine, then, an old superannuated goat, reared upon its hind legs, and clad in a white sheet, disposed in folds like those of a simar about its limbs, and you will have some idea of Balthazar, the patrico. This resemblance to the animal before mentioned was rendered the more striking by his huge, hanging, goat-like under lip, his lengthy white beard, and a sort of cap, covering his head, which was ornamented with a pair of horns, such as are to be seen in Michael Angelo's tremendous statue of Moses. Balthazar, besides being the patrico of the tribe, was its principal professor of divination, and had been the long-tried and faithful minister of Barbara Lovel, from whose secret instructions he was supposed to have derived much of his magical skill.

Placing a pair of spectacles upon his "prognosticating nose," and unrolling a vellum skin, upon which strange characters were written, Balthazar, turning to Turpin, thus commenced in a solemn voice:

 
Thou who wouldst our brother be,
Say how we shall enter thee?
Name the name that thou wilt bear
Ere our livery thou wear?
 

"I see no reason why I should alter my designation," replied the noviciate; "but as popes change their titles on their creation, there can be no objection to a scampsman following so excellent an example. Let me be known as the Night Hawk."

"The Night Hawk—good," returned the hierophant, proceeding to register the name upon the parchment. "Kneel down," continued he.

After some hesitation, Turpin complied.

"You must repeat the 'salamon,' or oath of our creed, after my dictation," said the patrico; and Turpin, signifying his assent by a nod, Balthazar propounded the following abjuration:

OATH OF THE CANTING CREW

 
I, Crank-Cuffin, swear to be
True to this fraternity;
That I will in all obey
Rule and order of the lay.
Never blow the gab, or squeak;
Never snitch to bum or beak;
But religiously maintain
Authority of those who reign
Over Stop-Hole Abbey Green,
Be they tawny king, or queen.
In their cause alone will fight;
Think what they think, wrong or right;
Serve them truly, and no other,
And be faithful to my brother;
Suffer none, from far or near,
With their rights to interfere;
No strange Abram, ruffler crack,
Hooker of another pack,
Rogue or rascal, frater, maunderer,
Irish toyle, or other wanderer;
No dimber damber, angler, dancer,
Prig of cackler, prig of prancer;
No swigman, swaddler, clapperdudgeon;
Cadge-gloak, curtal, or curmudgeon;
No whip-jack, palliard, patrico;
No jarkman, be he high or low;
No dummerar, or romany;
No member of "the Family;"
No ballad-basket, bouncing buffer,
Nor any other, will I suffer;
But stall-off now and for ever,
All outliers whatsoever:
And as I keep to the foregone,
So may help me Salamon!³⁶
 

"So help me Salamon!" repeated Turpin, with emphasis.

"Zoroaster," said the patrico to the upright man, "do thy part of this ceremonial."

Zoroaster obeyed; and, taking Excalibur from the knight of Malta, bestowed a hearty thwack with the blade upon the shoulders of the kneeling highwayman, assisting him afterwards to arise.

The inauguration was complete.

"Well," exclaimed Dick, "I'm glad it's all over. My leg feels a little stiffish. I'm not much given to kneeling. I must dance it off;" saying which, he began to shuffle upon the boards. "I tell you what," continued he, "most reverend patrico, that same 'salmon' of yours has a cursed long tail. I could scarce swallow it all, and it's strange if it don't give me an indigestion. As to you, sage Zory, from the dexterity with which you flourish your sword, I should say you had practised at court. His majesty could scarce do the thing better, when, slapping some fat alderman upon the shoulder, he bids him arise Sir Richard. And now, pals," added he, glancing round, "as I am one of you, let's have a booze together ere I depart, for I don't think my stay will be long in the land of Egypt."

This suggestion of Turpin was so entirely consonant to the wishes of the assemblage, that it met with universal approbation; and upon a sign from Zoroaster, some of his followers departed in search of supplies for the carousal. Zoroaster leaped from the table, and his example was followed by Turpin, and more leisurely by the patrico.

It was rather early in the day for a drinking bout. But the Canting Crew were not remarkably particular. The chairs were removed, and the jingling of glasses announced the arrival of the preliminaries of the matutine symposion. Poles, canvas, and cords were next brought; and in almost as short a space of time as one scene is substituted for another in a theatrical representation, a tent was erected. Benches, stools, and chairs appeared with equal celerity, and the interior soon presented an appearance like that of a booth at a fair. A keg of brandy was broached, and the health of the new brother quaffed in brimmers.

Our highwayman returned thanks. Zoroaster was in the chair, the knight of Malta acting as croupier. A second toast was proposed—the tawny queen. This was drunk with a like enthusiasm, and with a like allowance of the potent spirit; but as bumpers of brandy are not to be repeated with impunity, it became evident to the president of the board that he must not repeat his toasts quite so expeditiously. To create a temporary diversion, therefore, he called for a song.

The dulcet notes of the fiddle now broke through the clamor; and, in answer to the call, Jerry Juniper volunteered the following:

JERRY JUNIPER'S CHANT

 
In a box³⁷ of the stone jug³⁸ I was born,
Of a hempen widow³⁹ the kid forlorn.
Fake away,
And my father, as I've heard say,
Fake away.
Was a merchant of capers⁴⁰ gay,
Who cut his last fling with great applause,
Nix my doll pals, fake away. ⁴¹
 
 
Who cut his last fling with great applause,⁴²
To the tune of a "hearty choke with caper sauce."
Fake away.
The knucks in quod⁴³ did my schoolmen play,
Fake away,
And put me up to the time of day;
Until at last there was none so knowing,
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
Until at last there was none so knowing,
No such sneaksman⁴⁴ or buzgloak⁴⁵ going.
Fake away.
Fogles⁴⁶ and fawnies⁴⁷ soon went their way,
Fake away,
To the spout⁴⁸ with the sneezers⁴⁹ in grand array.
No dummy hunter⁵⁰ had forks⁵¹ so fly;
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
No dummy hunter had forks so fly,
No knuckler⁵² so deftly could fake a cly,⁵³
Fake away.
No slour'd hoxter⁵⁴ my snipes⁵⁵ could stay,
Fake away.
None knap a reader⁵⁶ like me in the lay.
Soon then I mounted in swell-street high.
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
Soon then I mounted in swell-street high,
And sported my flashiest toggery⁵⁷,
Fake away.
Firmly resolved I would make my hay,
Fake away,
While Mercury's star shed a single ray;
And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,⁵⁸
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
And ne'er was there seen such a dashing prig,
With my strummel faked in the newest twig.⁵⁹
Fake away.
With my fawnied famms,⁶⁰ and my onions gay,⁶¹
Fake away;
My thimble of ridge⁶², and my driz kemesa⁶³;
All my togs were so niblike⁶⁴ and splash,
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
All my togs were so niblike and splash,
Readily the queer screens I then could smash;⁶⁵
Fake away.
But my nuttiest blowen,⁶⁶ one fine day,
Fake away,
To the beaks⁶⁷ did her fancy man betray,
And thus was I bowled out at last⁶⁸
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 
 
And thus was I bowled out at last,
And into the jug for a lag was cast;⁶⁹
Fake away.
But I slipped my darbies⁷⁰ one morn in May,
Fake away,
And gave to the dubsman⁷¹ a holiday.
And here I am, pals, merry and free,
A regular rollicking romany.⁷²
Nix my doll pals, fake away.
 

Much laughter and applause rewarded Jerry's attempt to please; and though the meaning of his chant, even with the aid of the numerous notes appended to it, may not be quite obvious to our readers, we can assure them that it was perfectly intelligible to the Canting Crew. Jerry was now entitled to a call; and happening, at the moment, to meet the fine dark eyes of a sentimental gipsy, one of that better class of mendicants who wandered about the country with a guitar at his back, his election fell upon him. The youth, without prelude, struck up a

GIPSY SERENADE

 
Merry maid, merry maid, wilt thou wander with me?
We will roam through the forest, the meadow, and lea;
We will haunt the sunny bowers, and when day begins to flee,
Our couch shall be the ferny brake, our canopy the tree.
Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!
No life like the gipsy's, so joyous and free!
 
 
Merry maid, merry maid, though a roving life be ours,
We will laugh away the laughing and quickly fleeting hours;
Our hearts are free, as is the free and open sky above,
And we know what tamer souls know not, how lovers ought to love.
Merry maid, merry maid, come and wander with me!
No life like the gipsy's so joyous and free!
 

Zoroaster now removed the pipe from his upright lips to intimate his intention of proposing a toast.

A universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers⁷³ was followed by profound silence. The sage spoke:

"The city of Canterbury, pals," said he; "and may it never want a knight of Malta."

The toast was pledged with much laughter, and in many bumpers.

The knight, upon whom all eyes were turned, rose, "with stately bearing and majestic motion," to return thanks.

"I return you an infinitude of thanks, brother pals," said he, glancing round the assemblage; and bowing to the president, "and to you, most upright Zory, for the honor you have done me in associating my name with that city. Believe me, I sincerely appreciate the compliment, and echo the sentiment from the bottom of my soul. I trust it never will want a knight of Malta. In return for your consideration, but a poor one you will say, you shall have a ditty, which I composed upon the occasion of my pilgrimage to that city, and which I have thought proper to name after myself."

THE KNIGHT OF MALTA

A Canterbury Tale ⁷⁴

 
Come list to me, and you shall have, without a hem or haw, sirs,
A Canterbury pilgrimage, much better than old Chaucer's.
'Tis of a hoax I once played off upon that city clever,
The memory of which, I hope, will stick to it for ever.
With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak,
jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,
Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!
 
 
To execute my purpose, in the first place, you must know, sirs,
My locks I let hang down my neck—my beard and whiskers grow, sirs;
A purple cloak I next clapped on, a sword lagged to my side, sirs,
And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
Two pages were there by my side, upon two little ponies,
Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as macaronies;
Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master,
And o'er my long and curly locks, I wore a broad-brimmed castor.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
The people all flocked forth, amazed to see a man so hairy,
Oh I such a sight had ne'er before been seen in Canterbury!
My flowing robe, my flowing beard, my horse with flowing mane, sirs!
They stared—the days of chivalry, they thought, were come again, sirs!
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
I told them a long rigmarole romance, that did not halt a
Jot, that they beheld in me a real knight of Malta!
Tom à Becket had I sworn I was, that saint and martyr hallowed,
I doubt not just as readily the bait they would have swallowed.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
I rode about, and speechified, and everybody gullied,
The tavern-keepers diddled, and the magistracy bullied;
Like puppets were the townsfolk led in that show they call a raree;
The Gotham sages were a joke to those of Canterbury.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
The theatre I next engaged, where I addressed the crowd, sirs,
And on retrenchment and reform I spouted long and loud, sirs;
On tithes and on taxation I enlarged with skill and zeal, sirs,
Who so able as a Malta knight, the malt tax to repeal, sirs.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
As a candidate I then stepped forth to represent their city,
And my non-election to that place was certainly a pity;
For surely I the fittest was, and very proper, very,
To represent the wisdom and the wit of Canterbury.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
At the trial of some smugglers next, one thing I rather queer did,
And the justices upon the bench I literally bearded;
For I swore that I some casks did see, though proved as clear as day, sirs,
That I happened at the time to be some fifty miles away, sirs.
With my coal-black beard, &c.
 
 
This last assertion, I must own, was somewhat of a blunder,
And for perjury indicted they compelled me to knock under;
To my prosperous career this slight error put a stop, sirs,
And thus crossed, the knight of Malta was at length obliged to hop, sirs.
With his coal-black beard, and purple cloak,
jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor,
Good-by to the knight of Malta.
 

The knight sat down amidst the general plaudits of the company.

The party, meanwhile, had been increased by the arrival of Luke and the sexton. The former, who was in no mood for revelry, refused to comply with his grandsire's solicitation to enter, and remained sullenly at the door, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon Turpin, whose movements he commanded through the canvas aperture. The sexton walked up to Dick, who was seated at the post of honor, and, clapping him upon the shoulder, congratulated him upon the comfortable position in which he found him.

"Ha, ha! Are you there, my old death's-head on a mop-stick?" said Turpin, with a laugh. "Ain't we merry mumpers, eh? Keeping it up in style. Sit down, old Noah—make yourself comfortable, Methusalem."

"What say you to a drop of as fine Nantz as you ever tasted in your life, old cove?" said Zoroaster.

"I have no sort of objection to it," returned Peter, "provided you will all pledge my toast."

"That I will, were it old Ruffin himself," shouted Turpin.

"Here's to the three-legged mare," cried Peter. "To the tree that bears fruit all the year round, and yet has neither bark nor branch. You won't refuse that toast, Captain Turpin?"

"Not I," answered Dick; "I owe the gallows no grudge. If, as Jerry's song says, I must have a 'hearty choke and caper sauce' for my breakfast one of these fine mornings, it shall never be said that I fell to my meal without appetite, or neglected saying grace before it. Gentlemen, here's Peter Bradley's toast: 'The scragging post—the three-legged mare,' with three times three."

Appropriate as this sentiment was, it did not appear to be so inviting to the party as might have been anticipated, and the shouts soon died away.

"They like not the thoughts of the gallows," said Turpin to Peter. "More fools they. A mere bugbear to frighten children, believe me; and never yet alarmed a brave man. The gallows, pshaw! One can but die once, and what signifies it how, so that it be over quickly. I think no more of the last leap into eternity than clearing a five-barred gate. A rope's end for it! So let us be merry, and make the most of our time, and that's true philosophy. I know you can throw off a rum chant," added he, turning to Peter. "I heard you sing last night at the hall. Troll us a stave, my antediluvian file, and, in the meantime, tip me a gage of fogus,⁷⁵ Jerry; and if that's a bowl of huckle-my-butt⁷⁶ you are brewing, Sir William," added he, addressing the knight of Malta, "you may send me a jorum at your convenience."

Jerry handed the highwayman a pipe, together with a tumbler of the beverage which the knight had prepared, which he pronounced excellent; and while the huge bowl was passed round to the company, a prelude of shawms announced that Peter was ready to break into song.

Accordingly, after the symphony was ended, accompanied at intervals by a single instrument, Peter began his melody, in a key so high, that the utmost exertions of the shawm-blower failed to approach its altitudes. The burden of his minstrelsy was

THE MANDRAKE ⁷⁷

Μῶλύ δέ μιν καλέουσι θεοί, χαλνπὸν δέ τ' ὀρύσσειν

Ἀνδράσι γε θνητοισι θεοι, δέ τε πάντα δύνανται.

Homerus.

 
The mandrake grows 'neath the gallows-tree,
And rank and green are its leaves to see;
Green and rank, as the grass that waves
Over the unctuous earth of graves;
And though all around it lie bleak and bare,
Freely the mandrake flourisheth there.
Maranatha—Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!
 
 
At the foot of the gibbet the mandrake springs;
Just where the creaking carcase swings;
Some have thought it engendered
From the fat that drops from the bones of the dead;
Some have thought it a human thing;
But this is a vain imagining.
Maranatha—Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!
 
 
A charnel leaf doth the mandrake wear,
A charnel fruit doth the mandrake bear;
Yet none like the mandrake hath such great power,
Such virtue resides not in herb or flower;
Aconite, hemlock, or moonshade, I ween,
None hath a poison so subtle and keen.
Maranatha—Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!
 
 
And whether the mandrake be create
Flesh with the power incorporate,
I know not; yet, if from the earth 'tis rent,
Shrieks and groans from the root are sent;
Shrieks and groans, and a sweat like gore
Oozes and drops from the clammy core.
Maranatha—Anathema!
Dread is the curse of mandragora!
Euthanasy!
 
 
Whoso gathereth the mandrake shall surely die;
Blood for blood is his destiny.
Some who have plucked it have died with groans,
Like to the mandrake's expiring moans;
Some have died raving, and some beside—
With penitent prayers—but all have died.
Jesu! save us by night and day!
From the terrible death of mandragora!
Euthanasy!
 

"A queer chant that," said Zoroaster, coughing loudly, in token of disapprobation.

"Not much to my taste," quoth the knight of Malta. "We like something more sprightly in Canterbury."

"Nor to mine," added Jerry; "don't think it's likely to have an encore. 'Pon my soul, Dick, you must give us something yourself, or we shall never cry Euthanasy at the Triple Tree."

"With all my heart," replied Turpin. "You shall have—but what do I see, my friend Sir Luke? Devil take my tongue, Luke Bradley, I mean. What, ho! Luke—nay, nay, man, no shrinking—stand forward; I've a word or two to say to you. We must have a hob-a-nob glass together for old acquaintance sake. Nay, no airs, man; damme you're not a lord yet, nor a baronet either, though I do hold your title in my pocket; never look glum at me. It won't pay. I'm one of the Canting Crew now; no man shall sneer at me with impunity, eh, Zory? Ha, ha! here's a glass of Nantz; we'll have a bottle of black strap when you are master of your own. Make ready there, you gut-scrapers, you shawm-shavers; I'll put your lungs in play for you presently. In the meantime—charge, pals, charge—a toast, a toast! Health and prosperity to Sir Luke Rookwood! I see you are surprised—this, gemmen, is Sir Luke Rookwood, somewhile Luke Bradley, heir to the house of that name, not ten miles distant from this. Say, shall we not drink a bumper to his health?"

Astonishment prevailed amongst the crew. Luke himself had been taken by surprise. When Turpin discovered him at the door of the tent, and summoned him to appear, he reluctantly complied with the request; but when, in a half-bantering vein, Dick began to rally him upon his pretensions, he would most gladly have retreated, had it been in his power. It was then too late. He felt he must stand the ordeal. Every eye was fixed upon him with a look of inquiry.

Zoroaster took his everlasting pipe from his mouth.

"This ain't true, surely?" asked the perplexed Magus.

"He has said it," replied Luke; "I may not deny it."

This was sufficient. There was a wild hubbub of delight amongst the crew, for Luke was a favorite with all.

"Sir Luke Rookwood!" cried Jerry Juniper, who liked a title as much as Tommy Moore is said to dote upon a lord. "Upon my soul I sincerely congratulate you; devilish fortunate fellow. Always cursed unlucky myself. I could never find out my own father, unless it were one Monsieur des Capriolles, a French dancing-master, and he never left anything behind him that I could hear of, except a broken kit and a hempen widow. Sir Luke Rookwood, we shall do ourselves the pleasure of drinking your health and prosperity."

Fresh bumpers and immense cheering.

Silence being in a measure restored, Zoroaster claimed Turpin's promise of a song.

"True, true," replied Dick; "I have not forgotten it. Stand to your bows, my hearties."

THE GAME OF HIGH TOBY

 
Now Oliver⁷⁸ puts his black nightcap on,
And every star its glim⁷⁹ is hiding,
And forth to the heath is the scampsman⁸⁰ gone,
His matchless cherry-black⁸¹ prancer riding;
Merrily over the common he flies,
Fast and free as the rush of rocket,
His crape-covered vizard drawn over his eyes,
His tol⁸² by his side, and his pops⁸³ in his pocket.
 

CHORUS

 
Then who can name
So merry a game,
As the game of all games—high toby? ⁸⁴
 
 
The traveller hears him, away! away!
Over the wide wide heath he scurries;
He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay,
But ever the faster and faster he hurries.
But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit?
He is caught—he must "stand and deliver;"
Then out with the dummy⁸⁵, and off with the bit,⁸⁶
Oh! the game of high toby for ever!
 

CHORUS

 
Then who can name
So merry a game,
As the game of all games—high toby?
 
 
Believe me, there is not a game, my brave boys,
To compare with the game of high toby;
No rapture can equal the tobyman's joys,
To blue devils, blue plumbs⁸⁷ give the go-by;
And what if, at length, boys, he come to the crap!⁸⁸
Even rack punch has some bitter in it,
For the mare-with-three-legs⁸⁹, boys, I care not a rap,
'Twill be over in less than a minute.
 

GRAND CHORUS

 
Then hip, hurrah!
Fling care away!
Hurrah for the game of high toby!
 

"And now, pals," said Dick, who began to feel the influence of these morning cups, "I vote that we adjourn. Believe me I shall always bear in mind that I am a brother of your band. Sir Luke and I must have a little chat together ere I take my leave. Adieu!"

And taking Luke by the arm, he walked out of the tent. Peter Bradley rose, and followed them.

At the door they found the dwarfish Grasshopper with Black Bess. Rewarding the urchin for his trouble, and slipping the bridle of his mare over his hand, Turpin continued his walk over the green. For a few minutes he seemed to be lost in rumination.

"I tell you what, Sir Luke," said he; "I should like to do a generous thing, and make you a present of this bit of paper. But one ought not to throw away one's luck, you know—there is a tide in the affairs of thieves, as the player coves say, which must be taken at the flood, or else–no matter! Your old dad, Sir Piers—God help him!—had the gingerbread, that I know; he was, as we say, a regular rhino-cerical cull. You won't feel a few thousands, especially at starting; and besides, there are two others, Rust and Wilder, who row in the same boat with me, and must therefore come in for their share of the reg'lars. All this considered, you can't complain, I think if I ask five thousand for it. That old harridan, Lady Rookwood, offered me nearly as much."

"I will not talk to you of fairness," said Luke; "I will not say that document belongs of right to me. It fell by accident into your hands. Having possessed yourself of it, I blame you not that you dispose of it to the best advantage. I must, perforce, agree to your terms."

"Oh, no," replied Dick, "it's quite optional; Lady Rookwood will give as much, and make no mouths about it. Soho, lass! What makes Bess prick her ears in that fashion?—Ha! carriage-wheels in the distance! that jade knows the sound as well as I do. I'll just see what it's like!—you will have ten minutes for reflection. Who knows if I may not have come in for a good thing here?"

At that instant the carriage passed the angle of a rock some three hundred yards distant, and was seen slowly ascending the hill-side. Eager as a hawk after his quarry, Turpin dashed after it.

In vain the sexton, whom he nearly overthrew in his career, called after him to halt. He sped like a bolt from the bow.

"May the devil break his neck!" cried Peter, as he saw him dash through the brook; "could he not let them alone?"

"This must not be," said Luke; "know you whose carriage it is?"

"It is a shrine that holds the jewel that should be dearest in your eyes," returned Peter; "haste, and arrest the spoiler's hand."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Luke.

"Eleanor Mowbray," replied Peter. "She is there. To the rescue—away."

"Eleanor Mowbray!" echoed Luke—"and Sybil?–"

At this instant a pistol-shot was heard.

"Will you let murder be done, and upon your cousin?" cried Peter, with a bitter look. "You are not what I took you for."

Luke answered not, but, swift as the hound freed from the leash, darted in the direction of the carriage.