Lady Rookwood pulled the trigger. The pistol flashed in the pan. She flung away the useless weapon, without a word.
“Ha, ha!” said Jack, as he leisurely stooped to pick up the pistol, and approached her ladyship; “the bullet is not yet cast that is to be my billet. Here,” added he, dealing Rust a heavy thump upon the shoulder with the butt-end of the piece, “take back your snapper, and look you prick the touch-hole, or your barking-iron will never bite for you. And now, madam, I must take the liberty of again handing you to a seat. Dick Wilder, the cord—quick. It distresses me to proceed to such lengths with your ladyship—but safe bind, safe find, as Mr. Coates would say.”
“You will not bind me, ruffian.”
“Your ladyship is very much mistaken—I have no alternative—your ladyship’s wrist is far too dexterous to be at liberty. I must furthermore request of your ladyship to be less vociferous—you interrupt business, which should be transacted with silence and deliberation.”
Lady Rookwood’s rage and vexation at this indignity were beyond all bounds. Resistance, however, was useless, and she submitted in silence. The cord was passed tightly round her arms, when it flashed upon her recollection, for the first time, that Coates and, Tyrconnel, who were in charge of her captive in the lower corridor, might be summoned to her assistance. This idea no sooner crossed her mind than she uttered a loud and prolonged scream.
“Damnation!” cried Jack; “civility is wasted here. Give me the gag, Rob!”
“Better slit her squeaking-pipe at once,” replied Rust, drawing his clasped knife; “she’ll thwart everything.”
“The gag, I say, not that.”
“I can’t find the gag,” exclaimed Wilder, savagely. “Leave Rob Rust to manage her—he’ll silence her, I warrant you, while you and I rummage the room.”
“Ay, leave her to me,” said the other miscreant. “Go about your business, and take no heed. Her hands are fast—she can’t scratch—I’ll do it with a single gash—send her to join her lord, whom she loved so well, before he’s under ground. They’ll have something to see when they come home from the master’s funeral—their mistress cut and dry for another. Ho, ho!”
“Mercy, mercy!” shrieked Lady Rookwood.
“Ay, ay, I’ll be merciful,” said Rust, brandishing his knife before her eyes. “I’ll not be long about it. Leave her to me—I’ll give her a taste of Sir Sydney.”
“No, no, Rust; no bloodshed,” said Jack, authoritatively; “I’ll find some other way to gag the jade.”
At this moment, a noise of rapid footsteps was heard within the passage.
“Assistance comes,” screamed Lady Rookwood. “Help! help!”
“To the door,” cried Jack. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Luke dashed into the room, followed by Coates and Tyrconnel.
Palmer and his companions levelled their pistols at the intruders, and the latter would have fired, but Jack’s keen eye having discerned Luke amongst the foremost, checked further hostilities for the present. Lady Rookwood, meanwhile, finding herself free from restraint, rushed towards her deliverers, and crouched beneath Luke’s protecting arms, which were extended, pistol in hand, over her head. Behind them stood Titus Tyrconnel, flourishing the poker, and Mr. Coates, who, upon the sight of so much warlike preparation, began somewhat to repent having rushed so precipitately into the lion’s den.
“Luke Bradley!” exclaimed Palmer, stepping forward.
“Luke Bradley!” echoed Lady Rookwood, recoiling and staring into his face.
“Fear nothing, madam,” cried Luke. “I am here to assist you—I will defend you with my life.”
“You defend me!” exclaimed Lady Rookwood, doubtfully.
“Even I,” cried Luke, “strange as it may sound.”
“Holy powers protect me!” ejaculated Titus. “As I live, it is Sir Piers himself.”
“Sir Piers!” echoed Coates, catching the infection of terror, as he perceived Palmer more distinctly. “What! is the dead come to life again? A ghost, a ghost!”
“By my soul,” cried Titus, “it’s the first ghost I ever heard of that committed a burglary in its own house, and on the night of the body’s burial, too. But who the devil are these? maybe they’re ghosts likewise.”
“They are,” said Palmer, in a hollow tone, mimicking the voice of Sir Piers, “attendant spirits. We are come for this woman; her time is out; so no more palavering, Titus. Lend a hand to take her to the churchyard, and be d—d to you.”
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