“I should vote for retreating,” chattered the attorney, “if that cursed fellow had not placed a ne exeat at the door.”
“Give the word, captain,” cried Rust, impatiently.
“Ay, ay,” echoed Wilder.
“A skilful general always parleys,” said Jack. “A word in your ear, Luke, ere that be done which cannot be undone.”
“You mean me no treachery?” returned Luke.
Jack made no answer, but uncocking his pistols, deposited them within his pockets.
“Shoot him as he advances,” whispered Coates; “he is in your power now.”
“Scoundrel!” replied Luke, “do you think me as base as yourself?”
“Hush, hush! for God’s sake don’t expose me,” said Coates.
Lady Rookwood had apparently listened to this singular conference with sullen composure, though in reality she was racked with anxiety as to its results; and, now apprehending that Palmer was about to make an immediate disclosure to Luke, she accosted him as he passed her.
“Unbind me!” cried she, “and what you wish shall be yours—money—jewels—”
“Ha! may I depend?”
“I pledge my word.”
Palmer untied the cord, and Lady Rookwood, approaching a table whereon stood the escritoir, touched a spring and a secret drawer flew open.
“You do this of your own free will?” asked Luke. “Speak, if it be otherwise.”
“I do,” returned the lady, hastily.
Palmer’s eyes glistened at the treasures exposed to his view.
“They are jewels of countless price. Take them, and rid me,” she added, in a whisper, “of him.”
“Luke Bradley?”
“Ay.”
“Give them to me.”
“They are yours, freely on those terms.”
“You hear that, Luke,” cried he, aloud; “you hear it, Titus; this is no robbery. Mr. Coates—’Know all men by these presents’—I call you to witness, Lady Rookwood gives me these pretty things.”
“I do,” returned she; adding, in a whisper, “on the terms which I proposed.”
“Must it be done at once?”
“Without an instant’s delay.”
“Before your own eyes?”
“I fear not to look on. Each moment is precious. He is off his guard now. You do it, you know, in self-defence.”
“And you?”
“For the same cause.”
“Yet he came here to aid you?”
“What of that?”
“He would have risked his life for yours?”
“I cannot pay back the obligation. He must die!”
“The document?”
“Will be useless then.”
“Will not that suffice; why aim at life?”
“You trifle with me. You fear to do it.”
“Fear!”
“About it, then; you shall have more gold.”
“I will about it,” cried Jack, throwing the casket to Wilder, and seizing Lady Rookwood’s hands. “I am no Italian bravo, madam—no assassin—no remorseless cut-throat. What are you—devil or woman—who ask me to do this? Luke Bradley, I say.”
“Would you betray me?” cried Lady Rookwood.
“You have betrayed yourself, madam. Nay, nay, Luke, hands off. See, Lady Rookwood, how you would treat a friend. This strange fellow would blow out my brains for laying a finger upon your ladyship.”
“I will suffer no injury to be done to her,” said Luke; “release her.”
“Your ladyship hears him,” said Jack. “And you, Luke, shall learn the value set upon your generosity. You will not have her injured. This instant she has proposed, nay, paid for your assassination.”
“How?” exclaimed Luke, recoiling.
“A lie, as black as hell,” cried Lady Rookwood.
“A truth, as clear as heaven,” returned Jack. “I will speedily convince you of the fact.” Then turning to Lady Rookwood, he whispered, “Shall I give him the marriage document?”
“Beware!” said Lady Rookwood.
“Do I avouch the truth, then?”
She was silent.
“I am answered,” said Luke.
“Then leave her to her fate,” cried Jack.
“No,” replied Luke; “she is still a woman, and I will not abandon her to ruffianly violence. Set her free.”
“You are a fool,” said Jack.
“Hurrah, hurrah!” vociferated Coates, who had rushed to the window. “Rescue, rescue! they are returning from the church; I see the torchlight in the avenue; we are saved!”
“Hell and the devil!” cried Jack; “not an instant is to be lost. Alive, lads; bring off all the plunder you can; be handy!”
“Lady Rookwood, I, bid you farewell,” said Luke, in a tone in which scorn and sorrow were blended. “We shall meet again.”