“We have not parted yet,” returned she; “will you let this man pass? A thousand pounds for his life.”
“Upon the nail?” asked Rust.
“By the living God, if any of you attempt to touch him, I will blow his brains out upon the spot, be he friend or foe,” cried Jack. “Luke Bradley, we shall meet again. You shall hear from me.”
“Lady Rookwood,” said Luke, as he departed, “I shall not forget this night.”
“Is all ready?” asked Palmer of his comrades.
“All.”
“Then budge.”
“Stay,” said Lady Rookwood, in a whisper to him. “What will purchase that document?”
“Hem!”
“A thousand pounds?”
“Double it.”
“It shall be doubled.”
“I will turn it over.”
“Resolve me now.”
“You shall hear from me.”
“In what manner?”
“I will find speedy means.”
“Your name is Palmer?”
“Palmer is the name he goes by, your ladyship,” replied Coates; “but it is a fashion with these rascals to have an alias.”
“Ha! ha!” said Jack, thrusting the ramrod into his pistol-barrel, as if to ascertain there was a ball within it; “are you there, Mr. Coates? Pay your wager, sir.”
“What wager?”
“The hundred we bet that you would take me if ever you had the chance.”
“Take you!—it was Dick Turpin I betted to take.”
“I am DICK TURPIN—that’s my alias!” replied Jack.
“Dick Turpin! then I’ll have a snap at you at all hazards,” cried Coates, springing suddenly towards him.
“And I at you,” said Turpin, discharging his pistol right in the face of the rash attorney; “there’s a quittance in full.”
| Contents |
BOOK III
THE GIPSY
Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear,
Say I died true.
My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth;
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth—
BEAMOUNT and FLETCHER
CHAPTER I
A MORNING RIDE
ON quitting Lady Rookwood’s chamber, Luke speeded along the gloomy corridor, descended the spiral stairs, and, swiftly traversing sundry other dark passages, issued from a door at the back of the house. Day was just beginning to break. His first object had been to furnish himself with means to expedite his flight; and, perceiving no one in the yard, he directed his hasty steps towards the stable. The door was fortunately unfastened; and, entering, he found a strong roan horse, which he knew, from description, had been his father’s favourite hunter, and to the use of which he now considered himself fully entitled. The animal roused himself as he approached, shook his glossy coat, and neighed, as if he recognised the footsteps and voice.
“Thou art mistaken, old fellow,” said Luke; “I am not he thou thinkest; nevertheless, I am glad thy instinct would have it so. If thou bearest my father’s son as thou hast borne thy old master, o’er many a field for many a day, he need not fear the best mounted of his pursuers. Soho! come hither, Rook.”
The noble steed turned at the call. Luke hastily saddled him, vaulted upon his back, and, disregarding every impediment in the shape of fence or ditch, shaped his course across the field towards the sexton’s cottage, which he reached just as its owner was in the act of unlocking his door. Peter testified his delight and surprise at the escape of his grandson, by a greeting of chuckling laughter.
“How?—escaped!” exclaimed he. “Who has delivered you from the hands of the Moabites? Ha, ha! But why do I ask? Who could it have been but Jack Palmer?”
“My own hands have set me free,” returned Luke. “I am indebted to no man for liberty; still less to him. But I cannot tarry here; each moment is precious. I came to request you to accompany me to the gipsy encampment. Will you go, or not?”
“And mount behind you?” replied Peter; “I like not the manner of conveyance.”
“Farewell, then.” And Luke turned to depart.
“Stay; that is Sir Piers’s horse, old Rook. I care not if I do ride him.”
“Quick then; mount.”
“I will not delay you a moment,” rejoined the sexton, opening his door, and throwing his implements into the cottage. “Back, Mole; back, sir,” cried he, as the dog rushed out to greet him. “Bring your steed nigh this stone, grandson Luke—there—a little nearer—all’s right.” And away they galloped.
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