“Still hungering after the fleshpots of Egypt,” said the sexton, with a ghastly smile.
“We will see what that kettle contains,” said Luke.
“Handassah—Grace!” exclaimed Sybil, calling.
Her summons was answered by two maidens, habited, not unbecomingly, in gipsy gear.
“Bring the best our larder can furnish,” said Sybil, “and use despatch. You have appetites to provide for, sharpened by a long ride in the open air.”
“And by a night’s fasting,” said Luke, “and solitary confinement to boot.”
“And a night of business,” added Turpin—”and plaguing, perplexing business into the bargain.”
“And the night of a funeral, too,” doled Peter; “and that funeral a father’s. Let us have breakfast speedily, by all means. We have rare appetites.”
An old oaken table (it might have been the self-same upon which the holy friars had broken their morning fast) stood in the middle of the room. The ample board soon groaned beneath the weight of the savoury caldron, the unctuous contents of which proved to be a couple of dismembered pheasants an equal proportion of poultry, great gouts of ham, mushrooms, onions, and other piquant condiments, so satisfactory to Dick Turpin, that, upon tasting a mouthful, he absolutely shed tears of delight. The dish was indeed the triumph of gipsy cookery; and so sedulously did Dick apply himself to his mess, and so complete was his abstraction, that he perceived not that he was left alone. It was only when about to wash down the last drumstick of the last fowl with a can of excellent ale that he made this discovery.
“What! all gone? And Peter Bradley, too? What the devil does this mean?” mused he. “I must not muddle my brain with any more Pharaoh, though I have feasted like a King of Egypt. That will never do. Caution, Dick, caution. Suppose I shift yon brick from the wall, and place this precious document beneath it. Pshaw! Luke would never play me false. And now for Bess! Bless her black skin! she’ll wonder where I’ve been so long. It’s not my way to leave her to shift for herself, though she can do that on a pinch.”
Soliloquising thus, he arose and walked towards the door.
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“By Heaven! It is the fiend himself upon a black horse.”
CHAPTER III
SYBIL
BENEATH a mouldering wall, whither they had strayed, to be free from interruption, and upon a carpet of the greenest moss, sat Sybil and her lover.
With eager curiosity she listened to his tale. He recounted all that had befallen him since his departure. He told her of the awful revelations of the tomb; of the ring that, like a talisman, had conjured up a thousand brilliant prospects; of his subsequent perils; his escapes; his rencontre with Lady Rookwood; his visit to his father’s body; and his meeting with his brother. All this she heard with a cheek now flushed with expectation, now made pale with apprehension; with palpitating bosom, and suppressed breath. But when taking a softer tone, love, affection, happiness, inspired the theme, and Luke sought to paint the bliss that should be theirs in his new estate; when he would throw his fortune into her lap, his titles at her feet, and bid her wear them with him; when, with ennobled hand and unchanged heart, he would fulfil the troth plighted in his outcast days; in lieu of tender, grateful acquiescence, the features of Sybil became overcast, the soft smile faded away, and, as spring sunshine is succeeded by the sudden shower, the light that dwelt in her sunny orbs grew dim with tears.
“Why—why is this, dear Sybil?” said Luke, gazing upon her in astonishment, not unmingled with displeasure. “To what am I to attribute these tears? You do not, surely, regret my good fortune?”
“Not on your own account, dear Luke,” returned she, sadly. “The tears I shed were for myself—the first, the only tears that I have ever shed for such cause; and,” added she, raising her head like a flower surcharged with moisture, “they shall be the last.”
“This is inexplicable, dear Sybil. Why should you lament for yourself, if not for me? Does not the sunshine of prosperity that now shines upon me gild you with the same beam? Did I not even now affirm that the day that saw me enter the hall of my forefathers should dawn upon our espousals?”