The Essential Works of William Harrison Ainsworth. William Harrison Ainsworth

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СКАЧАТЬ heart will burst. Oh! could I but establish the fact of this marriage, her wrongs would be indeed avenged.”

      “Listen to me, Luke,” said the sexton, solemnly. “I told you, when I appointed this midnight interview, I had a secret to communicate. That secret is now revealed — that secret was your mother’s marriage.”

      “And it was known to you during her lifetime?”

      “It was. But I was sworn to secrecy.”

      “You have proofs then?”

      “I have nothing beyond Sir Piers’s word — and he is silent now.”

      “By whom was the ceremony performed?”

      “By a Romish priest — a Jesuit — one Father Checkley, at that time an inmate of the hall; for Sir Piers, though he afterwards abjured it, at that time professed the Catholic faith, and this Checkley officiated as his confessor and counsellor; as the partner of his pleasures, and the prompter of his iniquities. He was your father’s evil genius.”

      “Is he still alive?”

      “I know not. After your mother’s death he left the hall. I have said he was a Jesuit, and I may add, that he was mixed up in dark political intrigues, in which your father was too feeble a character to take much share. But though too weak to guide, he was a pliant instrument, and this Checkley knew. He moulded him according to his wishes. I cannot tell you what was the nature of their plots. Suffice it, they were such as, if discovered, would have involved your father in ruin. He was saved, however, by his wife.”

      “And her reward ——” groaned Luke.

      “Was death,” replied Peter, coldly. “What Jesuit ever forgave a wrong — real or imaginary? Your mother, I ought to have said, was a Protestant. Hence there was a difference of religious opinion — the worst of differences that can exist between husband and wife —. Checkley vowed her destruction, and he kept his vow. He was enamored of her beauty. But while he burnt with adulterous desire, he was consumed by fiercest hate — contending, and yet strangely-reconcilable passions — as you may have reason, hereafter, to discover.”

      “Go on,” said Luke, grinding his teeth.

      “I have done,” returned Peter. “From that hour your father’s love for his supposed mistress, and unacknowledged wife, declined; and with his waning love declined her health. I will not waste words in describing the catastrophe that awaited her union. It will be enough to say, she was found one morning a corpse within her bed. Whatever suspicions were attached to Sir Piers were quieted by Checkley, who distributed gold, largely and discreetly. The body was embalmed by Barbara Lovel, the Gipsy Queen.”

      “My foster-mother!” exclaimed Luke, in a tone of extreme astonishment.

      “Ah,” replied Peter, “from her you may learn all particulars. You have now seen what remains of your mother. You are in possession of the secret of your birth. The path is before you, and if you would arrive at honor you must pursue it steadily, turning neither to the right nor to the left. Opposition you will meet at each step. But fresh lights may be thrown upon this difficult case. It is in vain to hope for Checkley’s evidence, even should the caitiff priest be living. He is himself too deeply implicated — ha!”

      Peter stopped, for at this moment the flame of the candle suddenly expired, and the speakers were left in total darkness. Something like a groan followed the conclusion of the sexton’s discourse. It was evident that it proceeded not from his grandson, as an exclamation burst from him at the same instant. Luke stretched out his arm. A cold hand seemed to press against his own, communicating a chill like death to his frame.

      “Who is between us?” he ejaculated.

      “The devil!” cried the sexton, leaping from the coffin-lid with an agility that did him honor. “Is aught between us?”

      “I will discharge my gun. Its flash will light us.”

      “Do so,” hastily rejoined Peter. “But not in this direction.”

      “Get behind me,” cried Luke. And he pulled the trigger.

      A blaze of vivid light illumined the darkness. Still nothing was visible, save the warrior figure, which was seen for a moment, and then vanished like a ghost. The buck-shot rattled against the further end of the vault.

      “Let us go hence,” ejaculated the sexton, who had rushed to the door, and thrown it wide open. “Mole! Mole!” cried he, and the dog sprang after him.

      “I could have sworn I felt something,” said Luke; “whence issued that groan?”

      “Ask not whence,” replied Peter. “Reach me my mattock, and spade, and the lantern; they are behind you. And stay, it were better to bring away the bottle.”

      “Take them, and leave me here.”

      “Alone in the vault? — no, no, Luke, I have not told you half I know concerning that mystic statue. It is said to move — to walk — to raise its axe — be warned, I pray.”

      “Leave me, or abide, if you will, my coming, in the church. If there is aught that may be revealed to my ear alone, I will not shrink from it, though the dead themselves should arise to proclaim the mystery. It may be — but — go — there are your tools.” And he shut the door, with a jar that shook the sexton’s frame.

      Peter, after some muttered murmurings at the hardihood and madness, as he termed it, of his grandson, disposed his lanky limbs to repose upon a cushioned bench without the communion railing. As the pale moonlight fell upon his gaunt and cadaverous visage, he looked like some unholy thing suddenly annihilated by the presiding influence of that sacred spot. Mole crouched himself in a ring at his master’s feet. Peter had not dozed many minutes, when he was aroused by Luke’s return. The latter was very pale, and the damp stood in big drops upon his brow.

      “Have you made fast the door?” inquired the sexton.

      “Here is the key.”

      “What have you seen?” he next demanded.

      Luke made no answer. At that moment, the church clock struck two, breaking the stillness with an iron clang. Luke raised his eyes. A ray of moonlight, streaming obliquely through the painted window, fell upon the gilt lettering of a black mural entablature. The lower part of the inscription was in the shade, but the emblazonment, and the words —

      Orate pro anima Reginaldi Rookwood equitis aurati,

      were clear and distinct. Luke trembled, he knew not why, as the sexton pointed to it.

      “You have heard of the handwriting upon the wall,” said Peter. “Look there! —‘His kingdom hath been taken from him.’ Ha, ha! Listen to me. Of all thy monster race — of all the race of Rookwood I should say — no demon ever stalked the earth more terrible than him whose tablet you now behold. By him a brother was betrayed; by him a brother’s wife was dishonored. Love, honor, friendship, were with him as words. He regarded no ties; he defied and set at naught all human laws and obligations — and yet he was religious, or esteemed so — received the viaticum, and died full of years and honors, hugging salvation to his sinful heart. And after death he has yon lying epitaph to record his virtues. His virtues! ha, ha! Ask СКАЧАТЬ