Lady Rookwood scornfully scrutinised the features for a few moments, and then unfolded the paper, at the sight of which she started, and turned pale. "Thank God!" she cried, "this is in my possession—while I hold this, we are safe. Were it not better to destroy this evidence at once? No, no, not now— it shall not part from me. I will abide Ranulph's return. This document will give me a power over him such as I could never otherwise obtain." Placing the marriage certificate, for such it was, within her breast, and laying the miniature upon the table, she next proceeded, deliberately, to arrange the disordered contents of the box.
All outward traces of emotion had, ere this, become so subdued in Lady Rookwood, that although she had, only a few moments previously, exhibited the extremity of passionate indignation, she now, apparently without effort, resumed entire composure, and might have been supposed to be engaged in a matter of little interest to herself. It was a dread calm, which they who knew her would have trembled to behold. "From these letters I gather," exclaimed she, "that their wretched offspring knows not of his fortune. So far well. There is no channel whence he can derive information, and my first care shall be to prevent his obtaining any clue to the secret of his birth. I am directed to provide for him—ha! ha! I will provide—a grave! There will I bury him and his secret. My son's security and my own wrong demand it. I must choose surer hands—the work must not be half done, as heretofore. And now, I bethink me, he is in the neighbourhood, connected with a gang of poachers—'tis as I could wish it."
At this moment a knock at the chamber door broke upon her meditations. "Agnes, is it you?" demanded Lady Rookwood.
Thus summoned, the old attendant entered the room.
"Why are my orders disobeyed?" asked the lady, in a severe tone of voice. "Did I not say, when you delivered me this package from Mr. Coates, which he himself wished to present, that I would not be disturbed?"
"You did, my lady, but—"
"Speak out," said Lady Rookwood, somewhat more mildly, perceiving, from Agnes's manner, that she had something of importance to communicate. "What is it brings you hither?"
"I am sorry," returned Agnes, "to disturb your ladyship, but—but—"
"But what?" interrupted Lady Rookwood impatiently.
"I could not help it, my lady—he would have me come; he said he was resolved to see your ladyship, whether you would or not."
"Would see me, ha! is it so? I guess his errand, and its object—he had some suspicion. No, that cannot be; he would not dare to tamper with these seals. Agnes, I will not see him."
"But he swears, my lady, that he will not leave the house without seeing you—he would have forced his way into your presence, if I had not consented to announce him."
"Insolent!" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, with a glance of indignation;"force his way! I promise you he shall not display an equal anxiety to repeat the visit. Tell Mr. Coates I will see him."
"Mr. Coates! Mercy on us, my lady, it's not he. He'd never have intruded upon you unask'd. No such thing. He knows his place too well. No, no; it's not Mr. Coates—"
"If not he, who is it?"
"Luke Bradley; your ladyship knows whom I mean."
"He here—now—"
"Yes, my lady; and looking so fierce and strange, I was quite frightened to see him. He looked so like his—his—"
"His father, you would say. Speak out."
"No, my lady, his grandfather—old Sir Reginald. He's the very image of him. But had not your ladyship better ring the alarm bell? and when he comes in, I'll run and fetch the servants—he's dangerous, I'm sure."
"I have no fears of him. He will see me, you say—"
"Ay, will," exclaimed Luke, as he threw open the door, and shut it forcibly after him, striding towards Lady Rookwood, "nor abide longer delay."
It was an instant or two ere Lady Rookwood, thus taken by surprise, could command speech. She fixed her eyes, with a look of keen and angry enquiry upon the bold intruder, who, nothing daunted, confronted her glances with a gaze as stern and steadfast as her own.
"Who are you, and what seek you?" exclaimed Lady Rookwood, after a brief pause, and, in spite of herself, her voice sounded tremulously. "What would you have, that you venture to appear before me at this season, and in this fashion?"
"I might have chosen a fitter opportunity," returned Luke, "were it needed. My business will not brook delay—you must be pleased to overlook this intrusion on your privacy, at a season of sorrow, like the present. As to the fashion of my visit, you must be content to excuse that. I cannot help myself. I may amend hereafter. Who I am, you are able, I doubt not, to divine. What I seek, you shall hear, when this old woman has left the room, unless you would have a witness to a declaration that concerns you as nearly as myself."
An indefinite feeling of apprehension had, from the first instant of Luke's entrance, crossed Lady Rookwood's mind. She, however, answered with some calmness:
"What you can have to say, is of small moment to me—nor does it signify who may hear it. It shall not, however, be said that Lady Rookwood feared to be alone, even though she endangered her life."
"I am no assassin," replied Luke, "nor have sought the destruction of my deadliest foe—though 'twere but retributive justice to have done so."
Lady Rookwood started.
"Nay, you need not fear me," replied Luke; "my revenge will be otherwise accomplished."
"Go," said Lady Rookwood to Agnes—"yet—stay without, in the antechamber."
"My lady," said Agnes, scarcely able to articulate, "shall I—"
"Hear me, Lady Rookwood," interrupted Luke. "I repeat, I intend you no injury. My object here is solely to obtain a private conference. You have no reason for denying me this request. I will not abuse your patience. Mine is no idle mission. Say you refuse me, and I will at once depart. I will find other means of communicating with you—less direct, and therefore less desirable. Make your election. But we must be alone—undisturbed. Summon your household—let them lay hands upon me, and I will proclaim aloud what you would gladly hide, even from yourself."
"Leave us, Agnes," said Lady Rookwood. "I have no fear of this man. I can deal with him myself, should I see occasion."
"Agnes," said Luke, in a stern, deep whisper, arresting the ancient handmaiden as she passed him, "stir not from the door till I come forth. Have you forgotten your former mistress!—my mother? Have you forgotten Barbara Lovel, and that night?"
"In Heaven's name, hush!" replied Agnes, with a shudder.
"Let that be fresh in your memory. Move not a footstep, whatever you may hear," added he, in the same tone as before.
"I will not—I will not." And Agnes departed.
Luke felt some wavering in his resolution when he found himself alone with the lady, whose calm, collected, yet haughty demeanour, as she resumed her seat, prepared for his communication, could not fail to inspire him with a certain degree of awe. Not unconscious of her advantage, nor slow to profit by it, Lady Rookwood remained perfectly silent, with her eyes steadily fixed upon his face, while his embarrassment momentarily increased. Summoning, at length, courage sufficient to address her, and ashamed of his want of nerve, he thus broke forth: