The Collected Novels - William Harrison Ainsworth

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nor did the slow, dignified march of the lady betray any apprehension on her part. Descending a spiral staircase, which led from the gallery to a lower story, their way now lay beneath the entrance-hall, a means of communication little used. Their tread sounded hollowly on the flagged floor; no other sound was heard. Mounting a staircase, similar to the one they had just descended, they arrived at another passage. A few paces brought them to the door. Luke turned the handle, and they stood within the chamber of the dead.

      The room which contained the remains of poor Sir Piers was arrayed in all that mockery of state which, vainly attempting to deride death, is itself a bitter derision of the living. It was the one devoted to the principal meals of the day; a strange choice, but convenience had dictated its adoption by those with whom this part of the ceremonial had originated, and long custom had rendered its usage, for this purpose, almost prescriptive. This room, which was of some size, had originally formed part of the great hall, from which it was divided by a thick screen of black, lustrously varnished oak, enriched with fanciful figures carved in bold relief. The walls were panelled with the same embrowned material, and sustained sundry portraits of the members of the family, in every possible costume, from the steely gear of Sir Ranulph, down to the flowing attire of Sir Reginald. Most of the race were ranged around the room; and, seen in the yellow light shed upon their features by the flambeaux, they looked like an array of stern and silent witnesses, gazing upon their departed descendant. The sides of the chamber were hung with black cloth, and upon a bier in the middle of the room rested the body. Broad escutcheons, decked out in glowing colors pompously set forth the heraldic honors of the departed. Tall lights burned at the head and feet, and fragrant perfumes diffused their odors from silver censers.

      The entrance of Luke and his unwilling companion had been abrupt. The transition from darkness to the glare of light was almost blinding, and they had advanced far into the room ere Lady Rookwood perceived a man, whom she took to be one of the mutes, leaning over the bier. The coffin-lid was entirely removed, and the person, whose back was towards them appeared to be wrapped in mournful contemplation of the sad spectacle before him. Suddenly bursting from Luke’s hold, Lady Rookwood rushed forward with a scream, and touched the man’s shoulder. He started at the summons, and disclosed the features of her son!

      Rapidly as her own act, Luke followed. He levelled a pistol at her head, but his hand dropped to his side as he encountered the glance of Ranulph. All three seemed paralyzed by surprise. Ranulph, in astonishment, extended his arm to his mother, who, placing one arm over his shoulder, pointed with the other to Luke; the latter stared sternly and inquiringly at both — yet none spoke.

      CHAPTER 13

       THE BROTHERS

       Table of Contents

       We’re sorry His violent act has e’en drawn blood of honor, And stained our honors; Thrown ink upon the forehead of our fame, Which envious spirits will dip their pens into After our death, and blot us in our tombs; For that which would seem treason in our lives, Is laughter when we’re dead. Who dares now whisper, That dares not then speak out; and even proclaim, With loud words, and broad pens, our closest shame?

      The Revenger’s Tragedy.

      With that quickness of perception which at once supplies information on such an emergency, Luke instantly conjectured who was before him. Startled as he was, he yet retained his composure, abiding the result with his arms folded upon his breast.

      “Seize him!” cried Lady Rookwood, as soon as she could command her speech.

      “He rushes on his death if he stirs,” exclaimed Luke, pointing his pistol.

      “Bethink you where you are, villain!” cried Ranulph; “you are entrapped in your own toils. Submit yourself to our mercy — resistance is vain, and will not secure your safety, while it will aggravate your offence. Surrender yourself ——”

      “Never!” answered Luke. “Know you whom you ask to yield?”

      “How should I?” answered Ranulph.

      “By that instinct which tells me who you are. Ask Lady Rookwood — she can inform you, if she will.”

      “Parley not with him — seize him!” cried Lady Rookwood. “He is a robber, a murderer, who has assailed my life.”

      “Beware!” said Luke to Ranulph, who was preparing to obey his mother’s commands; “I am no robber — no murderer. Do not you make me a fratricide.”

      “Fratricide!” echoed Ranulph.

      “Heed him not,” ejaculated Lady Rookwood. “It is false — he dares not harm thee, for his soul. I will call assistance.”

      “Hold, mother!” exclaimed Ranulph, detaining Lady Rookwood; “this man may be what he represents himself. Before we proceed to extremities, I would question him. I would not have mentioned it in your hearing could it have been avoided, but my father had another son.”

      Lady Rookwood frowned. She would have checked him, but Luke rejoined —

      “You have spoken the truth; he had a son — I am he. I——”

      “Be silent, I command you!” said Lady Rookwood.

      “Death!” cried Luke, in a loud voice. “Why should I be silent at your bidding — at yours— who regard no laws, human or divine; who pursue your own fell purposes, without fear of God or man? Waste not your frowns on me — I heed them not. Do you think I am like a tame hound, to be cowed to silence? I will speak. Ranulph Rookwood, the name you bear is mine, and by a right as good as is your own. From his loins, who lies a corpse before us, I sprang. No brand of shame is on my birth. I am your father’s son — his first-born — your elder brother. Hear me!” cried he, rushing to the bier. “By this body, I swear that I have avouched the truth — and though to me the dead Sir Piers Rookwood hath never been what a father should be to a son — though I have never known his smile, felt his caresses, or received his blessing, yet now be all forgiven, all forgotten.” And he cast himself with frantic violence upon the coffin.

      Rescue of Lady Rookwood

      It is difficult to describe the feelings with which Ranulph heard Luke’s avowal. Amazement and dread predominated. Unable to stir, he stood gazing on in silence. Not so Lady Rookwood. The moment for action was arrived. Addressing her son in a low tone, she said, “Your prey is within your power. Secure him.”

      “Wherefore?” rejoined Ranulph; “if he be my brother, shall I raise my hand against him?”

      “Wherefore not?” returned Lady Rookwood.

      “’Twere an accursed deed,” replied Ranulph. “The mystery is resolved. ’Twas for this that I was summoned home.”

      “Ha! what say you? summoned! by whom?”

      “My father!”

      “Your father?” echoed Lady Rookwood, in great surprise.

      “Ay, my dead father! He has appeared to me since his decease.”

      “Ranulph, you rave — you are distracted with grief — with astonishment.”

      “No, mother; but I will not struggle against my destiny.”

      “Pshaw! your destiny is Rookwood, its manors, its lands, its rent-roll, and its title; nor shall you yield it to a base-born churl like this. Let him prove his rights. Let the law adjudge them to him, and we will yield — but not till then. I tell thee he has not the right, nor can he maintain it. He is a deluded dreamer, who, having heard some idle tale of his birth, believes it, because it chimes with his wishes. I treated him with the scorn he deserved. I would have driven him from my presence, but he was armed, as you see, and forced me hither, perhaps to murder me; a deed he might have

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