They’ll have something to see when they come home from the master’s funeral — their mistress cut and dry for another. Ho, ho!”
“Mercy, mercy!” shrieked Lady Rookwood.
“Ay, ay, I’ll be merciful,” said Rust, brandishing his knife before her eyes. “I’ll not be long about it. Leave her to me — I’ll give her a taste of Sir Sydney.”
“No, no, Rust; no bloodshed,” said Jack, authoritatively; “I’ll find some other way to gag the jade.”
At this moment a noise of rapid footsteps was heard within the passage.
“Assistance comes,” screamed Lady Rookwood. “Help! help!”
“To the door!” cried Jack. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Luke dashed into the room, followed by Coates and Tyrconnel.
Palmer and his companions levelled their pistols at the intruders, and the latter would have fired, but Jack’s keen eye having discerned Luke amongst the foremost, checked further hostilities for the present. Lady Rookwood, meanwhile, finding herself free from restraint, rushed towards her deliverers, and crouched beneath Luke’s protecting arms, which were extended, pistol in hand, over her head. Behind them stood Titus Tyrconnel, flourishing the poker, and Mr. Coates, who, upon the sight of so much warlike preparation, began somewhat to repent having rushed so precipitately into the lion’s den.
“Luke Bradley!” exclaimed Palmer, stepping forward.
“Luke Bradley!” echoed Lady Rookwood, recoiling and staring into his face.
“Fear nothing, madam,” cried Luke. “I am here to assist you — I will defend you with my life.”
“You defend me!” exclaimed Lady Rookwood, doubtfully.
“Even I,” cried Luke, “strange as it may sound.”
“Holy powers protect me!” ejaculated Titus. “As I live, it is Sir Piers himself.”
“Sir Piers!” echoed Coates, catching the infection of terror, as he perceived Palmer more distinctly. “What! is the dead come to life again? A ghost, a ghost!”
“By my soul,” cried Titus, “it’s the first ghost I ever heard of that committed a burglary in its own house, and on the night of the body’s burial, too. But who the devil are these? maybe they’re ghosts likewise.”
“They are,” said Palmer, in a hollow tone, mimicking the voice of Sir Piers, “attendant spirits. We are come for this woman; her time is out; so no more palavering, Titus. Lend a hand to take her to the churchyard, and be hanged to you.”
“Upon my conscience, Mr. Coates,” cried Titus, “it’s either the devil, or Sir Piers. We’ll be only in the way here. He’s only just settling his old scores with his lady. I thought it would come to this long ago. We’d best beat a retreat.”
Jack took advantage of the momentary confusion created by this incidental alarm at his disguise to direct Rust towards the door by which the new comers had entered; and, this being accomplished, he burst into a loud laugh.
“What! not know me?” cried he —“not know your old friend with a new face, Luke? Nor you, Titus? Nor you, who can see through a millstone, lawyer Coates, don’t you recognize ——”
“Jack Palmer, as I’m a sinner!” cried Titus. “Why, this beats Banaghan. Arrah! Jack, honey, what does this mean? Is it yourself I see in such company? You’re not robbing in earnest?”
“Indeed but I am, friend Titus,” exclaimed Jack; “and it is my own self you see. I just took the liberty of borrowing Sir Piers’s old hunting-coat from the justice-room. You said my toggery wouldn’t do for the funeral. I’m no other than plain Jack Palmer, after all.”
“With half a dozen aliases at your back, I dare say,” cried Coates. “I suspected you all along. All your praise of highwaymen was not lost upon me. No, no; I can see into a millstone, be it ever so thick.”
“Well,” replied Jack, “I’m sorry to see you here, friend Titus. Keep quiet, and you shall come to no harm. As to you, Luke Bradley, you have anticipated my intention by half an hour; I meant to set you free. For you, Mr. Coates, you may commit all future care of your affairs to your executors, administrators, and assigns. You will have no further need to trouble yourself with worldly concerns,” added he, levelling a pistol at the attorney, who, however, shielded himself, in an agony of apprehension, behind Luke’s person. “Stand aside, Luke.”
“I stir not,” replied Luke. “I thank you for your good intention, and will not injure you — that is, if you do not force me to do so. I am here to defend her ladyship.”
“What’s that you say?” returned Jack, in surprise —“defend her ladyship?”
“With my life,” replied Luke. “Let me counsel you to depart.”
“Are you mad? Defend her — Lady Rookwood — your enemy — who would hang you? Tut, tut! Stand aside, I say, Luke Bradley, or look to yourself.”
“You had better consider well ere you proceed,” said Luke. “You know me of old. I have taken odds as great, and not come off the vanquished.”
“The odds are even,” cried Titus, “if Mr. Coates will but show fight. I’ll stand by you to the last, my dear boy. You’re the right son of your father, though on the wrong side. Och! Jack Palmer, my jewel, no wonder you resemble Dick Turpin.”
“You hear this?” cried Luke.
“Hot-headed fool!” muttered Jack.
“Why don’t you shoot him on the spot?” said Wilder.
“And mar my own chance,” thought Jack. “No, that will never do; his life is not to be thrown away. Be quiet,” said he, in a whisper to Wilder; “I’ve another card to play, which shall serve us better than all the plunder here. No harm must come to that youngster; his life is worth thousands to us.” Then, turning to Luke, he continued, “I’m loth to hurt you; yet what can I do? You must have the worst of it if we come to a pitched battle. I therefore advise you, as a friend, to draw off your forces. We are three to three, it is true; but two of your party are unarmed.”
“Unarmed!” interrupted Titus. “Devil burn me! this iron shillelah shall convince you to the contrary, Jack, or any of your friends.”
“Make ready then, my lads,” cried Palmer.
“Stop a minute,” exclaimed Coates. “This gets serious; it will end in homicide — in murder. We shall all have our throats cut to a certainty; and though these rascals will as certainly be hanged for it, that will be poor satisfaction to the sufferers. Had we not better refer the matter to arbitration?”
“I’m for fighting it out,” said Titus, whisking the poker round his head like a flail in action. “My blood’s up. Come on, Jack Palmer, I’m for you.”
“I should vote for retreating,” chattered the attorney, “if that cursed fellow had not placed a ne exeat at the door.”
“Give the word,
