"How?" ejaculated Sybil. "And would you snatch his betrothed from your brother's arms? Would you do him this grievous wrong? Is it not enough that you must wrest from him that which he has long deemed his own? And if he has falsely deemed it so, it will not make his loss the less bitter. If you do thus wrong your brother, do not look for happiness; do not look for respect; for neither will be your portion. Even this stony-hearted old man shrinks aghast at such a deed. His snake-like eyes are buried on the ground. See, I have moved even _him_." And in truth Peter did appear, for an instant, strangely moved. "'Tis nothing," returned he, mastering his emotion by a strong effort. "What is all this to me? I never had a brother. I never had aught--wife, child, or relative, that loved me. And I love not the world, nor the things of the world, nor those that inhabit the world. But I know what sways the world and its inhabitants; and that is, SELF! AND SELF-INTEREST! Let Luke reflect on this. The key to Rookwood is Eleanor Mowbray. The hand that grasps hers, grasps those lands; thus saith the prophecy." "It is a lying prophecy." "It was uttered by one of your race." "By whom?" "By Barbara Lovel," said Peter, with a sneer of triumph. "Ha!" "Heed him not," exclaimed Luke, as Sybil recoiled at this intelligence. "I am yours." "Not mine! not mine!" shrieked she; "but, oh! not _hers_!" "Whither go you?" cried Luke, as Sybil, half bewildered, tore herself from him. "To Barbara Lovel." "I will go with you." "No! let me go alone. I have much to ask her; yet tarry not with this old man, dear Luke, or close your ears to his crafty talk. Avoid him. Oh, I am sick at heart. Follow me not; I implore you, follow me not." And with distracted air she darted amongst the mouldering cloisters, leaving Luke stupefied with anguish and surprise. The sexton maintained a stern and stoical composure. "She is a woman, after all," muttered he; "all her high-flown resolves melt like snow in the sunshine at the thought of a rival. I congratulate you, grandson Luke; you are free from your fetters." "Free!" echoed Luke. "Quit my sight; I loathe to look upon you. You have broken the truest heart that ever beat in woman's bosom." "Tut, tut," returned Peter; "it is not broken yet. Wait till we hear what old Barbara has got to say; and, meanwhile, we must arrange with Dick Turpin the price of that certificate. The knave knows its value well. Come, be a man. This is worse than womanish." And at length he succeeded, half by force and half by persuasion, in dragging Luke away with him. _CHAPTER IV_ _BARBARA LOVEL_ Los Gitanos son encantadores, adivinos, magos, chyromanticos, que dicen por las rayas de las manos lo Futuro, que ellos llaman Buenaventura, y generalmente son dados à toda supersticion. DOCTOR SANCHO DE MONCADA. _Discurso sobre Espulsion de los Gitanos._