"Then how could it apply to my mother? Was _she_ of that house? Was _she_ a wife?" "Who shall say she was _not_?" rejoined the sexton. "Who shall say she _was_ so?" cried Luke, repeating the words with indignant emphasis--"who will avouch _that_?" A smile, cold as a wintry sunbeam, played upon the sexton's rigid lips. "I will bear this no longer," cried Luke; "anger me not, or look to yourself. In a word, have you anything to tell me respecting her? if not, let me begone." "I have. But I will not be hurried by a boy like you," replied Peter, doggedly. "Go, if you will, and take the consequences. My lips are sealed forever, and I have much to say--much that it behoves you to know." "Be brief, then. When you sought me out this morning, in my retreat with the gipsy gang at Davenham Wood, you bade me meet you in the porch of Rookwood Church at midnight. I was true to my appointment." "And I will keep my promise," replied the sexton. "Draw closer, that I may whisper in thine ear. Of every Rookwood who lies around us--and all that ever bore the name, except Sir Piers himself--who lies in state at the hall--, are here--not one--mark what I say--not one male branch of the house but has been suspected----" "Of what?" "Of murder!" returned the sexton, in a hissing whisper. "Murder!" echoed Luke, recoiling. "There is one dark stain--one foul blot on all. Blood--blood hath been spilt." "By all?" "Ay, and _such_ blood! theirs was no common crime. Even murder hath its degrees. Theirs was of the first class." "Their wives!--you cannot mean that?" "Ay, their wives!--I do. You have heard it, then? Ha! ha! 'tis a trick they had. Did you ever hear the old saying? _No mate ever brook would A Rook of the Rookwood!_ A merry saying it is, and true. No woman ever stood in a Rookwood's way but she was speedily removed--that's certain. They had all, save poor Sir Piers, the knack of stopping a troublesome woman's tongue, and practised it to perfection. A rare art, eh?" "What have the misdeeds of his ancestry to do with Sir Piers," muttered Luke, "much less with my mother?" "Everything. If he could not rid himself of his wife--and she is a match for the devil himself--, the _mistress_ might be more readily set aside." "Have you absolute knowledge of aught?" asked Luke, his voice tremulous with emotion. "Nay, I but hinted." "Such hints are worse than open speech. Let me know the worst. Did he kill her?" And Luke glared at the sexton as if he would have penetrated his secret soul. But Peter was not easily fathomed. His cold, bright eye returned Luke's gaze steadfastly, as he answered, composedly: "I have said all I know." "But not all you _think_." "Thoughts should not always find utterance, else we might often endanger our own safety, and that of others." "An idle subterfuge--and, from you, worse than idle. I will have an answer, yea or nay. Was it poison--was it steel?" "Enough--she died." "No, it is not enough. When? Where?"