"She who now stands at the altar must make way for a successor. She who grasps the bridegroom's hand shall die. I swear it by the oath of my tribe." "And think you, you will be allowed to execute your murderous intention with impunity?" shrieked Mrs. Mowbray, in an agony of terror. "Think you that I will stand by and see my child slaughtered before my face; that my friends will suffer it? Think you that even your own tribe will dare to execute your horrible purpose? They will not. They will side with us. Even now they murmur. What can you hope to gain by an act so wild and dreadful? What object can you have?" "The same as your own," reiterated Barbara--"the advancement of my child. Sybil is as dear to me as Eleanor is to you. She is my child's child, the daughter of my best beloved daughter. I have sworn to marry her to Sir Luke Rookwood. The means are in my power. I will keep my vow; I will wed her to him. You did not hesitate to tear your daughter from the man she loved, to give her to the man she hated; and for what? For gold--for power--for rank. I have the same motive. I love my child, and she loves Sir Luke--has loved him long and truly; therefore shall she have him. What to me is _your_ child, or _your_ feelings, except they are subservient to my wishes? She stands in my way. I remove her." "Who placed her in your path?" asked the sexton. "Did you not lend a helping hand to create that obstacle yourself?" "I did," replied Barbara. "Would you know wherefore? I will tell you. I had a double motive for it. There is a curse upon the house of Rookwood, that kills the first fair bride each generation leads to the altar. Have you never heard of it?" "I have! And did that idle legend sway you?" "And do you call it idle? _You!_ Well--I had another motive--a prophecy." "By yourself uttered," replied Peter. "Even so," replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. The stray rook is found. The rook hath with rook mated. Luke hath wedded Eleanor. He will hold possession of his lands. The prophecy is fulfilled." "But _how_?" asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and why he shall now hold possession? Can you tell me that?" "My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It has come to pass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be it mine to free him from that yoke." And Barbara laughed exultingly. The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand with violence upon her shoulder. "Hear _me_," cried he, "and I will tell you that which your juggling art refuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the lands of Rookwood! The estates are _hers_! They were bequeathed to her by her grandsire, Sir Reginald." "She was unborn when he died," cried Mrs. Mowbray. "True," replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your issue _female_, should such issue be born." "And did Sir Piers, my brother, know of this? did he see this will," asked Mrs. Mowbray, with trembling impatience. "He did; and withheld the knowledge of it from you and yours."