en turned. Lady Rookwood usurped sovereign sway over her
lord and Sir Piers, a cipher in his own house, scarce master of himself,
much less of his dame, endured an existence so miserable, that he was
often heard to regret, in his cups, that he had not inherited, with the
estate of his forefathers, the family secret of shaking off the
matrimonial yoke, when found to press too hardly.

At the onset, Sir Piers struggled hard to burst his bondage. But in
vain--he was fast fettered; and only bruised himself, like the caged
lark, against the bars of his prison-house. Abandoning all further
effort at emancipation, he gave himself up to the usual resource of a
weak mind, debauchery; and drank so deeply to drown his cares, that, in
the end, his hale constitution yielded to his excesses. It was even
said, that remorse at his abandonment of the faith of his fathers had
some share in his misery; and that his old spiritual, and if report
spoke truly, sinful adviser, Father Checkley, had visited him secretly
at the hall. Sir Piers was observed to shudder whenever the priest's
name was mentioned.

Sir Piers Rookwood was a good-humored man in the main, had little of the
old family leaven about him, and was esteemed by his associates. Of
late, however, his temper became soured, and his friends deserted him;
for, between his domestic annoyances, remorseful feelings, and the
inroads already made upon his constitution by constant inebriety, he
grew so desperate and insane in his revels, and committed such fearful
extravagances, that even his boon companions shrank from his orgies.
Fearful were the scenes between him and Lady Rookwood upon these
occasions--appalling to the witnesses, dreadful to themselves. And it
was, perhaps, their frequent recurrence, that, more than anything else,
banished all decent society from the hall.

At the time of Sir Piers's decease, which brings us down to the date of
our story, his son and successor, Ranulph, was absent on his travels.
Shortly after the completion of his academical education, he had
departed to make the tour of the Continent, and had been absent rather
better than a year. He had quitted his father in displeasure, and was
destined never again to see his face while living. The last intelligence
received of young Rookwood was from Bordeaux, whence it was thought he
had departed for the Pyrenees. A special messenger had been despatched
in search of him, with tidings of the melancholy event. But