ud voice. "Why should I be silent at your
bidding--at _yours_--who regard no laws, human or divine; who pursue
your own fell purposes, without fear of God or man? Waste not your
frowns on me--I heed them not. Do you think I am like a tame hound, to
be cowed to silence? I _will_ speak. Ranulph Rookwood, the name you bear
is mine, and by a right as good as is your own. From his loins, who lies
a corpse before us, I sprang. No brand of shame is on my birth. I am
your father's son--his first-born--your _elder_ brother. Hear me!" cried
he, rushing to the bier. "By this body, I swear that I have avouched the
truth--and though to me the dead Sir Piers Rookwood hath never been what
a father should be to a son--though I have never known his smile, felt
his caresses, or received his blessing, yet now be all forgiven, all
forgotten." And he cast himself with frantic violence upon the coffin.

It is difficult to describe the feelings with which Ranulph heard Luke's
avowal. Amazement and dread predominated. Unable to stir, he stood
gazing on in silence. Not so Lady Rookwood. The moment for action was
arrived. Addressing her son in a low tone, she said, "Your prey is
within your power. Secure him."

"Wherefore?" rejoined Ranulph; "if he be my brother, shall I raise my
hand against him?"

"Wherefore not?" returned Lady Rookwood.

"'Twere an accursed deed," replied Ranulph. "The mystery is resolved.
'Twas for this that I was summoned home."

"Ha! what say you? summoned! by whom?"

"My father!"

"Your father?" echoed Lady Rookwood, in great surprise.

"Ay, my dead father! He has appeared to me since his decease."

"Ranulph, you rave--you are distracted with grief--with astonishment."

"No, mother; but I will not struggle against my destiny."

"Pshaw! your destiny is Rookwood, its manors, its lands, its rent-roll,
and its title; nor shall you yield it to a base-born churl like this.
Let him prove his rights. Let the law adjudge them to him, and we will
yield--but not till then. I tell thee he has _not_ the right, nor can he
maintain it. He is a deluded dreamer, who, having heard some idle tale
of his birth, believes it, because it chimes with his wishes. I treated
him with the scorn he deserved. I would have driven him from my
presence, but he was armed, as you see, and forced me hither, perhaps to
murder me; a deed he might have accomplished had it not been for your
intervention. His life is already forfeit, for an attempt o