"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?"