Barbara arose. She struck the globe with her staff. The pure lymph became instantly tinged with crimson, as if blood had been commingled with it. The little serpent could be seen within, coiled up and knotted, as in the struggles of death.
"Again I say, beware!" ejaculated Barbara, solemnly. "This is ominous of ill."
Sybil had sunk, from faintness, on the pallet. A knock was heard at the door.
"Who is without?" cried Barbara.
"'Tis I, Balthazar," replied a voice.
"Thou mayest enter," answered Barbara; and an old man with a long beard, white as snow, reaching to his girdle, and a costume which might be said to resemble the raiment of a Jewish high priest, made his appearance. This venerable personage was no other than the patrico, or hierophant of the Canting Crew.
"I come to tell you that there are strangers—ladies—within the priory," said the patrico, gravely. "I have searched for you in vain," continued he, addressing Sybil; "the younger of them seems to need your assistance."
"Whence come they?" exclaimed Barbara.
"They have ridden, I understand, from Rookwood," answered the patrico. "They were on their way to Davenham, when they were prevented."
"From Rookwood?" echoed Sybil. "Their names—did you hear their names?"