"I have no distinct remembrance of it," returned Mrs. Mowbray.
"Think again," said Barbara; "and though years are flown, you may perchance recall the black gipsy woman, who, when you were surrounded with gay gallants, with dancing plumes, perused your palm, and whispered in your ear the favored suitor's name. Bide with me a moment, madam," said Barbara, seeing that Mrs. Mowbray shrank from the recollection thus conjured up; "I am old—very old; I have survived the shows of flattery, and being vested with a power over my people, am apt, perchance, to take too much upon myself with others." The old gipsy paused here, and then, assuming a more familiar tone, exclaimed, "The estates of Rookwood are ample——"
"Woman, what mean you?"
"They should have been yours, lady, and would have been, but for that marriage. You would have beseemed them bravely. Sir Reginald was wilful, and erased the daughter's name to substitute that of his son. Pity it is that so fair a creature as Miss Mowbray should lack the dower her beauty and her birth entitle her to expect. Pity that Ranulph Rookwood should lose his title, at the moment when he deemed it was dropping into his possession. Pity that those broad lands should pass away from you and your children, as they will do, if Ranulph and Eleanor are united."
"They never shall be united," replied Mrs. Mowbray, hastily.
"'Twere indeed to wed your child to beggary," said Barbara.
Mrs. Mowbray sighed deeply.
"There is a way," continued the old crone, in a deep whisper, "by which the estates might still be hers and yours."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mowbray, eagerly.
"Sir Piers Rookwood had two sons."