"Then follow my advice implicitly. Cast off this weakness; all is in readiness. Luke shall descend into the vaulted chapel, the ceremony shall there take place—there also shall Eleanor die—and there again shall you be wedded. Take this phial, place it within the folds of your girdle. When all is over, I will tell you how to use it. Are you prepared? Shall we set out?"
"I am prepared," replied Sybil, in accents hollow as despair; "but let me speak with Luke before we go."
"Be brief, then—each moment is precious. Keep a guard upon your tongue. I will to Mrs. Mowbray. You have placed the phial in safety. A drop will free you from your troubles."
"'Tis in that hope I guard it," replied Sybil, as she departed in the direction of Luke. Barbara watched her join him, and then turned shortly towards Mrs. Mowbray and her daughter.
"You are ill, dear Luke," said Sybil, who had silently approached her faithless lover; "very ill."
"Ill!" echoed Luke, breaking into frantic laughter. "Ill! Ha, ha!—upon my wedding-day. No, I am well—well. Your eyes are jaundiced by jealousy."
"Luke, dear Luke, laugh not thus. It terrifies me. I shall think you insane. There, you are calmer—you are more like yourself—more human. You looked just now—oh God! that I should say it of you—as if you were possessed by demons."
"And if I were possessed, what then?"
"Horrible! hint not at it. You almost make me credit the dreadful tales I have heard, that on their wedding-day the Rookwoods are subject to the power of the 'Evil One.'"
"Upon their wedding-day—and I look thus?"