"I have! And did that idle legend sway you?"
"And do you call it idle? You! Well—I had another motive—a prophecy."
"By yourself uttered," replied Peter.
"Even so," replied Barbara. "The prophecy is fulfilled. The stray rook is found. The rook hath with rook mated. Luke hath wedded Eleanor. He will hold possession of his lands. The prophecy is fulfilled."
"But how?" asked Peter; "will your art tell you how and why he shall now hold possession? Can you tell me that?"
"My art goes not so far. I have predicted the event. It has come to pass. I am satisfied. He has wedded her. Be it mine to free him from that yoke." And Barbara laughed exultingly.
The sexton approached the old crone, and laid his hand with violence upon her shoulder.
"Hear me," cried he, "and I will tell you that which your juggling art refuses to reveal. Eleanor Mowbray is heir to the lands of Rookwood! The estates are hers! They were bequeathed to her by her grandsire, Sir Reginald."
"She was unborn when he died," cried Mrs. Mowbray.
"True," replied Peter; "but the lands were left to your issue female, should such issue be born."