"Wherefore?" rejoined Ranulph; "if he be my brother, shall I raise my hand against him?"
"Wherefore not?" returned Lady Rookwood.
"'Twere an accursed deed," replied Ranulph. "The mystery is resolved. 'Twas for this that I was summoned home."
"Ha! what say you? summoned! by whom?"
"My father!"
"Your father?" echoed Lady Rookwood, in great surprise.
"Ay, my dead father! He has appeared to me since his decease."
"Ranulph, you rave—you are distracted with grief—with astonishment."
"No, mother; but I will not struggle against my destiny."
"Pshaw! your destiny is Rookwood, its manors, its lands, its rent-roll, and its title; nor shall you yield it to a base-born churl like this. Let him prove his rights. Let the law adjudge them to him, and we will yield—but not till then. I tell thee he has not the right, nor can he maintain it. He is a deluded dreamer, who, having heard some idle tale of his birth, believes it, because it chimes with his wishes. I treated him with the scorn he deserved. I would have driven him from my presence, but he was armed, as you see, and forced me hither, perhaps to murder me; a deed he might have accomplished had it not been for your intervention. His life is already forfeit, for an attempt of the same sort last night. Why else came he hither? for what else did he drag me to this spot? Let him answer that!"