Peveril of the Peak Read online

  CHAPTER V

  'Twas when they raised, 'mid sap and siege, The banners of their rightful liege, At their she-captain's call, Who, miracle of womankind! Lent mettle to the meanest hind That mann'd her castle wall. --WILLIAM S. ROSE.

  On the morning succeeding the feast, the Lady Peveril, fatigued with theexertions and the apprehensions of the former day, kept her apartmentfor two or three hours later than her own active habits, and thematutinal custom of the time, rendered usual. Meanwhile, MistressEllesmere, a person of great trust in the family, and who assumed muchauthority in her mistress's absence, laid her orders upon Deborah, thegovernante, immediately to carry the children to their airing in thepark, and not to let any one enter the gilded chamber, which wasusually their sporting-place. Deborah, who often rebelled, and sometimessuccessfully, against the deputed authority of Ellesmere, privatelyresolved that it was about to rain, and that the gilded chamber was amore suitable place for the children's exercise than the wet grass ofthe park on a raw morning.

  But a woman's brain is sometimes as inconstant as a popular assembly;and presently after she had voted the morning was like to be rainy,and that the gilded chamber was the fittest play-room for the children,Mistress Deborah came to the somewhat inconsistent resolution, that thepark was the fittest place for her own morning walk. It is certain,that during the unrestrained joviality of the preceding evening, she haddanced till midnight with Lance Outram the park-keeper; but how far theseeing him just pass the window in his woodland trim, with a feather inhis hat, and a crossbow under his arm, influenced the discrepancy of theopinions Mistress Deborah formed concerning the weather, we are farfrom presuming to guess. It is enough for us, that, so soon as MistressEllesmere's back was turned, Mistress Deborah carried the children intothe gilded chamber, not without a strict charge (for we must do herjustice) to Master Julian to take care of his little wife, MistressAlice; and then, having taken so satisfactory a precaution, she herselfglided into the park by the glass-door of the still-room, which wasnearly opposite to the great breach.

  The gilded chamber in which the children were, by this arrangement,left to amuse themselves, without better guardianship than what Julian'smanhood afforded, was a large apartment, hung with stamped Spanishleather, curiously gilded, representing, in a manner now obsolete, butfar from unpleasing, a series of tilts and combats betwixt the Saracensof Grenada, and the Spaniards under the command of King Ferdinand andQueen Isabella, during that memorable siege, which was terminated by theoverthrow of the last fragments of the Moorish empire in Spain.

  The little Julian was careering about the room for the amusement of hisinfant friend, as well as his own, mimicking with a reed the menacingattitude of the Abencerrages and Zegris engaged in the Eastern sport ofhurling the JERID, or javelin; and at times sitting down beside her, andcaressing her into silence and good humour, when the petulant or timidchild chose to become tired of remaining an inactive spectator of hisboisterous sport; when, on a sudden, he observed one of the panelledcompartments of the leather hangings slide apart, so as to show a fairhand, with its fingers resting upon its edge, prepared, it would seem,to push it still farther back. Julian was much surprised, and somewhatfrightened, at what he witnessed, for the tales of the nursery hadstrongly impressed on his mind the terrors of the invisible world. Yet,naturally bold and high-spirited, the little champion placed himselfbeside his defenceless sister, continuing to brandish his weapon in herdefence, as boldly as he had himself been an Abencerrage of Grenada.

  The panel, on which his eye was fixed, gradually continued to slideback, and display more and more the form to which the hand appertained,until, in the dark aperture which was disclosed, the children saw thefigure of a lady in a mourning dress, past the meridian of life, butwhose countenance still retained traces of great beauty, although thepredominant character both of her features and person was an air ofalmost royal dignity. After pausing a moment on the threshold of theportal which she had thus unexpectedly disclosed, and looking withsome surprise at the children, whom she had not probably observed whileengaged with the management of the panel, the stranger stepped into theapartment, and the panel, upon a touch of a spring, closed behind her sosuddenly, that Julian almost doubted it had ever been open, and began toapprehend that the whole apparition had been a delusion.

  The stately lady, however, advanced to him, and said, "Are not you thelittle Peveril?"

  "Yes," said the boy, reddening, not altogether without a juvenilefeeling of that rule of chivalry which forbade any one to disown hisname, whatever danger might be annexed to the avowal of it.

  "Then," said the stately stranger, "go to your mother's room, and tellher to come instantly to speak with me."

  "I wo'not," said the little Julian.

  "How?" said the lady,--"so young and so disobedient?--but you do butfollow the fashion of the time. Why will you not go, my pretty boy, whenI ask it of you as a favour?"

  "I would go, madam," said the boy, "but"--and he stopped short, stilldrawing back as the lady advanced on him, but still holding by thehand Alice Bridgenorth, who, too young to understand the nature of thedialogue, clung, trembling, to her companion.

  The stranger saw his embarrassment, smiled, and remained standing fast,while she asked the child once more, "What are you afraid of, my braveboy--and why should you not go to your mother on my errand?"

  "Because," answered Julian firmly, "if I go, little Alice must stayalone with you."

  "You are a gallant fellow," said the lady, "and will not disgrace yourblood, which never left the weak without protection."

  The boy understood her not, and still gazed with anxious apprehension,first on her who addressed him, and then upon his little companion,whose eyes, with the vacant glance of infancy, wandered from the figureof the lady to that of her companion and protector, and at length,infected by a portion of the fear which the latter's magnanimous effortscould not entirely conceal, she flew into Julian's arms, and, clingingto him, greatly augmented his alarm, and by screaming aloud, rendered itvery difficult for him to avoid the sympathetic fear which impelled himto do the same.

  There was something in the manner and bearing of this unexpected inmatewhich might justify awe at least, if not fear, when joined to thesingular and mysterious mode in which she had made her appearance. Herdress was not remarkable, being the hood and female riding attire ofthe time, such as was worn by the inferior class of gentlewomen; but herblack hair was very long, and, several locks having escaped from underher hood, hung down dishevelled on her neck and shoulders. Her eyeswere deep black, keen, and piercing, and her features had something of aforeign expression. When she spoke, her language was marked by a slightforeign accent, although, in construction, it was pure English. Herslightest tone and gesture had the air of one accustomed to command andto be obeyed; the recollection of which probably suggested to Julianthe apology he afterwards made for being frightened, that he took thestranger for an "enchanted queen."

  While the stranger lady and the children thus confronted each other, twopersons entered almost at the same instant, but from different doors,whose haste showed that they had been alarmed by the screams of thelatter.

  The first was Major Bridgenorth, whose ears had been alarmed with thecries of his child, as he entered the hall, which corresponded with whatwas called the gilded chamber. His intention had been to remain inthe more public apartment, until the Lady Peveril should make herappearance, with the good-natured purpose of assuring her that thepreceding day of tumult had passed in every respect agreeably to hisfriends, and without any of those alarming consequences which might havebeen apprehended from a collision betwixt the parties. But when it isconsidered how severely he had been agitated by apprehensions for hischild's safety and health, too well justified by the fate of those whohad preceded her, it will not be thought surprising that the infantinescreams of Alice induced him to break through the bar
riers of form, andintrude farther into the interior of the house than a sense of strictpropriety might have warranted.

  He burst into the gilded chamber, therefore, by a side-door and narrowpassage, which communicated betwixt that apartment and the hall, and,snatching the child up in his arms, endeavoured, by a thousand caresses,to stifle the screams which burst yet more violently from the littlegirl, on beholding herself in the arms of one to whose voice and mannershe was, but for one brief interview, an entire stranger.

  Of course, Alice's shrieks were redoubled, and seconded by those ofJulian Peveril, who, on the appearance of this second intruder, wasfrightened into resignation of every more manly idea of rescue than thatwhich consisted in invoking assistance at the very top of his lungs.

  Alarmed by this noise, which in half a minute became very clamorous,Lady Peveril, with whose apartment the gilded chamber was connected by aprivate door of communication opening into her wardrobe, entered on thescene. The instant she appeared, the little Alice, extricating herselffrom the grasp of her father, ran towards _her_ protectress, and whenshe had once taken hold of her skirts, not only became silent, butturned her large blue eyes, in which the tears were still glistening,with a look of wonder rather than alarm, towards the strange lady.Julian manfully brandished his reed, a weapon which he had never partedwith during the whole alarm, and stood prepared to assist his mother ifthere should be danger in the encounter betwixt her and the stranger.

  In fact, it might have puzzled an older person to account for the suddenand confused pause which the Lady Peveril made, as she gazed on herunexpected guest, as if dubious whether she did, or did not recognise,in her still beautiful though wasted and emaciated features, acountenance which she had known well under far different circumstances.

  The stranger seemed to understand the cause of hesitation, for she saidin that heart-thrilling voice which was peculiarly her own--

  "Time and misfortune have changed me much, Margaret--that everymirror tells me--yet methinks, Margaret Stanley might still have knownCharlotte de la Tremouille."

  The Lady Peveril was little in the custom of giving way to suddenemotion, but in the present case she threw herself on her knees ina rapture of mingled joy and grief, and, half embracing those of thestranger, exclaimed, in broken language--

  "My kind, my noble benefactress--the princely Countess of Derby--theroyal queen in Man--could I doubt your voice, your features, for amoment--Oh, forgive, forgive me!"

  The Countess raised the suppliant kinswoman of her husband's house, withall the grace of one accustomed from early birth to receive homage andto grant protection. She kissed the Lady Peveril's forehead, and passedher hand in a caressing manner over her face as she said--

  "You too are changed, my fair cousin, but it is a change becomes you,from a pretty and timid maiden to a sage and comely matron. But my ownmemory, which I once held a good one, has failed me strangely, if thisgentleman be Sir Geoffrey Peveril."

  "A kind and good neighbour only, madam," said Lady Peveril; "SirGeoffrey is at Court."

  "I understood so much," said the Countess of Derby, "when I arrived herelast night."

  "How, madam!" said Lady Peveril--"Did you arrive at MartindaleCastle--at the house of Margaret Stanley, where you have such right tocommand, and did not announce your presence to her?"

  "Oh, I know you are a dutiful subject, Margaret," answered the Countess,"though it be in these days a rare character--but it was our pleasure,"she added, with a smile, "to travel incognito--and finding you engagedin general hospitality, we desired not to disturb you with our royalpresence."

  "But how and where were you lodged, madam?" said Lady Peveril; "or whyshould you have kept secret a visit which would, if made, have augmentedtenfold the happiness of every true heart that rejoiced here yesterday?"

  "My lodging was well cared for by Ellesmere--your Ellesmere now, as shewas formerly mine--she has acted as quartermaster ere now, you know, andon a broader scale; you must excuse her--she had my positive order tolodge me in the most secret part of your Castle"--(here she pointed tothe sliding panel)--"she obeyed orders in that, and I suppose also insending you now hither."

  "Indeed I have not yet seen her," said the lady, "and therefore wastotally ignorant of a visit so joyful, so surprising."

  "And I," said the Countess, "was equally surprised to find none butthese beautiful children in the apartment where I thought I heard youmoving. Our Ellesmere has become silly--your good-nature has spoiledher--she has forgotten the discipline she learned under me."

  "I saw her run through the wood," said the Lady Peveril, after amoment's recollection, "undoubtedly to seek the person who has charge ofthe children, in order to remove them."

  "Your own darlings, I doubt not," said the Countess, looking at thechildren. "Margaret, Providence has blessed you."

  "That is my son," said the Lady Peveril, pointing to Julian, who stooddevouring their discourse with greedy ear; "the little girl--I may callmine too." Major Bridgenorth, who had in the meantime again taken up hisinfant, and was engaged in caressing it, set it down as the Countess ofDerby spoke, sighed deeply, and walked towards the oriel window. He waswell aware that the ordinary rules of courtesy would have rendered itproper that he should withdraw entirely, or at least offer to do so;but he was not a man of ceremonious politeness, and he had a particularinterest in the subjects on which the Countess's discourse was likelyto turn, which induced him to dispense with ceremony. The ladies seemedindeed scarce to notice his presence. The Countess had now assumed achair, and motioned to the Lady Peveril to sit upon a stool which wasplaced by her side. "We will have old times once more, though there arehere no roaring of rebel guns to drive you to take refuge at my side,and almost in my pocket."

  "I have a gun, madam," said little Julian, "and the park-keeper is toteach me how to fire it next year."

  "I will list you for my soldier, then," said the Countess.

  "Ladies have no soldiers," said the boy, looking wistfully at her.

  "He has the true masculine contempt of our frail sex, I see," said theCountess; "it is born with the insolent varlets of mankind, and showsitself so soon as they are out of their long clothes.--Did Ellesmerenever tell you of Latham House and Charlotte of Derby, my littlemaster?"

  "A thousand thousand times," said the boy, colouring; "and how the Queenof Man defended it six weeks against three thousand Roundheads, underRogue Harrison the butcher."

  "It was your mother defended Latham House," said the Countess, "notI, my little soldier--Hadst thou been there, thou hadst been the bestcaptain of the three."

  "Do not say so, madam," said the boy, "for mamma would not touch a gunfor all the universe."

  "Not I, indeed, Julian," said his mother; "there I was for certain, butas useless a part of the garrison----"

  "You forget," said the Countess, "you nursed our hospital, and made lintfor the soldiers' wounds."

  "But did not papa come to help you?" said Julian.

  "Papa came at last," said the Countess, "and so did Prince Rupert--butnot, I think, till they were both heartily wished for.--Do you rememberthat morning, Margaret, when the round-headed knaves, that kept us pentup so long, retreated without bag or baggage, at the first glance ofthe Prince's standards appearing on the hill--and how you took everyhigh-crested captain you saw for Peveril of the Peak, that had been yourpartner three months before at the Queen's mask? Nay, never blush forthe thought of it--it was an honest affection--and though it was themusic of trumpets that accompanied you both to the old chapel, which wasalmost entirely ruined by the enemy's bullets; and though Prince Rupert,when he gave you away at the altar, was clad in buff and bandoleer, withpistols in his belt, yet I trust these warlike signs were no type offuture discord?"

  "Heaven has been kind to me," said the Lady Peveril, "in blessing mewith an affectionate husband."

  "And in preserving him to you," said the Countess, with a deepsigh; "while mine, alas! sealed with his blood his devotion to hisking[*]--Oh, had he liv
ed to see this day!"

  [*] The Earl of Derby and King in Man was beheaded at Bolton-on-the- Moors, after having been made prisoner in a previous skirmish in Wiggan Lane.

  "Alas! alas! that he was not permitted!" answered Lady Peveril; "how hadthat brave and noble Earl rejoiced in the unhoped-for redemption of ourcaptivity!"

  The Countess looked on Lady Peveril with an air of surprise.

  "Thou hast not then heard, cousin, how it stands with our house?--Howindeed had my noble lord wondered, had he been told that the verymonarch for whom he had laid down his noble life on the scaffold atBolton-le-Moor, should make it his first act of restored monarchy tocomplete the destruction of our property, already well-nigh ruined inthe royal cause, and to persecute me his widow!"

  "You astonish me, madam!" said the Lady Peveril. "It cannot be, thatyou--that you, the wife of the gallant, the faithful, the murderedEarl--you, Countess of Derby, and Queen in Man--you, who took on youeven the character of a soldier, and seemed a man when so many menproved women--that you should sustain evil from the event which hasfulfilled--exceeded--the hopes of every faithful subject--it cannot be!"

  "Thou art as simple, I see, in this world's knowledge as ever, my faircousin," answered the Countess. "This restoration, which has givenothers security, has placed me in danger--this change which relievedother Royalists, scarce less zealous, I presume to think, than I--hassent me here a fugitive, and in concealment, to beg shelter andassistance from you, fair cousin."

  "From me," answered the Lady Peveril--"from me, whose youth yourkindness sheltered--from the wife of Peveril, your gallant Lord'scompanion in arms--you have a right to command everything; but, alas!that you should need such assistance as I can render--forgive me, but itseems like some ill-omened vision of the night--I listen to your wordsas if I hoped to be relieved from their painful import by awaking."

  "It is indeed a dream--a vision," said the Countess of Derby; "butit needs no seer to read it--the explanation hath been long sincegiven--Put not your faith in princes. I can soon remove yoursurprise.--This gentleman, your friend, is doubtless _honest?_"

  The Lady Peveril well knew that the Cavaliers, like other factions,usurped to themselves the exclusive denomination of the _honest_ party,and she felt some difficulty in explaining that her visitor was nothonest in that sense of the word.

  "Had we not better retire, madam?" she said to the Countess, rising, asif in order to attend her. But the Countess retained her seat.

  "It was but a question of habit," she said; "the gentleman's principlesare nothing to me, for what I have to tell you is widely blazed, and Icare not who hears my share of it. You remember--you must have heard,for I think Margaret Stanley would not be indifferent to my fate--thatafter my husband's murder at Bolton, I took up the standard which henever dropped until his death, and displayed it with my own hand in ourSovereignty of Man."

  "I did indeed hear so, madam," said the Lady Peveril; "and that you hadbidden a bold defiance to the rebel government, even after all otherparts of Britain had submitted to them. My husband, Sir Geoffrey,designed at one time to have gone to your assistance with some fewfollowers; but we learned that the island was rendered to the Parliamentparty, and that you, dearest lady, were thrown into prison."

  "But you heard not," said the Countess, "how that disaster befellme.--Margaret, I would have held out that island against the knavesas long as the sea continued to flow around it. Till the shoals whichsurround it had become safe anchorage--till its precipices had meltedbeneath the sunshine--till of all its strong abodes and castles notone stone remained upon another,--would I have defended against thesevillainous hypocritical rebels, my dear husband's hereditary dominion.The little kingdom of Man should have been yielded only when not anarm was left to wield a sword, not a finger to draw a trigger in itsdefence. But treachery did what force could never have done. When wehad foiled various attempts upon the island by open force--treasonaccomplished what Blake and Lawson, with their floating castles, hadfound too hazardous an enterprise--a base rebel, whom we had nursedin our own bosoms, betrayed us to the enemy. This wretch was namedChristian----"

  Major Bridgenorth started and turned towards the speaker, but instantlyseemed to recollect himself, and again averted his face. The Countessproceeded, without noticing the interruption, which, however, rathersurprised Lady Peveril, who was acquainted with her neighbour's generalhabits of indifference and apathy, and therefore the more surprised athis testifying such sudden symptoms of interest. She would once againhave moved the Countess to retire to another apartment, but Lady Derbyproceeded with too much vehemence to endure interruption.

  "This Christian," she said, "had eaten of my lord his sovereign's bread,and drunk of his cup, even from childhood--for his fathers had beenfaithful servants to the House of Man and Derby. He himself had foughtbravely by my husband's side, and enjoyed all his confidence; and whenmy princely Earl was martyred by the rebels, he recommended to me,amongst other instructions communicated in the last message I receivedfrom him, to continue my confidence in Christian's fidelity. I obeyed,although I never loved the man. He was cold and phlegmatic, and utterlydevoid of that sacred fire which is the incentive to noble deeds,suspected, too, of leaning to the cold metaphysics of Calvinisticsubtlety. But he was brave, wise, and experienced, and, as the eventproved, possessed but too much interest with the islanders. When theserude people saw themselves without hope of relief, and pressed by ablockade, which brought want and disease into their island, they beganto fall off from the faith which they had hitherto shown."

  "What!" said the Lady Peveril, "could they forget what was due to thewidow of their benefactor--she who had shared with the generous Derbythe task of bettering their condition?"

  "Do not blame them," said the Countess; "the rude herd acted butaccording to their kind--in present distress they forgot formerbenefits, and, nursed in their earthen hovels, with spirits suitedto their dwellings, they were incapable of feeling the glory whichis attached to constancy in suffering. But that Christian should haveheaded their revolt--that he, born a gentleman, and bred under mymurdered Derby's own care in all that was chivalrous and noble--that_he_ should have forgot a hundred benefits--why do I talk ofbenefits?--that he should have forgotten that kindly intercourse whichbinds man to man far more than the reciprocity of obligation--thathe should have headed the ruffians who broke suddenly into myapartment--immured me with my infants in one of my own castles, andassumed or usurped the tyranny of the island--that this should have beendone by William Christian, my vassal, my servant, my friend, was a deedof ungrateful treachery, which even this age of treason will scarcelyparallel!"

  "And you were then imprisoned," said the Lady Peveril, "and in your ownsovereignty?"

  "For more than seven years I have endured strict captivity," said theCountess. "I was indeed offered my liberty, and even some means ofsupport, if I would have consented to leave the island, and pledge myword that I would not endeavour to repossess my son in his father'srights. But they little knew the princely house from which I spring--andas little the royal house of Stanley which I uphold, who hoped to humbleCharlotte of Tremouille into so base a composition. I would rather havestarved in the darkest and lowest vault of Rushin Castle, than haveconsented to aught which might diminish in one hair's-breadth the rightof my son over his father's sovereignty!"

  "And could not your firmness, in a case where hope seemed lost, inducethem to be generous and dismiss you without conditions?"

  "They knew me better than thou dost, wench," answered the Countess;"once at liberty, I had not been long without the means of disturbingtheir usurpation, and Christian would have as soon encaged a lioness tocombat with, as have given me the slightest power of returning to thestruggle with him. But time had liberty and revenge in store--I hadstill friends and partisans in the island, though they were compelled togive way to the storm. Even among the islanders at large, most hadbeen disappointed in the effects which they expected from the changeof power. They were loaded
with exactions by their new masters, theirprivileges were abridged, and their immunities abolished, under thepretext of reducing them to the same condition with the other subjectsof the pretended republic. When the news arrived of the changes whichwere current in Britain, these sentiments were privately communicated tome. Calcott and others acted with great zeal and fidelity; and arising, effected as suddenly and effectually as that which had made mea captive, placed me at liberty and in possession of the sovereignty ofMan, as Regent for my son, the youthful Earl of Derby. Do you thinkI enjoyed that sovereignty long without doing justice on that traitorChristian?"

  "How, madam," said Lady Peveril, who, though she knew the high andambitious spirit of the Countess, scarce anticipated the extremities towhich it was capable of hurrying her--"have you imprisoned Christian?"

  "Ay, wench--in that sure prison which felon never breaks from," answeredthe Countess.

  Bridgenorth, who had insensibly approached them, and was listening withan agony of interest which he was unable any longer to suppress, brokein with the stern exclamation--

  "Lady, I trust you have not dared----"

  The Countess interrupted him in her turn.

  "I know not who you are who question--and you know not me when you speakto me of that which I dare, or dare not do. But you seem interestedin the fate of this Christian, and you shall hear it.--I was no soonerplaced in possession of my rightful power, than I ordered the Dempsterof the island to hold upon the traitor a High Court of Justice, with allthe formalities of the isle, as prescribed in its oldest records. TheCourt was held in the open air, before the Dempster and the Keys of theisland, assembled under the vaulted cope of heaven, and seated on theterrace of the Zonwald Hill, where of old Druid and Scald held theircourts of judgment. The criminal was heard at length in his own defence,which amounted to little more than those specious allegations of publicconsideration, which are ever used to colour the ugly front of treason.He was fully convicted of his crime, and he received the doom of atraitor."

  "But which, I trust, is not yet executed?" said Lady Peveril, notwithout an involuntary shudder.

  "You are a fool, Margaret," said the Countess sharply; "think you Idelayed such an act of justice, until some wretched intrigues of thenew English Court might have prompted their interference? No, wench--hepassed from the judgment-seat to the place of execution, with no fartherdelay than might be necessary for his soul's sake. He was shot to deathby a file of musketeers in the common place of execution called HangoHill."

  Bridgenorth clasped his hands together, wrung them, and groanedbitterly.

  "As you seem interested for this criminal," added the Countess,addressing Bridgenorth, "I do him but justice in repeating to you, thathis death was firm and manly, becoming the general tenor of his life,which, but for that gross act of traitorous ingratitude, had been fairand honourable. But what of that? The hypocrite is a saint, andthe false traitor a man of honour, till opportunity, that faithfultouchstone, proves their metal to be base."

  "It is false, woman--it is false!" said Bridgenorth, no longersuppressing his indignation.

  "What means this bearing, Master Bridgenorth?" said Lady Peveril, muchsurprised. "What is this Christian to you, that you should insult theCountess of Derby under my roof?"

  "Speak not to me of countesses and of ceremonies," said Bridgenorth;"grief and anger leave me no leisure for idle observances to humour thevanity of overgrown children.--O Christian--worthy, well worthy, of thename thou didst bear! My friend--my brother--the brother of my blessedAlice--the only friend of my desolate estate! art thou then cruellymurdered by a female fury, who, but for thee, had deservedly paid withher own blood that of God's saints, which she, as well as her tyranthusband, had spilled like water!--Yes, cruel murderess!" he continued,addressing the Countess, "he whom thou hast butchered in thy insanevengeance, sacrificed for many a year the dictates of his own conscienceto the interest of thy family, and did not desert it till thy franticzeal for royalty had well-nigh brought to utter perdition the littlecommunity in which he was born. Even in confining thee, he acted butas the friends of the madman, who bind him with iron for his ownpreservation; and for thee, as I can bear witness, he was the onlybarrier between thee and the wrath of the Commons of England; and butfor his earnest remonstrances, thou hadst suffered the penalty of thymalignancy, even like the wicked wife of Ahab."

  "Master Bridgenorth," said the Lady Peveril, "I will allow for yourimpatience upon hearing these unpleasing tidings; but there is neitheruse nor propriety in farther urging this question. If in your grief youforget other restraints, I pray you to remember that the Countess is myguest and kinswoman, and is under such protection as I can afford her. Ibeseech you, in simple courtesy, to withdraw, as what must needs be thebest and most becoming course in these trying circumstances."

  "Nay, let him remain," said the Countess, regarding him with composure,not unmingled with triumph; "I would not have it otherwise; I would notthat my revenge should be summed up in the stinted gratification whichChristian's death hath afforded. This man's rude and clamorous griefonly proves that the retribution I have dealt has been more widely feltthan by the wretched sufferer himself. I would I knew that it had butmade sore as many rebel hearts, as there were loyal breasts afflicted bythe death of my princely Derby!"

  "So please you, madam," said Lady Peveril, "since Master Bridgenorthhath not the manners to leave us upon my request, we will, if yourladyship lists, leave him, and retire to my apartment.--Farewell, MasterBridgenorth; we will meet hereafter on better terms."

  "Pardon me, madam," said the Major, who had been striding hastilythrough the room, but now stood fast, and drew himself up, as one whohas taken a resolution;--"to yourself I have nothing to say but whatis respectful; but to this woman I must speak as a magistrate. Shehas confessed a murder in my presence--the murder too of mybrother-in-law--as a man, and as a magistrate, I cannot permit her topass from hence, excepting under such custody as may prevent her fartherflight. She has already confessed that she is a fugitive, and in searchof a place of concealment, until she should be able to escape intoforeign parts.--Charlotte, Countess of Derby, I attach thee of the crimeof which thou hast but now made thy boast."

  "I shall not obey your arrest," said the Countess composedly; "I wasborn to give, but not to receive such orders. What have your Englishlaws to do with my acts of justice and of government, within my son'shereditary kingdom? Am I not Queen in Man, as well as Countess of Derby?A feudatory Sovereign indeed; but yet independent so long as my dues ofhomage are duly discharged. What right can you assert over me?"

  "That given by the precepts of Scripture," answered Bridgenorth--"'Whosospilleth man's blood, by man shall his blood be spilled.' Think not thebarbarous privileges of ancient feudal customs will avail to screenyou from the punishment due for an Englishman murdered upon pretextsinconsistent with the act of indemnity."

  "Master Bridgenorth," said the Lady Peveril, "if by fair terms youdesist not from your present purpose, I tell you that I neither dare,nor will, permit any violence against this honourable lady within thewalls of my husband's castle."

  "You will find yourself unable to prevent me from executing my duty,madam," said Bridgenorth, whose native obstinacy now came in aid of hisgrief and desire of revenge; "I am a magistrate, and act by authority."

  "I know not that," said Lady Peveril. "That you _were_ a magistrate,Master Bridgenorth, under the late usurping powers, I know well; buttill I hear of your having a commission in the name of the King, I nowhesitate to obey you as such."

  "I shall stand on small ceremony," said Bridgenorth. "Were I nomagistrate, every man has title to arrest for murder against the termsof the indemnities held out by the King's proclamations, and I will makemy point good."

  "What indemnities? What proclamations?" said the Countess of Derbyindignantly. "Charles Stuart may, if he pleases (and it doth seem toplease him), consort with those whose hands have been red with theblood, and blackened with the plunder, of his father and of
his loyalsubjects. He may forgive them if he will, and count their deeds goodservice. What has that to do with this Christian's offence against meand mine? Born a Mankesman--bred and nursed in the island--he broke thelaws under which he lived, and died for the breach of them, after thefair trial which they allowed.--Methinks, Margaret, we have enough ofthis peevish and foolish magistrate--I attend you to your apartment."

  Major Bridgenorth placed himself betwixt them and the door, in a mannerwhich showed him determined to interrupt their passage; when the LadyPeveril, who thought she already showed more deference to him in thismatter than her husband was likely to approve of, raised her voice, andcalled loudly on her steward, Whitaker. That alert person, who had heardhigh talking, and a female voice with which he was unacquainted, hadremained for several minutes stationed in the anteroom, much afflictedwith the anxiety of his own curiosity. Of course he entered in aninstant.

  "Let three of the men instantly take arms," said the lady; "bring theminto the anteroom, and wait my farther orders."