"That hour will never come," said the unhappy father; "she will follow the rest--God's will be done! Lady, I thank you--I trust her to your care."
It is enough to say that the Lady Peveril did undertake the duties of a mother to the little orphan, and the puny infant gradually improved in strength and in loveliness.
Sir Geoffrey was naturally fond of children, and so much compassionated the sorrows of his neighbour, that morning after morning he made Moultrassie Hall the termination of his walk or ride, and said a single word of kindness as he passed. "How is it with you, Master Bridgenorth?" the knight would say, halting his horse by the latticed window. "I just looked in to bid you keep a good heart, man, and to tell you that Julian is well, and little Alice is well, and all are well at Martindale Castle."
"I thank you, Sir Geoffrey; my grateful duty waits on Lady Peveril," was generally Bridgenorth's only answer.
The voice of Peveril suddenly assumed a new and different tone in the month of April, 1660. He rushed into the apartment of the astonished major with his eyes sparkling and called out, "Up, up, neighbour! No time now to mope in the chimney-corner! Where is your buff coat and broadsword, man? Take the true side once in your life, and mend past mistakes. Monk has declared at London--for the king. Fairfax is up in Yorkshire--for the king, for the king, man! I have a letter from Fairfax to secure Derby and Chesterfield with all the men I can make. All are friends now, and you and I, good neighbour, will charge abreast as good neighbours should!" The sturdy cavalier's heart became too full, and exclaiming, "Did ever I think to live to see this happy day!" he wept, to his own surprise as much as to that of Bridgenorth.
The neighbours were both at Chesterfield when news arrived that the king had landed in England, and Sir Geoffrey instantly announced his purpose of waiting upon his majesty, while the major desired nothing better than to find all well at Martindale on his return.
Accordingly, on the subsequent morning, Bridgenorth went to Martindale Castle, and gave Lady Peveril the welcome assurances of her husband's safety.
"May Almighty God be praised!" said the Lady Peveril. The door of the apartment opened as she spoke, and two lovely children entered. The eldest, Julian Peveril, a fine boy betwixt four and five years old, led in his hand a little girl of eighteen months, who rolled and tottered along.
Bridgenorth cast a hasty glance upon his daughter, and then caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. The child, though at first alarmed at the vehemence of his caresses, presently smiled in reply to them.
"Julian must lose his playfellow now, I suppose?" said Lady Peveril. "But the hall is not distant, and I will see my little charge often."