“Not in mine,” said the dejected father; “but in that of one in whose protection, next to that of Heaven, I can most fully confide.”
“Are you sure—are you very sure of that?” repeated Julian eagerly. “I found her under the charge of one to whom she had been trusted, and who yet——”
“And who yet was the basest of women,” answered Bridgenorth; “but he who selected her for the charge was deceived in her character.”
“Say rather you were deceived in his; remember that when we parted in Moultrassie, I warned you of that Ganlesse—that——”
“I know your meaning,” said Bridgenorth; “nor did you err in describing him as a worldly-wise man. But he has atoned for his error by recovering Alice from the dangers into which she has plunged when separated from you; and besides, I have not thought meet again to entrust him with the charge that is dearest to me.”
“I thank God your eyes are thus far opened!” said Julian.
“This day will open them wide, or close them for ever,” answered Bridgenorth.
During this dialogue, which the speakers hurried through without attending to the others who were present, Sir Geoffrey listened with surprise and eagerness, endeavouring to catch something which should render their conversation intelligible; but as he totally failed in gaining any such key to their meaning, he broke in with,—“‘Sblood and thunder, Julian, what unprofitable gossip is this? What hast thou to do with this fellow, more than to bastinado him, if you should think it worth while to beat so old a rogue?”
“My dearest father,” said Julian, “you know not this gentleman—I am certain you do him injustice. My own obligations to him are many; and I am sure when you come to know them——”
“I hope I shall die ere that moment come,” said Sir Geoffrey; and continued with increasing violence, “I hope in the mercy of Heaven, that I shall be in the grave of my ancestors, ere I learn that my son—my only son—the last hope of my ancient house—the last remnant of the name of Peveril—hath consented to receive obligations from the man on earth I am most bound to hate, were I not still more bound to contemn him!—Degenerate dog-whelp!” he repeated with great vehemence, “you colour without replying! Speak, and disown such disgrace; or, by the God of my fathers——”