etch down from his perch
presently, with a wannion to him! He has been cock of the roost long
enough.--There are rods in pickle to switch the Geneva cloak with, I can
tell the sour-faced rogues that much. But this child is the daughter of
Bridgenorth--neighbour Bridgenorth, of Moultrassie Hall."

"Bridgenorth?" said the Countess; "I thought I had known all the
honourable names in Derbyshire--I remember nothing of Bridgenorth.--But
stay--was there not a sequestrator and committeeman of that name? Sure,
it cannot be he?"

Peveril took some shame to himself, as he replied, "It is the very man
whom your ladyship means, and you may conceive the reluctance with which
I submitted to receive good offices from one of his kidney; but had I
not done so, I should have scarce known how to find a roof to cover Dame
Margaret's head."

The Countess, as he spoke, raised the child gently from her lap, and
placed it upon the carpet, though little Alice showed a disinclination
to the change of place, which the lady of Derby and Man would certainly
have indulged in a child of patrician descent and loyal parentage.

"I blame you not," she said; "no one knows what temptation will bring us
down to. Yet I _did_ think Peveril of the Peak would have resided in its
deepest cavern, sooner than owed an obligation to a regicide."

"Nay, madam," answered the Knight, "my neighbour is bad enough, but
not so bad as you would make him; he is but a Presbyterian--that I must
confess--but not an Independent."

"A variety of the same monster," said the Countess, "who hallooed while
the others hunted, and bound the victim whom the Independents massacred.
Betwixt such sects I prefer the Independents. They are at least bold,
bare-faced, merciless villains, have more of the tiger in them, and less
of the crocodile. I have no doubt it was that worthy gentleman who took
it upon him this morning----"

She stopped short, for she saw Lady Peveril was vexed and embarrassed.

"I am," she said, "the most luckless of beings. I have said something,
I know not what, to distress you, Margaret--Mystery is a bad thing, and
betwixt us there should be none."

"There is none, madam," said Lady Peveril, something impatiently; "I
waited but an opportunity to tell my husband what had happened--Sir
Geoffrey, Master Bridgenorth was unfortunately here when the Lady Derby
and I met; and he thought it part of his duty to speak of----"

"To speak of what?" said the Knight, bend