a huge oak,
of the largest size, which grew on the summit of a knoll in the open
ground which terminated the avenue, and was exactly so placed as to
serve for a termination to the vista. The moonshine without the avenue
was so strong, that, amidst the flood of light which it poured on the
venerable tree, they could easily discover, from the shattered state
of the boughs on one side, that it had suffered damage from lightning.
"Remember you," he said, "when we last looked together on that tree?
I had ridden from London, and brought with me a protection from the
committee for your husband; and as I passed the spot--here on this spot
where we now stand, you stood with my lost Alice--two--the last two of
my beloved infants gambolled before you. I leaped from my horse--to
her I was a husband--to those a father--to you a welcome and revered
protector--What am I now to any one?" He pressed his hand on his brow,
and groaned in agony of spirit.

It was not in the Lady Peveril's nature to hear sorrow without an
attempt at consolation. "Master Bridgenorth," she said, "I blame no
man's creed, while I believe and follow my own; and I rejoice that in
yours you have sought consolation for temporal afflictions. But does not
every Christian creed teach us alike, that affliction should soften our
heart?"

"Ay, woman," said Bridgenorth sternly, "as the lightning which shattered
yonder oak hath softened its trunk. No; the seared wood is the fitter
for the use of the workmen--the hardened and the dried-up heart is that
which can best bear the task imposed by these dismal times. God and man
will no longer endure the unbridled profligacy of the dissolute--the
scoffing of the profane--the contempt of the divine laws--the infraction
of human rights. The times demand righters and avengers, and there will
be no want of them."

"I deny not the existence of much evil," said Lady Peveril, compelling
herself to answer, and beginning at the same time to walk forward;
"and from hearsay, though not, I thank Heaven, from observation, I am
convinced of the wild debauchery of the times. But let us trust it may
be corrected without such violent remedies as you hint at. Surely the
ruin of a second civil war--though I trust your thoughts go not that
dreadful length--were at best a desperate alternative."

"Sharp, but sure," replied Bridgenorth. "The blood of the Paschal
lamb chased away the destroying angel--the sacrifices offered on the
threshing-floor