have regard to
it in its depression."

He here made a second pause, as if he expected Julian to say something.
But notwithstanding the ardour with which the young man had pressed his
suit, he was too much trained in ideas of the importance of his family,
and in the better habit of respect for his parents, to hear, without
displeasure, some part of Bridgenorth's discourse.

"The House of Peveril," he replied, "was never humbled."

"Had you said the sons of that House had never been _humble_," answered
Bridgenorth, "you would have come nearer the truth.--Are _you_
not humbled? Live you not here, the lackey of a haughty woman, the
play-companion of an empty youth? If you leave this Isle, and go to the
Court of England, see what regard will there be paid to the old pedigree
that deduces your descent from kings and conquerors. A scurril or
obscene jest, an impudent carriage, a laced cloak, a handful of gold,
and the readiness to wager it on a card, or a die, will better advance
you at the Court of Charles, than your father's ancient name, and
slavish devotion of blood and fortune to the cause of _his_ father."

"That is, indeed, but too probable," said Peveril; "but the Court shall
be no element of mine. I will live like my fathers, among my people,
care for their comforts, decide their differences----"

"Build Maypoles, and dance around them," said Bridgenorth, with another
of those grim smiles which passed over his features like the light of
a sexton's torch, as it glares and is reflected by the window of the
church, when he comes from locking a funeral vault. "No, Julian,
these are not times in which, by the dreaming drudgery of a country
magistrate, and the petty cares of a country proprietor, a man can serve
his unhappy country. There are mighty designs afloat, and men are called
to make their choice betwixt God and Baal. The ancient superstition--the
abomination of our fathers--is raising its head, and flinging abroad its
snares, under the protection of the princes of the earth; but she raises
not her head unmarked or unwatched; the true English hearts are as
thousands, which wait but a signal to arise as one man, and show the
kings of the earth that they have combined in vain! We will cast their
cords from us--the cup of their abominations we will not taste."

"You speak in darkness, Master Bridgenorth," said Peveril. "Knowing so
much of me, you may, perhaps, also be aware, that I at least have
seen too much of