ream from
which he fears to awake, and whose delight is mingled with wonder and
with uncertainty, Julian Peveril found himself seated between Alice
Bridgenorth and her father--the being he most loved on earth, and
the person whom he had ever considered as the great obstacle to their
intercourse. The confusion of his mind was such, that he could scarcely
reply to the importunate civilities of Dame Deborah; who, seated with
them at table in her quality of governante, now dispensed the good
things which had been prepared under her own eye.

As for Alice she seemed to have found a resolution to play the mute; for
she answered not, excepting briefly, to the questions of Dame Debbitch;
nay, even when her father, which happened once or twice, attempted to
bring her forward in the conversation, she made no further reply than
respect for him rendered absolutely necessary.

Upon Bridgenorth himself, then, devolved the task of entertaining the
company; and contrary to his ordinary habits, he did not seem to shrink
from it. His discourse was not only easy, but almost cheerful, though
ever and anon crossed by some expressions indicative of natural and
habitual melancholy, or prophetic of future misfortune and woe. Flashes
of enthusiasm, too, shot along his conversation, gleaming like the
sheet-lightening of an autumn eve, which throws a strong, though
momentary illumination, across the sober twilight, and all the
surrounding objects, which, touched by it, assume a wilder and more
striking character. In general, however, Bridgenorth's remarks were
plain and sensible; and as he aimed at no graces of language, any
ornament which they received arose out of the interest with which they
were impressed on his hearers. For example, when Deborah, in the pride
and vulgarity of her heart, called Julian's attention to the plate
from which they had been eating, Bridgenorth seemed to think an apology
necessary for such superfluous expense.

"It was a symptom," he said, "of approaching danger, when such men, as
were not usually influenced by the vanities of life employed much money
in ornaments composed of the precious metals. It was a sign that the
merchant could not obtain a profit for the capital, which, for the sake
of security, he invested in this inert form. It was a proof that the
noblemen or gentlemen feared the rapacity of power, when they put
their wealth into forms the most portable and the most capable of being
hidden; and it showed