duties
to which the times summoned your late honoured lord, were of a more
stirring, as well as a more peremptory cast, than those which await your
son."

"I know not that," said the Countess. "The wheel appears to be again
revolving; and the present period is not unlikely to bring back such
scenes as my young years witnessed.--Well, be it so; they will not find
Charlotte de la Tremouille broken in spirit, though depressed by years.
It was even on this subject I would speak with you, my young friend.
Since our first early acquaintance--when I saw your gallant behaviour as
I issued forth to your childish eye, like an apparition, from my place
of concealment in your father's castle--it has pleased me to think you a
true son of Stanley and Peveril. I trust your nurture in this family has
been ever suited to the esteem in which I hold you.--Nay, I desire no
thanks.--I have to require of you, in return, a piece of service,
not perhaps entirely safe to yourself, but which, as times are
circumstanced, no person is so well able to render to my house."

"You have been ever my good and noble lady," answered Peveril, "as well
as my kind, and I may say maternal, protectress. You have a right to
command the blood of Stanley in the veins of every one--You have a
thousand rights to command it in mine."[*]

[*] The reader cannot have forgotten that the Earl of Derby was head
of the great house of Stanley.

"My advices from England," said the Countess, "resemble more the dreams
of a sick man, than the regular information which I might have expected
from such correspondents as mine;--their expressions are like those of
men who walk in their sleep, and speak by snatches of what passes in
their dreams. It is said, a plot, real or fictitious, has been detected
among the Catholics, which has spread far wider and more uncontrollable
terror than that of the fifth of November. Its outlines seem utterly
incredible, and are only supported by the evidence of wretches, the
meanest and most worthless in the creation; yet it is received by the
credulous people of England with the most undoubting belief."

"This is a singular delusion, to rise without some real ground,"
answered Julian.

"I am no bigot, cousin, though a Catholic," replied the Countess. "I
have long feared that the well-meant zeal of our priests for increasing
converts, would draw on them the suspicion of the English nation. These
efforts have been renewed with double energ