in making good her stronghold against the Protestant commissioners,
and was despatched by her to open secret communication with the Popish
interest in London."

"You have twice stated me as such an agent," said Peveril, resolved that
his silence should not be construed into an admission of the charge,
though he felt it was in some degree well founded--"What reason have you
for such an allegation?"

"Will it suffice for a proof of my intimate acquaintance with your
mystery," replied Bridgenorth, "if I should repeat to you the last
words which the Countess used to you when you left the Castle of that
Amalekitish woman? Thus she spoke: 'I am now a forlorn widow,' she said,
'whom sorrow has made selfish.'"

Peveril started, for these were the very words the Countess had used;
but he instantly recovered himself, and replied, "Be your information of
what nature it will, I deny, and I defy it, so far as it attaches aught
like guilt to me. There lives not a man more innocent of a disloyal
thought, or of a traitorous purpose. What I say for myself, I will,
to the best of my knowledge, say and maintain on account of the noble
Countess, to whom I am indebted for nurture."

"Perish, then, in thy obstinacy!" said Bridgenorth; and turning hastily
from him, he left the room, and Julian heard him hasten down the narrow
staircase, as if distrusting his own resolution.

With a heavy heart, yet with that confidence in an overruling Providence
which never forsakes a good and brave man, Peveril betook himself to his
lowly place of repose.

CHAPTER XXV

The course of human life is changeful still,
As is the fickle wind and wandering rill;
Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze weaves
Amidst the fated race of fallen leaves;
Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high,
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky.
Such, and so varied, the precarious play
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day!
--ANONYMOUS.

Whilst, overcome with fatigue, and worn out by anxiety, Julian Peveril
slumbered as a prisoner in the house of his hereditary enemy, Fortune
was preparing his release by one of those sudden frolics with which she
loves to confound the calculations and expectancies of humanity; and
as she fixes on strange agents for such purposes, she condescended
to employ on the present occasion, no less a personag