Peveril of the Peak

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XIII

  Parents have flinty hearts! No tears can move them. --OTWAY.

  When Alice Bridgenorth at length entered the parlour where her anxiouslover had so long expected her, it was with a slow step, and a composedmanner. Her dress was arranged with an accurate attention to form, whichat once enhanced the appearance of its puritanic simplicity, and struckJulian as a bad omen; for although the time bestowed upon the toiletmay, in many cases, intimate the wish to appear advantageously at suchan interview, yet a ceremonious arrangement of attire is very muchallied with formality, and a preconceived determination to treat a loverwith cold politeness.

  The sad-coloured gown--the pinched and plaited cap, which carefullyobscured the profusion of long dark-brown hair--the small ruff, and thelong sleeves, would have appeared to great disadvantage on a shape lessgraceful than Alice Bridgenorth's; but an exquisite form, though not, asyet, sufficiently rounded in the outlines to produce the perfectionof female beauty, was able to sustain and give grace even to thisunbecoming dress. Her countenance, fair and delicate, with eyes ofhazel, and a brow of alabaster, had, notwithstanding, less regularbeauty than her form, and might have been justly subjected to criticism.There was, however, a life and spirit in her gaiety, and a depth ofsentiment in her gravity, which made Alice, in conversation with thevery few persons with whom she associated, so fascinating in her mannersand expression, whether of language or countenance--so touching, also,in her simplicity and purity of thought, that brighter beauties mighthave been overlooked in her company. It was no wonder, therefore, thatan ardent character like Julian, influenced by these charms, as well asby the secrecy and mystery attending his intercourse with Alice, shouldprefer the recluse of the Black Fort to all others with whom he hadbecome acquainted in general society.

  His heart beat high as she came into the apartment, and it was almostwithout an attempt to speak that his profound obeisance acknowledged herentrance.

  "This is a mockery, Master Peveril," said Alice, with an effort to speakfirmly, which yet was disconcerted by a slightly tremulous inflectionof voice--"a mockery, and a cruel one. You come to this lone place,inhabited only by two women, too simple to command your absence--tooweak to enforce it--you come, in spite of my earnest request--tothe neglect of your own time--to the prejudice, I may fear, of mycharacter--you abuse the influence you possess over the simple personto whom I am entrusted--All this you do, and think to make up by lowreverences and constrained courtesy! Is this honourable, or is itfair?--Is it," she added, after a moment's hesitation--"is it kind?"

  The tremulous accent fell especially on the last word she uttered, andit was spoken in a low tone of gentle reproach, which went to Julian'sheart.

  "If," said he, "there was a mode by which, at the peril of my life,Alice, I could show my regard--my respect--my devoted tenderness--thedanger would be dearer to me than ever was pleasure."

  "You have said such things often," said Alice, "and they are such as Iought not to hear, and do not desire to hear. I have no tasks to imposeon you--no enemies to be destroyed--no need or desire of protection--nowish, Heaven knows, to expose you to danger--It is your visits herealone to which danger attaches. You have but to rule your own wilfultemper--to turn your thoughts and your cares elsewhere, and I can havenothing to ask--nothing to wish for. Use your own reason--consider theinjury you do yourself--the injustice you do us--and let me, oncemore, in fair terms, entreat you to absent yourself from thisplace--till--till----"

  She paused, and Julian eagerly interrupted her.--"Till when,Alice?--till when?--impose on me any length of absence which yourseverity can inflict, short of a final separation--Say, Begone foryears, but return when these years are over; and, slow and wearily asthey must pass away, still the thought that they must at length havetheir period, will enable me to live through them. Let me, then, conjurethee, Alice, to name a date--to fix a term--to say till _when!_"

  "Till you can bear to think of me only as a friend and sister."

  "That is a sentence of eternal banishment indeed!" said Julian; "itis seeming, no doubt, to fix a term of exile, but attaching to it animpossible condition."

  "And why impossible, Julian?" said Alice, in a tone of persuasion; "werewe not happier ere you threw the mask from your own countenance, andtore the veil from my foolish eyes? Did we not meet with joy, spend ourtime happily, and part cheerily, because we transgressed no duty, andincurred no self-reproach? Bring back that state of happy ignorance, andyou shall have no reason to call me unkind. But while you form schemeswhich I know to be visionary, and use language of such violence andpassion, you shall excuse me if I now, and once for all, declare, thatsince Deborah shows herself unfit for the trust reposed in her, andmust needs expose me to persecutions of this nature, I will write tomy father, that he may fix me another place of residence; and in themeanwhile I will take shelter with my aunt at Kirk-Truagh."

  "Hear me, unpitying girl," said Peveril, "hear me, and you shall see howdevoted I am to obedience, in all that I can do to oblige you! You sayyou were happy when we spoke not on such topics--well--at all expense ofmy own suppressed feelings, that happy period shall return. I will meetyou--walk with you--read with you--but only as a brother would with hissister, or a friend with his friend; the thoughts I may nourish, be theyof hope or of despair, my tongue shall not give birth to, and thereforeI cannot offend; Deborah shall be ever by your side, and her presenceshall prevent my even hinting at what might displease you--only do notmake a crime to me of those thoughts which are the dearest part ofmy existence; for believe me it were better and kinder to rob me ofexistence itself."

  "This is the mere ecstasy of passion, Julian," answered AliceBridgenorth; "that which is unpleasant, our selfish and stubbornwill represents as impossible. I have no confidence in the plan youpropose--no confidence in your resolution, and less than none in theprotection of Deborah. Till you can renounce, honestly and explicitly,the wishes you have lately expressed, we must be strangers;--and couldyou renounce them even at this moment, it were better that we shouldpart for a long time; and, for Heaven's sake, let it be as soon aspossible--perhaps it is even now too late to prevent some unpleasantaccident--I thought I heard a noise."

  "It was Deborah," answered Julian. "Be not afraid, Alice; we are secureagainst surprise."

  "I know not," said Alice, "what you mean by such security--I havenothing to hide. I sought not this interview; on the contrary, avertedit as long as I could--and am now most desirous to break it off."

  "And wherefore, Alice, since you say it must be our last? Why should youshake the sand which is passing so fast? the very executioner hurriesnot the prayers of the wretches upon the scaffold.--And see you not--Iwill argue as coldly as you can desire--see you not that you arebreaking your own word, and recalling the hope which yourself held outto me?"

  "What hope have I suggested? What word have I given, Julian?" answeredAlice. "You yourself build wild hopes in the air, and accuse me ofdestroying what had never any earthly foundation. Spare yourself,Julian--spare me--and in mercy to us both depart, and return not againtill you can be more reasonable."

  "Reasonable?" replied Julian; "it is you, Alice, who will deprive mealtogether of reason. Did you not say, that if our parents could bebrought to consent to our union, you would no longer oppose my suit?"

  "No--no--no," said Alice eagerly, and blushing deeply,--"I did not sayso, Julian--it was your own wild imagination which put construction onmy silence and my confusion."

  "You do _not_ say so, then?" answered Julian; "and if all otherobstacles were removed, I should find one in the cold flinty bosom ofher who repays the most devoted and sincere affection with contempt anddislike?--Is that," he added, in a deep tone of feeling--"is that whatAlice Bridgenorth says to Julian Peveril?"

  "Indeed--indeed, Julian," said the almost weeping girl, "I do not sayso--I say nothing, and I ought not to say anything concerning whatI might do, in a state of things which can never
take place. Indeed,Julian, you ought not thus to press me. Unprotected as I am--wishing youwell--very well--why should you urge me to say or do what would lessenme in my own eyes? to own affection for one from whom fate has separatedme for ever? It is ungenerous--it is cruel--it is seeking a momentaryand selfish gratification to yourself, at the expense of every feelingwhich I ought to entertain."

  "You have said enough, Alice," said Julian, with sparkling eyes; "youhave said enough in deprecating my urgency, and I will press you nofarther. But you overrate the impediments which lie betwixt us--theymust and shall give way."

  "So you said before," answered Alice, "and with what probability, yourown account may show. You dared not to mention the subject to your ownfather--how should you venture to mention it to mine?"

  "That I will soon enable you to decide upon. Major Bridgenorth, by mymother's account, is a worthy and an estimable man. I will remind him,that to my mother's care he owes the dearest treasure and comfort of hislife; and I will ask him if it is a just retribution to make that motherchildless. Let me but know where to find him, Alice, and you shall soonhear if I have feared to plead my cause with him."

  "Alas!" answered Alice, "you well know my uncertainty as to my dearfather's residence. How often has it been my earnest request to him thathe would let me share his solitary abode, or his obscure wanderings!But the short and infrequent visits which he makes to this house are allthat he permits me of his society. Something I might surely do, howeverlittle, to alleviate the melancholy by which he is oppressed."

  "Something we might both do," said Peveril. "How willingly would I aidyou in so pleasing a task! All old griefs should be forgotten--allold friendships revived. My father's prejudices are those of anEnglishman--strong, indeed, but not insurmountable by reason. Tell me,then, where Major Bridgenorth is, and leave the rest to me; or let mebut know by what address your letters reach him, and I will forthwithessay to discover his dwelling."

  "Do not attempt it, I charge you," said Alice. "He is already a man ofsorrows; and what would he think were I capable of entertaining a suitso likely to add to them? Besides, I could not tell you, if I would,where he is now to be found. My letters reach him from time to time, bymeans of my aunt Christian; but of his address I am entirely ignorant."

  "Then, by Heaven," answered Julian, "I will watch his arrival in thisisland, and in this house; and ere he has locked thee in his arms, heshall answer to me on the subject of my suit."

  "Then demand that answer now," said a voice from without the door, whichwas at the same time slowly opened--"Demand that answer now, for herestands Ralph Bridgenorth."

  As he spoke, he entered the apartment with his usual slow and sedatestep--raised his flapp'd and steeple-crowned hat from his brows, and,standing in the midst of the room, eyed alternately his daughter andJulian Peveril with a fixed and penetrating glance.

  "Father!" said Alice, utterly astonished, and terrified besides, by hissudden appearance at such a conjuncture,--"Father, I am not to blame."

  "Of that anon, Alice," said Bridgenorth; "meantime retire to yourapartment--I have that to say to this youth which will not endure yourpresence."

  "Indeed--indeed, father," said Alice, alarmed at what she supposed thesewords indicated, "Julian is as little to be blamed as I! It was chance,it was fortune, which caused our meeting together." Then suddenlyrushing forward, she threw her arms around her father, saying, "Oh, dohim no injury--he meant no wrong! Father, you were wont to be a man ofreason and religious peace."

  "And wherefore should I not be so now, Alice?" said Bridgenorth, raisinghis daughter from the ground, on which she had almost sunk in theearnestness of her supplication. "Dost thou know aught, maiden, whichshould inflame my anger against this young man, more than reasonor religion may bridle? Go--go to thy chamber. Compose thine ownpassions--learn to rule these--and leave it to me to deal with thisstubborn young man."

  Alice arose, and, with her eyes fixed on the ground, retired slowly fromthe apartment. Julian followed her steps with his eyes till the lastwave of her garment was visible at the closing door; then turned hislooks to Major Bridgenorth, and then sunk them on the ground. The Majorcontinued to regard him in profound silence; his looks were melancholyand even austere; but there was nothing which indicated either agitationor keen resentment. He motioned to Julian to take a seat, and assumedone himself. After which he opened the conversation in the followingmanner:--

  "You seemed but now, young gentleman, anxious to learn where I was tobe found. Such I at least conjectured, from the few expressions which Ichanced to overhear; for I made bold, though it may be contrary to thecode of modern courtesy, to listen a moment or two, in order to gatherupon what subject so young a man as you entertained so young a woman asAlice, in a private interview."

  "I trust, sir," said Julian, rallying spirits in what he felt to be acase of extremity, "you have heard nothing on my part which has givenoffence to a gentleman, whom, though unknown, I am bound to respect sohighly."

  "On the contrary," said Bridgenorth, with the same formal gravity, "I ampleased to find that your business is, or appears to be, with me,rather than with my daughter. I only think you had done better to haveentrusted it to me in the first instance, as my sole concern."

  The utmost sharpness of attention which Julian applied, could notdiscover if Bridgenorth spoke seriously or ironically to the abovepurpose. He was, however, quick-witted beyond his experience, andwas internally determined to endeavour to discover something of thecharacter and the temper of him with whom he spoke. For that purpose,regulating his reply in the same tone with Bridgenorth's observation, hesaid, that not having the advantage to know his place of residence, hehad applied for information to his daughter.

  "Who is now known to you for the first time?" said Bridgenorth. "Am I soto understand you?"

  "By no means," answered Julian, looking down; "I have been known to yourdaughter for many years; and what I wished to say, respects both herhappiness and my own."

  "I must understand you," said Bridgenorth, "even as carnal menunderstand each other on the matters of this world. You are attached tomy daughter by the cords of love; I have long known this."

  "You, Master Bridgenorth?" exclaimed Peveril--"_You_ have long knownit?"

  "Yes, young man. Think you, that as the father of an only child, I couldhave suffered Alice Bridgenorth--the only living pledge of her who isnow an angel in heaven--to have remained in this seclusion without thesurest knowledge of all her material actions? I have, in person, seenmore, both of her and of you, than you could be aware of; andwhen absent in the body, I had the means of maintaining the samesuperintendence. Young man, they say that such love as you entertain formy daughter teaches much subtilty; but believe not that it can overreachthe affection which a widowed father bears to an only child."

  "If," said Julian, his heart beating thick and joyfully, "if you haveknown this intercourse so long, may I not hope that it has not met yourdisapprobation?"

  The Major paused for an instant, and then answered, "In some respects,certainly not. Had it done so--had there seemed aught on your side, oron my daughter's, to have rendered your visits here dangerous to her,or displeasing to me, she had not been long the inhabitant of thissolitude, or of this island. But be not so hasty as to presume, thatall which you may desire in this matter can be either easily or speedilyaccomplished."

  "I foresee, indeed, difficulties," answered Julian; "but with yourkind acquiescence, they are such as I trust to remove. My father isgenerous--my mother is candid and liberal. They loved you once; I trustthey will love you again. I will be the mediator betwixt you--peace andharmony shall once more inhabit our neighbourhood, and----"

  Bridgenorth interrupted him with a grim smile; for such it seemed, as itpassed over a face of deep melancholy. "My daughter well said, but shortwhile past, that you were a dreamer of dreams--an architect of plans andhopes fantastic as the visions of the night. It is a great thing youask of me;--the hand of my only child--the sum of my worldly
substance,though that is but dross in comparison. You ask the key of the onlyfountain from which I may yet hope to drink one pleasant draught; youask to be the sole and absolute keeper of my earthly happiness--and whathave you offered, or what have you to offer in return, for the surrenderyou require of me?"

  "I am but too sensible," said Peveril, abashed at his own hastyconclusions, "how difficult it may be."

  "Nay, but interrupt me not," replied Bridgenorth, "till I show you theamount of what you offer me in exchange for a boon, which, whatever maybe its intrinsic value, is earnestly desired by you, and comprehends allthat is valuable on earth which I have it in my power to bestow. You mayhave heard that in the late times I was the antagonist of your father'sprinciples and his profane faction, but not the enemy of his person."

  "I have ever heard," replied Julian, "much the contrary; and it was butnow that I reminded you that you had been his friend."

  "Ay. When he was in affliction and I in prosperity, I was neitherunwilling, nor altogether unable, to show myself such. Well, the tablesare turned--the times are changed. A peaceful and unoffending manmight have expected from a neighbour, now powerful in his turn, suchprotection, when walking in the paths of the law, as all men, subjectsof the same realm, have a right to expect even from perfect strangers.What chances? I pursue, with the warrant of the King and law, amurderess, bearing on her hand the blood of my near connection, and Ihad, in such a case, a right to call on every liege subject to renderassistance to the execution. My late friendly neighbour, bound, as a manand a magistrate, to give ready assistance to a legal action--bound,as a grateful and obliged friend, to respect my rights and myperson--thrusts himself betwixt me--me, the avenger of blood--and mylawful captive; beats me to the earth, at once endangering my life, and,in mere human eyes, sullying mine honour; and under his protection, theMidianitish woman reaches, like a sea-eagle, the nest which she hathmade in the wave-surrounded rocks, and remains there till gold, dulyadministered at Court, wipes out all memory of her crime, and bafflesthe vengeance due to the memory of the best and bravest of men.--But,"he added, apostrophising the portrait of Christian, "thou art notyet forgotten, my fair-haired William! The vengeance which dogs thymurderess is slow,--but it is sure!"

  There was a pause of some moments, which Julian Peveril, willing to hearto what conclusion Major Bridgenorth was finally to arrive, did notcare to interrupt. Accordingly, in a few minutes, the latterproceeded.--"These things," he said, "I recall not in bitterness, so faras they are personal to me--I recall them not in spite of heart, thoughthey have been the means of banishing me from my place of residence,where my fathers dwelt, and where my earthly comforts lie interred. Butthe public cause sets further strife betwixt your father and me. Who soactive as he to execute the fatal edict of black St. Bartholomew's day,when so many hundreds of gospel-preachers were expelled from house andhome--from hearth and altar--from church and parish, to make room forbelly-gods and thieves? Who, when a devoted few of the Lord's peoplewere united to lift the fallen standard, and once more advance thegood cause, was the readiest to break their purpose--to search for,persecute, and apprehend them? Whose breath did I feel warm on myneck--whose naked sword was thrust within a foot of my body, whilstI lurked darkling, like a thief in concealment, in the house of myfathers?--It was Geoffrey Peveril's--it was your father's!--What canyou answer to all this, or how can you reconcile it with your presentwishes?

  "These things I point out to you, Julian, that I may show you howimpossible, in the eyes of a merely worldly man, would be the unionwhich you are desirous of. But Heaven hath at times opened a door, whereman beholds no means of issue. Julian, your mother, for one to whom thetruth is unknown, is, after the fashion of the world, one of the best,and one of the wisest of women; and Providence, which gave her so fair aform, and tenanted that form with a mind as pure as the original frailtyof our vile nature will permit, means not, I trust, that she shallcontinue to the end to be a vessel of wrath and perdition. Of yourfather I say nothing--he is what the times and example of others, andthe counsels of his lordly priest, have made him; and of him, once more,I say nothing, save that I have power over him, which ere now he mighthave felt, but that there is one within his chambers, who might havesuffered in his suffering. Nor do I wish to root up your ancient family.If I prize not your boast of family honours and pedigree, I would notwillingly destroy them; more than I would pull down a moss-grown tower,or hew to the ground an ancient oak, save for the straightening ofthe common path, and advantage of the public. I have, therefore, noresentment against the humbled House of Peveril--nay, I have regard toit 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 hissuit, 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, withoutdispleasure, 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_," answeredBridgenorth, "you would have come nearer the truth.--Are _you_not humbled? Live you not here, the lackey of a haughty woman, theplay-companion of an empty youth? If you leave this Isle, and go to theCourt of England, see what regard will there be paid to the old pedigreethat deduces your descent from kings and conquerors. A scurril orobscene 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 advanceyou at the Court of Charles, than your father's ancient name, andslavish devotion of blood and fortune to the cause of _his_ father."

  "That is, indeed, but too probable," said Peveril; "but the Court shallbe 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 anotherof those grim smiles which passed over his features like the light ofa sexton's torch, as it glares and is reflected by the window of thechurch, when he comes from locking a funeral vault. "No, Julian,these are not times in which, by the dreaming drudgery of a countrymagistrate, and the petty cares of a country proprietor, a man can servehis unhappy country. There are mighty designs afloat, and men are calledto make their choice betwixt God and Baal. The ancient superstition--theabomination of our fathers--is raising its head, and flinging abroad itssnares, under the protection of the princes of the earth; but she raisesnot her head unmarked or unwatched; the true English hearts are asthousands, which wait but a signal to arise as one man, and show thekings of the earth that they have combined in vain! We will cast theircords from us--the cup of their abominations we will not taste."

  "You speak in darkness, Master Bridgenorth," said Peveril. "Knowing somuch of me, you may, perhaps, also be aware, that I at least haveseen too much of the delusions of Rome, to desire that they should bepropagated at home."

  "Else, wherefore do I speak to thee friendly and so free?" saidBridgenorth. "Do I not know, with what readiness of early wit youbaffled the wily attempts of the woman's priest, to seduce thee from theProtestant faith? Do I not know, how thou wast beset when abroad, andthat thou didst both hold thine own faith, and secure the waveringbelief of thy friend? Said I not, this was done like the son of MargaretPeveril? Said I not, he holdeth, as yet, but the dead letter--but theseed which is sown shall one day sprout and quicken?--Enough, however,of this. For to-day this is thy habitation. I will see in thee neitherthe servant of the daughter of Eshbaal, nor the son of him who pursuedmy life, and blemished my honours; but thou shalt be to me, for thisday, as the child of her, without whom my house had been extinct."

  So saying, he stretched out his thin, bony hand, and grasped that ofJulian Peveril; but there was such a look of mourning in his welcome,that whatever delight the youth anticipated, spending so long a timein the neighbourhood of Alice Bridgenorth, perhaps in her society,or however strongly he felt the prudence of conciliating her father'sgood-will, he could not help feeling as if
his heart was chilled in hiscompany.