“You do me wrong,” said Peveril--“you do me infinite wrong, Major Bridgenorth, I am incapable of the infamy which you allude to. The proposal I made to your daughter was as sincere as ever was offered by man to woman. I only hesitated, because you think it necessary to examine me so very closely; and to possess yourself of all my purposes and sentiments, in their fullest extent, without explaining to me the tendency of your own.” “Your proposal, then, shapes itself thus,” said Bridgenorth:--“You are willing to lead my only child into exile from her native country, to give her a claim to kindness and protection from your family, which you know will be disregarded, on condition I consent to bestow her hand on you, with a fortune sufficient to have matched your ancestors, when they had most reason to boast of their wealth. This, young man, seems no equal bargain. And yet,” he continued, after a momentary pause, “so little do I value the goods of this world, that it might not be utterly beyond thy power to reconcile me to the match which you have proposed to me, however unequal it may appear.” “Show me but the means which can propitiate your favour, Major Bridgenorth,” said Peveril,--“for I will not doubt that they will be consistent with my honour and duty--and you shall soon see how eagerly I will obey your directions, or submit to your conditions.” “They are summed in few words,” answered Bridgenorth. “Be an honest man, and the friend of your country.” “No one has ever doubted,” replied Peveril, “that I am both.”