“What she has already done,” said Bridgenorth, his face darkening as he spoke, “against the faithful champions of pure religion, hath sufficiently shown of what she is capable. She hath betaken herself to her rock, and sits, as she thinks, in security, like the eagle reposing after his bloody banquet. But the arrow of the fowler may yet reach her--the shaft is whetted--the bow is bended--and it will be soon seen whether Amalek or Israel shall prevail. But for thee, Julian Peveril--why should I conceal it from thee?--my heart yearns for thee as a woman’s for her first-born. To thee I will give, at the expense of my own reputation--perhaps at the risk of personal suspicion--for who, in these days of doubt, shall be exempted from it--to thee, I say, I will give means of escape, which else were impossible to thee. The staircase of this turret descends to the gardens--the postern-gate is unlatched--on the right hand lie the stables, where you will find your own horse--take it, and make for Liverpool--I will give you credit with a friend under the name of Simon Simonson, one persecuted by the prelates; and he will expedite your passage from the kingdom.” “Major Bridgenorth,” said Julian, “I will not deceive you. Were I to accept your offer of freedom, it would be to attend to a higher call than that of mere self-preservation. My father is in danger--my mother in sorrow--the voices of religion and nature call me to their side. I am their only child--their only hope--I will aid them, or perish with them!” “Thou art mad,” said Bridgenorth--“aid them thou canst not--perish with them thou mayst, and even accelerate their ruin; for, in addition to the charges with which thy unhappy father is loaded, it would be no slight aggravation, that while he meditated arming and calling together the Catholics and High Churchmen of Cheshire and Derbyshire, his son should prove to be the confidential agent of the Countess of Derby, who aided her 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.’”