“Your own darlings, I doubt not,” said the Countess, looking at the children. “Margaret, Providence has blessed you.” “That is my son,” said the Lady Peveril, pointing to Julian, who stood devouring their discourse with greedy ear; “the little girl--I may call mine too.” Major Bridgenorth, who had in the meantime again taken up his infant, and was engaged in caressing it, set it down as the Countess of Derby spoke, sighed deeply, and walked towards the oriel window. He was well aware that the ordinary rules of courtesy would have rendered it proper that he should withdraw entirely, or at least offer to do so; but he was not a man of ceremonious politeness, and he had a particular interest in the subjects on which the Countess’s discourse was likely to turn, which induced him to dispense with ceremony. The ladies seemed indeed scarce to notice his presence. The Countess had now assumed a chair, and motioned to the Lady Peveril to sit upon a stool which was placed by her side. “We will have old times once more, though there are here no roaring of rebel guns to drive you to take refuge at my side, and almost in my pocket.” “I have a gun, madam,” said little Julian, “and the park-keeper is to teach me how to fire it next year.” “I will list you for my soldier, then,” said the Countess. “Ladies have no soldiers,” said the boy, looking wistfully at her. “He has the true masculine contempt of our frail sex, I see,” said the Countess; “it is born with the insolent varlets of mankind, and shows itself so soon as they are out of their long clothes.--Did Ellesmere never tell you of Latham House and Charlotte of Derby, my little master?” “A thousand thousand times,” said the boy, colouring; “and how the Queen of Man defended it six weeks against three thousand Roundheads, under Rogue Harrison the butcher.” “It was your mother defended Latham House,” said the Countess, “not I, my little soldier--Hadst thou been there, thou hadst been the best captain of the three.” “Do not say so, madam,” said the boy, “for mamma would not touch a gun for all the universe.” “Not I, indeed, Julian,” said his mother; “there I was for certain, but as useless a part of the garrison----” “You forget,” said the Countess, “you nursed our hospital, and made lint for the soldiers’ wounds.” “But did not papa come to help you?” said Julian.