Major Bridgenorth started and turned towards the speaker, but instantly seemed to recollect himself, and again averted his face. The Countess proceeded, without noticing the interruption, which, however, rather surprised Lady Peveril, who was acquainted with her neighbour’s general habits of indifference and apathy, and therefore the more surprised at his testifying such sudden symptoms of interest. She would once again have moved the Countess to retire to another apartment, but Lady Derby proceeded with too much vehemence to endure interruption. “This Christian,” she said, “had eaten of my lord his sovereign’s bread, and drunk of his cup, even from childhood--for his fathers had been faithful servants to the House of Man and Derby. He himself had fought bravely by my husband’s side, and enjoyed all his confidence; and when my princely Earl was martyred by the rebels, he recommended to me, amongst other instructions communicated in the last message I received from him, to continue my confidence in Christian’s fidelity. I obeyed, although I never loved the man. He was cold and phlegmatic, and utterly devoid of that sacred fire which is the incentive to noble deeds, suspected, too, of leaning to the cold metaphysics of Calvinistic subtlety. But he was brave, wise, and experienced, and, as the event proved, possessed but too much interest with the islanders. When these rude people saw themselves without hope of relief, and pressed by a blockade, which brought want and disease into their island, they began to fall off from the faith which they had hitherto shown.” “What!” said the Lady Peveril, “could they forget what was due to the widow of their benefactor--she who had shared with the generous Derby the task of bettering their condition?” “Do not blame them,” said the Countess; “the rude herd acted but according to their kind--in present distress they forgot former benefits, and, nursed in their earthen hovels, with spirits suited to their dwellings, they were incapable of feeling the glory which is attached to constancy in suffering. But that Christian should have headed their revolt--that he, born a gentleman, and bred under my murdered Derby’s own care in all that was chivalrous and noble--that _he_ should have forgot a hundred benefits--why do I talk of benefits?--that he should have forgotten that kindly intercourse which binds man to man far more than the reciprocity of obligation--that he should have headed the ruffians who broke suddenly into my apartment--immured me with my infants in one of my own castles, and assumed or usurped the tyranny of the island--that this should have been done by William Christian, my vassal, my servant, my friend, was a deed of ungrateful treachery, which even this age of treason will scarcely parallel!” “And you were then imprisoned,” said the Lady Peveril, “and in your own sovereignty?”