Bidding his daughter learn to rule her passions and retire to her chamber, Bridgenorth turned to Julian and told him he had long known of this attachment, and went on to point out calmly the differences which made the union seem impossible.  “But heaven hath at times opened a door where man beholds no means of issue,” continued Bridgenorth.  “Julian, your mother is, after the fashion of the world, one of the best and one of the wisest of women, with a mind as pure as the original frailty of our vile nature will permit.  Of your father I say nothing—­he is what the times and examples of others have made him.  I have power over him, which ere now he might have felt, but there is one within his chambers who might have suffered in his suffering.  Enough, however, of this, for to-day this is thy habitation.”

So saying, he stretched out his thin, bony hand and grasped that of Julian Peveril.

Presently, with the feeling of one who walks in a pleasant dream from which he fears to awake, and whose delight is mingled with wonder and with uncertainty, Julian found himself seated between Alice Bridgenorth and her father—­the being he most loved on earth and the person whom he had ever considered as the great obstacle to their intercourse.

It was evening when he departed.  “You have not, after all,” said Bridgenorth, bidding Julian farewell, “told me the cause of your coming hither.  Will you find no words to ask of me the great boon which you seek?  Nay, reply not to me now, but go, and peace be with you.”

IV.—­The Popish Plot

Julian Peveril set out for London when the fictitious “popish plot” of Titus Oates had set England “stark staring mad,” promising the countess that he would apprise her should any danger menace the Earl of Derby or herself.  He had learnt that Bridgenorth was on the island with secret and severe orders, and that the countess in return was issuing warrants on her own authority for the apprehension of Bridgenorth, and before leaving he obtained one more interview with Alice, who was alive to the dangers on all sides.

“Break off all intercourse with our family,” said Alice.  “Return to your parents—­or, what will be much safer, visit the Continent, and abide till God sends better days to England, for these are black with many a storm.  Placed as we are, with open war about to break out betwixt our parents and friends, we must part on this spot, and at this hour, never to meet again.”

“No, by heaven!” said Peveril, venturing to throw his arm around her; “we part not, Alice.  If I am to leave my native land you shall be my companion in my exile.  Fear not for my parents; they love me, and they will soon learn to love, in Alice, the only being on earth who could have rendered their son happy.  And for your own father, when state and church intrigues allow him to bestow a thought upon you, will he not think your happiness is cared for when you are my wife?  What could his pride desire better for you than the establishment which will one day be mine?”