prisoners, committed on account of the Popish Plot, to make
disclosures, and that several of them were privately put to the
torture.
“Christian,” said the Duke, “thou art the most barefaced villain who ever breathed.”
“Of a commoner, I may,” answered Christian, and led his daughter out of the presence.
“See after him, Selby,” said the King; “lose not sight of him till the ship sail; if he dare return to Britain, it shall be at his peril. Would to God we had as good riddance of others as dangerous! And I would also,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “that all our political intrigues and feverish alarms could terminate as harmlessly as now. Here is a plot without a drop of blood; and all the elements of a romance, without its conclusion. Here we have a wandering island princess (I pray my Lady of Derby’s pardon), a dwarf, a Moorish sorceress, an impenitent rogue, and a repentant man of rank, and yet all ends without either hanging or marriage.”
“Not altogether without the latter,” said the Countess, who had an opportunity, during the evening, of much private conversation with Julian Peveril. “There is a certain Major Bridgenorth, who, since your Majesty relinquishes farther inquiry into these proceedings, which he had otherwise intended to abide, designs, as we are informed, to leave England for ever. Now, this Bridgenorth, by dint of law, hath acquired strong possession over the domains of Peveril, which he is desirous to restore to the ancient owners, with much fair land besides, conditionally, that our young Julian will receive them as the dowry of his only child and heir.”
“By my faith,” said the King, “she must be a foul-favoured wench, indeed, if Julian requires to be pressed to accept her on such fair conditions.”
“They love each other like lovers of the last age,” said the Countess; “but the stout old Knight likes not the round-headed alliance.”
“Our royal recommendation shall put that to rights,” said the King; “Sir Geoffrey Peveril has not suffered hardship so often at our command, that he will refuse our recommendation when it comes to make him amends for all his losses.”
It may be supposed the King did not speak without being fully aware of the unlimited ascendancy which he possessed over the old Tory; for within four weeks afterwards, the bells of Martindale-Moultrassie were ringing for the union of the families, from whose estates it takes its compound name, and the beacon-light of the Castle blazed high over hill and dale, and summoned all to rejoice who were within twenty miles of its gleam.
THE END
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