It was not in the Lady Peveril’s nature to hear sorrow without an attempt at consolation. “Master Bridgenorth,” she said, “I blame no man’s creed, while I believe and follow my own; and I rejoice that in yours you have sought consolation for temporal afflictions. But does not every Christian creed teach us alike, that affliction should soften our heart?”
“Ay, woman,” said Bridgenorth sternly, “as the lightning which shattered yonder oak hath softened its trunk. No; the seared wood is the fitter for the use of the workmen--the hardened and the dried-up heart is that which can best bear the task imposed by these dismal times. God and man will no longer endure the unbridled profligacy of the dissolute--the scoffing of the profane--the contempt of the divine laws--the infraction of human rights. The times demand righters and avengers, and there will be no want of them.”
“I deny not the existence of much evil,” said Lady Peveril, compelling herself to answer, and beginning at the same time to walk forward; “and from hearsay, though not, I thank Heaven, from observation, I am convinced of the wild debauchery of the times. But let us trust it may be corrected without such violent remedies as you hint at. Surely the ruin of a second civil war--though I trust your thoughts go not that dreadful length--were at best a desperate alternative.”
“Sharp, but sure,” replied Bridgenorth. “The blood of the Paschal lamb chased away the destroying angel--the sacrifices offered on the threshing-floor of Araunah, stayed the pestilence. Fire and sword are severe remedies, but they pure and purify.”
“Alas! Major Bridgenorth,” said the lady, “wise and moderate in your youth, can you have adopted in your advanced life the thoughts and language of those whom you yourself beheld drive themselves and the nation to the brink of ruin?”
“I know not what I then was--you know not what I now am,” he replied, and suddenly broke off; for they even then came forth into the open light, and it seemed as if, feeling himself under the lady’s eye, he was disposed to soften his tone and his language.
At the first distinct view which she had of his person, she was aware that he was armed with a short sword, a poniard, and pistols at his belt--precautions very unusual for a man who formerly had seldom, and only on days of ceremony, carried a walking rapier, though such was the habitual and constant practice of gentlemen of his station in life. There seemed also something of more stern determination than usual in his air, which indeed had always been rather sullen than affable; and ere she could repress the sentiment, she could not help saying, “Master Bridgenorth, you are indeed changed.”