performed by the Reverend Master Solsgrace, who had once preached a
sermon of three hours' length before the House of Commons, upon a
thanksgiving occasion after the relief of Exeter. Sir Geoffrey Peveril
took care to be absent the whole day from the Castle, and it was only
from the great interest which he took in the washing, perfuming, and
as it were purification of the summer-house, that it could have been
guessed he knew anything of what had taken place in it.

But, whatever prejudices the good Knight might entertain against his
neighbour's form of religion, they did not in any way influence his
feelings towards him as a sufferer under severe affliction. The mode
in which he showed his sympathy was rather singular, but exactly
suited the character of both, and the terms on which they stood with
each other.

Morning after morning the good Baronet made Moultrassie Hall the
termination of his walk or ride, and said a single word of kindness as
he passed. Sometimes he entered the old parlour where the proprietor
sat in solitary wretchedness and despondency; but more frequently (for
Sir Geoffrey did not pretend to great talents of conversation), he
paused on the terrace, and stopping or halting his horse by the
latticed window, said aloud to the melancholy inmate, "How is it with
you, Master Bridgenorth?" (the Knight would never acknowledge his
neighbour's military rank of Major); "I just looked in to bid you keep
a good heart, man, and to tell you that Julian is well, and little
Alice is well, and all are well at Martindale Castle."

A deep sigh, sometimes coupled with "I thank you, Sir Geoffrey; my
grateful duty waits on Lady Peveril," was generally Bridgenorth's only
answer. But the news was received on the one part with the kindness