Perhaps his voice may be heard in the field once more, should England need one of her noblest hearts." "Now, God forbid!" said Julian.
"Amen," returned Bridgenorth.

"May God avert civil war, and pardon those whose madness would bring it on us!" There was a long pause, during which Julian, who had scarce lifted his eyes towards Alice, stole a glance in that direction, and was struck by the deep cast of melancholy which had stolen over features, to which a cheerful, if not gay expression, was most natural.

So soon as she caught his eye, she remarked, and, as Julian thought, with significance, that the shadows were lengthening, and evening coming on.
He heard; and although satisfied that she hinted at his departure, he could not, upon the instant, find resolution to break the spell which detained him.

The language which Bridgenorth held was not only new and alarming, but so contrary to the maxims in which he was brought up, that, as a son of Sir Geoffrey Peveril of the Peak, he would, in another case, have thought himself called upon to dispute its conclusions, even at the sword's point.

But Bridgenorth's opinions were delivered with so much calmness--seemed so much the result of conviction--that they excited in Julian rather a spirit of wonder, than of angry controversy.
There was a character of sober decision, and sedate melancholy, in all that he said, which, even had he not been the father of Alice (and perhaps Julian was not himself aware how much he was influenced by that circumstance), would have rendered it difficult to take personal offence.