The instant she appeared, the little Alice, extricating herself from the grasp of her father, ran towards _her_ protectress, and when she had once taken hold of her skirts, not only became silent, but turned her large blue eyes, in which the tears were still glistening, with a look of wonder rather than alarm, towards the strange lady.
Julian manfully brandished his reed, a weapon which he had never parted with during the whole alarm, and stood prepared to assist his mother if there should be danger in the encounter betwixt her and the stranger.
In fact, it might have puzzled an older person to account for the sudden and confused pause which the Lady Peveril made, as she gazed on her unexpected guest, as if dubious whether she did, or did not recognise, in her still beautiful though wasted and emaciated features, a countenance which she had known well under far different circumstances.
The stranger seemed to understand the cause of hesitation, for she said in that heart-thrilling voice which was peculiarly her own-- "Time and misfortune have changed me much, Margaret--that every mirror tells me--yet methinks, Margaret Stanley might still have known Charlotte de la Tremouille." The Lady Peveril was little in the custom of giving way to sudden emotion, but in the present case she threw herself on her knees in a rapture of mingled joy and grief, and, half embracing those of the stranger, exclaimed, in broken language-- "My kind, my noble benefactress--the princely Countess of Derby--the royal queen in Man--could I doubt your voice, your features, for a moment--Oh, forgive, forgive me!" The Countess raised the suppliant kinswoman of her husband's house, with all the grace of one accustomed from early birth to receive homage and to grant protection.

She kissed the Lady Peveril's forehead, and passed her hand in a caressing manner over her face as she said-- "You too are changed, my fair cousin, but it is a change becomes you, from a pretty and timid maiden to a sage and comely matron.

But my own memory, which I once held a good one, has failed me strangely, if this gentleman be Sir Geoffrey Peveril." "A kind and good neighbour only, madam," said Lady Peveril; "Sir Geoffrey is at Court." "I understood so much," said the Countess of Derby, "when I arrived here last night." "How, madam!" said Lady Peveril--"Did you arrive at Martindale Castle--at the house of Margaret Stanley, where you have such right to command, and did not announce your presence to her ?" "Oh, I know you are a dutiful subject, Margaret," answered the Countess, "though it be in these days a rare character--but it was our pleasure," she added, with a smile, "to travel incognito--and finding you engaged in general hospitality, we desired not to disturb you with our royal presence." "But how and where were you lodged, madam ?" said Lady Peveril; "or why should you have kept secret a visit which would, if made, have augmented tenfold the happiness of every true heart that rejoiced here yesterday ?" "My lodging was well cared for by Ellesmere--your Ellesmere now, as she was formerly mine--she has acted as quartermaster ere now, you know, and on a broader scale; you must excuse her--she had my positive order to lodge me in the most secret part of your Castle"-- (here she pointed to the sliding panel)--"she obeyed orders in that, and I suppose also in sending you now hither." "Indeed I have not yet seen her," said the lady, "and therefore was totally ignorant of a visit so joyful, so surprising." "And I," said the Countess, "was equally surprised to find none but these beautiful children in the apartment where I thought I heard you moving.

Our Ellesmere has become silly--your good-nature has spoiled her--she has forgotten the discipline she learned under me." "I saw her run through the wood," said the Lady Peveril, after a moment's recollection, "undoubtedly to seek the person who has charge of the children, in order to remove them." "Your own darlings, I doubt not," said the Countess, looking at the children.

"Margaret, Providence has blessed you." "That is my son," said the Lady Peveril, pointing to Julian, who stood devouring their discourse with greedy ear; "the little girl--I may call mine too." Major Bridgenorth, who had in the meantime again taken up his infant, and was engaged in caressing it, set it down as the Countess of Derby spoke, sighed deeply, and walked towards the oriel window.