and
gone home.

CHAPTER XIII.

AUGUST 1ST, 1714.

"Does my mistress know of this?" Esmond asked of Frank, as they walked
along.

"My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-table. She had
writ it ere she had left home," Frank said. "Mother met her on the
stairs, with her hand upon the door, trying to enter, and never left her
after that till she went away. He did not think of looking at it there,
nor had Martin the chance of telling him. I believe the poor devil meant
no harm, though I half killed him; he thought 'twas to Beatrix's brother
he was bringing the letter."

Frank never said a word of reproach to me for having brought the villain
amongst us. As we knocked at the door I said, "When will the horses be
ready?" Frank pointed with his cane, they were turning the street that
moment.

We went up and bade adieu to our mistress; she was in a dreadful state
of agitation by this time, and that Bishop was with her whose company
she was so fond of.

"Did you tell him, my lord," says Esmond, "that Beatrix was at
Castlewood?" The Bishop blushed and stammered: "Well," says he,
"I . . ."

"You served the villain right," broke out Mr. Esmond, "and he has lost a
crown by what you told him."

My mistress turned quite white, "Henry, Henry," says she, "do not kill
him."

"It may not be too late," says Esmond; "he may not have gone to
Castlewood; pray God, it is not too late." The Bishop was breaking
out with some banale phrases about loyalty, and the sacredness of the
Sovereign's person; but Esmond sternly bade him hold his tongue, burn
all papers, and take care of Lady Castlewood; and in five minutes he
and Frank were in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding towards
Castlewood at a rapid pace.

We were just got to Alton, when who should meet us but old Lockwood, the
porter from Castlewood, John's father, walking by the side of the Hexton
flying-coach, who slept the night at Alton. Lockwood said his young
mistress had arrived at home on Wednesday night, and this morning,
Friday, had despatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington,
saying the letter was of great importance.

We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared with wonder,
and cried out his "Lord bless me's," and "Who'd a thought it's," at the
sight of his young lord, whom he had not seen these seven years.

The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance at all. It was
written in a jocular strain, aff