tter, thinking
you a child, as you are, indeed, in years--quite a child; and I
should never have thought of treating you otherwise until--until these
CIRCUMSTANCES came to light. And I shall beg my lord to despatch you
as quick as possible: and will go on with Frank's learning as well as I
can, (I owe my father thanks for a little grounding, and you, I'm sure,
for much that you have taught me,)--and--and I wish you a good-night,
Mr. Esmond."

And with this she dropped a stately curtsy, and, taking her candle,
went away through the tapestry door, which led to her apartments. Esmond
stood by the fireplace, blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarce
seemed to see until she was gone; and then her image was impressed upon
him, and remained for ever fixed upon his memory. He saw her retreating,
the taper lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, and
her shining golden hair. He went to his own room, and to bed, where he
tried to read, as his custom was; but he never knew what he was reading
until afterwards he remembered the appearance of the letters of the book
(it was in Montaigne's Essays), and the events of the day passed before
him--that is, of the last hour of the day; for as for the morning, and
the poor milkmaid yonder, he never so much as once thought. And he could
not get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a violent headache, and
quite unrefreshed.

He had brought the contagion with him from the "Three Castles" sure
enough, and was presently laid up with the smallpox, which spared the
hall no more than it did the cottage.

CHAPTER IX.

I HAVE THE SMALL-POX, AND PREPARE TO LEAVE CASTLEWOOD.

When Harry Esmond passed through the crisis of that malady, and returned
to health again, he found that little Frank Esmond had also suffered
and rallied after the disease, and the lady his mother was down with it,
with a couple more of the household. "It was a Providence, for which we
all ought to be thankful," Doctor Tusher said, "that my lady and her son
were spared, while Death carried off the poor domestics of the house;"
and rebuked Harry for asking, in his simple way, For which we ought
to be thankful--that the servants were killed, or the gentlefolks
were saved? Nor could young Esmond agree in the Doctor's vehement
protestations to my lady, when he visited her during her convalescence,
that the malady had not in the least impaired her charms, and had not
been churl enough to injure the fai