cries my lord--"look here, Harry," and he
pulled out a paper with a brown stain of blood upon it. "It fell from
him that day he wasn't killed. One of the grooms picked it up from the
ground and gave it me. Here it is in their d--d comedy jargon. 'Divine
Gloriana--Why look so coldly on your slave who adores you? Have you no
compassion on the tortures you have seen me suffering? Do you vouchsafe
no reply to billets that are written with the blood of my heart.' She
had more letters from him."

"But she answered none," cries Esmond.

"That's not Mohun's fault," says my lord, "and I will be revenged on
him, as God's in heaven, I will."

"For a light word or two, will you risk your lady's honor and your
family's happiness, my lord?" Esmond interposed beseechingly.

"Psha--there shall be no question of my wife's honor," said my lord; "we
can quarrel on plenty of grounds beside. If I live, that villain will be
punished; if I fall, my family will be only the better: there will only
be a spendthrift the less to keep in the world: and Frank has better
teaching than his father. My mind is made up, Harry Esmond, and whatever
the event is, I am easy about it. I leave my wife and you as guardians
to the children."

Seeing that my lord was bent upon pursuing this quarrel, and that no
entreaties would draw him from it, Harry Esmond (then of a hotter and
more impetuous nature than now, when care, and reflection, and gray
hairs have calmed him) thought it was his duty to stand by his kind,
generous patron, and said, "My lord, if you are determined upon war, you
must not go into it alone. 'Tis the duty of our house to stand by its
chief; and I should neither forgive myself nor you if you did not call
me, or I should be absent from you at a moment of danger."

"Why, Harry, my poor boy, you are bred for a parson," says my lord,
taking Esmond by the hand very kindly; "and it were a great pity that
you should meddle in the matter."

"Your lordship thought of being a churchman once," Harry answered, "and
your father's orders did not prevent him fighting at Castlewood against
the Roundheads. Your enemies are mine, sir; I can use the foils, as you
have seen, indifferently well, and don't think I shall be afraid when
the buttons are taken off 'em." And then Harry explained, with some
blushes and hesitation (for the matter was delicate, and he feared lest,
by having put himself forward in the quarrel, he might have offended
his patron), how