" said Mr. Esmond. And accordingly they went into the
next chamber, where by this time, the dawn had broke, which showed my
lord's poor pale face and wild appealing eyes, that wore that awful
fatal look of coming dissolution. The surgeon was with him. He went into
the chamber as Atterbury came out thence. My Lord Viscount turned round
his sick eyes towards Esmond. It choked the other to hear that rattle in
his throat.

"My Lord Viscount," says Mr. Atterbury, "Mr. Esmond wants no witnesses,
and hath burned the paper."

"My dearest master!" Esmond said, kneeling down, and taking his hand and
kissing it.

My Lord Viscount sprang up in his bed, and flung his arms round Esmond.
"God bl--bless--" was all he said. The blood rushed from his mouth,
deluging the young man. My dearest lord was no more. He was gone with a
blessing on his lips, and love and repentance and kindness in his manly
heart.

"Benedicti benedicentes," says Mr. Atterbury, and the young man,
kneeling at the bedside, groaned out an "Amen."

"Who shall take the news to her?" was Mr. Esmond's next thought. And
on this he besought Mr. Atterbury to bear the tidings to Castlewood.
He could not face his mistress himself with those dreadful news. Mr.
Atterbury complying kindly, Esmond writ a hasty note on his table-book
to my lord's man, bidding him get the horses for Mr. Atterbury, and ride
with him, and send Esmond's own valise to the Gatehouse prison, whither
he resolved to go and give himself up.

BOOK II.

CONTAINS MR. ESMOND'S MILITARY LIFE, AND OTHER MATTERS APPERTAINING TO
THE ESMOND FAMILY.

CHAPTER I.

I AM IN PRISON, AND VISITED, BUT NOT CONSOLED THERE.

Those may imagine, who have seen death untimely strike down persons
revered and beloved, and know how unavailing consolation is, what was
Harry Esmond's anguish after being an actor in that ghastly midnight
scene of blood and homicide. He could not, he felt, have faced his dear
mistress, and told her that story. He was thankful that kind Atterbury
consented to break the sad news to her; but, besides his grief, which
he took into prison with him, he had that in his heart which secretly
cheered and consoled him.

A great secret had been told to Esmond by his unhappy stricken kinsman,
lying on his death-bed. Were he to disclose it, as in equity and honor
he might do, the discovery would but bring greater grief upon those whom
he loved best in the world, and who were sad enough a