lready. Should he
bring down shame and perplexity upon all those beings to whom he was
attached by so many tender ties of affection and gratitude? degrade his
father's widow? impeach and sully his father's and kinsman's honor? and
for what? for a barren title, to be worn at the expense of an innocent
boy, the son of his dearest benefactress. He had debated this matter in
his conscience, whilst his poor lord was making his dying confession. On
one side were ambition, temptation, justice even; but love, gratitude,
and fidelity, pleaded on the other. And when the struggle was over in
Harry's mind, a glow of righteous happiness filled it; and it was with
grateful tears in his eyes that he returned thanks to God for that
decision which he had been enabled to make.

"When I was denied by my own blood," thought he, "these dearest friends
received and cherished me. When I was a nameless orphan myself, and
needed a protector, I found one in yonder kind soul, who has gone to his
account repenting of the innocent wrong he has done."

And with this consoling thought he went away to give himself up at the
prison, after kissing the cold lips of his benefactor.

It was on the third day after he had come to the Gatehouse prison,
(where he lay in no small pain from his wound, which inflamed and ached
severely,) and with those thoughts and resolutions that have been just
spoke of, to depress, and yet to console him, that H. Esmond's keeper
came and told him that a visitor was asking for him, and though he could
not see her face, which was enveloped in a black hood, her whole figure,
too, being veiled and covered with the deepest mourning, Esmond knew at
once that his visitor was his dear mistress.

He got up from his bed, where he was lying, being very weak; and
advancing towards her as the retiring keeper shut the door upon him and
his guest in that sad place, he put forward his left hand (for the right
was wounded and bandaged), and he would have taken that kind one of his
mistress, which had done so many offices of friendship for him for so
many years.

But the Lady Castlewood went back from him, putting back her hood, and
leaning against the great stanchioned door which the gaoler had just
closed upon them. Her face was ghastly white, as Esmond saw it, looking
from the hood; and her eyes, ordinarily so sweet and tender, were fixed
on him with such a tragic glance of woe and anger, as caused the young
man, unaccustomed to unkindn