ess from that person, to avert his own
glances from her face.

"And this, Mr. Esmond," she said, "is where I see you; and 'tis to this
you have brought me!"

"You have come to console me in my calamity, madam," said he (though, in
truth, he scarce knew how to address her, his emotions at beholding her
so overpowered him).

She advanced a little, but stood silent and trembling, looking out
at him from her black draperies, with her small white hands clasped
together, and quivering lips and hollow eyes.

"Not to reproach me," he continued after a pause. "My grief is
sufficient as it is."

"Take back your hand--do not touch me with it!" she cried. "Look!
there's blood on it!"

"I wish they had taken it all," said Esmond; "if you are unkind to me."

"Where is my husband?" she broke out. "Give me back my husband, Henry.
Why did you stand by at midnight and see him murdered? Why did the
traitor escape who did it? You, the champion of your house, who offered
to die for us! You that he loved and trusted, and to whom I confided
him--you that vowed devotion and gratitude, and I believed you--yes, I
believed you--why are you here, and my noble Francis gone? Why did
you come among us? You have only brought us grief and sorrow; and
repentance, bitter, bitter repentance, as a return for our love and
kindness. Did I ever do you a wrong, Henry? You were but an orphan child
when I first saw you--when HE first saw you, who was so good, and noble,
and trusting. He would have had you sent away, but, like a foolish
woman, I besought him to let you stay. And you pretended to love us, and
we believed you--and you made our house wretched, and my husband's heart
went from me: and I lost him through you--I lost him--the husband of my
youth, I say. I worshipped him: you know I worshipped him--and he was
changed to me. He was no more my Francis of old--my dear, dear soldier.
He loved me before he saw you; and I loved him. Oh, God is my witness
how I loved him! Why did he not send you from among us? 'Twas only
his kindness, that could refuse me nothing then. And, young as you
were--yes, and weak and alone--there was evil, I knew there was evil in
keeping you. I read it in your face and eyes. I saw that they boded harm
to us--and it came, I knew it would. Why did you not die when you had
the small-pox--and I came myself and watched you, and you didn't know me
in your delirium--and you called out for me, though I was there at your
side? All t