an, sir, a poor
widowed mother of orphans, whose home was happy until the world came
into it--the wicked godless world, that takes the blood of the innocent,
and lets the guilty go free.'

"As the afflicted lady spoke in this strain, sir," Mr. Steele
continued, "it seemed as if indignation moved her, even more than grief.
'Compensation!' she went on passionately, her cheeks and eyes kindling;
'what compensation does your world give the widow for her husband, and
the children for the murderer of their father? The wretch who did the
deed has not even a punishment. Conscience! what conscience has he, who
can enter the house of a friend, whisper falsehood and insult to a woman
that never harmed him, and stab the kind heart that trusted him? My
Lord--my Lord Wretch's, my Lord Villain's, my Lord Murderer's peers meet
to try him, and they dismiss him with a word or two of reproof and send
him into the world again, to pursue women with lust and falsehood, and
to murder unsuspecting guests that harbor him. That day, my Lord--my
Lord Murderer--(I will never name him)--was let loose, a woman was
executed at Tyburn for stealing in a shop. But a man may rob another of
his life, or a lady of her honor, and shall pay no penalty! I take my
child, run to the throne, and on my knees ask for justice, and the King
refuses me. The King! he is no king of mine--he never shall be. He, too,
robbed the throne from the king his father--the true king--and he has
gone unpunished, as the great do.'

"I then thought to speak for you," Mr. Steele continued, "and I
interposed by saying, 'There was one, madam, who, at least, would have
put his own breast between your husband's and my Lord Mohun's sword.
Your poor young kinsman, Harry Esmond, hath told me that he tried to
draw the quarrel on himself.'

"'Are you come from HIM?' asked the lady (so Mr. Steele went on) rising
up with a great severity and stateliness. 'I thought you had come from
the Princess. I saw Mr. Esmond in his prison, and bade him farewell. He
brought misery into my house. He never should have entered it.'

"'Madam, madam, he is not to blame,' I interposed," continued Mr.
Steele.

"'Do I blame him to you, sir?' asked the widow. 'If 'tis he who sent
you, say that I have taken counsel, where'--she spoke with a very
pallid cheek now, and a break in her voice--'where all who ask may have
it;--and that it bids me to part from him, and to see him no more. We
met in the prison for the