he angels are not all in heaven," Mr. Esmond said. And as
a brother folds a sister to his heart; and as a mother cleaves to her
son's breast--so for a few moments Esmond's beloved mistress came to him
and blessed him.

CHAPTER VII.

I AM MADE WELCOME AT WALCOTE.

As they came up to the house at Walcote, the windows from within were
lighted up with friendly welcome; the supper-table was spread in the
oak-parlor; it seemed as if forgiveness and love were awaiting the
returning prodigal. Two or three familiar faces of domestics were on the
look-out at the porch--the old housekeeper was there, and young Lockwood
from Castlewood in my lord's livery of tawny and blue. His dear mistress
pressed his arm as they passed into the hall. Her eyes beamed out on him
with affection indescribable. "Welcome," was all she said, as she looked
up, putting back her fair curls and black hood. A sweet rosy smile
blushed on her face; Harry thought he had never seen her look so
charming. Her face was lighted with a joy that was brighter than
beauty--she took a hand of her son who was in the hall waiting his
mother--she did not quit Esmond's arm.

"Welcome, Harry!" my young lord echoed after her. "Here, we are all come
to say so. Here's old Pincot, hasn't she grown handsome?" and Pincot,
who was older, and no handsomer than usual, made a curtsy to the
Captain, as she called Esmond, and told my lord to "Have done, now."

"And here's Jack Lockwood. He'll make a famous grenadier, Jack; and so
shall I; we'll both 'list under you, Cousin. As soon as I'm seventeen,
I go to the army--every gentleman goes to the army. Look! who comes
here--ho, ho!" he burst into a laugh. "'Tis Mistress Trix, with a new
ribbon; I knew she would put one on as soon as she heard a captain was
coming to supper."

This laughing colloquy took place in the hall of Walcote House: in the
midst of which is a staircase that leads from an open gallery, where are
the doors of the sleeping chambers: and from one of these, a wax candle
in her hand, and illuminating her, came Mistress Beatrix--the light
falling indeed upon the scarlet ribbon which she wore, and upon the most
brilliant white neck in the world.

Esmond had left a child and found a woman, grown beyond the common
height; and arrived at such a dazzling completeness of beauty, that
his eyes might well show surprise and delight at beholding her. In hers
there was a brightness so lustrous and melting, that I have