age). He kissed and kept her
fair hand, as they talked together.

"Why," says he, "should she hear me? She knows what I would say. Far or
near, she knows I'm her slave. I have sold myself for nothing, it may
be. Well, 'tis the price I choose to take. I am worth nothing, or I am
worth all."

"You are such a treasure," Esmond's mistress was pleased to say, "that
the woman who has your love, shouldn't change it away against a kingdom,
I think. I am a country-bred woman, and cannot say but the ambitions of
the town seem mean to me. I never was awe-stricken by my Lady Duchess's
rank and finery, or afraid," she added, with a sly laugh, "of anything
but her temper. I hear of Court ladies who pine because her Majesty
looks cold on them; and great noblemen who would give a limb that
they might wear a garter on the other. This worldliness, which I can't
comprehend, was born with Beatrix, who, on the first day of her waiting,
was a perfect courtier. We are like sisters, and she the eldest sister,
somehow. She tells me I have a mean spirit. I laugh, and say she adores
a coach-and-six. I cannot reason her out of her ambition. 'Tis natural
to her, as to me to love quiet, and be indifferent about rank and
riches. What are they, Harry? and for how long do they last? Our home
is not here." She smiled as she spoke, and looked like an angel that was
only on earth on a visit. "Our home is where the just are, and where our
sins and sorrows enter not. My father used to rebuke me, and say that
I was too hopeful about heaven. But I cannot help my nature, and grow
obstinate as I grow to be an old woman; and as I love my children so,
sure our Father loves us with a thousand and a thousand times greater
love. It must be that we shall meet yonder, and be happy. Yes, you--and
my children, and my dear lord. Do you know, Harry, since his death, it
has always seemed to me as if his love came back to me, and that we are
parted no more. Perhaps he is here now, Harry--I think he is. Forgiven
I am sure he is: even Mr. Atterbury absolved him, and he died forgiving.
Oh, what a noble heart he had! How generous he was! I was but fifteen
and a child when he married me. How good he was to stoop to me! He was
always good to the poor and humble." She stopped, then presently, with a
peculiar expression, as if her eyes were looking into heaven, and saw
my lord there, she smiled, and gave a little laugh. "I laugh to see you,
sir," she says; "when you come, it seem