is mother. "You'll always be kind to
him, my lord," she went on. "The poor child never knew he was doing you
a wrong."

"My lord!" cries out Colonel Esmond. "What do you mean, dear lady?"

"I am no lady," says she; "I am Rachel Esmond, Francis Esmond's widow,
my lord. I cannot bear that title. Would we never had taken it from him
who has it now. But we did all in our power, Henry: we did all in our
power; and my lord and I--that is--"

"Who told you this tale, dearest lady?" asked the Colonel.

"Have you not had the letter I writ you? I writ to you at Mons directly
I heard it," says Lady Esmond.

"And from whom?" again asked Colonel Esmond--and his mistress then told
him that on her death-bed the Dowager Countess, sending for her, had
presented her with this dismal secret as a legacy. "'Twas very malicious
of the Dowager," Lady Esmond said, "to have had it so long, and to
have kept the truth from me." "Cousin Rachel," she said,--and Esmond's
mistress could not forbear smiling as she told the story--"Cousin
Rachel," cries the Dowager, "I have sent for you, as the doctors say
I may go off any day in this dysentery; and to ease my conscience of a
great load that has been on it. You always have been a poor creature and
unfit for great honor, and what I have to say won't, therefore, affect
you so much. You must know, Cousin Rachel, that I have left my house,
plate, and furniture, three thousand pounds in money, and my diamonds
that my late revered Saint and Sovereign, King James, presented me with,
to my Lord Viscount Castlewood."

"To my Frank?" says Lady Castlewood; "I was in hopes--"

To Viscount Castlewood, my dear; Viscount Castlewood and Baron Esmond
of Shandon in the Kingdom of Ireland, Earl and Marquis of Esmond under
patent of his Majesty King James the Second, conferred upon my husband
the late Marquis--for I am Marchioness of Esmond before God and man."

"And have you left poor Harry nothing, dear Marchioness?" asks Lady
Castlewood (she hath told me the story completely since with her quiet
arch way; the most charming any woman ever had: and I set down the
narrative here at length, so as to have done with it). "And have you
left poor Harry nothing?" asks my dear lady: "for you know, Henry," she
says with her sweet smile, "I used always to pity Esau--and I think I am
on his side--though papa tried very hard to convince me the other way."

"Poor Harry!" says the old lady. "So you want something left to poor