the glass and her eyes
filled with tears.

The sight of these in Esmond's heart always created a sort of rage of
pity, and seeing them on the face of the lady whom he loved best, the
young blunderer sank down on his knees, and besought her to pardon him,
saying that he was a fool and an idiot, that he was a brute to make such a
speech, he who had caused her malady, and Doctor Tusher told him that a
bear he was indeed, and a bear he would remain, at which speech poor young
Esmond was so dumb-stricken that he did not even growl.

"He is _my_ bear, and I will not have him baited, doctor," my lady said,
patting her hand kindly on the boy's head, as he was still kneeling at her
feet. "How your hair has come off! And mine, too," she added with another
sigh.

"It is not for myself that I cared," my lady said to Harry, when the
parson had taken his leave; "but _am_ I very much changed? Alas! I fear
'tis too true."

"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest face in the world,
I think," the lad said; and indeed he thought and thinks so.

"Will my lord think so when he comes back?" the lady asked, with a sigh,
and another look at her Venice glass. "Suppose he should think as you do,
sir, that I am hideous--yes, you said hideous--he will cease to care for me.
'Tis all men care for in women, our little beauty. Why did he select me
from among my sisters? 'Twas only for that. We reign but for a day or two:
and be sure that Vashti knew Esther was coming."

"Madam," said Mr. Esmond, "Ahasuerus was the Grand Turk, and to change was
the manner of his country, and according to his law."

"You are all Grand Turks for that matter," said my lady, "or would be if
you could. Come, Frank, come, my child. You are well, praised be Heaven.
_Your_ locks are not thinned by this dreadful small-pox: nor your poor
face scarred--is it, my angel?"

Frank began to shout and whimper at the idea of such a misfortune. From
the very earliest time the young lord had been taught to admire his beauty
by his mother: and esteemed it as highly as any reigning toast valued
hers.

One day, as he himself was recovering from his fever and illness, a pang
of something like shame shot across young Esmond's breast as he remembered
that he had never once, during his illness, given a thought to the poor
girl at the smithy, whose red cheeks but a month ago he had been so eager
to see. Poor Nancy! her cheeks had shared the fate of roses, and were
withe