sition.

"I thought the Lord Mohun had been in Paris!" cried Mr. Esmond, in great
alarm and astonishment.

"He is come back at my invitation," said my lord viscount. "We have
accounts to settle together."

"I pray Heaven they are over, sir," says Esmond.

"Oh, quite," replied the other, looking hard at the young man. "He was
rather troublesome about that money which I told you I had lost to him at
play. And now 'tis paid, and we are quits on that score, and we shall meet
good friends again."

"My lord," cried out Esmond, "I am sure you are deceiving me, and that
there is a quarrel between the Lord Mohun and you."

"Quarrel--pish! We shall sup together this very night, and drink a bottle.
Every man is ill-humoured who loses such a sum as I have lost. But now
'tis paid, and my anger is gone with it."

"Where shall we sup, sir?" says Harry.

"_We!_ Let some gentlemen wait till they are asked," says my lord
viscount, with a laugh. "You go to Duke Street, and see Mr. Betterton. You
love the play, I know. Leave me to follow my own devices; and in the
morning we'll breakfast together, with what appetite we may, as the play
says."

"By G----! my lord, I will not leave you this night," says Harry Esmond. "I
think I know the cause of your dispute. I swear to you 'tis nothing. On
the very day the accident befell Lord Mohun, I was speaking to him about
it. I know that nothing has passed but idle gallantry on his part."

"You know that nothing has passed but idle gallantry between Lord Mohun
and my wife," says my lord, in a thundering voice--"you knew of this, and
did not tell me?"

"I knew more of it than my dear mistress did herself, sir--a thousand times
more. How was she, who was as innocent as a child, to know what was the
meaning of the covert addresses of a villain?"

"A villain he is, you allow, and would have taken my wife away from me."

"Sir, she is as pure as an angel," cried young Esmond.

"Have I said a word against her?" shrieks out my lord. "Did I ever doubt
that she was pure? It would have been the last day of her life when I did.
Do you fancy I think that _she_ would go astray? No, she hasn't passion
enough for that. She neither sins nor forgives. I know her temper--and now
I've lost her: by Heaven I love her ten thousand times more than ever I
did--yes, when she was young and as beautiful as an angel--when she smiled
at me in her old father's house, and used to lie in wait for me there as I
came f