ntil Clo's lying-in. I call her _old Clo_, but nobody else shall.
She is the cleverest woman in all Bruxelles: understanding
painting, music, poetry, and perfect at _cookery and puddens_. I
borded with the count, that's how I came to know her. There are
four counts her brothers. One an abbey--three with the prince's
army. They have a lawsuit for _an immense fortune_: but are now in
a _pore way_. Break this to mother, who'll take anything from
_you_. And write, and bid Finch write _amediately_. Hostel de
'l'Aigle Noire, Bruxelles, Flanders.

So Frank had married a Roman Catholic lady, and an heir was expected, and
Mr. Esmond was to carry this intelligence to his mistress at London. 'Twas
a difficult embassy; and the colonel felt not a little tremor as he neared
the capital.

He reached his inn late, and sent a messenger to Kensington to announce
his arrival and visit the next morning. The messenger brought back news
that the Court was at Windsor, and the fair Beatrix absent and engaged in
her duties there. Only Esmond's mistress remained in her house at
Kensington. She appeared in Court but once in the year; Beatrix was quite
the mistress and ruler of the little mansion, inviting the company
thither, and engaging in every conceivable frolic of town pleasure. Whilst
her mother, acting as the young lady's protectress and elder sister,
pursued her own path, which was quite modest and secluded.

As soon as ever Esmond was dressed (and he had been awake long before the
town), he took a coach for Kensington, and reached it so early that he met
his dear mistress coming home from morning prayers. She carried her
Prayer-book, never allowing a footman to bear it, as everybody else did:
and it was by this simple sign Esmond knew what her occupation had been.
He called to the coachman to stop, and jumped out as she looked towards
him. She wore her hood as usual, and she turned quite pale when she saw
him. To feel that kind little hand near to his heart seemed to give him
strength. They soon were at the door of her ladyship's house--and within
it.

With a sweet sad smile she took his hand and kissed it.

"How ill you have been: how weak you look, my dear Henry," she said.

'Tis certain the colonel did look like a ghost, except that ghosts do not
look very happy, 'tis said. Esmond always felt so on returning to her
after absence, indeed whenever he looked in her sweet kind face.

"I am come bac