nothing. The memory sleeps, but awakens again; I often think how it shall
be when, after the last sleep of death, the reveille shall arouse us for
ever, and the past in one flash of self-consciousness rush back, like the
soul, revivified.

The house would not be up for some hours yet (it was July, and the dawn
was only just awake), and here Esmond opened himself to his mistress, of
the business he had in hand, and what part Frank was to play in it. He
knew he could confide anything to her, and that the fond soul would die
rather than reveal it; and bidding her keep the secret from all, he laid
it entirely before his mistress (always as stanch a little loyalist as any
in the kingdom), and indeed was quite sure that any plan of his was secure
of her applause and sympathy. Never was such a glorious scheme to her
partial mind, never such a devoted knight to execute it. An hour or two
may have passed whilst they were having their colloquy. Beatrix came out
to them just as their talk was over; her tall beautiful form robed in
sable (which she wore without ostentation ever since last year's
catastrophe), sweeping over the green terrace, and casting its shadows
before her across the grass.

She made us one of her grand curtsies smiling, and called us "the young
people". She was older, paler, and more majestic than in the year before;
her mother seemed the youngest of the two. She never once spoke of her
grief, Lady Castlewood told Esmond, or alluded, save by a quiet word or
two, to the death of her hopes.

When Beatrix came back to Castlewood she took to visiting all the cottages
and all the sick. She set up a school of children, and taught singing to
some of them. We had a pair of beautiful old organs in Castlewood Church,
on which she played admirably, so that the music there became to be known
in the country for many miles round, and no doubt people came to see the
fair organist as well as to hear her. Parson Tusher and his wife were
established at the vicarage, but his wife had brought him no children
wherewith Tom might meet his enemies at the gate. Honest Tom took care not
to have many such, his great shovel-hat was in his hand for everybody. He
was profuse of bows and compliments. He behaved to Esmond as if the
colonel had been a commander-in-chief; he dined at the hall that day,
being Sunday, and would not partake of pudding except under extreme
pressure. He deplored my lord's perversion, but drank his lordship's
hea