lth very devoutly; and an hour before at church sent the colonel to
sleep, with a long, learned, and refreshing sermon.

Esmond's visit home was but for two days; the business he had in hand
calling him away and out of the country. Ere he went, he saw Beatrix but
once alone, and then she summoned him out of the long tapestry room, where
he and his mistress were sitting, quite as in old times, into the
adjoining chamber, that had been Viscountess Isabel's sleeping-apartment,
and where Esmond perfectly well remembered seeing the old lady sitting up
in the bed, in her night-rail, that morning when the troop of guard came
to fetch her. The most beautiful woman in England lay in that bed now,
whereof the great damask hangings were scarce faded since Esmond saw them
last.

Here stood Beatrix in her black robes, holding a box in her hand; 'twas
that which Esmond had given her before her marriage, stamped with a
coronet which the disappointed girl was never to wear; and containing his
aunt's legacy of diamonds.

"You had best take these with you, Harry," says she; "I have no need of
diamonds any more." There was not the least token of emotion in her quiet
low voice. She held out the black shagreen-case with her fair arm, that
did not shake in the least. Esmond saw she wore a black velvet bracelet on
it, with my lord duke's picture in enamel; he had given it her but three
days before he fell.

Esmond said the stones were his no longer, and strove to turn off that
proffered restoration with a laugh: "Of what good," says he, "are they to
me? The diamond loop to his hat did not set off Prince Eugene, and will
not make my yellow face look any handsomer."

"You will give them to your wife, cousin," says she. "My cousin, your wife
has a lovely complexion and shape."

"Beatrix," Esmond burst out, the old fire flaming out as it would at
times, "will you wear those trinkets at your marriage? You whispered once
you did not know me: you know me better now: how I sought, what I have
sighed for, for ten years, what forgone!"

"A price for your constancy, my lord!" says she; "such a _preux chevalier_
wants to be paid. Oh fie, cousin!"

"Again," Esmond spoke out, "if I do something you have at heart; something
worthy of me and you; something that shall make me a name with which to
endow you; will you take it? There was a chance for me once, you said; is
it impossible to recall it? Never shake your head, but hear me: say you
will hear