of the young champions
ended. Very likely, big as he was, Hawkshaw did not care to continue a
fight with such a ferocious opponent as this had been.

One day, some time later, Doctor Tusher ran into Castlewood House, with
a face of consternation, saying that smallpox had made its appearance at
the blacksmith's house in the village, which was also an alehouse, and
that one of the maids there was down with it.

Now, there was a pretty girl at this inn, called Nancy Sievewright, a
bouncing, fresh-looking lass, whose face was as red as the hollyhocks
over the pales of the garden behind the inn. Somehow it often happened
that Harry Esmond fell in with Nance Sievewright's bonny face. When
Doctor Tusher brought the news that the smallpox was at the
blacksmith's, Harry Esmond's first thought was of alarm for poor Nancy,
and then of shame and disquiet for the Castlewood family, lest he might
have brought this infection; for the truth is that Mr. Harry had been
sitting in a back room for an hour that day, where Nancy Sievewright was
with a little brother who complained of headache, and was lying crying
in a chair by the corner of the fire or in Nancy's lap.

Little Beatrix screamed at the news; and my Lord cried out, "God bless
me!" He was a brave man, and not afraid of death in any shape but this.
"We will take the children and ride away to Walcote," he said.

To love children and be gentle with them was an instinct rather than
merit in Harry Esmond; so much so that he thought almost with a feeling
of shame of his liking for them and of the softness into which it
betrayed him. On this day the poor fellow had not only had his young
friend, the milkmaid's brother, on his knee, but had been drawing
pictures and telling stories to the little Frank Castlewood, who was
never tired of Harry's tales and of his pictures of soldiers and horses.
As luck would have it, Beatrix had not on that evening taken her usual
place, which generally she was glad enough to have, on Harry's knee. For
Beatrix, from the earliest time, was jealous of every caress which was
given her little brother Frank. She would fling away even from the
[v]maternal arms, if she saw Frank had been there before her; insomuch
that Lady Esmond was obliged not to show her love for her son in
presence of the little girl, and embrace one or the other alone. Beatrix
would turn pale and red with rage if she caught signs of intelligence or
affection between Frank and his mothe