rs," she added quickly. "Go, my child: go, I say; not a word."
And Beatrix, quite surprised at so sudden a tone of authority from one
who was seldom accustomed to raise her voice, went out of the room with
a scared face and waited even to burst out crying until she got
upstairs.

For once, her mother took little heed of her. "My Lord," she said, "this
young man--your relative--told me just now in French--he was ashamed to
speak in his own language--that he had been at the blacksmith's all day,
where he has had that little wretch who is now ill of the smallpox on
his knee. And he comes home reeking from that place--yes, reeking from
it--and takes my boy into his lap without shame, and sits down by me. He
may have killed Frank for what I know--killed our child! Why was he
brought in to disgrace our house? Why is he here? Let him go--let him
go, I say, and [v]pollute the place no more!"

She had never before uttered a syllable of unkindness to Harry Esmond,
and her cruel words smote the poor boy so that he stood for some moments
bewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of such a stab from such
a hand. He turned quite white from red, which he had been before.

"If my coming nigh your boy pollutes him," he said, "it was not so
always. Good-night, my Lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your
goodness to me. I have tired her Ladyship's kindness out, and I will
go."

"He wants to go to the alehouse--let him go!" cried my Lady.

"I'll be hanged if he shall," said my Lord. "I didn't think you could be
so cruel, Rachel!"

Her reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit the room with
a rapid glance at Harry Esmond, as my Lord put his broad hand on Harry's
shoulder.

In a little while my Lady came back, looking very pale, with a
handkerchief in her hand. Instantly advancing to Harry Esmond, she took
his hand. "I beg your pardon, Harry," she said. "I spoke very
unkindly."

My Lord broke out: "There may be no harm done. Leave the boy alone." She
looked a little red, and pressed the lad's hand as she dropped it.

"There is no use, my Lord," she said. "Frank was on his knee as he was
making pictures and was running constantly from Harry to me. The evil is
done, if any."

"Not with me," cried my Lord. "I've been smoking." And he lighted his
pipe again with a coal. "As the disease is in the village--plague take
it!--I would have you leave it. We'll go to-morrow to Walcote."

"I have no fear," said my Lady. "