erview with his old patron.

I could not have lighted upon a better confidant. "Gracious powers!"
says Sampson, "the man's roguery beats all belief! When I was secretary
and factotum at Castlewood, I can take my oath I saw more than once a
copy of the deed of assignment by the late lord to your grandfather:
'In consideration of the love I bear to my kinsman Henry Esmond,
Esq., husband of my dear mother Rachel, Lady Viscountess Dowager of
Castlewood, I, etc.'--so it ran. I know the place where 'tis kept--let
us go thither as fast as horses will carry us to-morrow. There is
somebody there--never mind whom, Sir George--who has an old regard for
me. The papers may be there to this very day, and O Lord, O Lord, but I
shall be thankful if I can in any way show my gratitude to you and your
glorious brother!" His eyes filled with tears. He was an altered man.
At a certain period of the port wine Sampson always alluded with
compunction to his past life, and the change which had taken place in
his conduct since the awful death of his friend Doctor Dodd.

Quick as we were, we did not arrive at Castlewood too soon. I was
looking at the fountain in the court, and listening to that sweet sad
music of its plashing, which my grandfather tells of in his memoires,
and peopling the place with bygone figures, with Beatrix in her beauty;
with my Lord Francis in scarlet, calling to his dogs and mounting
his grey horse; with the young page of old who won the castle and the
heiress--when Sampson comes running down to me with an old volume in
rough calf-bound in his hand, containing drafts of letters, copies
of agreements, and various writings, some by a secretary of my Lord
Francis, some in the slim handwriting of his wife my grandmother, some
bearing the signature of the last lord; and here was a copy of the
assignment sure enough, as it had been sent to my grandfather in
Virginia. "Victoria, Victoria!" cries Sampson, shaking my hand,
embracing everybody. "Here is a guinea for thee, Betty. We'll have a
bowl of punch at the Three Castles to-night!" As we were talking, the
wheels of postchaises were heard, and a couple of carriages drove into
the court containing my lord and a friend, and their servants in the
next vehicle. His lordship looked only a little paler than usual at
seeing me.

"What procures me the honour of Sir George Warrington's visit, and
pray, Mr. Sampson, what do you do here?" says my lord. I think he had
forgotten the exis