med at Castlewood. But he could give
no coherent account of the battle, only of his flight from the centre,
where he was with the baggage. He had no news of his master since the
morning of the action. For many days Sady lurked in the negro quarters
away from the sight of Madam Esmond, whose anger he did not dare to
face. That lady's few neighbours spoke of her as labouring under a
delusion. So strong was it, that there were times when Harry and the
other members of the little Castlewood family were almost brought to
share in it. It seemed nothing strange to her, that her father out of
another world should promise her her son's life. In this world or the
next, that family sure must be of consequence, she thought. Nothing
had ever yet happened to her sons, no accident, no fever, no important
illness, but she had a prevision of it. She could enumerate half a dozen
instances, which, indeed, her household was obliged more or less to
confirm, how, when anything had happened to the boys at ever so great a
distance, she had known of their mishap and its consequences. No, George
was not dead; George was a prisoner among the Indians; George would come
back and rule over Castlewood; as sure, as sure as his Majesty would
send a great force from home to recover the tarnished glory of the
British arms, and to drive the French out of the Americas.

As for Mr. Washington, she would never with her own goodwill behold him
again. He had promised to protect George with his life. Why was her son
gone and the Colonel alive? How dared he to face her after that promise,
and appear before a mother without her son? She trusted she knew her
duty. She bore illwill to no one: but as an Esmond, she had a sense of
honour, and Mr. Washington had forfeited hers in letting her son out of
his sight. He had to obey superior orders (some one perhaps objected)?
Psha! a promise was a promise. He had promised to guard George's life
with his own, and where was her boy? And was not the Colonel (a pretty
Colonel, indeed!) sound and safe? Do not tell me that his coat and hat
had shots through them! (This was her answer to another humble plea in
Mr. Washington's behalf.) Can't I go into the study this instant and
fire two shots with my papa's pistols through this paduasoy skirt,--and
should I be killed? She laughed at the notion of death resulting from
any such operation; nor was her laugh very pleasant to hear. The satire
of people who have little natural humour i