be sure, a feast was got ready, and guns were fired, and tenants and
domestics huzzahed when his carriage approached and rolled into the
court-yard of the hall), no one ever took any notice of young Henry
Esmond, who sat unobserved and alone in the Book-room, until the
afternoon of that day, when his new friends found him.

When my lord and lady were going away thence, the little girl, still
holding her kinsman by the hand, bade him to come too. "Thou wilt always
forsake an old friend for a new one, Trix," says her father to her
good-naturedly; and went into the gallery, giving an arm to his lady.
They passed thence through the music-gallery, long since dismantled, and
Queen Elizabeth's Rooms, in the clock-tower, and out into the terrace,
where was a fine prospect of sunset and the great darkling woods with
a cloud of rooks returning; and the plain and river with Castlewood
village beyond, and purple hills beautiful to look at--and the little
heir of Castlewood, a child of two years old, was already here on the
terrace in his nurse's arms, from whom he ran across the grass instantly
he perceived his mother, and came to her.

"If thou canst not be happy here," says my lord, looking round at the
scene, "thou art hard to please, Rachel."

"I am happy where you are," she said, "but we were happiest of all at
Walcote Forest." Then my lord began to describe what was before them to
his wife, and what indeed little Harry knew better than he--viz., the
history of the house: how by yonder gate the page ran away with the
heiress of Castlewood, by which the estate came into the present family;
how the Roundheads attacked the clock-tower, which my lord's father was
slain in defending. "I was but two years old then," says he, "but take
forty-six from ninety, and how old shall I be, kinsman Harry?"

"Thirty," says his wife, with a laugh.

"A great deal too old for you, Rachel," answers my lord, looking fondly
down at her. Indeed she seemed to be a girl, and was at that time scarce
twenty years old.

"You know, Frank, I will do anything to please you," says she, "and I
promise you I will grow older every day."

"You mustn't call papa, Frank; you must call papa my lord now," says
Miss Beatrix, with a toss of her little head; at which the mother
smiled, and the good-natured father laughed, and the little trotting boy
laughed, not knowing why--but because he was happy, no doubt--as every
one seemed to be there. How those trivial in