Chapter XIV. We Ride After Him To London
After a repose of a couple of days, the Lord Mohun was so far recovered ofhis hurt as to be able to announce his departure for the next morning;when, accordingly, he took leave of Castlewood, proposing to ride toLondon by easy stages, and lie two nights upon the road. His host treatedhim with a studied and ceremonious courtesy, certainly different from mylord's usual frank and careless demeanour; but there was no reason tosuppose that the two lords parted otherwise than good friends, thoughHarry Esmond remarked that my lord viscount only saw his guest in companywith other persons, and seemed to avoid being alone with him. Nor did heride any distance with Lord Mohun, as his custom was with most of hisfriends, whom he was always eager to welcome and unwilling to lose; butcontented himself, when his lordship's horses were announced, and theirowner appeared booted for his journey, to take a courteous leave of theladies of Castlewood, by following the Lord Mohun downstairs to hishorses, and by bowing and wishing him a good day, in the courtyard. "Ishall see you in London before very long, Mohun," my lord said, with, asmile; "when we will settle our accounts together."
"Do not let them trouble you, Frank," said the other good-naturedly, and,holding out his hand, looked rather surprised at the grim and statelymanner in which his host received his parting salutation: and so, followedby his people, he rode away.
Harry Esmond was witness of the departure. It was very different to mylord's coming, for which great preparation had been made (the old houseputting on its best appearance to welcome its guest), and there was asadness and constraint about all persons that day, which filled Mr. Esmondwith gloomy forebodings, and sad indefinite apprehensions. Lord Castlewoodstood at the door watching his guest and his people as they went out underthe arch of the outer gate. When he was there, Lord Mohun turned oncemore, my lord viscount slowly raised his beaver and bowed. His face wore apeculiar livid look, Harry thought. He cursed and kicked away his dogs,which came jumping about him--then he walked up to the fountain in thecentre of the court, and leaned against a pillar and looked into thebasin. As Esmond crossed over to his own room, late the chaplain's, on theother side of the court, and turned to enter in at the low door, he sawLady Castlewood looking through the curtains of the great window of thedrawing-room overhead, at my lord as he stood regarding the fountain.There was in the court a peculiar silence somehow; and the scene remainedlong in Esmond's memory;--the sky bright overhead; the buttresses of thebuilding and the sundial casting shadow over the gilt _memento mori_inscribed underneath; the two dogs, a black greyhound and a spaniel nearlywhite, the one with his face up to the sun, and the other snuffing amongstthe grass and stones, and my lord leaning over the fountain, which wasplashing audibly. 'Tis strange how that scene and the sound of thatfountain remain fixed on the memory of a man who has beheld a hundredsights of splendour, and danger too, of which he has kept no account.
It was Lady Castlewood, she had been laughing all the morning, andespecially gay and lively before her husband and his guest, who, as soonas the two gentlemen went together from her room, ran to Harry, theexpression of her countenance quite changed now, and with a face and eyesfull of care, and said, "Follow them, Harry, I am sure something has gonewrong." And so it was that Esmond was made an eavesdropper at this lady'sorders: and retired to his own chamber, to give himself time in truth totry and compose a story which would soothe his mistress, for he could notbut have his own apprehension that some serious quarrel was pendingbetween the two gentlemen.
And now for several days the little company at Castlewood sat at table asof evenings: this care, though unnamed and invisible, being neverthelesspresent alway, in the minds of at least three persons there. My lord wasexceeding gentle and kind. Whenever he quitted the room, his wife's eyesfollowed him. He behaved to her with a kind of mournful courtesy andkindness remarkable in one of his blunt ways and ordinary rough manner. Hecalled her by her Christian name often and fondly, was very soft andgentle with the children, especially with the boy, whom he did not love,and being lax about church generally, he went thither and performed allthe offices (down even to listening to Doctor Tusher's sermon) with greatdevotion.
"He paces his room all night; what is it? Henry, find out what it is,"Lady Castlewood said constantly to her young dependant. "He has sent threeletters to London," she said, another day.
"Indeed, madam, they were to a lawyer," Harry answered, who knew of theseletters, and had seen a part of the correspondence, which related to a newloan my lord was raising; and when the young man remonstrated with hispatron, my lord said, "He was only raising money to pay off an old debt onthe property, which must be discharged."
Regarding the money, Lady Castlewood was not in the least anxious. Fewfond women feel money-distressed; indeed you can hardly give a woman agreater pleasure than to bid her pawn her diamonds for the man she loves;and I remember hearing Mr. Congreve say of my Lord Marlborough, that thereason why my lord was so successful with women as a young man was,because he took money of them. "There are few men who will make such asacrifice for them," says Mr. Congreve, who knew a part of the sex prettywell.
Harry Esmond's vacation was just over, and, as hath been said, he waspreparing to return to the University for his last term before taking hisdegree and entering into the Church. He had made up his mind for thisoffice, not indeed with that reverence which becomes a man about to enterupon a duty so holy, but with a worldly spirit of acquiescence in theprudence of adopting that profession for his calling. But his reasoningwas that he owed all to the family of Castlewood, and loved better to benear them than anywhere else in the world; that he might be useful to hisbenefactors, who had the utmost confidence in him and affection for him inreturn; that he might aid in bringing up the young heir of the house andacting as his governor; that he might continue to be his dear patron's andmistress's friend and adviser, who both were pleased to say that theyshould ever look upon him as such: and so, by making himself useful tothose he loved best, he proposed to console himself for giving up of anyschemes of ambition which he might have had in his own bosom. Indeed, hismistress had told him that she would not have him leave her; and whatevershe commanded was will to him.
The Lady Castlewood's mind was greatly relieved in the last few days ofthis well-remembered holiday time, by my lord's announcing one morning,after the post had brought him letters from London, in a careless tone,that the Lord Mohun was gone to Paris, and was about to make a greatjourney in Europe; and though Lord Castlewood's own gloom did not wearoff, or his behaviour alter, yet this cause of anxiety being removed fromhis lady's mind, she began to be more hopeful and easy in her spirits:striving too, with all her heart, and by all the means of soothing in herpower, to call back my lord's cheerfulness and dissipate his moody humour.
He accounted for it himself, by saying that he was out of health; that hewanted to see his physician; that he would go to London, and consultDoctor Cheyne. It was agreed that his lordship and Harry Esmond shouldmake the journey as far as London together; and of a Monday morning, the10th of October, in the year 1700, they set forwards towards London onhorseback. The day before being Sunday, and the rain pouring down, thefamily did not visit church; and at night my lord read the service to hisfamily, very finely, and with a peculiar sweetness and gravity--speakingthe parting benediction, Harry thought, as solemn as ever he heard it. Andhe kissed and embraced his wife and children before they went to their ownchambers with more fondness than he was ordinarily wont to show, and witha solemnity and feeling of which they thought in after days with no smallcomfort.
They took horse the next morning (after adieux from the family as tenderas on the night previous), lay that night on the road, and entered Londonat nightfall; my lord going to the "Trumpet", in the Cockpit, Whitehall, ahouse used by the military in his time as a young man, and accustomed byhis lordship ever since.
An hour after my lord's arrival (which showed that his visit had beenarranged beforehand), my lord's man of business arrived from Gray's Inn;and
thinking that his patron might wish to be private with the lawyer,Esmond was for leaving them: but my lord said his business was short;introduced Mr. Esmond particularly to the lawyer, who had been engaged forthe family in the old lord's time; who said that he had paid the money, asdesired that day, to my Lord Mohun himself, at his lodgings in Bow Street;that his lordship had expressed some surprise, as it was not customary toemploy lawyers, he said, in such transactions between men of honour; but,nevertheless, he had returned my lord viscount's note of hand, which heheld at his client's disposition.
"I thought the Lord Mohun had been in Paris!" cried Mr. Esmond, in greatalarm and astonishment.
"He is come back at my invitation," said my lord viscount. "We haveaccounts to settle together."
"I pray Heaven they are over, sir," says Esmond.
"Oh, quite," replied the other, looking hard at the young man. "He wasrather troublesome about that money which I told you I had lost to him atplay. And now 'tis paid, and we are quits on that score, and we shall meetgood friends again."
"My lord," cried out Esmond, "I am sure you are deceiving me, and thatthere is a quarrel between the Lord Mohun and you."
"Quarrel--pish! We shall sup together this very night, and drink a bottle.Every man is ill-humoured who loses such a sum as I have lost. But now'tis paid, and my anger is gone with it."
"Where shall we sup, sir?" says Harry.
"_We!_ Let some gentlemen wait till they are asked," says my lordviscount, with a laugh. "You go to Duke Street, and see Mr. Betterton. Youlove the play, I know. Leave me to follow my own devices; and in themorning we'll breakfast together, with what appetite we may, as the playsays."
"By G----! my lord, I will not leave you this night," says Harry Esmond. "Ithink I know the cause of your dispute. I swear to you 'tis nothing. Onthe very day the accident befell Lord Mohun, I was speaking to him aboutit. I know that nothing has passed but idle gallantry on his part."
"You know that nothing has passed but idle gallantry between Lord Mohunand my wife," says my lord, in a thundering voice--"you knew of this, anddid not tell me?"
"I knew more of it than my dear mistress did herself, sir--a thousand timesmore. How was she, who was as innocent as a child, to know what was themeaning of the covert addresses of a villain?"
"A villain he is, you allow, and would have taken my wife away from me."
"Sir, she is as pure as an angel," cried young Esmond.
"Have I said a word against her?" shrieks out my lord. "Did I ever doubtthat she was pure? It would have been the last day of her life when I did.Do you fancy I think that _she_ would go astray? No, she hasn't passionenough for that. She neither sins nor forgives. I know her temper--and nowI've lost her: by Heaven I love her ten thousand times more than ever Idid--yes, when she was young and as beautiful as an angel--when she smiledat me in her old father's house, and used to lie in wait for me there as Icame from hunting--when I used to fling my head down on her little kneesand cry like a child on her lap--and swear I would reform and drink nomore, and play no more, and follow women no more; when all the men of theCourt used to be following her--when she used to look with her child morebeautiful, by George, than the Madonna in the Queen's Chapel. I am notgood like her, I know it. Who is--by Heaven, who is? I tired and weariedher, I know that very well. I could not talk to her. You men of wit andbooks could do that, and I couldn't--I felt I couldn't. Why, when you wasbut a boy of fifteen I could hear you two together talking your poetry andyour books till I was in such a rage that I was fit to strangle you. Butyou were always a good lad, Harry, and I loved you, you know I did. And Ifelt she didn't belong to me: and the children don't. And I besottedmyself, and gambled, and drank, and took to all sorts of devilries out ofdespair and fury. And now comes this Mohun, and she likes him, I know shelikes him."
"Indeed, and on my soul, you are wrong, sir," Esmond cried.
"She takes letters from him," cries my lord--"look here Harry," and hepulled out a paper with a brown stain of blood upon it. "It fell from himthat day he wasn't killed. One of the grooms picked it up from the groundand gave it me. Here it is in their d----d comedy jargon. 'DivineGloriana--Why look so coldly on your slave who adores you? Have you nocompassion on the tortures you have seen me suffering? Do you vouchsafe noreply to billets that are written with the blood of my heart.' She hadmore letters from him."
"But she answered none," cries Esmond.
"That's not Mohun's fault," says my lord, "and I will be revenged on him,as God's in heaven, I will."
"For a light word or two, will you risk your lady's honour and yourfamily's happiness, my lord?" Esmond interposed beseechingly.
"Psha--there shall be no question of my wife's honour," said my lord; "wecan quarrel on plenty of grounds beside. If I live, that villain will bepunished; if I fall, my family will be only the better: there will only bea spendthrift the less to keep in the world: and Frank has better teachingthan his father. My mind is made up, Harry Esmond, and whatever the eventis I am easy about it. I leave my wife and you as guardians to thechildren."
Seeing that my lord was bent upon pursuing this quarrel, and that noentreaties would draw him from it, Harry Esmond (then of a hotter and moreimpetuous nature than now, when care, and reflection, and grey hairs havecalmed him) thought it was his duty to stand by his kind generous patron,and said--"My lord, if you are determined upon war, you must not go into italone. 'Tis the duty of our house to stand by its chief: and I shouldneither forgive myself nor you if you did not call me, or I should beabsent from you at a moment of danger."
"Why, Harry, my poor boy, you are bred for a parson," says my lord, takingEsmond by the hand very kindly: "and it were a great pity that you shouldmeddle in the matter."
"Your lordship thought of being a churchman once," Harry answered, "andyour father's orders did not prevent him fighting at Castlewood againstthe Roundheads. Your enemies are mine, sir: I can use the foils, as youhave seen, indifferently well, and don't think I shall be afraid when thebuttons are taken off 'em." And then Harry explained with some blushes andhesitation (for the matter was delicate, and he feared lest, by having puthimself forward in the quarrel, he might have offended his patron), how hehad himself expostulated with the Lord Mohun, and proposed to measureswords with him if need were, and he could not be got to withdrawpeaceably in this dispute. "And I should have beat him, sir," says Harry,laughing. "He never could parry that _botte_ I brought from Cambridge. Letus have half an hour of it, and rehearse--I can teach it your lordship:'tis the most delicate point in the world, and if you miss it youradversary's sword is through you."
"By George, Harry! you ought to be the head of the house," says my lordgloomily. "You had been better Lord Castlewood than a lazy sot like me,"he added, drawing his hand across his eyes, and surveying his kinsman withvery kind and affectionate glances.
"Let us take our coats off and have half an hour's practice beforenightfall," says Harry, after thankfully grasping his patron's manly hand.
"You are but a little bit of a lad," says my lord good-humouredly; "but,in faith, I believe you could do for that fellow. No, my boy," hecontinued, "I'll have none of your feints and tricks of stabbing: I canuse my sword pretty well too, and will fight my own quarrel my own way."
"But I shall be by to see fair play," cries Harry.
"Yes, God bless you--you shall be by."
"When is it, sir?" says Harry, for he saw that the matter had beenarranged privately, and beforehand, by my lord.
"'Tis arranged thus: I sent off a courier to Jack Westbury to say that Iwanted him specially. He knows for what, and will be here presently, anddrink part of that bottle of sack. Then we shall go to the theatre in DukeStreet, where we shall meet Mohun; and then we shall all go sup at the'Rose' or the 'Greyhound'. Then we shall call for cards, and there will beprobably a difference over the cards--and then, God help us!--either awicked villain and traitor shall go out of the world, or a poor worthlessdevil, that doesn't care to remain in it. I am better away, Hal
--my wifewill be all the happier when I am gone," says my lord, with a groan, thattore the heart of Harry Esmond so that he fairly broke into a sob over hispatron's kind hand.
"The business was talked over with Mohun before he left home--Castlewood Imean"--my lord went on. "I took the letter in to him, which I had read, andI charged him with his villany, and he could make no denial of it, only hesaid that my wife was innocent."
"And so she is; before Heaven, my lord, she is!" cries Harry.
"No doubt, no doubt. They always are," says my lord. "No doubt, when sheheard he was killed, she fainted from accident."
"But, my lord, _my_ name is Harry," cried out Esmond, burning red. "Youtold my lady, 'Harry was killed!' "
"Damnation! shall I fight you too?" shouts my lord, in a fury. "Are you,you little serpent, warmed by my fire, going to sting--_you?_--No, my boy,you're an honest boy; you are a good boy." (And here he broke from rageinto tears even more cruel to see.) "You are an honest boy, and I loveyou; and, by Heavens, I am so wretched that I don't care what sword it isthat ends me. Stop, here's Jack Westbury. Well, Jack! Welcome, old boy!This is my kinsman, Harry Esmond."
"Who brought your bowls for you at Castlewood, sir," says Harry, bowing;and the three gentlemen sat down and drank of that bottle of sack whichwas prepared for them.
"Harry is number three," says my lord. "You needn't be afraid of him,Jack." And the colonel gave a look, as much as to say, "Indeed, he don'tlook as if I need." And then my lord explained what he had only told byhints before. When he quarrelled with Lord Mohun he was indebted to hislordship in a sum of sixteen hundred pounds, for which Lord Mohun said heproposed to wait until my lord viscount should pay him. My lord had raisedthe sixteen hundred pounds and sent them to Lord Mohun that morning, andbefore quitting home had put his affairs into order, and was now quiteready to abide the issue of the quarrel.
When we had drunk a couple of bottles of sack, a coach was called, and thethree gentlemen went to the Duke's Playhouse, as agreed. The play was oneof Mr. Wycherley's--_Love in a Wood_.
Harry Esmond has thought of that play ever since with a kind of terror,and of Mrs. Bracegirdle, the actress who performed the girl's part in thecomedy. She was disguised as a page, and came and stood before thegentlemen as they sat on the stage, and looked over her shoulder with apair of arch black eyes, and laughed at my lord, and asked what ailed thegentlemen from the country, and had he had bad news from Bullock Fair?
Between the acts of the play the gentlemen crossed over and conversedfreely. There were two of Lord Mohun's party, Captain Macartney, in amilitary habit, and a gentleman in a suit of blue velvet and silver in afair periwig, with a rich fall of point of Venice lace--my lord the Earl ofWarwick and Holland. My lord had a paper of oranges, which he ate andoffered to the actresses, joking with them. And Mrs. Bracegirdle, when myLord Mohun said something rude, turned on him, and asked him what he didthere, and whether he and his friends had come to stab anybody else, asthey did poor Will Mountford? My lord's dark face grew darker at thistaunt, and wore a mischievous fatal look. They that saw it remembered it,and said so afterward.
When the play was ended the two parties joined company; and my LordCastlewood then proposed that they should go to a tavern and sup.Lockit's, the "Greyhound", in Charing Cross, was the house selected. Allsix marched together that way; the three lords going ahead, Lord Mohun'scaptain, and Colonel Westbury, and Harry Esmond, walking behind them. Asthey walked, Westbury told Harry Esmond about his old friend Dick theScholar, who had got promotion, and was cornet of the Guards, and hadwrote a book called the _Christian Hero_, and had all the Guards to laughat him for his pains, for the Christian Hero was breaking the commandmentsconstantly, Westbury said, and had fought one or two duels already. And,in a lower tone, Westbury besought young Mr. Esmond to take no part in thequarrel. "There was no need for more seconds than one," said the colonel,"and the captain or Lord Warwick might easily withdraw." But Harry saidno; he was bent on going through with the business. Indeed, he had a planin his head, which, he thought, might prevent my lord viscount fromengaging.
They went in at the bar of the tavern, and desired a private room and wineand cards, and when the drawer had brought these, they began to drink andcall healths, and as long as the servants were in the room appeared veryfriendly.
Harry Esmond's plan was no other than to engage in talk with Lord Mohun,to insult him, and so get the first of the quarrel. So when cards wereproposed he offered to play. "Psha!" says my Lord Mohun (whether wishingto save Harry, or not choosing to try the _botte de Jesuite_, it is not tobe known)--"young gentlemen from college should not play these stakes. Youare too young."
"Who dares say I am too young?" broke out Harry. "Is your lordshipafraid?"
"Afraid!" cries out Mohun.
But my good lord viscount saw the move--"I'll play you for ten moidores,Mohun," says he--"You silly boy, we don't play for groats here as you do atCambridge:" and Harry, who had no such sum in his pocket (for hishalf-year's salary was always pretty well spent before it was due), fellback with rage and vexation in his heart that he had not money enough tostake.
"I'll stake the young gentleman a crown," says the Lord Mohun's captain.
"I thought crowns were rather scarce with the gentlemen of the army," saysHarry.
"Do they birch at college?" says the captain.
"They birch fools," says Harry, "and they cane bullies, and they flingpuppies into the water."
"Faith, then, there's some escapes drowning," says the captain, who was anIrishman; and all the gentlemen began to laugh, and made poor Harry onlymore angry.
My Lord Mohun presently snuffed a candle. It was when the drawers broughtin fresh bottles and glasses and were in the room--on which my lordviscount said--"The deuce take you, Mohun, how damned awkward you are!Light the candle, you drawer."
"Damned awkward is a damned awkward expression, my lord," says the other."Town gentlemen don't use such words--or ask pardon if they do."
"I'm a country gentleman," says my lord viscount.
"I see it by your manner," says my Lord Mohun. "No man shall say 'damnedawkward' to me."
"I fling the words in your face, my lord," says the other; "shall I sendthe cards too?"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen! before the servants?" cry out Colonel Westbury andmy Lord Warwick in a breath. The drawers go out of the room hastily. Theytell the people below of the quarrel upstairs.
"Enough has been said," says Colonel Westbury. "Will your lordships meetto-morrow morning?"
"Will my Lord Castlewood withdraw his words?" asks the Earl of Warwick.
"My Lord Castlewood will be ---- first," says Colonel Westbury.
"Then we have nothing for it. Take notice, gentlemen, there have beenoutrageous words--reparation asked and refused."
"And refused," says my Lord Castlewood, putting on his hat. "Where shallthe meeting be? and when?"
"Since my lord refuses me satisfaction, which I deeply regret, there is notime so good as now," says my Lord Mohun. "Let us have chairs and go toLeicester Field."
"Are your lordship and I to have the honour of exchanging a pass or two?"says Colonel Westbury, with a low bow to my Lord of Warwick and Holland.
"It is an honour for me," says my lord, with a profound congee, "to bematched with a gentleman who has been at Mons and Namur."
"Will your reverence permit me to give you a lesson?" says the captain.
"Nay, nay, gentlemen, two on a side are plenty," says Harry's patron."Spare the boy, Captain Macartney," and he shook Harry's hand--for the lasttime, save one, in his life.
At the bar of the tavern all the gentlemen stopped, and my lord viscountsaid, laughing, to the barwoman, that those cards set people sadlya-quarrelling; but that the dispute was over now, and the parties were allgoing away to my Lord Mohun's house, in Bow Street, to drink a bottle morebefore going to bed.
A half-dozen of chairs were now called, and the six gentlemen steppinginto them, the word was privately given to the
chairmen to go to LeicesterField, where the gentlemen were set down opposite the "Standard" Tavern.It was midnight, and the town was abed by this time, and only a few lightsin the windows of the houses; but the night was bright enough for theunhappy purpose which the disputants came about; and so all six enteredinto that fatal square, the chairmen standing without the railing andkeeping the gate, lest any persons should disturb the meeting.
All that happened there hath been matter of public notoriety, and isrecorded, for warning to lawless men, in the annals of our country. Afterbeing engaged for not more than a couple of minutes, as Harry Esmondthought (though being occupied at the time with his own adversary's point,which was active, he may not have taken a good note of time), a cry fromthe chairmen without, who were smoking their pipes, and leaning over therailings of the field as they watched the dim combat within, announcedthat some catastrophe had happened which caused Esmond to drop his swordand look round, at which moment his enemy wounded him in the right hand.But the young man did not heed this hurt much, and ran up to the placewhere he saw his dear master was down.
My Lord Mohun was standing over him.
"Are you much hurt, Frank?" he asked, in a hollow voice.
"I believe I'm a dead man," my lord said from the ground.
"No, no, not so," says the other; "and I call God to witness, FrankEsmond, that I would have asked your pardon, had you but given me achance. In--in the first cause of our falling out, I swear that no one wasto blame but me, and--and that my lady----"
"Hush!" says my poor lord viscount, lifting himself on his elbow, andspeaking faintly. "'Twas a dispute about the cards--the cursed cards.Harry, my boy, are you wounded, too? God help thee! I loved thee, Harry,and thou must watch over my little Frank--and--and carry this little heartto my wife."
And here my dear lord felt in his breast for a locket he wore there, and,in the act, fell back, fainting.
We were all at this terrified, thinking him dead; but Esmond and ColonelWestbury bade the chairmen to come into the field; and so my lord wascarried to one Mr. Aimes, a surgeon, in Long Acre, who kept a bath, andthere the house was wakened up, and the victim of this quarrel carried in.
My lord viscount was put to bed, and his wound looked to by the surgeon,who seemed both kind and skilful. When he had looked to my lord, hebandaged up Harry Esmond's hand (who, from loss of blood, had fainted too,in the house, and may have been some time unconscious); and when the youngman came to himself, you may be sure he eagerly asked what news there wereof his dear patron; on which the surgeon carried him to the room where theLord Castlewood lay; who had already sent for a priest; and desiredearnestly, they said, to speak with his kinsman. He was lying on a bed,very pale and ghastly, with that fixed, fatal look in his eyes, whichbetokens death; and faintly beckoning all the other persons away from himwith his hand, and crying out "Only Harry Esmond", the hand fell powerlessdown on the coverlet, as Harry came forward, and knelt down and kissed it.
"Thou art all but a priest, Harry," my lord viscount gasped out, with afaint smile, and pressure of his cold hand. "Are they all gone? Let memake thee a death-bed confession."
And with sacred Death waiting, as it were, at the bed-foot, as an awfulwitness of his words, the poor dying soul gasped out his last wishes inrespect of his family;--his humble profession of contrition for hisfaults;--and his charity towards the world he was leaving. Some things hesaid concerned Harry Esmond as much as they astonished him. And my lordviscount, sinking visibly, was in the midst of these strange confessions,when the ecclesiastic for whom my lord had sent, Mr. Atterbury, arrived.
This gentleman had reached to no great church dignity as yet, but was onlypreacher at St. Bride's, drawing all the town thither by his eloquentsermons. He was godson to my lord, who had been pupil to his father; hadpaid a visit to Castlewood from Oxford more than once; and it was by hisadvice, I think, that Harry Esmond was sent to Cambridge, rather than toOxford, of which place Mr. Atterbury, though a distinguished member, spokebut ill.
Our messenger found the good priest already at his books, at five o'clockin the morning, and he followed the man eagerly to the house where my poorlord viscount lay--Esmond watching him, and taking his dying words from hismouth.
My lord, hearing of Mr. Atterbury's arrival, and squeezing Esmond's hand,asked to be alone with the priest; and Esmond left them there for thissolemn interview. You may be sure that his own prayers and griefaccompanied that dying benefactor. My lord had said to him that whichconfounded the young man--informed him of a secret which greatly concernedhim. Indeed, after hearing it, he had had good cause for doubt and dismay;for mental anguish as well as resolution. While the colloquy between Mr.Atterbury and his dying penitent took place within, an immense contest ofperplexity was agitating Lord Castlewood's young companion.
At the end of an hour--it may be more--Mr. Atterbury came out of the roomlooking very hard at Esmond, and holding a paper.
"He is on the brink of God's awful judgement," the priest whispered. "Hehas made his breast clean to me. He forgives and believes, and makesrestitution. Shall it be in public? Shall we call a witness to sign it?"
"God knows," sobbed out the young man, "my dearest lord has only done mekindness all his life."
The priest put the paper into Esmond's hand. He looked at it. It swambefore his eyes.
"'Tis a confession," he said.
"'Tis as you please," said Mr. Atterbury.
There was a fire in the room, where the cloths were drying for the baths,and there lay a heap in a corner, saturated with the blood of my dearlord's body. Esmond went to the fire, and threw the paper into it. 'Twas agreat chimney with glazed Dutch tiles. How we remember such trifles insuch awful moments!--the scrap of the book that we have read in a greatgrief--the taste of that last dish that we have eaten before a duel or somesuch supreme meeting or parting. On the Dutch tiles at the bagnio was arude picture representing Jacob in hairy gloves, cheating Isaac of Esau'sbirthright. The burning paper lighted it up.
"'Tis only a confession, Mr. Atterbury," said the young man. He leaned hishead against the mantelpiece: a burst of tears came to his eyes. They werethe first he had shed as he sat by his lord, scared by this calamity andmore yet by what the poor dying gentleman had told him, and shocked tothink that he should be the agent of bringing this double misfortune onthose he loved best.
"Let us go to him," said Mr. Esmond. And accordingly they went into thenext chamber, where, by this time, the dawn had broke, which showed mylord's poor pale face and wild appealing eyes, that wore that awful fatallook of coming dissolution. The surgeon was with him. He went into thechamber as Atterbury came out thence. My lord viscount turned round hissick eyes towards Esmond. It choked the other to hear that rattle in histhroat.
"My lord viscount," says Mr. Atterbury, "Mr. Esmond wants no witnesses,and hath burned the paper."
"My dearest master!" Esmond said, kneeling down, and taking his hand andkissing it.
My lord viscount sprang up in his bed, and flung his arms round Esmond."God bl--bless...," was all he said. The blood rushed from his mouth,deluging the young man. My dearest lord was no more. He was gone with ablessing on his lips, and love and repentance and kindness in his manlyheart.
"_Benedicti benedicentes_," says Mr. Atterbury, and the young man kneelingat the bedside, groaned out an Amen.
"Who shall take the news to her?" was Mr. Esmond's next thought. And onthis he besought Mr. Atterbury to bear the tidings to Castlewood. He couldnot face his mistress himself with those dreadful news. Mr. Atterburycomplying kindly, Esmond writ a hasty note on his table-book to my lord'sman, bidding him get the horses for Mr. Atterbury, and ride with him, andsend Esmond's own valise to the Gatehouse prison, whither he resolved togo and give himself up.
Book II. Contains Mr. Esmond's Military Life, And Other MattersAppertaining To The Esmond Family