“Have I said a word against her?” shrieks out my lord. “Did I ever doubt that 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 passion enough for that. She neither sins nor forgives. I know her temper--and now I've lost her, by heaven I love her ten thousand times more than ever I did--yes, when she was as young and as beautiful as an angel--when she smiled at me in her old father's house, and used to lie in wait for me there as I came from hunting--when I used to fling my head down on her little knees and cry like a child on her lap--and swear I would reform, and drink no more and play no more, and follow women no more; when all the men of the Court used to be following her--when she used to look with her child more beautiful, by George, than the Madonna in the Queen's Chapel. I am not good like her, I know it. Who is--by heaven, who is? I tired and wearied her, I know that very well. I could not talk to her. You men of wit and books could do that, and I couldn't--I felt I couldn't. Why, when you was but a boy of fifteen I could hear you two together talking your poetry and your books till I was in such a rage that I was fit to strangle you. But you were always a good lad, Harry, and I loved you, you know I did. And I felt she didn't belong to me: and the children don't. And I besotted myself, and gambled and drank, and took to all sorts of deviltries out of despair and fury. And now comes this Mohun, and she likes him, I know she likes him.” “Indeed, and on my soul, you are wrong, sir,” Esmond cried. “She takes letters from him,” cries my lord--“look here, Harry,” and he pulled out a paper with a brown stain of blood upon it. “It fell from him that day he wasn't killed. One of the grooms picked it up from the ground and gave it me. Here it is in their d--d comedy jargon. 'Divine Gloriana--Why look so coldly on your slave who adores you? Have you no compassion on the tortures you have seen me suffering? Do you vouchsafe no reply to billets that are written with the blood of my heart.' She had more 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 honor and your family's happiness, my lord?” Esmond interposed beseechingly. “Psha--there shall be no question of my wife's honor,” said my lord; “we can quarrel on plenty of grounds beside. If I live, that villain will be punished; if I fall, my family will be only the better: there will only be a spendthrift the less to keep in the world: and Frank has better teaching than his father. My mind is made up, Harry Esmond, and whatever the event is, I am easy about it. I leave my wife and you as guardians to the children.”