For once, her mother took little heed of her. "My Lord," she said, "this young man--your relative--told me just now in French--he was ashamed to speak in his own language--that he had been at the blacksmith's all day, where he has had that little wretch who is now ill of the smallpox on his knee. And he comes home reeking from that place--yes, reeking from it--and takes my boy into his lap without shame, and sits down by me. He may have killed Frank for what I know--killed our child! Why was he brought in to disgrace our house? Why is he here? Let him go--let him go, I say, and [v]pollute the place no more!" She had never before uttered a syllable of unkindness to Harry Esmond, and her cruel words smote the poor boy so that he stood for some moments bewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of such a stab from such a hand. He turned quite white from red, which he had been before. "If my coming nigh your boy pollutes him," he said, "it was not so always. Good-night, my Lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your goodness to me. I have tired her Ladyship's kindness out, and I will go." "He wants to go to the alehouse--let him go!" cried my Lady. "I'll be hanged if he shall," said my Lord. "I didn't think you could be so cruel, Rachel!" Her reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit the room with a rapid glance at Harry Esmond, as my Lord put his broad hand on Harry's shoulder. In a little while my Lady came back, looking very pale, with a handkerchief in her hand. Instantly advancing to Harry Esmond, she took his hand. "I beg your pardon, Harry," she said. "I spoke very unkindly." My Lord broke out: "There may be no harm done. Leave the boy alone." She looked a little red, and pressed the lad's hand as she dropped it. "There is no use, my Lord," she said. "Frank was on his knee as he was making pictures and was running constantly from Harry to me. The evil is done, if any." "Not with me," cried my Lord. "I've been smoking." And he lighted his pipe again with a coal. "As the disease is in the village--plague take it!--I would have you leave it. We'll go to-morrow to Walcote." "I have no fear," said my Lady. "I may have had it as an infant." "I won't run the risk," said my Lord. "I'm as bold as any man, but I'll not bear that." "Take Beatrix with you and go," said my Lady. "For us the mischief is done." My Lord, calling away Doctor Tusher, bade him come in the oak parlor and have a pipe. When the lady and the boy were alone, there was a silence of some moments, during which he stood looking at the fire whilst her Ladyship busied herself with the [v]tambour frame and needles.