The tables of the dining-room were laid for a great entertainment; and the ladies were in gala dresses—my lady of Chelsea in her highest tour, my lady viscountess out of black, and looking fair and happy, à ravir; and the maid of honour attired with that splendour which naturally distinguished her, and wearing on her beautiful breast the French officer's star which Frank had sent home after Ramillies.
“You see, 'tis a gala day with us,” says she, glancing down to the star complacently, “and we have our orders on. Does not mamma look charming? 'Twas I dressed her!” Indeed, Esmond's dear mistress, blushing as he looked at her, with her beautiful fair hair and an elegant dress, according to the mode, appeared to have the shape and complexion of a girl of twenty.
On the table was a fine sword, with a red velvet scabbard, and a beautiful chased silver handle, with a blue ribbon for a sword-knot. “What is this?” says the captain, going up to look at this pretty piece.
Mrs. Beatrix advanced towards it. “Kneel down,” says she: “we dub you our knight with this”—and she waved the sword over his head—“my lady dowager hath given the sword; and I give the ribbon, and mamma hath sewn on the fringe.”
“Put the sword on him, Beatrix,” says her mother. “You are our knight, Harry—our true knight. Take a mother's thanks and prayers for defending her son, my dear, dear friend.” She could say no more, and even the dowager was [pg 304] affected, for a couple of rebellious tears made sad marks down those wrinkled old roses which Esmond had just been allowed to salute.
“We had a letter from dearest Frank,” his mother said, “three days since, whilst you were on your visit to your friend Captain Steele, at Hampton. He told us all that you had done, and how nobly you had put yourself between him and that—that wretch.”
“And I adopt you from this day,” says the dowager; “and I wish I was richer, for your sake, son Esmond,” she added, with a wave of her hand; and as Mr. Esmond dutifully went down on his knee before her ladyship, she cast her eyes up to the ceiling (the gilt chandelier, and the twelve wax candles in it, for the party was numerous), and invoked a blessing from that quarter upon the newly adopted son.
“Dear Frank,” says the other viscountess, “how fond he is of his military profession! He is studying fortification very hard. I wish he were here. We shall keep his coming of age at Castlewood next year.”
“If the campaign permit us,” says Mr. Esmond.
“I am never afraid when he is with you,” cries the boy's mother. “I am sure my Henry will always defend him.”