“Dearest mamma, what have I done?” she asked. “Sure I meant no harm.” And she clung to her mother, and the pair went out sobbing together.
“I will tell you what your wife said to me, Frank,” my Lord Mohun cried—“Parson Harry may hear it; and, as I hope for heaven, every word I say is true. Last night, with tears in her eyes, your wife implored me to play no more with you at dice or at cards, and you know best whether what she asked was not for your good.”
“Of course it was, Mohun,” says my lord, in a dry hard voice. “Of course, you are a model of a man: and the world knows what a saint you are.”
My Lord Mohun was separated from his wife, and had had many affairs of honour: of which women as usual had been the cause.
“I am no saint, though your wife is—and I can answer for my actions as other people must for their words,” said my Lord Mohun.
“By G——, my lord, you shall,” cried the other, starting up.
“We have another little account to settle first, my lord,” says Lord Mohun. Whereupon Harry Esmond, filled with alarm for the consequences to which this disastrous dispute might lead, broke out into the most vehement expostulations with his patron and his adversary. “Gracious Heavens!” he said, “my lord, are you going to draw a sword upon your friend in your own house? Can you doubt the honour of a lady who is as pure as Heaven, and would die a thousand times rather than do you a wrong? Are the idle words of a jealous child to set friends at variance? Has not my mistress, as much as she dared to, besought your lordship, as the truth must be told, to break your intimacy with my Lord Mohun; and to give up the habit which may bring [pg 139] ruin on your family? But for my Lord Mohun's illness, had he not left you?”
“Faith, Frank, a man with a gouty toe can't run after other men's wives,” broke out my Lord Mohun, who indeed was in that way, and with a laugh and a look at his swathed limb so frank and comical, that the other dashing his fist across his forehead was caught by that infectious good humour, and said with his oath, “—— it, Harry, I believe thee,” and so this quarrel was over, and the two gentlemen, at swords drawn but just now, dropped their points, and shook hands.
Beati pacifici. “Go, bring my lady back,” said Harry's patron. Esmond went away only too glad to be the bearer of such good news. He found her at the door; she had been listening there, but went back as he came. She took both his hands, hers were marble cold. She seemed as if she would fall on his shoulder. “Thank you, and God bless you, my dear brother Harry,” she said. She kissed his hand, Esmond felt her tears upon it: and leading her into the room, and up to my lord, the Lord Castlewood with an outbreak of feeling and affection, such as he had not exhibited for many a long day, took his wife to his heart, and bent over and kissed her and asked her pardon.
“'Tis time for me to go to roost. I will have my gruel abed,” said my Lord Mohun: and limped off comically on Harry Esmond's arm. “By George, that woman is a pearl!” he said; “and 'tis only a pig that wouldn't value her. Have you seen the vulgar trapesing orange-girl whom Esmond”—but here Mr. Esmond interrupted him, saying, that these were not affairs for him to know.