“Thankful? No, confound you. Not in the least!” says my lord. “I am a plain man; I don't disguise from my cousin that I would rather have had the property than he. Sir George, you will stay and dine with us. A large party is coming down here shooting; we ought to have you one of us!”
“My lord,” said I, buttoning the book under my coat, “I will go and get this document copied, and then return it to your lordship. As my mother in Virginia has had her papers burned, she will be put out of much anxiety by having this assignment safely lodged.”
“What, have Madam Esmond's papers been burned? When the deuce was that?” asks my lord.
“My lord, I wish you a very good afternoon. Come, Sampson, you and I will go and dine at the Three Castles.” And I turned on my heel, making a bow to Lord R———, and from that day to this I have never set my foot within the halls of my ancestors.
Shall I ever see the old mother again, I wonder? She lives in Richmond, never having rebuilt her house in the country. When Hal was in England, we sent her pictures of both her sons, painted by the admirable Sir Joshua Reynolds. We sate to him, the last year Mr. Johnson was alive, I remember. And the Doctor, peering about the studio, and seeing the image of Hal in his uniform (the appearance of it caused no little excitement in those days), asked who was this? and was informed that it was the famous American General—General Warrington, Sir George's brother. “General Who?” cries the Doctor, “General Where? Pooh! I don't know such a service!” and he turned his back and walked out of the premises. My worship is painted in scarlet, and we have replicas of both performances at home. But the picture which Captain Miles and the girls declare to be most like is a family sketch by my ingenious neighbour, Mr. Bunbury, who has drawn me and my lady with Monsieur Gumbo following us, and written under the piece, “SIR GEORGE, MY LADY, AND THEIR MASTER.”
Here my master comes; he has poked out all the house-fires, has looked to all the bolts, has ordered the whole male and female crew to their chambers; and begins to blow my candles out, and says, “Time, Sir George, to go to bed! Twelve o'clock!”
“Bless me! So indeed it is.” And I close my book, and go to my rest, with a blessing on those now around me asleep.
THE END