“As the afflicted lady spoke in this strain, sir,” Mr. Steele continued, “it seemed as if indignation moved her, even more than grief.  ‘Compensation!’ she went on passionately, her cheeks and eyes kindling; ’what compensation does your world give the widow for her husband, and the children for the murderer of their father?  The wretch who did the deed has not even a punishment.  Conscience! what conscience has he, who can enter the house of a friend, whisper falsehood and insult to a woman that never harmed him, and stab the kind heart that trusted him?  My Lord—­my Lord Wretch’s, my Lord Villain’s, my Lord Murderer’s peers meet to try him, and they dismiss him with a word or two of reproof and send him into the world again, to pursue women with lust and falsehood, and to murder unsuspecting guests that harbor him.  That day, my Lord—­my Lord Murderer—­(I will never name him)—­was let loose, a woman was executed at Tyburn for stealing in a shop.  But a man may rob another of his life, or a lady of her honor, and shall pay no penalty!  I take my child, run to the throne, and on my knees ask for justice, and the King refuses me.  The King! he is no king of mine—­he never shall be.  He, too, robbed the throne from the king his father—­the true king—­and he has gone unpunished, as the great do.’

“I then thought to speak for you,” Mr. Steele continued, “and I interposed by saying, ’There was one, madam, who, at least, would have put his own breast between your husband’s and my Lord Mohun’s sword.  Your poor young kinsman, Harry Esmond, hath told me that he tried to draw the quarrel on himself.’

“‘Are you come from him?’ asked the lady (so Mr. Steele went on) rising up with a great severity and stateliness.  ’I thought you had come from the Princess.  I saw Mr. Esmond in his prison, and bade him farewell.  He brought misery into my house.  He never should have entered it.’

“‘Madam, madam, he is not to blame,’ I interposed,” continued Mr. Steele.

“‘Do I blame him to you, sir?’ asked the widow.  ’If ’tis he who sent you, say that I have taken counsel, where’—­she spoke with a very pallid cheek now, and a break in her voice—­’where all who ask may have it;—­and that it bids me to part from him, and to see him no more.  We met in the prison for the last time—­at least for years to come.  It may be, in years hence, when—­when our knees and our tears and our contrition have changed our sinful hearts, sir, and wrought our pardon, we may meet again—­but not now.  After what has passed, I could not bear to see him.  I wish him well, sir; but I wish him farewell, too; and if he has that—­that regard towards us which he speaks of, I beseech him to prove it by obeying me in this.’

“‘I shall break the young man’s heart, madam, by this hard sentence,’” Mr. Steele said.