“If—­if ’tis so, dear lady,” Mr. Esmond said, “why should I ever leave you?  If God hath given me this great boon—­and near or far from me, as I know now, the heart of my dearest mistress follows me, let me have that blessing near me, nor ever part with it till death separate us.  Come away—­leave this Europe, this place which has so many sad recollections for you.  Begin a new life in a new world.  My good lord often talked of visiting that land in Virginia which King Charles gave us—­gave his ancestor.  Frank will give us that.  No man there will ask if there is a blot on my name, or inquire in the woods what my title is.”

“And my children—­and my duty—­and my good father, Henry?” she broke out.  “He has none but me now! for soon my sister will leave him, and the old man will be alone.  He has conformed since the new Queen’s reign; and here in Winchester, where they love him, they have found a church for him.  When the children leave me, I will stay with him.  I cannot follow them into the great world, where their way lies—­it scares me.  They will come and visit me; and you will, sometimes, Henry—­yes, sometimes, as now, in the Holy Advent season, when I have seen and blessed you once more.”

“I would leave all to follow you,” said Mr. Esmond; “and can you not be as generous for me, dear lady?”

“Hush, boy!” she said, and it was with a mother’s sweet plaintive tone and look that she spoke.  “The world is beginning for you.  For me, I have been so weak and sinful that I must leave it, and pray out an expiation, dear Henry.  Had we houses of religion as there were once, and many divines of our Church would have them again, I often think I would retire to one and pass my life in penance.  But I would love you still—­yes, there is no sin in such a love as mine now; and my dear lord in heaven may see my heart; and knows the tears that have washed my sin away—­and now—­now my duty is here, by my children whilst they need me, and by my poor old father, and—­”

“And not by me?” Henry said.

“Hush!” she said again, and raised her hand up to his lip.  “I have been your nurse.  You could not see me, Harry, when you were in the small-pox, and I came and sat by you.  Ah!  I prayed that I might die, but it would have been in sin, Henry.  Oh, it is horrid to look back to that time.  It is over now and past, and it has been forgiven me.  When you need me again, I will come ever so far.  When your heart is wounded, then come to me, my dear.  Be silent! let me say all.  You never loved me, dear Henry—­no, you do not now, and I thank heaven for it.  I used to watch you, and knew by a thousand signs that it was so.  Do you remember how glad you were to go away to college?  ’Twas I sent you.  I told my papa that, and Mr. Atterbury too, when I spoke to him in London.  And they both gave me absolution—­both—­and they are godly men, having authority to bind and to loose.  And they forgave me, as my dear lord forgave me before he went to heaven.”