“I think the angels are not all in heaven,” Mr. Esmond said.  And as a brother folds a sister to his heart; and as a mother cleaves to her son’s breast—­so for a few moments Esmond’s beloved mistress came to him and blessed him.

CHAPTER VII.

I am made welcome at Walcote.

As they came up to the house at Walcote, the windows from within were lighted up with friendly welcome; the supper-table was spread in the oak-parlor; it seemed as if forgiveness and love were awaiting the returning prodigal.  Two or three familiar faces of domestics were on the look-out at the porch—­the old housekeeper was there, and young Lockwood from Castlewood in my lord’s livery of tawny and blue.  His dear mistress pressed his arm as they passed into the hall.  Her eyes beamed out on him with affection indescribable.  “Welcome,” was all she said, as she looked up, putting back her fair curls and black hood.  A sweet rosy smile blushed on her face; Harry thought he had never seen her look so charming.  Her face was lighted with a joy that was brighter than beauty—­she took a hand of her son who was in the hall waiting his mother—­she did not quit Esmond’s arm.

“Welcome, Harry!” my young lord echoed after her.  “Here, we are all come to say so.  Here’s old Pincot, hasn’t she grown handsome?” and Pincot, who was older, and no handsomer than usual, made a curtsy to the Captain, as she called Esmond, and told my lord to “Have done, now.”

“And here’s Jack Lockwood.  He’ll make a famous grenadier, Jack; and so shall I; we’ll both ’list under you, Cousin.  As soon as I’m seventeen, I go to the army—­every gentleman goes to the army.  Look! who comes here—­ho, ho!” he burst into a laugh. “’Tis Mistress Trix, with a new ribbon; I knew she would put one on as soon as she heard a captain was coming to supper.”

This laughing colloquy took place in the hall of Walcote House:  in the midst of which is a staircase that leads from an open gallery, where are the doors of the sleeping chambers:  and from one of these, a wax candle in her hand, and illuminating her, came Mistress Beatrix—­the light falling indeed upon the scarlet ribbon which she wore, and upon the most brilliant white neck in the world.

Esmond had left a child and found a woman, grown beyond the common height; and arrived at such a dazzling completeness of beauty, that his eyes might well show surprise and delight at beholding her.  In hers there was a brightness so lustrous and melting, that I have seen a whole assembly follow her as if by an attraction irresistible:  and that night the great Duke was at the playhouse after Ramillies, every soul turned and looked (she chanced to enter at the opposite side of the theatre at the same moment) at her, and not at him.  She was a brown beauty:  that is, her eyes, hair, and eyebrows and eyelashes were dark:  her hair curling with rich undulations,