On the table was a fine sword, with a red velvet scabbard, and a beautiful chased silver handle, with a blue ribbon for a sword-knot.  “What is this?” says the Captain, going up to look at this pretty piece.

Mrs. Beatrix advanced towards it.  “Kneel down,” says she:  “we dub you our knight with this”—­and she waved the sword over his head.  “My Lady Dowager hath given the sword; and I give the ribbon, and mamma hath sewn on the fringe.”

“Put the sword on him, Beatrix,” says her mother.  “You are our knight, Harry—­our true knight.  Take a mother’s thanks and prayers for defending her son, my dear, dear friend.”  She could say no more, and even the Dowager was affected, for a couple of rebellious tears made sad marks down those wrinkled old roses which Esmond had just been allowed to salute.

“We had a letter from dearest Frank,” his mother said, “three days since, whilst you were on your visit to your friend Captain Steele, at Hampton.  He told us all that you had done, and how nobly you had put yourself between him and that—­that wretch.”

“And I adopt you from this day,” says the Dowager, “and I wish I was richer, for your sake, son Esmond,” she added with a wave of her hand; and as Mr. Esmond dutifully went down on his knee before her ladyship, she cast her eyes up to the ceiling, (the gilt chandelier, and the twelve wax-candles in it, for the party was numerous,) and invoked a blessing from that quarter upon the newly adopted son.

“Dear Frank,” says the other viscountess, “how fond he is of his military profession!  He is studying fortification very hard.  I wish he were here.  We shall keep his coming of age at Castlewood next year.”

“If the campaign permit us,” says Mr. Esmond.

“I am never afraid when he is with you,” cries the boy’s mother.  “I am sure my Henry will always defend him.”

“But there will be a peace before next year; we know it for certain,” cries the Maid of Honor.  “Lord Marlborough will be dismissed, and that horrible duchess turned out of all her places.  Her Majesty won’t speak to her now.  Did you see her at Bushy, Harry?  She is furious, and she ranges about the park like a lioness, and tears people’s eyes out.”

“And the Princess Anne will send for somebody,” says my Lady of Chelsey, taking out her medal and kissing it.

“Did you see the King at Oudenarde, Harry?” his mistress asked.  She was a staunch Jacobite, and would no more have thought of denying her king than her God.

“I saw the young Hanoverian only,” Harry said.  “The Chevalier de St. George—­”

“The King, sir, the King!” said the ladies and Miss Beatrix; and she clapped her pretty hands, and cried, “Vive le Roy.”

By this time there came a thundering knock, that drove in the doors of the house almost.  It was three o’clock, and the company were arriving; and presently the servant announced Captain Steele and his lady.