ill-fortune? "And this is our kinsman, I believe," she said; "and what is
your name, kinsman?"

"My name is Henry Esmond," said the lad, looking up at her in a sort of
delight and wonder, for she appeared the most charming object he had ever
looked on. Her golden hair was shining in the gold of the sun; her
complexion was of a dazzling bloom; her lips smiling and her eyes beaming
with a kindness which made Harry Esmond's heart to beat with surprise.

"His name is Henry Esmond, sure enough, my lady," says Mrs. Worksop, the
housekeeper; and the new Viscountess, after walking down the gallery,
came back to the lad, took his hand again, placing her other fair hand on
his head, saying some words to him which were so kind, so sweet that the
boy felt as if the touch of a superior being, or angel, smote him down to
the ground, and he kissed the fair protecting hand as he knelt on one
knee. To the very last hour of his life Esmond remembered the lady as she
then spoke and looked: the rings on her fair hands, the very scent of her
robe, the beam of her eyes lighting up with surprise and kindness, her
lips blooming in a smile, the sun making a golden halo round her hair.

As the boy was yet in this attitude of humility, enters behind him a
portly gentleman, with a little girl of four years old. The gentleman
burst into a great laugh at the lady and her adorer, with his little,
queer figure, his sallow face, and long black hair. The lady blushed and
seemed to deprecate his ridicule by a look of appeal to her husband, for
it was my Lord Viscount who now arrived, and whom the lad knew, having
once before seen him in the late lord's lifetime.

"So this is the little priest!" says my lord, who knew for what calling
the lad was intended, and adding: "Welcome, kinsman."