The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XII.

  A GREAT SCHEME, AND WHO BALKED IT.

  As characters written with a secret ink come out with the applicationof fire, and disappear again and leave the paper white, as soon as it iscool; a hundred names of men, high in repute and favoring the Prince'scause, that were writ in our private lists, would have been visibleenough on the great roll of the conspiracy, had it ever been laid openunder the sun. What crowds would have pressed forward, and subscribedtheir names and protested their loyalty, when the danger was over! Whata number of Whigs, now high in place and creatures of the all-powerfulMinister, scorned Mr. Walpole then! If ever a match was gained by themanliness and decision of a few at a moment of danger; if ever one waslost by the treachery and imbecility of those that had the cards intheir hands, and might have played them, it was in that momentous gamewhich was enacted in the next three days, and of which the noblest crownin the world was the stake.

  From the conduct of my Lord Bolingbroke, those who were interestedin the scheme we had in hand, saw pretty well that he was not to betrusted. Should the Prince prevail, it was his lordship's graciousintention to declare for him: should the Hanoverian party bring in theirsovereign, who more ready to go on his knee, and cry, "God Save KingGeorge?" And he betrayed the one Prince and the other; but exactly atthe wrong time. When he should have struck for King James, he falteredand coquetted with the Whigs; and having committed himself by the mostmonstrous professions of devotion, which the Elector rightly scorned,he proved the justness of their contempt for him by flying and takingrenegade service with St. Germains, just when he should have keptaloof: and that Court despised him, as the manly and resolute men whoestablished the Elector in England had before done. He signed his ownname to every accusation of insincerity his enemies made against him;and the King and the Pretender alike could show proofs of St. John'streachery under his own hand and seal.

  Our friends kept a pretty close watch upon his motions, as on those ofthe brave and hearty Whig party, that made little concealment of theirs.They would have in the Elector, and used every means in their power toeffect their end. My Lord Marlborough was now with them. His expulsionfrom power by the Tories had thrown that great captain at once on theWhig side. We heard he was coming from Antwerp; and, in fact, on the dayof the Queen's death, he once more landed on English shore. A great partof the army was always with their illustrious leader; even the Toriesin it were indignant at the injustice of the persecution which the Whigofficers were made to undergo. The chiefs of these were in London, andat the head of them one of the most intrepid men in the world, the ScotsDuke of Argyle, whose conduct on the second day after that to which Ihave now brought down my history, ended, as such honesty and braverydeserved to end, by establishing the present Royal race on the Englishthrone.

  Meanwhile there was no slight difference of opinion amongst thecouncillors surrounding the Prince, as to the plan his Highness shouldpursue. His female Minister at Court, fancying she saw some ameliorationin the Queen, was for waiting a few days, or hours it might be, untilhe could be brought to her bedside, and acknowledged as her heir. Mr.Esmond was for having him march thither, escorted by a couple of troopsof Horse Guards, and openly presenting himself to the Council. Duringthe whole of the night of the 29th-30th July, the Colonel was engagedwith gentlemen of the military profession, whom 'tis needless here toname; suffice it to say that several of them had exceeding high rank inthe army, and one of them in especial was a General, who, when he heardthe Duke of Marlborough was coming on the other side, waved his crutchover his head with a huzzah, at the idea that he should march out andengage him. Of the three Secretaries of State, we knew that one wasdevoted to us. The Governor of the Tower was ours; the two companieson duty at Kensington barrack were safe; and we had intelligence, veryspeedy and accurate, of all that took place at the Palace within.

  At noon, on the 30th of July, a message came to the Prince's friendsthat the Committee of Council was sitting at Kensington Palace, theirGraces of Ormonde and Shrewsbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury andthe three Secretaries of State, being there assembled. In an hourafterwards, hurried news was brought that the two great Whig Dukes,Argyle and Somerset, had broke into the Council-chamber without asummons, and taken their seat at table. After holding a debate there,the whole party proceeded to the chamber of the Queen, who was lying ingreat weakness, but still sensible, and the Lords recommended his Graceof Shrewsbury as the fittest person to take the vacant place of LordTreasurer; her Majesty gave him the staff, as all know. "And now," writmy messenger from Court, "NOW OR NEVER IS THE TIME."

  Now or never was the time indeed. In spite of the Whig Dukes, our sidehad still the majority in the Council, and Esmond, to whom the messagehad been brought, (the personage at Court not being aware that thePrince had quitted his lodging in Kensington Square,) and Esmond'sgallant young aide-de-camp, Frank Castlewood, putting on sword anduniform, took a brief leave of their dear lady, who embraced and blessedthem both, and went to her chamber to pray for the issue of the greatevent which was then pending.

  Castlewood sped to the barrack to give warning to the captain of theGuard there; and then went to the "King's Arms" tavern at Kensington,where our friends were assembled, having come by parties of twosand threes, riding or in coaches, and were got together in the upperchamber, fifty-three of them; their servants, who had been instructed tobring arms likewise, being below in the garden of the tavern, where theywere served with drink. Out of this garden is a little door that leadsinto the road of the Palace, and through this it was arranged thatmasters and servants were to march; when that signal was given, and thatPersonage appeared, for whom all were waiting. There was in our companythe famous officer next in command to the Captain-General of the Forces,his Grace the Duke of Ormonde, who was within at the Council. Therewere with him two more lieutenant-generals, nine major-generals andbrigadiers, seven colonels, eleven Peers of Parliament, and twenty-onemembers of the House of Commons. The Guard was with us within andwithout the Palace: the Queen was with us; the Council (save the twoWhig Dukes, that must have succumbed); the day was our own, and with abeating heart Esmond walked rapidly to the Mall of Kensington, wherehe had parted with the Prince on the night before. For three nightsthe Colonel had not been to bed: the last had been passed summoning thePrince's friends together, of whom the great majority had no sort ofinkling of the transaction pending until they were told that he wasactually on the spot, and were summoned to strike the blow. The nightbefore and after the altercation with the Prince, my gentleman, havingsuspicions of his Royal Highness, and fearing lest he should be mindedto give us the slip, and fly off after his fugitive beauty, had spent,if the truth must be told, at the "Greyhound" tavern, over against myLady Castlewood's house in Kensington Square, with an eye on the door,lest the Prince should escape from it. The night before that he hadpassed in his boots at the "Crown" at Hounslow, where he must watchforsooth all night, in order to get one moment's glimpse of Beatrix inthe morning. And fate had decreed that he was to have a fourth night'sride and wakefulness before his business was ended.

  He ran to the curate's house in Kensington Mall, and asked for Mr.Bates, the name the Prince went by. The curate's wife said Mr. Bates hadgone abroad very early in the morning in his boots, saying he was goingto the Bishop of Rochester's house at Chelsey. But the Bishop had beenat Kensington himself two hours ago to seek for Mr. Bates, and hadreturned in his coach to his own house, when he heard that the gentlemanwas gone thither to seek him.

  This absence was most unpropitious, for an hour's delay might cost akingdom; Esmond had nothing for it but to hasten to the "King's Arms,"and tell the gentlemen there assembled that Mr. George (as we called thePrince there) was not at home, but that Esmond would go fetch him; andtaking a General's coach that happened to be there, Esmond drove acrossthe country to Chelsey, to the Bishop's house there.

  The porter said two gentlemen were with his lordship, and Esmond ranpast this sentry up to the locked door of the Bishop's study, at whichhe
rattled, and was admitted presently. Of the Bishop's guests one was abrother prelate, and the other the Abbe G----.

  "Where is Mr. George?" says Mr. Esmond; "now is the time." The Bishoplooked scared: "I went to his lodging," he said, "and they told me hewas come hither. I returned as quick as coach would carry me; and hehath not been here."

  The Colonel burst out with an oath; that was all he could say to theirreverences; ran down the stairs again, and bidding the coachman, an oldfriend and fellow-campaigner, drive as if he was charging the Frenchwith his master at Wynendael--they were back at Kensington in half anhour.

  Again Esmond went to the curate's house. Mr. Bates had not returned. TheColonel had to go with this blank errand to the gentlemen at the "King'sArms," that were grown very impatient by this time.

  Out of the window of the tavern, and looking over the garden wall, youcan see the green before Kensington Palace, the Palace gate (round whichthe Ministers' coaches were standing), and the barrack building. Aswe were looking out from this window in gloomy discourse, we heardpresently trumpets blowing, and some of us ran to the window of thefront-room, looking into the High Street of Kensington, and saw aregiment of Horse coming.

  "It's Ormonde's Guards," says one.

  "No, by God, it's Argyle's old regiment!" says my General, clapping downhis crutch.

  It was, indeed, Argyle's regiment that was brought from Westminster,and that took the place of the regiment at Kensington on which we couldrely.

  "Oh, Harry!" says one of the generals there present, "you were bornunder an unlucky star; I begin to think that there's no Mr. George, norMr. Dragon either. 'Tis not the peerage I care for, for our name is soancient and famous, that merely to be called Lord Lydiard would do me nogood; but 'tis the chance you promised me of fighting Marlborough."

  As we were talking, Castlewood entered the room with a disturbed air.

  "What news, Frank?" says the Colonel. "Is Mr. George coming at last?"

  "Damn him, look here!" says Castlewood, holding out a paper. "I foundit in the book--the what you call it, 'Eikum Basilikum,'--that villainMartin put it there--he said his young mistress bade him. It wasdirected to me, but it was meant for him I know, and I broke the sealand read it."

  The whole assembly of officers seemed to swim away before Esmond's eyesas he read the paper; all that was written on it was:--"Beatrix Esmondis sent away to prison, to Castlewood, where she will pray for happierdays."

  "Can you guess where he is?" says Castlewood.

  "Yes," says Colonel Esmond. He knew full well, Frank knew full well: ourinstinct told whither that traitor had fled.

  He had courage to turn to the company and say, "Gentlemen, I fearvery much that Mr. George will not be here to-day; something hathhappened--and--and--I very much fear some accident may befall him, whichmust keep him out of the way. Having had your noon's draught, you hadbest pay the reckoning and go home; there can be no game where there isno one to play it."

  Some of the gentlemen went away without a word, others called to paytheir duty to her Majesty and ask for her health. The little armydisappeared into the darkness out of which it had been called; there hadbeen no writings, no paper to implicate any man. Some few officers andMembers of Parliament had been invited over night to breakfast at the"King's Arms," at Kensington; and they had called for their bill andgone home.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  AUGUST 1ST, 1714.

  "Does my mistress know of this?" Esmond asked of Frank, as they walkedalong.

  "My mother found the letter in the book, on the toilet-table. She hadwrit it ere she had left home," Frank said. "Mother met her on thestairs, with her hand upon the door, trying to enter, and never left herafter that till she went away. He did not think of looking at it there,nor had Martin the chance of telling him. I believe the poor devil meantno harm, though I half killed him; he thought 'twas to Beatrix's brotherhe was bringing the letter."

  Frank never said a word of reproach to me for having brought the villainamongst us. As we knocked at the door I said, "When will the horses beready?" Frank pointed with his cane, they were turning the street thatmoment.

  We went up and bade adieu to our mistress; she was in a dreadful stateof agitation by this time, and that Bishop was with her whose companyshe was so fond of.

  "Did you tell him, my lord," says Esmond, "that Beatrix was atCastlewood?" The Bishop blushed and stammered: "Well," says he,"I . . ."

  "You served the villain right," broke out Mr. Esmond, "and he has lost acrown by what you told him."

  My mistress turned quite white, "Henry, Henry," says she, "do not killhim."

  "It may not be too late," says Esmond; "he may not have gone toCastlewood; pray God, it is not too late." The Bishop was breakingout with some banale phrases about loyalty, and the sacredness of theSovereign's person; but Esmond sternly bade him hold his tongue, burnall papers, and take care of Lady Castlewood; and in five minutes heand Frank were in the saddle, John Lockwood behind them, riding towardsCastlewood at a rapid pace.

  We were just got to Alton, when who should meet us but old Lockwood, theporter from Castlewood, John's father, walking by the side of the Hextonflying-coach, who slept the night at Alton. Lockwood said his youngmistress had arrived at home on Wednesday night, and this morning,Friday, had despatched him with a packet for my lady at Kensington,saying the letter was of great importance.

  We took the freedom to break it, while Lockwood stared with wonder,and cried out his "Lord bless me's," and "Who'd a thought it's," at thesight of his young lord, whom he had not seen these seven years.

  The packet from Beatrix contained no news of importance at all. It waswritten in a jocular strain, affecting to make light of her captivity.She asked whether she might have leave to visit Mrs. Tusher, or to walkbeyond the court and the garden wall. She gave news of the peacocks,and a fawn she had there. She bade her mother send her certain gownsand smocks by old Lockwood; she sent her duty to a certain Person, ifcertain other persons permitted her to take such a freedom; how that,as she was not able to play cards with him, she hoped he would read goodbooks, such as Doctor Atterbury's sermons and "Eikon Basilike:" she wasgoing to read good books; she thought her pretty mamma would like toknow she was not crying her eyes out.

  "Who is in the house besides you, Lockwood?" says the Colonel.

  "There be the laundry-maid, and the kitchen-maid, Madam Beatrix's maid,the man from London, and that be all; and he sleepeth in my lodge awayfrom the maids," says old Lockwood.

  Esmond scribbled a line with a pencil on the note, giving it to the oldman, and bidding him go on to his lady. We knew why Beatrix had beenso dutiful on a sudden, and why she spoke of "Eikon Basilike." She writthis letter to put the Prince on the scent, and the porter out of theway.

  "We have a fine moonlight night for riding on," says Esmond; "Frank, wemay reach Castlewood in time yet." All the way along they made inquiriesat the post-houses, when a tall young gentleman in a gray suit, with alight brown periwig, just the color of my lord's, had been seen to pass.He had set off at six that morning, and we at three in the afternoon. Herode almost as quickly as we had done; he was seven hours a-head of usstill when we reached the last stage.

  We rode over Castlewood Downs before the breaking of dawn. We passed thevery spot where the car was upset fourteen years since, and Mohun lay.The village was not up yet, nor the forge lighted, as we rode throughit, passing by the elms, where the rooks were still roosting, and bythe church, and over the bridge. We got off our horses at the bridge andwalked up to the gate.

  "If she is safe," says Frank, trembling, and his honest eyes fillingwith tears, "a silver statue to Our Lady!" He was going to rattle atthe great iron knocker on the oak gate; but Esmond stopped his kinsman'shand. He had his own fears, his own hopes, his own despairs and griefs,too; but he spoke not a word of these to his companion, or showed anysigns of emotion.

  He went and tapped at the little window at the porter's lodge, gently,but repeatedly, until the man came to the bars.


  "Who's there?" says he, looking out; it was the servant from Kensington.

  "My Lord Castlewood and Colonel Esmond," we said, from below. "Open thegate and let us in without any noise."

  "My Lord Castlewood?" says the other; "my lord's here, and in bed."

  "Open, d--n you," says Castlewood, with a curse.

  "I shall open to no one," says the man, shutting the glass window asFrank drew a pistol. He would have fired at the porter, but Esmond againheld his hand.

  "There are more ways than one," says he, "of entering such a great houseas this." Frank grumbled that the west gate was half a mile round. "ButI know of a way that's not a hundred yards off," says Mr. Esmond; andleading his kinsman close along the wall, and by the shrubs which hadnow grown thick on what had been an old moat about the house, they cameto the buttress, at the side of which the little window was, which wasFather Holt's private door. Esmond climbed up to this easily, broke apane that had been mended, and touched the spring inside, and the twogentlemen passed in that way, treading as lightly as they could; and sogoing through the passage into the court, over which the dawn was nowreddening, and where the fountain plashed in the silence.

  They sped instantly to the porter's lodge, where the fellow had notfastened his door that led into the court; and pistol in hand cameupon the terrified wretch, and bade him be silent. Then they askedhim (Esmond's head reeled, and he almost fell as he spoke) when LordCastlewood had arrived? He said on the previous evening, about eight ofthe clock.--"And what then?"--His lordship supped with his sister.--"Didthe man wait?" Yes, he and my lady's maid both waited: the otherservants made the supper; and there was no wine, and they could givehis lordship but milk, at which he grumbled; and--and Madam Beatrix keptMiss Lucy always in the room with her. And there being a bed acrossthe court in the Chaplain's room, she had arranged my lord was to sleepthere. Madam Beatrix had come down stairs laughing with the maids, andhad locked herself in, and my lord had stood for a while talking to herthrough the door, and she laughing at him. And then he paced the courtawhile, and she came again to the upper window; and my lord implored herto come down and walk in the room; but she would not, and laughed at himagain, and shut the window; and so my lord, uttering what seemed curses,but in a foreign language, went to the Chaplain's room to bed.

  "Was this all!"--"All," the man swore upon his honor; all as he hopedto be saved.--"Stop, there was one thing more. My lord, on arriving, andonce or twice during supper, did kiss his sister, as was natural, andshe kissed him." At this Esmond ground his teeth with rage, and wellnighthrottled the amazed miscreant who was speaking, whereas Castlewood,seizing hold of his cousin's hand, burst into a great fit of laughter.

  "If it amuses thee," says Esmond in French, "that your sister should beexchanging of kisses with a stranger, I fear poor Beatrix will give theeplenty of sport."--Esmond darkly thought, how Hamilton, Ashburnham, hadbefore been masters of those roses that the young Prince's lips were nowfeeding on. He sickened at that notion. Her cheek was desecrated, herbeauty tarnished; shame and honor stood between it and him. The lovewas dead within him; had she a crown to bring him with her love, he feltthat both would degrade him.

  But this wrath against Beatrix did not lessen the angry feelings of theColonel against the man who had been the occasion if not the cause ofthe evil. Frank sat down on a stone bench in the court-yard, and fairlyfell asleep, while Esmond paced up and down the court, debating whatshould ensue. What mattered how much or how little had passed betweenthe Prince and the poor faithless girl? They were arrived in timeperhaps to rescue her person, but not her mind; had she not instigatedthe young Prince to come to her; suborned servants, dismissed others,so that she might communicate with him? The treacherous heart within herhad surrendered, though the place was safe; and it was to win this thathe had given a life's struggle and devotion; this, that she was ready togive away for the bribe of a coronet or a wink of the Prince's eye.

  When he had thought his thoughts out he shook up poor Frank from hissleep, who rose yawning, and said he had been dreaming of Clotilda."You must back me," says Esmond, "in what I am going to do. I have beenthinking that yonder scoundrel may have been instructed to tell thatstory, and that the whole of it may be a lie; if it be, we shall find itout from the gentleman who is asleep yonder. See if the door leading tomy lady's rooms," (so we called the rooms at the north-west angle of thehouse,) "see if the door is barred as he saith." We tried; it was indeedas the lackey had said, closed within.

  "It may have been opened and shut afterwards," says poor Esmond; "thefoundress of our family let our ancestor in in that way."

  "What will you do, Harry, if--if what that fellow saith should turn outuntrue?" The young man looked scared and frightened into his kinsman'sface; I dare say it wore no very pleasant expression.

  "Let us first go see whether the two stories agree," says Esmond; andwent in at the passage and opened the door into what had been his ownchamber now for wellnigh five-and-twenty years. A candle was stillburning, and the Prince asleep dressed on the bed--Esmond did not carefor making a noise. The Prince started up in his bed, seeing two menin his chamber. "Qui est la" says he, and took a pistol from under hispillow.

  "It is the Marquis of Esmond," says the Colonel, "come to welcome hisMajesty to his house of Castlewood, and to report of what hath happenedin London. Pursuant to the King's orders, I passed the night beforelast, after leaving his Majesty, in waiting upon the friends of theKing. It is a pity that his Majesty's desire to see the country and tovisit our poor house should have caused the King to quit London withoutnotice yesterday, when the opportunity happened which in all humanprobability may not occur again; and had the King not chosen to ride toCastlewood, the Prince of Wales might have slept at St. James's."

  "'Sdeath! gentlemen," says the Prince, starting off his bed, whereon hewas lying in his clothes, "the Doctor was with me yesterday morning, andafter watching by my sister all night, told me I might not hope to seethe Queen."

  "It would have been otherwise," says Esmond with another bow; "as, bythis time, the Queen may be dead in spite of the Doctor. The Councilwas met, a new Treasurer was appointed, the troops were devoted to theKing's cause; and fifty loyal gentlemen of the greatest names of thiskingdom were assembled to accompany the Prince of Wales, who might havebeen the acknowledged heir of the throne, or the possessor of it by thistime, had your Majesty not chosen to take the air. We were ready; therewas only one person that failed us, your Majesty's gracious--"

  "Morbleu, Monsieur, you give me too much Majesty," said the Prince, whohad now risen up and seemed to be looking to one of us to help him tohis coat. But neither stirred.

  "We shall take care," says Esmond, "not much oftener to offend in thatparticular."

  "What mean you, my lord?" says the Prince, and muttered something abouta guet-a-pens, which Esmond caught up.

  "The snare, Sir," said he, "was not of our laying; it is not we thatinvited you. We came to avenge, and not to compass, the dishonor of ourfamily."

  "Dishonor! Morbleu, there has been no dishonor," says the Prince,turning scarlet, "only a little harmless playing."

  "That was meant to end seriously."

  "I swear," the Prince broke out impetuously, "upon the honor of agentleman, my lords--"

  "That we arrived in time. No wrong hath been done, Frank," says ColonelEsmond, turning round to young Castlewood, who stood at the door as thetalk was going on. "See! here is a paper whereon his Majesty has deignedto commence some verses in honor, or dishonor, of Beatrix. Here is'Madame' and 'Flamme,' 'Cruelle' and 'Rebelle,' and 'Amour' and 'Jour'in the Royal writing and spelling. Had the Gracious lover been happy,he had not passed his time in sighing." In fact, and actually as he wasspeaking, Esmond cast his eyes down towards the table, and saw a paperon which my young Prince had been scrawling a madrigal, that was tofinish his charmer on the morrow.

  "Sir," says the Prince, burning with rage (he had assumed his Royal coatunassisted by this time), "did I come here to re
ceive insults?"

  "To confer them, may it please your Majesty," says the Colonel, with avery low bow, "and the gentlemen of our family are come to thank you."

  "Malediction!" says the young man, tears starting into his eyes withhelpless rage and mortification. "What will you with me, gentlemen?"

  "If your Majesty will please to enter the next apartment," says Esmond,preserving his grave tone, "I have some papers there which I wouldgladly submit to you, and by your permission I will lead the way;"and, taking the taper up, and backing before the Prince with very greatceremony, Mr. Esmond passed into the little Chaplain's room, throughwhich we had just entered into the house:--"Please to set a chair forhis Majesty, Frank," says the Colonel to his companion, who wonderedalmost as much at this scene, and was as much puzzled by it, as theother actor in it. Then going to the crypt over the mantel-piece, theColonel opened it, and drew thence the papers which so long had lainthere.

  "Here, may it please your Majesty," says he, "is the Patent of Marquissent over by your Royal Father at St. Germains to Viscount Castlewood,my father: here is the witnessed certificate of my father's marriageto my mother, and of my birth and christening; I was christened of thatreligion of which your sainted sire gave all through life so shiningexample. These are my titles, dear Frank, and this what I do with them:here go Baptism and Marriage, and here the Marquisate and the AugustSign-Manual, with which your predecessor was pleased to honor our race."And as Esmond spoke he set the papers burning in the brazier. "You willplease, sir, to remember," he continued, "that our family hath ruineditself by fidelity to yours: that my grandfather spent his estate, andgave his blood and his son to die for your service; that my dear lord'sgrandfather (for lord you are now, Frank, by right and title too) diedfor the same cause; that my poor kinswoman, my father's second wife,after giving away her honor to your wicked perjured race, sent all herwealth to the King; and got in return, that precious title that lies inashes, and this inestimable yard of blue ribbon. I lay this at your feetand stamp upon it: I draw this sword, and break it and deny you; and,had you completed the wrong you designed us, by heaven I would havedriven it through your heart, and no more pardoned you than your fatherpardoned Monmouth. Frank will do the same, won't you, cousin?"

  Frank, who had been looking on with a stupid air at the papers, as theyflamed in the old brazier, took out his sword and broke it, holding hishead down:--"I go with my cousin," says he, giving Esmond a grasp ofthe hand. "Marquis or not, by ---, I stand by him any day. I beg yourMajesty's pardon for swearing; that is--that is--I'm for the Elector ofHanover. It's all your Majesty's own fault. The Queen's dead most likelyby this time. And you might have been King if you hadn't come danglingafter Trix."

  "Thus to lose a crown," says the young Prince, starting up, and speakingFrench in his eager way; "to lose the loveliest woman in the world; tolose the loyalty of such hearts as yours, is not this, my lords, enoughof humiliation?--Marquis, if I go on my knees will you pardon me?--No,I can't do that, but I can offer you reparation, that of honor, thatof gentlemen. Favor me by crossing the sword with mine: yours isbroke--see, yonder in the armoire are two;" and the Prince took them outas eager as a boy, and held them towards Esmond:--"Ah! you will? Merci,monsieur, merci!"

  Extremely touched by this immense mark of condescension and repentancefor wrong done, Colonel Esmond bowed down so low as almost to kiss thegracious young hand that conferred on him such an honor, and took hisguard in silence. The swords were no sooner met, than Castlewood knockedup Esmond's with the blade of his own, which he had broke off short atthe shell; and the Colonel falling back a step dropped his point withanother very low bow, and declared himself perfectly satisfied.

  "Eh bien, Vicomte!" says the young Prince, who was a boy, and a Frenchboy, "il ne nous reste qu'une chose a faire:" he placed his sword uponthe table, and the fingers of his two hands upon his breast:--"We haveone more thing to do," says he; "you do not divine it?" He stretched outhis arms:--"Embrassons nous!"

  The talk was scarce over when Beatrix entered the room:--What came sheto seek there? She started and turned pale at the sight of herbrother and kinsman, drawn swords, broken sword-blades, and papers yetsmouldering in the brazier.

  "Charming Beatrix," says the Prince, with a blush which became him verywell, "these lords have come a-horseback from London, where my sisterlies in a despaired state, and where her successor makes himselfdesired. Pardon me for my escapade of last evening. I had been so long aprisoner, that I seized the occasion of a promenade on horseback, and myhorse naturally bore me towards you. I found you a Queen in your littlecourt, where you deigned to entertain me. Present my homages to yourmaids of honor. I sighed as you slept, under the window of your chamber,and then retired to seek rest in my own. It was there that thesegentlemen agreeably roused me. Yes, milords, for that is a happy daythat makes a Prince acquainted, at whatever cost to his vanity, withsuch a noble heart as that of the Marquis of Esmond. Mademoiselle,may we take your coach to town? I saw it in the hangar, and this poorMarquis must be dropping with sleep."

  "Will it please the King to breakfast before he goes?" was all Beatrixcould say. The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; her eyes wereglaring; she looked quite old. She came up to Esmond and hissed out aword or two:--"If I did not love you before, cousin," says she, "thinkhow I love you now." If words could stab, no doubt she would have killedEsmond; she looked at him as if she could.

  But her keen words gave no wound to Mr. Esmond; his heart was too hard.As he looked at her, he wondered that he could ever have loved her.His love of ten years was over; it fell down dead on the spot, atthe Kensington Tavern, where Frank brought him the note out of "EikonBasilike." The Prince blushed and bowed low, as she gazed at him, andquitted the chamber. I have never seen her from that day.

  Horses were fetched and put to the chariot presently. My lord rodeoutside, and as for Esmond he was so tired that he was no sooner in thecarriage than he fell asleep, and never woke till night, as the coachcame into Alton.

  As we drove to the "Bell" Inn comes a mitred coach with our old friendLockwood beside the coachman. My Lady Castlewood and the Bishop wereinside; she gave a little scream when she saw us. The two coachesentered the inn almost together; the landlord and people coming out withlights to welcome the visitors.

  We in our coach sprang out of it, as soon as ever we saw the dear lady,and above all, the Doctor in his cassock. What was the news? Was thereyet time? Was the Queen alive? These questions were put hurriedly, asBoniface stood waiting before his noble guests to bow them up the stair.

  "Is she safe?" was what Lady Castlewood whispered in a flutter toEsmond.

  "All's well, thank God," says he, as the fond lady took his handand kissed it, and called him her preserver and her dear. SHE wasn'tthinking of Queens and crowns.

  The Bishop's news was reassuring: at least all was not lost; the Queenyet breathed, or was alive when they left London, six hours since. ("Itwas Lady Castlewood who insisted on coming," the Doctor said.) Argylehad marched up regiments from Portsmouth, and sent abroad for more; theWhigs were on the alert, a pest on them, (I am not sure but the Bishopswore as he spoke,) and so too were our people. And all might be saved,if only the Prince could be at London in time. We called for horses,instantly to return to London. We never went up poor crestfallenBoniface's stairs, but into our coaches again. The Prince and his PrimeMinister in one, Esmond in the other, with only his dear mistress as acompanion.

  Castlewood galloped forwards on horseback to gather the Prince's friendsand warn them of his coming. We travelled through the night. Esmonddiscoursing to his mistress of the events of the last twenty-four hours;of Castlewood's ride and his; of the Prince's generous behavior andtheir reconciliation. The night seemed short enough; and the starlithours passed away serenely in that fond company.

  So we came along the road; the Bishop's coach heading ours; and, withsome delays in procuring horses, we got to Hammersmith about fouro'clock on Sunday morning, the first of August, and half an hou
r after,it being then bright day, we rode by my Lady Warwick's house, and sodown the street of Kensington.

  Early as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street and many peoplemoving to and fro. Round the gate leading to the Palace, where theguard is, there was especially a great crowd. And the coach ahead of usstopped, and the Bishop's man got down to know what the concourse meant?

  There presently came from out of the gate--Horse Guards with theirtrumpets, and a company of heralds with their tabards. The trumpetsblew, and the herald-at-arms came forward and proclaimed GEORGE, by theGrace of God, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender ofthe Faith. And the people shouted God save the King!

  Among the crowd shouting and waving their hats, I caught sight of onesad face, which I had known all my life, and seen under many disguises.It was no other than poor Mr. Holt's, who had slipped over to Englandto witness the triumph of the good cause; and now beheld its enemiesvictorious, amidst the acclamations of the English people. The poorfellow had forgot to huzzah or to take his hat off, until his neighborsin the crowd remarked his want of loyalty, and cursed him for a Jesuitin disguise, when he ruefully uncovered and began to cheer. Sure hewas the most unlucky of men: he never played a game but he lost it; orengaged in a conspiracy but 'twas certain to end in defeat. I saw him inFlanders after this, whence he went to Rome to the head-quarters of hisOrder; and actually reappeared among us in America, very old, andbusy, and hopeful. I am not sure that he did not assume the hatchet andmoccasins there; and, attired in a blanket and war-paint, skulk abouta missionary amongst the Indians. He lies buried in our neighboringprovince of Maryland now, with a cross over him, and a mound of earthabove him; under which that unquiet spirit is for ever at peace.

  With the sound of King George's trumpets, all the vain hopes of the weakand foolish young Pretender were blown away; and with that music, too, Imay say, the drama of my own life was ended. That happiness, which hathsubsequently crowned it, cannot be written in words; 'tis of its naturesacred and secret, and not to be spoken of, though the heart be ever sofull of thankfulness, save to Heaven and the One Ear alone--to one fondbeing, the truest and tenderest and purest wife ever man was blessedwith. As I think of the immense happiness which was in store for me, andof the depth and intensity of that love which, for so many years, hathblessed me, I own to a transport of wonder and gratitude for such aboon--nay, am thankful to have been endowed with a heart capable offeeling and knowing the immense beauty and value of the gift which Godhath bestowed upon me. Sure, love vincit omnia; is immeasurably aboveall ambition, more precious than wealth, more noble than name. He knowsnot life who knows not that: he hath not felt the highest faculty ofthe soul who hath not enjoyed it. In the name of my wife I write thecompletion of hope, and the summit of happiness. To have such a love isthe one blessing, in comparison of which all earthly joy is of no value;and to think of her, is to praise God.

  It was at Bruxelles, whither we retreated after the failure of ourplot--our Whig friends advising us to keep out of the way--that thegreat joy of my life was bestowed upon me, and that my dear mistressbecame my wife. We had been so accustomed to an extreme intimacy andconfidence, and had lived so long and tenderly together, that wemight have gone on to the end without thinking of a closer tie; butcircumstances brought about that event which so prodigiously multipliedmy happiness and hers (for which I humbly thank Heaven), although acalamity befell us, which, I blush to think, hath occurred more thanonce in our house. I know not what infatuation of ambition urged thebeautiful and wayward woman, whose name hath occupied so many of thesepages, and who was served by me with ten years of such constant fidelityand passion; but ever after that day at Castlewood, when we rescued her,she persisted in holding all her family as her enemies, and left us, andescaped to France, to what a fate I disdain to tell. Nor was her son'shouse a home for my dear mistress; my poor Frank was weak, as perhapsall our race hath been, and led by women. Those around him wereimperious, and in a terror of his mother's influence over him, lesthe should recant, and deny the creed which he had adopted by theirpersuasion. The difference of their religion separated the son and themother: my dearest mistress felt that she was severed from her childrenand alone in the world--alone but for one constant servant on whosefidelity, praised be Heaven, she could count. 'Twas after a scene ofignoble quarrel on the part of Frank's wife and mother (for the poor ladhad been made to marry the whole of that German family with whom he hadconnected himself), that I found my mistress one day in tears, and thenbesought her to confide herself to the care and devotion of one who,by God's help, would never forsake her. And then the tender matron, asbeautiful in her Autumn, and as pure as virgins in their spring, withblushes of love and "eyes of meek surrender," yielded to my respectfulimportunity, and consented to share my home. Let the last words I writethank her, and bless her who hath blessed it.

  By the kindness of Mr. Addison, all danger of prosecution, and everyobstacle against our return to England, was removed; and my son Frank'sgallantry in Scotland made his peace with the King's government. But wetwo cared no longer to live in England: and Frank formally and joyfullyyielded over to us the possession of that estate which we now occupy,far away from Europe and its troubles, on the beautiful banks of thePotomac, where we have built a new Castlewood, and think with gratefulhearts of our old home. In our Transatlantic country we have a season,the calmest and most delightful of the year, which we call the Indiansummer: I often say the autumn of our life resembles that happy andserene weather, and am thankful for its rest and its sweet sunshine.Heaven hath blessed us with a child, which each parent loves for herresemblance to the other. Our diamonds are turned into ploughs and axesfor our plantations; and into negroes, the happiest and merriest, Ithink, in all this country: and the only jewel by which my wife setsany store, and from which she hath never parted, is that gold button shetook from my arm on the day when she visited me in prison, and which shewore ever after, as she told me, on the tenderest heart in the world.