During the composition of these papers, more messengers than one came from the Palace regarding the state of the august patient there lying.  At mid-day she was somewhat better; at evening the torpor again seized her, and she wandered in her mind.  At night Dr. A——­ was with us again, with a report rather more favorable:  no instant danger at any rate was apprehended.  In the course of the last two years her Majesty had had many attacks similar, but more severe.

By this time we had finished a half-dozen of Proclamations, (the wording of them so as to offend no parties, and not to give umbrage to Whigs or Dissenters, required very great caution,) and the young Prince, who had indeed shown, during a long day’s labor, both alacrity at seizing the information given him, and ingenuity and skill in turning the phrases which were to go out signed by his name, here exhibited a good-humor and thoughtfulness that ought to be set down to his credit.

“Were these papers to be mislaid,” says he, “or our scheme to come to mishap, my Lord Esmond’s writing would bring him to a place where I heartily hope never to see him; and so, by your leave, I will copy the papers myself, though I am not very strong in spelling; and if they are found they will implicate none but the person they most concern;” and so, having carefully copied the Proclamations out, the Prince burned those in Colonel Esmond’s handwriting:  “And now, and now, gentlemen,” says he, “let us go to supper, and drink a glass with the ladies.  My Lord Esmond, you will sup with us to-night; you have given us of late too little of your company.”

The Prince’s meals were commonly served in the chamber which had been Beatrix’s bedroom, adjoining that in which he slept.  And the dutiful practice of his entertainers was to wait until their Royal guest bade them take their places at table before they sat down to partake of the meal.  On this night, as you may suppose, only Frank Castlewood and his mother were in waiting when the supper was announced to receive the Prince; who had passed the whole of the day in his own apartment, with the Bishop as his Minister of State, and Colonel Esmond officiating as Secretary of his Council.

The Prince’s countenance wore an expression by no means pleasant; when looking towards the little company assembled, and waiting for him, he did not see Beatrix’s bright face there as usual to greet him.  He asked Lady Esmond for his fair introducer of yesterday:  her ladyship only cast her eyes down, and said quietly, Beatrix could not be of the supper that night; nor did she show the least sign of confusion, whereas Castlewood turned red, and Esmond was no less embarrassed.  I think women have an instinct of dissimulation; they know by nature how to disguise their emotions far better than the most consummate male courtiers can do.  Is not the better part of the life of many of them spent in hiding their feelings, in cajoling their tyrants, in masking over with fond smiles and artful gayety, their doubt, or their grief, or their terror?