“Charming Beatrix,” says the Prince, with a blush which became him very well, “these lords have come a-horseback from London, where my sister lies in a despaired state, and where her successor makes himself desired.  Pardon me for my escapade of last evening.  I had been so long a prisoner, that I seized the occasion of a promenade on horseback, and my horse naturally bore me towards you.  I found you a Queen in your little court, where you deigned to entertain me.  Present my homages to your maids 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 these gentlemen agreeably roused me.  Yes, milords, for that is a happy day that makes a Prince acquainted, at whatever cost to his vanity, with such 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 poor Marquis must be dropping with sleep.”

“Will it please the King to breakfast before he goes?” was all Beatrix could say.  The roses had shuddered out of her cheeks; her eyes were glaring; she looked quite old.  She came up to Esmond and hissed out a word or two:—­“If I did not love you before, cousin,” says she, “think how I love you now.”  If words could stab, no doubt she would have killed Esmond; 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, at the Kensington Tavern, where Frank brought him the note out of “Eikon Basilike.”  The Prince blushed and bowed low, as she gazed at him, and quitted the chamber.  I have never seen her from that day.

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

As we drove to the “Bell” Inn comes a mitred coach with our old friend Lockwood beside the coachman.  My Lady Castlewood and the Bishop were inside; she gave a little scream when she saw us.  The two coaches entered the inn almost together; the landlord and people coming out with lights 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 there yet time?  Was the Queen alive?  These questions were put hurriedly, as Boniface stood waiting before his noble guests to bow them up the stair.

“Is she safe?” was what Lady Castlewood whispered in a flutter to Esmond.

“All’s well, thank God,” says he, as the fond lady took his hand and kissed it, and called him her preserver and her dear.  She wasn’t thinking of Queens and crowns.