But Captain Westbury would open it, still with a smile on his face, which, when the box was opened, turned into a fair burst of laughter.  It contained—­not papers regarding the conspiracy—­but my lady’s wigs, washes, and rouge-pots, and Victoire said men were monsters, as the Captain went on with his perquisition.  He tapped the back to see whether or no it was hollow, and as he thrust his hands into the cupboard, my lady from her bed called out, with a voice that did not sound like that of a very sick woman, “Is it your commission to insult ladies as well as to arrest gentlemen, Captain?”

“These articles are only dangerous when worn by your ladyship,” the Captain said, with a low bow, and a mock grin of politeness.  “I have found nothing which concerns the Government as yet—­only the weapons with which beauty is authorized to kill,” says he, pointing to a wig with his sword-tip.  “We must now proceed to search the rest of the house.”

“You are not going to leave that wretch in the room with me,” cried my lady, pointing to the soldier.

“What can I do, madam?  Somebody you must have to smooth your pillow and bring your medicine—­permit me—­”

“Sir!” screamed out my lady.

“Madam, if you are too ill to leave the bed,” the Captain then said, rather sternly, “I must have in four of my men to lift you off in the sheet.  I must examine this bed, in a word; papers may be hidden in a bed as elsewhere; we know that very well and * * *.”

Here it was her ladyship’s turn to shriek, for the Captain, with his fist shaking the pillows and bolsters, at last came to “burn” as they say in the play of forfeits, and wrenching away one of the pillows, said, “Look! did not I tell you so?  Here is a pillow stuffed with paper.”

“Some villain has betrayed us,” cried out my lady, sitting up in the bed, showing herself full dressed under her night-rail.

“And now your ladyship can move, I am sure; permit me to give you my hand to rise.  You will have to travel for some distance, as far as Hexton Castle to-night.  Will you have your coach?  Your woman shall attend you if you like—­and the japan-box?”

“Sir! you don’t strike a man when he is down,” said my lady, with some dignity:  “can you not spare a woman?”

“Your ladyship must please to rise, and let me search the bed,” said the Captain; “there is no more time to lose in bandying talk.”

And, without more ado, the gaunt old woman got up.  Harry Esmond recollected to the end of his life that figure, with the brocade dress and the white night-rail, and the gold-clocked red stockings, and white red-heeled shoes, sitting up in the bed, and stepping down from it.  The trunks were ready packed for departure in her ante-room, and the horses ready harnessed in the stable:  about all which the Captain seemed to know, by information got from some quarter or other; and whence Esmond could make a pretty shrewd guess in after-times, when Dr. Tusher complained that King William’s government had basely treated him for services done in that cause.