found her obviously dying, while the doctors were plying her with wine.
She seized his hand and pressed it. "They have made me tipsy," she said.
After a little he left her, and was already in the next room when he
heard her call out in her loud voice: "Stocky! Stocky!" As he ran back
the death-rattle was in her throat. She tossed herself violently from
side to side; then suddenly drew up her legs, and it was over.

The Prince, after hours of watching, had left the room for a few
moments' rest; and Stockmar had now to tell him that his wife was dead.
At first he could not be made to realise what had happened. On their way
to her room he sank down on a chair while Stockmar knelt beside him: it
was all a dream; it was impossible. At last, by the bed, he, too, knelt
down and kissed the cold hands. Then rising and exclaiming, "Now I am
quite desolate. Promise me never to leave me," he threw himself into
Stockmar's arms.

II

The tragedy at Claremont was of a most upsetting kind. The royal
kaleidoscope had suddenly shifted, and nobody could tell how the new
pattern would arrange itself. The succession to the throne, which had
seemed so satisfactorily settled, now became a matter of urgent doubt.

George III was still living, an aged lunatic, at Windsor, completely
impervious to the impressions of the outer world. Of his seven sons, the
youngest was of more than middle age, and none had legitimate offspring.
The outlook, therefore, was ambiguous. It seemed highly improbable that
the Prince Regent, who had lately been obliged to abandon his stays, and
presented a preposterous figure of debauched obesity, could ever again,
even on the supposition that he divorced his wife and re-married, become
the father of a family. Besides the Duke of Kent, who must be noticed
separately, the other brothers, in order of seniority, were the Dukes of
York, Clarence, Cumberland, Sussex, and Cambridge; their situations and
prospects require a brief description. The Duke of York, whose escapades
in times past with Mrs. Clarke and the army had brought him into
trouble, now divided his life between London and a large, extravagantly
ordered and extremely uncomfortable country house where he occupied
himself with racing, whist, and improper stories. He was remarkable
among the princes for one reason: he was the only one of them--so we
are informed by a highly competent observer--who had the feelings of a
gentleman. He had been long married to the P