lewood's house in Kensington Square, with an eye on the door,
lest the Prince should escape from it. The night before that he had
passed in his boots at the "Crown" at Hounslow, where he must watch
forsooth all night, in order to get one moment's glimpse of Beatrix in
the morning. And fate had decreed that he was to have a fourth night's
ride 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 had
gone abroad very early in the morning in his boots, saying he was going
to the Bishop of Rochester's house at Chelsey. But the Bishop had been
at Kensington himself two hours ago to seek for Mr. Bates, and had
returned in his coach to his own house, when he heard that the gentleman
was gone thither to seek him.

This absence was most unpropitious, for an hour's delay might cost a
kingdom; 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 the
Prince there) was not at home, but that Esmond would go fetch him; and
taking a General's coach that happened to be there, Esmond drove across
the country to Chelsey, to the Bishop's house there.

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

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

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

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

Out of the window of the tavern, and looking over the garden wall, you
can see the green before Kensington Palace, the Palace gate (round which
the Ministers' coaches were standing), and the barrack building. As
we wer