nd he died by the
hands of Mohun, and the other two cut-throats that were set on him. The
Queen's ambassador to Paris died, the loyal and devoted servant of the
House of Stuart, and a Royal Prince of Scotland himself, and carrying
the confidence, the repentance of Queen Anne along with his own open
devotion, and the good-will of millions in the country more, to the
Queen's exiled brother and sovereign.

That party to which Lord Mohun belonged had the benefit of his
service, and now were well rid of such a ruffian. He, and Meredith, and
Macartney, were the Duke of Marlborough's men; and the two colonels had
been broke but the year before for drinking perdition to the Tories. His
Grace was a Whig now and a Hanoverian, and as eager for war as Prince
Eugene himself. I say not that he was privy to Duke Hamilton's death, I
say that his party profited by it; and that three desperate and bloody
instruments were found to effect that murder.

As Esmond and the Dean walked away from Kensington discoursing of this
tragedy, and how fatal it was to the cause which they both had at heart,
the street-criers were already out with their broadsides, shouting
through the town the full, true, and horrible account of the death of
Lord Mohun and Duke Hamilton in a duel. A fellow had got to Kensington,
and was crying it in the square there at very early morning, when Mr.
Esmond happened to pass by. He drove the man from under Beatrix's very
window, whereof the casement had been set open. The sun was shining
though 'twas November: he had seen the market-carts rolling into London,
the guard relieved at the palace, the laborers trudging to their work in
the gardens between Kensington and the City--the wandering merchants
and hawkers filling the air with their cries. The world was going to its
business again, although dukes lay dead and ladies mourned for them; and
kings, very likely, lost their chances. So night and day pass away,
and to-morrow comes, and our place knows us not. Esmond thought of the
courier, now galloping on the North road to inform him, who was Earl of
Arran yesterday, that he was Duke of Hamilton to-day, and of a thousand
great schemes, hopes, ambitions, that were alive in the gallant heart,
beating a few hours since, and now in a little dust quiescent.

CHAPTER VII.

I VISIT CASTLEWOOD ONCE MORE.

Thus, for a third time, Beatrix's ambitious hopes were circumvented, and
she might well believe that a special malign