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. George 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 were
looking out from this window in gloomy discourse, we heard presently
trumpets blowing, and some of us ran to the window of the front room,
looking into the High Street of Kensington, and saw a regiment of horse
coming.

"It's Ormonde's Guards," says one.

"No, by God, it's Argyle's old regiment!" says my general, clapping down
his crutch.

It was, indeed, Argyle's regiment that was brought from Westminster, and
that took the place of the regiment at Kensington on which we could rely.

"Oh, Harry!" says one of the generals there present, "you were born under
an unlucky star; I begin to think that there's no Mr. George, nor Mr.
Dragon either. 'Tis not the peerage I care for, for our name is so ancient
and famous, that merely to be called Lord Lydiard would do me no good; but
'tis the chance you promised me of fighting Marlborough."

As we were talking, Castlewood entered the room with a disturbed air.

"What news, Frank?" says the colonel, "is Mr. George coming at last?"

"Damn him, look here!" says Castlewood, holding out a paper. "I found it
in the book--the what you call it, _Eikum Basilikum_,--that villain Martin
put it there--he said his young mistress bade him. It was directed to me,
but it was meant for him I know, and I broke the seal and read it."

The whole assembly of officers seemed