ng in hospital, and that almost carried him
away. Jack Lockwood said he talked in the wildest manner during his
delirium; that he called himself the Marquis of Esmond, and seizing one of
the surgeon's assistants who came to dress his wounds, swore that he was
Madam Beatrix, and that he would make her a duchess if she would but say
yes. He was passing the days in these crazy fancies, and _vana somnia_,
whilst the army was singing _Te Deum_ for the victory, and those famous
festivities were taking place at which our duke, now made a Prince of the
Empire, was entertained by the King of the Romans and his nobility. His
grace went home by Berlin and Hanover, and Esmond lost the festivities
which took place at those cities, and which his general shared in company
of the other general officers who travelled with our great captain. When
he could move it was by the Duke of Wirtemburg's city of Stuttgard that he
made his way homewards, revisiting Heidelberg again, whence he went to
Manheim, and hence had a tedious but easy water journey down the river of
Rhine, which he had thought a delightful and beautiful voyage indeed, but
that his heart was longing for home, and something far more beautiful and
delightful.

As bright and welcome as the eyes almost of his mistress shone the lights
of Harwich, as the packet came in from Holland. It was not many hours ere
he, Esmond, was in London, of that you may be sure, and received with open
arms by the old dowager of Chelsea, who vowed, in her jargon of French and
English, that he had the _air noble_, that his pallor embellished him,
that he was an Amadis and deserved a Gloriana; and, O flames and darts!
what was his joy at hearing that his mistress was come into waiting, and
was now with her Majesty at Kensington! Although Mr. Esmond had told Jack
Lockwood to get horses and they would ride for Winchester that night; when
he heard this news he countermanded the horses at once; his business lay
no longer in Hants; all his hope and desire lay within a couple of miles
of him in Kensington Park wall. Poor Harry had never looked in the glass
before so eagerly to see whether he had the _bel air_, and his paleness
really did become him; he never took such pains about the curl of his
periwig, and the taste of his embroidery and point-lace, as now, before
Mr. Amadis presented himself to Madam Gloriana. Was the fire of the French
lines half so murderous as the killing glances from her ladyship's eyes?