not squint? His eyes were fine, but there was certainly a cast in
them. She rallied him at table with wonderful wit; she spoke of him
invariably as of a mere boy; she was more fond of Esmond than ever,
praised him to her brother, praised him to the prince, when his royal
highness was pleased to sneer at the colonel, and warmly espoused his
cause: "And if your Majesty does not give him the Garter his father had,
when the Marquis of Esmond comes to your Majesty's Court, I will hang
myself in my own garters, or will cry my eyes out." "Rather than lose
those," says the prince, "he shall be made archbishop and colonel of the
Guard" (it was Frank Castlewood who told me of this conversation over
their supper).

"Yes," cries she, with one of her laughs,--(I fancy I hear it now; thirty
years afterwards I hear that delightful music)--"yes, he shall be
Archbishop of Esmond and Marquis of Canterbury."

"And what will your ladyship be?" says the prince; "you have but to choose
your place."

"I," says Beatrix, "will be mother of the maids to the queen of his
Majesty King James the Third--_Vive le Roy!_" and she made him a great
curtsy, and drank a part of a glass of wine in his honour.

"The prince seized hold of the glass and drank the last drop of it,"
Castlewood said, "and my mother, looking very anxious, rose up and asked
leave to retire. But that 'Trix is my mother's daughter, Harry," Frank
continued, "I don't know what a horrid fear I should have of her. I wish--I
wish this business were over. You are older than I am, and wiser, and
better, and I owe you everything, and would die for you--before George I
would; but I wish the end of this were come."

Neither of us very likely passed a tranquil night; horrible doubts and
torments racked Esmond's soul; 'twas a scheme of personal ambition, a
daring stroke for a selfish end--he knew it. What cared he, in his heart,
who was king? Were not his very sympathies and secret convictions on the
other side--on the side of People, Parliament, Freedom? And here was he,
engaged for a prince, that had scarce heard the word "liberty"; that
priests and women, tyrants by nature both, made a tool of. The misanthrope
was in no better humour after hearing that story, and his grim face more
black and yellow than ever.

Chapter X. We Entertain A Very Distinguished Guest At Kensington

Should any clue be found to the dark intrigues at the latter end of Queen
Anne's time, or any historian be