The James Malcolm Rymer Collection

A LATE VISIT.

The voice of the page was high and shrill—perhaps high and shrill enough even to meet the ears of the illustrious monarch who was approaching by the back stairs to the queen's cabinet. At all events, the accents of the highly-confidential Mr. Osborn were sufficiently distinct and alarming to produce general consternation. The usually pale placid face of Queen Caroline flushed with excitement, and as she started to her feet, in an attitude of acute alarm, she looked probably more intellectual and queen-like than she had ever done before. The gentlemen present, being men of the sword, naturally let their hands stray to the hilts of their weapons, and then, with that reliance upon the strength, the power, and the protection of those whom they loved, it was something pleasant and charming to see how Agnes Bellair laid her hand upon the shoulder of the Marquis of Charlton. The action of Bertha was a little different, for even in moments of excitement and alarm peculiar idiosyncrasies will, if we may use the expression, crop out and exhibit themselves in a natural language far transcending any art. For half a moment she clung to Captain Markham as if she would have said, "Here is my support, let what will betide.” Then fear for his safety sprang uppermost in her mind, for she could not but recollect that this king, thus roughly and rudely announced, had assiduously sought that life so dear to her. And so again came the notion of again standing between it and peril. She gently put Markham aside with one hand and stood before him. "If there be danger, let it reach you through me." That was the translation into language of the natural action. And all these separate movements took but a moment, since they occurred simultaneously. And then there was a death-like stillness, in the midst of which that hard artificial cough of the king was heard, as he paused to take breath in his progress. The sound struck at the heart of the queen like a tocsin. There was not another instant to lose. She dared not speak, but with a few expressive and affrighted gestures she pointed to the oratory, which had already served the purposes of concealment, as the only ready refuge for those who would avoid the king's presence. Captain Markham seemed to have more presence of mind than the young marquis. Perhaps the latter felt too much the thrill of the touch of Agnes' s hand upon his shoulders, for he cer tainly seemed at the moment to forget all the world in the long loving look he was taking into her eyes. Captain Markham grasped his arm, and he was roused then into instant action. There was a slight scuffle of feet and a rustle of drapery. The queen was alone, with the exception of Mr. Osborn the page, who stood up quietly and demurely close to the door leading to the back stairs. It was not possible, however, for Queen Caroline to get rid entirely and at once of the redundant colour on her face, and although she opened a book of devotion, and affected to be reading, her heart beat violently and painfully. Tap, tap, tap, Mr. Osborn opened the door. "His most gracious Majesty the king," announced Norris, the valet, in a low whining voice. "His Majesty the king," repeated the page, as he flung open the door to its full extent. The queen rose and placed herself in such a position that her face was in the shadow of the slender light in the cabinet. It was well that she did so, for the traces of recent emotions and of present alarm were but too manifest upon the countenance of her Majesty. And notwithstanding the dim light in which she stood, the naturally suspicious character and the naturally keen perceptions of the king, sharpened as they had been by a whole life of mistrust, would have enabled him to detect that something was amiss. He had not, however, the shadow of a reason for supposing that his fair and placid queen was in any way mixed up with the occurrences which were disturbing his royal serenity. Indeed, it was the king's habit so far to underrate the mental powers of the queen that she might have plotted and intrigued to her heart's content without his being one whit the wiser. He was one of those people who are never sharp until they are suspicious, and he was apt to be suspicious of the wrong people. His Majesty held a small walking cane in his hand, and he dealt Norris two or three ugly strokes with it as he stepped across the threshold of the queen's cabinet. Perhaps Mr. Osborn, the page, would have come in for a blow or two, but people like the monarch of whom we are writing, somehow or another, however petulant and full of evil passions and rage they may be, always know how to discriminate between those who will put up with actual violence and those who will not. Mr. Osborn therefore escaped untouched. Norris had a double share of attention from the walking cane. "Alone!" cried the king, in a half shrieking tone. The royal cabinet was closed. The page took up his position outside the door leading to the back stairs, and Norris, so soon as he got a sufficient distance from the royal presence to be perfectly sure that he was out of sight and hearing, went through a curious bit of pantomime for the, present relief of his outraged feelings. He pretended to be kicking somebody furiously, when in reality he only kicked tho empty air. Then he went in pantomime through tho action of seizing somebody by the threat and shaking him vio page took up his position outside the door lead-

the king's face as he uttered these words, "family affection," was a perfect picture. A picture at once grotesque and horrible.

He sat far back in the depths of an easy chair, and, crossing his thin legs one over the other, he waited for Frederick.

What was to be the issue of all this then queen had not the remotest idea, but she understood perfectly well that Frederck was to be admitted, and she gave, in a few words, the necessary order to the page.

There was a sharp quick footstep, and in another moment the prince and heir apparent to the throne appreared on the threshold of the private cabinet.

Frederick had not encountered his father since they had met at Whitehall, and of all persons else, he might, like Macbeth with Macduff, have avoided him.

The prince perfectly reeled in his effort to step back when he saw the king seated, with a grim smile upon his countenance, in that apartment.

But he had advanced rather too far for a precipitate retreat.

The page had closed the door respectfully and noiselessly behind him.

Then the king spoke.

"Frederick, these [dissamaions?] grieve us -- grieve us to our inmost heart."

The prince put his hand to his sword.

"Yes, they grieve us," added the king, "and if, like the prodigal son, you return to us this night, Frederick, why should we not --ugh! ugh! ugh!-- why should we not--"

The king glanced at the queen as though she were the fatted calf which was to be killed and eaten on the occassion of the blessed reconciliation between himself and his son.

But Frederick did not see things in the same light-- or rather he judged of things by many former lights-- [for?] he kept himself carefully on his guard, and every now and then turned completely round, like some one caught in a trap, or as though he expected some covert attack from behind him.

"And why not?" added the king, affecting to speak with emotion. "Why should there not be peace and concord amoung us, now that we are seated firmly on the throne of this kingdom?"

"I came," said Frederick, "to pay my humble duty to the queen."

"Delightful word!" ejaculated the king. "I like that word 'humble.' It betrays a contrite spirit."

"Sir!"

"Our son!"

"Sir!"

"Our Frederick, it would be too much for our feelings at [present?] But we will embrace you to-morrow."

Frederick glanced at the window, as though he would gladly have left the cabinet by that means, if it were possible.

"Yes, we will embrace you to-morrow. At present it would be too much for our royal feelings-- we mean our fatherly feelings-- and as the hour is late, and it would be far from wise to partake of any stimulating liquid, we will only [mangurate?] this happy reconciliation by a cup of coffee.

The strange look upon the king's face as he uttered the words "cup of coffee" would be quiet impossible to describe.

He seemed to have one eye upon the prince, while the other was fixed upon the ceiling above him, and the odd manner in which one corner of his mouth was drawn down to correspond with the eye which was upon the prince was intensely ludicrous.

"A cup of coffee?" ejaculated the queen, as if in doubt whether it could be procured.

"A cup of coffee?" said the rpince, as though he were diving into his mind to discover what amount of danger he was about to be subjected to."

"A cup of coffee," added the king. "We will have coffee. It is a rare and delicious beverage, and we are told is making its way rapidly among all the wits and philosophers of the age. Ugh! ugh! ugh! We will have a cup of coffee, each of us, to commemorate this happy reconciliation."