er at Sidmouth, "in order,"
he told Owen, "that the Duchess may have the benefit of tepid
sea bathing, and our infant that of sea air, on the fine coast of
Devonshire, during the months of the year that are so odious in London."
In December the move was made. With the new year, the Duke remembered
another prophecy. In 1820, a fortune-teller had told him, two members
of the Royal Family would die. Who would they be? He speculated on
the various possibilities: The King, it was plain, could not live much
longer; and the Duchess of York had been attacked by a mortal disease.
Probably it would be the King and the Duchess of York; or perhaps the
King and the Duke of York; or the King and the Regent. He himself was
one of the healthiest men in England. "My brothers," he declared, "are
not so strong as I am; I have lived a regular life. I shall outlive them
all. The crown will come to me and my children." He went out for a
walk, and got his feet wet. On coming home, he neglected to change his
stockings. He caught cold, inflammation of the lungs set in, and on
January 22 he was a dying man. By a curious chance, young Dr. Stockmar
was staying in the house at the time; two years before, he had stood
by the death-bed of the Princess Charlotte; and now he was watching
the Duke of Kent in his agony. On Stockmar's advice, a will was hastily
prepared. The Duke's earthly possessions were of a negative character;
but it was important that the guardianship of the unwitting child,
whose fortunes were now so strangely changing, should be assured to
the Duchess. The Duke was just able to understand the document, and to
append his signature. Having inquired whether his writing was perfectly
clear, he became unconscious, and breathed his last on the following
morning! Six days later came the fulfilment of the second half of the
gipsy's prophecy. The long, unhappy, and inglorious life of George the
Third of England was ended.

II

Such was the confusion of affairs at Sidmouth, that the Duchess found
herself without the means of returning to London. Prince Leopold hurried
down, and himself conducted his sister and her family, by slow and
bitter stages, to Kensington. The widowed lady, in her voluminous
blacks, needed all her equanimity to support her. Her prospects were
more dubious than ever. She had L6000 a year of her own; but her
husband's debts loomed before her like a mountain. Soon she learnt that
the Duchess of Clarence was once more e