Oct. 23.—The king continues to mend, thank God! Saturday we hope to return to Windsor. Had not this composition fit seized me, societyless, and bookless, and viewless as I am, I know not how I could have whiled away my being; but my tragedy goes on, and fills up all vacancies.
Oct. 25.—Yesterday was so much the same, I have not marked it; not so to-day. The king was so much better that our Windsor journey at length took place, with permission of Sir George Baker, the only physician his majesty will admit. Miss Cambridge was with me to the last moment.
I have been hanging up a darling remembrance of my revered, incomparable Mrs. Delany. Her “Sacharissa” is now over my chimney. I could not at first bear it, but now I look at it, and call her back to my eye’s mind perpetually. This, like the tragedy I have set about, suits the turn of things in this habitation.
I had a sort of conference with his Majesty, or rather I was the object to whom he spoke, with a manner so uncommon, that a high fever alone could account for it, a rapidity, a hoarseness of voice, a volubility, an earnestness—a vehemence, rather—it startled me inexpressibly; yet with a graciousness exceeding even all I ever met with before—it was almost kindness!
Heaven—Heaven preserve him! The queen grows more and more uneasy. She alarms me sometimes for herself, at other times she has a sedateness that wonders me still more.
Sunday, Oct. 26-The king was prevailed upon not to go to chapel this morning. I met him in the passage from the queen’s room; he stopped me, and conversed upon his health near half-an-hour, still with that extreme quickness of Speech and manner that belongs to fever; and he hardly sleeps, he tells me, one minute all night; indeed, if he recovers not his rest, a most delirious fever seems to threaten him. He is all agitation, all emotion, yet all benevolence and goodness, even to a degree that makes it touching to hear him speak. He assures everybody of his health; he seems only fearful to give uneasiness to others, yet certainly he is better than last night. Nobody speaks of his illness, nor what they think of it.
Oct. 29.—The dear and good king again gains ground, and the queen becomes easier.
To-day Miss Planta told me she heard Mr. Fairly was confined at Sir R——— F———‘s, and therefore she would now lay any wager he was to marry Miss F———.[297]
In the evening I inquired what news of him of General Budé: he told me he was still confined at a friend’s house, but avoided naming where—probably from suggesting that, however little truth there may yet have been in the report, more may belong to it from this particular intercourse.