At length we arrived at the Castle. The Ministers went to attend a Cabinet Council. It looked more as if they had been engaged on some parish business than on the affairs of the world. I was left alone to promenade up and down a long corridor, lined with my predecessors in glory--knights-dummies in armour. I was getting tired of my monologues with these iron-jawed gentry, and beginning to feel some uncomfortable twinges from an inward monitor not always easily appeased after a country ride, when the young Duke of Brabant, the present King of the Belgians, came up to me and asked if I was Captain Lakeman from the Cape. He said that the Duke of Newcastle had told him of my presence; and he added, I would no doubt easily excuse his anxiety to know all about the Dutch colonists, in whom his father also took the warmest interest. I was relating to him, in as few words as possible, all I knew about the sturdy Dutchmen, with whom I also claimed a common descent, when a most solemn-looking personage came up and told me to follow him. After a warm shake-hands, which the young duke honoured me with, I followed the gentleman in black as gravely as though this had been my last farewell on earth. He led the way to a small side door, and opening it as a church-beadle opens a pew, beckoned me to enter. I bowed, and walked in. It was a small, oak-panelled room, in the middle of which stood a Lady surrounded by sedate-looking men. I felt as if a mistake had been made,--that I had got into the manorial enclosure instead of the strangers’ pew,--and was on the point of bowing myself out again, in the humblest way possible, as a proof of my unintentional intrusion, when the Lady mentioned smiled so kindly that I left off bowing and walked further on. There was no necessity to tell me now that I was in the presence of the Queen. _I felt that I was._ Whatever may be often thought nowadays of “such divinity as doth hedge monarchs,” I for my part was ready at once to acknowledge that fealty to England’s ruler which, hitherto, I had only offered to the dear country itself. After a few words had passed, a cushion was brought and laid before me, and then another, on which there was a heavy-looking sword. Some one behind me whispered that I was to kneel--an operation by no means agreeable to a man before company. This I somewhat awkwardly did, and so remained, with my face bent towards her Majesty’s feet, expecting every moment to feel the weight of the sword on my shoulder to indicate that the ceremony had begun, but nothing came. There was a dead silence. So I looked up and saw the Queen holding up the sword and directing an inquiring glance towards some one behind my back. Whoever that person was, he seemed to be a long time in answering. It was the Earl of Aberdeen. It was evident to me that her Majesty could not hold the sword over my head much longer. I asked what was wanted. “Your Christian name,” her Majesty said.