On one other matter she was insistent.  Since the affair of Lady Flora Hastings, a sad fate had overtaken Sir James Clark.  His flourishing practice had quite collapsed; nobody would go to him any more.  But the Queen remained faithful.  She would show the world how little she cared for their disapproval, and she desired Albert to make “poor Clark” his physician in ordinary.  He did as he was told; but, as it turned out, the appointment was not a happy one.

The wedding-day was fixed, and it was time for Albert to tear himself away from his family and the scenes of his childhood.  With an aching heart, he had revisited his beloved haunts—­the woods and the valleys where he had spent so many happy hours shooting rabbits and collecting botanical specimens; in deep depression, he had sat through the farewell banquets in the Palace and listened to the Freischutz performed by the State band.  It was time to go.  The streets were packed as he drove through them; for a short space his eyes were gladdened by a sea of friendly German faces, and his ears by a gathering volume of good guttural sounds.  He stopped to bid a last adieu to his grandmother.  It was a heartrending moment.  “Albert!  Albert!” she shrieked, and fell fainting into the arms of her attendants as his carriage drove away.  He was whirled rapidly to his destiny.  At Calais a steamboat awaited him, and, together with his father and his brother, he stepped, dejected, on board.  A little later, he was more dejected still.  The crossing was a very rough one; the Duke went hurriedly below; while the two Princes, we are told, lay on either side of the cabin staircase “in an almost helpless state.”  At Dover a large crowd was collected on the pier, and “it was by no common effort that Prince Albert, who had continued to suffer up to the last moment, got up to bow to the people.”  His sense of duty triumphed.  It was a curious omen:  his whole life in England was foreshadowed as he landed on English ground.

Meanwhile Victoria, in growing agitation, was a prey to temper and to nerves.  She grew feverish, and at last Sir James Clark pronounced that she was going to have the measles.  But, once again, Sir James’s diagnosis was incorrect.  It was not the measles that were attacking her, but a very different malady; she was suddenly prostrated by alarm, regret, and doubt.  For two years she had been her own mistress—­the two happiest years, by far, of her life.  And now it was all to end!  She was to come under an alien domination—­she would have to promise that she would honour and obey... someone, who might, after all, thwart her, oppose her—­and how dreadful that would be!  Why had she embarked on this hazardous experiment?  Why had she not been contented with Lord M.?  No doubt, she loved Albert; but she loved power too.  At any rate, one thing was certain:  she might be Albert’s wife, but she would always be Queen of England.  He reappeared, in an exquisite uniform, and her hesitations melted in his presence like mist before the sun.  On February 10, 1840, the marriage took place.  The wedded pair drove down to Windsor; but they were not, of course, entirely alone.  They were accompanied by their suites, and, in particular, by two persons—­the Baron Stockmar and the Baroness Lehzen.