God and the king

CMCTZo-d^T-XV'

GOD AND THE KING

GOD AND THE
KING

BY

MARJORIE BOWEN

AUTHOR OF "l WILL MAINTAIN"

"LUCTOR ET EMERGO"

MOTTO OF ZEELAND

MD

•

•

NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY

31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
1912

Stack

600 ^

6t>n
IW

DEDICATED
VERY GRATEFULLY

TO

MAJOR-GENERAL F. DE BAS

CONTENTS

PART I

THE REVOLUTION

CHAP. PAGE

I. THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 3OTH, l688 ... 3

II. THE EVENING OF JUNE 3OTH, 1688 . . . -13

III. THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30TH, l688 . . . ' 25

IV. THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND . . . -33
V. THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE . . . . .40

VI. THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT . . . • 5°

VII. THE SILENT WOOD . . . . . -59

VIII. THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE . . . . .67

IX. FRANCE MOVES ....... 77

X. THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR . . . . .90

XI. THREE PAWNS ....... 99

XII. FRANCE MOVES AGAIN . . . . . . IO7

XIII. THE GREAT ENTERPRISE . . . . . 11$

XIV. STORMS ........ 126

XV. THE SECOND SAILING . . . . . .136

XVI. NEWS FROM ENGLAND ... .143

XVII. FAREWELL TO HOLLAND . .15°

XVIII. BY THE GRACE OF GOD ..... I$7

PART II

THE QUEEN

I. A DARK DAWNING . . . . . .165

II. THE KING AT BAY . . . . . .172

III. THE BEST OF LIFE .... .182

IV. THE SECRET ANGUISH . . ' . . . . 189

v. A WOMAN'S STRENGTH . . . . . • 197

CONTENTS vii

CHAF. PAGE

VI. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN ! ..... 2O?

VII. THE SHADOW . . . . . . .217

VIII. FEAR ........ 225

IX. CHRISTMAS EVE . . . . . . . 234

X. THE QUEEN ....... 239

XI. THE BITTER PARTING ...... 246

PART III
THE KING

I. VITA SINE AMORB MORS BST . . . . .259

II. THE KING IS NEEDED ...... 269

III. ATTAINMENT ....... 276

IV. A MAN'S STRENGTH ...... 287

V. A LEADER OF NATIONS. . . . . .297

VI. THE KING'S AGENT ...... 303

VII. THE BANK OF ENGLAND ..... 312

VIII. THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP ..... 319

IX. PEACE ........ 325

X. THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP ..... 333

XI. THE KING'S HUMILIATION ..... 339

XII. APATHY . . . . . . . -347

XIII. FRANCE CHALLENGES ...... 354

XIV. THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD .... 362
XV. THE EVE OF WAR ...... 366

XVI. GOD AND THE KING . . . . . . 37?

PART I
THE REVOLUTION

" Un prince profond dans ses vues ; habile a former des ligues et a reunir les
esprits ; plus heureux a exciter les guerres qu'a. combattre ; plus a craindre
encore dans le secret du cabinet, qu'a la tete des armees ; un ennemi que la
haine du nom Francais avoit rendu capable d'imaginer de grandes chose et
de les executer ; un de ces genies qui semblent etre nes pour mouvoir a leur
gre les peuples et les souverains — un grand homme. . . . " — MASSILLON,
Oraison Funebre de M. le Datiphin.

CHAPTER I
THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30™, 1688

" ^ I AHERE is no managing an unreasonable people. By

J_ Heaven, my lord, they do not deserve my care."

The speaker was standing by an open window that looked
on to one of the courts of Whitehall Palace listening to the
unusual and tumultuous noises that filled the sweet summer air —
noises of bells, of shouting, the crack of fireworks, and the report
of joyous mock artillery.

It was late afternoon, and the small apartment was already
left by the departing daylight and obscured with a dusky shade,
but no candles were lit.

There was one other person in the room, a gentleman seated
opposite the window at a tall black cabinet decorated with gold
lacquer Chinese figures, that showed vivid even in the twilight.
He was watching his companion with a gentle expression of
judgment, and twirling in his slim fingers a half-blown white rose.

An over-richness of furniture, hangings, and appointments
distinguished the chamber, which was little more than a cabinet.
The flush of rich hues in the Mortlake tapestries, the gold on the
China bureau, the marble, gilt, and carving about the mantel,
two fine and worldly Italian paintings and crystal sconces, set in
silver, combined to give the place an overpowering air of lavish
ness ; noticeable in one corner was a large ebony and enamel
crucifix.

The persons of these two gentlemen were in keeping with
this air of wealth, both being dressed in an opulent style, but in
themselves they differed entirely from each other.

Neither was young, and both would have been conspicuous
in any company for extreme handsomeness, but there was no
further likeness.

4 GOD AND THE KING

He at the window was by many years the older, and past the
prime of life, but the magnificence of his appearance created no
impression of age.

Unusually tall, finely made and graceful, he carried himself
with great dignity ; his countenance, which had been of the purest
type of aristocratic beauty, was now lined and marred — not so
much by years, as by a certain gloom and sourness that had
become his permanent expression ; his eyes were large, grey, and
commanding, his mouth noble, but disfigured by a sneer, his
complexion blond and pale, his nose delicately formed and
straight; a fair peruke shaded his face and hung on to his
shoulders ; he was dressed, splendidly but carelessly, in deep
blue satins, a quantity of heavy Venice lace, and a great sword
belt of embroidered leather.

The other gentleman was still in the prime of life, being
under fifty, and looking less than his age.

Slight in build, above the medium height, and justly propor-
tioned, handsome and refined in feature, dressed with great
richness in the utmost extreme of fashion, he appeared the very
type of a noble idle courtier, but in his long, straight, heavy-
lidded eyes, thin sensitive mouth, and the deeply cut curve of
his nostril was an expression of power and intelligence above
that of a mere favourite of courts.

He wore his own fair hair frizzed and curled out on to his
shoulders and brought very low on to his forehead ; under his
chin was a knot of black satin that accentuated the pale
delicacy of his complexion ; every detail of his attire showed
the same regard to his appearance and the mode. Had it not
been for that unconscious look of mastery in the calm face he
would have seemed no more than a wealthy man of fashion. In
his beautifully formed and white hands he held, as well as the
rose, a handkerchief that he now and then pressed to his lips ;
in great contrast to the other man, who appeared self-absorbed
and natural, his movements and his pose were extremely affected.

A pause of silence wore out ; the man at the window beat
his fingers impatiently on the high walnut back of the chair
beside him, then suddenly turned a frowning face towards the
darkening room.

My lord, what doth this presage ? "

THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 5

He asked the question heavily and as if he had much con-
fidence and trust in the man to whom he spoke.

My lord answered instantly, in a voice as artificial as the
fastidious appointments of his dress.

" Nothing that Your Majesty's wisdom and the devotion of
your servants cannot control and dispel."

James Stewart turned his eyes again to the open casement.

" Do you take it so lightly, my lord ? " he asked uneasily. " All
London shouting for these disloyal prelates — the city against me ? "

Lord Sunderland replied, his peculiarly soothing tones
lowered to a kind of caressing gentleness, while he kept his eyes
fixed on the King.

" Not the city, sir. Your Majesty heareth but the mobile — the
handful that will always rejoice at a set given to authority. The
people love Your Majesty and applaud your measures."

"But I am not popular as my brother was," said the King,
but half satisfied, and with an angry look towards London.

The Earl was ready with his softly worded reassurances.

"His late Majesty never put his popularity to the test — I
think he could not have done what you have, sir — is not the
true Faith " — here my lord crossed himself — " predominant in
England — hath Your Majesty any Protestant left in office — have
you not an Ambassador at the Vatican, is not a holy Jesuit father
on the Council board, Mass heard publicly in Whitehall — the
papal Nuncio openly received? — and hath not Your Majesty
done these great things in three short years ? "

A glow overspread the King's sombre face ; he muttered a
few words of a Latin prayer, and bent his head.

" I have done a little," he said— "a little "

Sunderland lowered his eyes.

" Seeing this is a Protestant nation, Your Majesty hath done a
deal."

The King was silent a moment, then spoke, gloomy again.

"But, save yourself, my lord, and Dover and Salisbury, no
person of consequence hath come into the pale of the Church —
and how hath my Declaration of Indulgence been received?
Discontent, disobedience from the clergy, insolence from the
Bishops, and now this, — near to rebellion ! " His eyes darkened.
" Could you have heard the army on Hounslow Heath, my lord

6 GOD AND THE KING

— they shouted as one man to hear these traitors had oeen
acquitted."

He began to stride up and down the room, talking sternly,
half to himself, half to Sunderland, the speech of an angry,
obstinate man.

"But I'll not give way. Who is this Jack Somers who
defended them ? Make a note of him — some Whig cur ! The
Dissenters too, what is the Anglican Church to them that they
must stand by her? Do I not offer them also freedom of
conscience ? Do not they also benefit by the repeal of the Test
Act ? "

Sunderland made no remark ; he sat with his hand over the
lower part of his face. By the expression of his eyes it might
seem that he was smiling ; but the light was fading, and James
did not look at his minister.

" I'll break the Colleges too. Let them look to it. I'll go
on. Am I not strong enough ? They are rebels at Oxford
— I'll take no rebellion — that was my father his fault ; he was not
strong enough at first — it must be put down now — now, eh, my
Lord Sunderland ? "

He stopped abruptly before the Earl, who rose with an air of
humility.

"It is my poor opinion, oft repeated, that Your Majesty
must stop for nothing, but take these grumblers with a firm hand
and crush them."

This .counsel, though not new, seemed to please the King.

" You have ever given me good advice, my lord." He paused,
then added, " Father Petre is always speaking against you, but
I do not listen — no, I do not listen."

" It is my misfortune to be unpopular with the Catholics,
though I have done what might be for their service."

" I do not listen," repeated the King hastily ; he seated him-
self in the carved chair beside the bureau. " But I must tell you
one thing," he added, after an instant. " M. Barillon thinketh
I go too far."

Sunderland remained standing.

" He hath told me so," he answered quietly.

" What doth he mean ? " asked James eagerly, and with the
air of depending entirely on the other's interpretation.

THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 7

" This," replied the Earl suavely — " that, good friend as His
Christian Majesty is to you, it doth not suit his pride that you,
sir, should grow great without his help — he would rather have
Your Majesty the slave than the master of the people, rather
have you dependent on him than a free ally."

" I'll not be dictated to," said the King. " My brother was
too much the creature of Louis, but I will not have him meddle
in my affairs."

" M. Barillon doth his duty to his master," answered the Earl.
" Your Majesty need pay no attention to his warnings "

" Warnings ! " echoed the King, with sullen fire. " I take no
warnings from an Ambassador of France." Then he sat forward and
added in a quick, half-baffled fashion, "Yet there are dangers "

" What dangers, sire ? "

" The people are so stubborn "

" They complain but they bow, sire ; and soon they will not
even complain."

"Then M. Barillon mentioned " The King paused

abruptly.

"What, sire?"

" My nephew, William."

As he spoke James glanced quickly at Sunderland, who
returned the gaze calmly and mildly.

" My nephew, William — what is he plotting ? "

" Plotting, Your Majesty ? "

" He hath never been friendly to me," broke out the King
fiercely. "Why did he refuse his consent to the Indulgence? —
he who hath always stood for toleration ? "

" As the head of the Protestant interest in Europe he could
do no less, sire."

" He hath suborned my daughter," continued the King, in the
same tone. " Seduced her from her duty — but now " — he crossed
himself — " God be thanked, I have an heir. I do not need to so
consider these Calvinists " — he gave the word an accent of bitter
dislike — " yet I doubt he meaneth mischief "

" I do not think so, sire. His hands are so full in keeping his
own country afloat he can scarce have the time to meddle "

The King interrupted.

" He doth meddle — his design is to drag me into a war with

8 GOD AND THE KING

France — I doubt he hath more intrigues afoot in England than
we wot of, my lord. Did M. Zuylestein come wholly to con-
gratulate us on the birth of the Prince ? He is over often closeted
with the Whig lords — and so was Dyckfelt — a knowing man."

Sunderland answered frankly.

"His Highness must have an interest in the kingdom of
which his wife was till so lately the heiress, and I doubt not that
he would try to foster discontents among the opposition, since he
can hardly like the present policy of Your Majesty, having all his
life been under the endeavour of persuading England to join his
coalition against France — but he hath not the power (nor, I
think, the will) to disturb Your Majesty."

James smiled reflectively.

" I believe he hath his hands full," he admitted. " He is not
so steady in the states." His smile deepened as he thought on the
critical situation of his son-in-law, then vexation conquered, and
he added sharply, " M. Barillon said he but waited a chance to
openly interfere — he would not send the English regiments back,
which looked ill, and he is very friendly with Mr. Sidney "

The King paused.

"Mr. Sidney is your uncle, my lord," he added, after a little,
"and a close friend of the Prince of Orange — I was warned
of that."

" By M. de Barillon ? " asked Sunderland gently.

" Yes, my lord. But I took no heed of it — yet is it true that
my Lady Sunderland wrote often to Mr. Sidney when he was at
The Hague, and that you were privy to it ? "

" There was some little exchange of gallantries, sire, no more.
My lady is close friends with Mr. Sidney, and would commission
him for horses, plants, candles, and such things as can be bought
with advantage at The Hague."

" And did she write to the Lady Mary ? "

Sunderland smiled.

"She had that honour once — the subject was a recipe for
treacle water."

" Well, well," said the King, in a relieved tone of half apology,
" I am so hedged about I begin to distrust my best servants.
I must be short with M. Barillon ; he maketh too much of my
friendship with His Majesty."

THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 9

"That is the jealousy of France, sire, that ever desireth a
hand in your affairs."

James answered testily.

" Let them take care. M. Barillon said my envoys abroad
had sent me warning of what my nephew designed — that is not
true, my lord ? "

" I have received no such letters, sire, and Your Majesty's
foreign correspondence toucheth no hands but mine."

The King rose and struck the bell on the black lacquer
cabinet ; his exceedingly ill-humour was beginning, as always, to
be softened by the influence of Lord Sunderland, who had more
command over him than even the Jesuit, Father Petre, who was
commonly supposed to be his most intimate counsellor.

When the summons was answered the King called for candles,
and went over to the window again.

The dusk was stained with the glow of a hundred bonfires, lit
by good Protestants in honour of the acquittal of the seven
bishops charged with treason for offering His Majesty a petition
against the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence from the
pulpits of the Anglican churches ; the verdict and the demonstra-
tion were alike hateful to the King, and he could scarce restrain
his furious chagrin as he saw the triumphant rockets leap into
the deep azure sky.

He thought bitterly of the murmuring army on Hounslow
Heath; had they been steadfastly loyal he would hardly have
restrained from setting them on to the defiant capital which they
had been gathered together to overawe.

The candles were brought, and lit the rich little chamber with
a ruddy light that showed the glitter of glass and gilt, lacquer
and silver, the moody face of the King, and the calm countenance
of his minister.

"My nephew would never dare," muttered His Majesty at

last, " nor would Mary be so forgetful of her duty " He turned

into the room again. " I think you are right, my lord ; he hath
too much to do at home. But I am glad I did recall Mr.
Sidney — a Republican at heart — who is like his brother."

"Of what designs doth Your Majesty suspect the Prince?"
asked Sunderland quietly.

The King answered hastily

io GOD AND THE KING

" Nothing — nothing."

" Doth M. de Barillon," asked the Earl, " think His Highness
might do what Monmouth did ? "

At this mention of that other unhappy nephew of his who
had paid for his brief rebellion on Tower Hill, the King's face
cleared of its look of doubt.

" If he tried," he answered sombrely, " he would meet with
the same reception — by Heaven, he would ! No gentleman joined
Monmouth, none would join the Prince."

" 'Tis certain," said Sunderland. " But what causeth Your
Majesty to imagine His Highness would attempt so wild a design
as an armed descent on England ? "

" He buildeth a great navy," remarked James.

"To protect the States against France. Reason showeth
that the suggestion of His Highness' conduct that M. de Barillon
hath made is folly. The Prince is the servant of the States ; even
if he wished, he could not use their forces to further his private
ends, and is not the Princess daughter to Your Majesty, and
would she help in an act of rebellion against you ? "

"No," replied the King, "no— I do not think it. If the
Dutch do choose to build a few ships am I to be stopped?
My Lord Halifax," he added, with eagerness, "advised the
giving back of the city charters and the reinstatement of the
Fellows of Magdalen — but I will not — I'll break 'em, all the
disloyal lot of 'em."

A slight smile curved my lord's fine lips.

" Halifax is ever for timorous counsels."

" A moderate man ! " cried James. " I dislike your moderate
men — they've damned many a cause and never made one.
I'll have none of their sober politics."

"The best Your Majesty can do," said Sunderland, "is to
gain the Dissenters, call a packed parliament of them and the
Catholics in the autumn, pass the repeal of the Test Act,
treat French interference firmly, strengthen the army, and bring
the Irish to overawe London. There will be no murmurs
against your authority this time a year hence."

James gave my lord a pleased glance.

"Your views suit with mine," he replied. "I'll officer the
army with Catholics — and look to those two judges who

THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 3OTH, 1688 n

favoured these bishops. We will remove them from the
bench."

He was still alternating between ill-humour at the open
display of feeling on the occasion of the public cross he had
received in the matter of the bishops and the satisfaction my
lord's wholly congenial counsel gave his obstinate self-confidence.

A certain faith in himself and in the office he held, a still
greater trust in the religion to which he was so blindly devoted,
a tyrannical belief in firm measures and in the innate loyalty
of church and people made this son of Charles i, sitting in
the very palace from which his father had stepped on to the
scaffold at the command of a plain gentleman from Hampshire,
revolve schemes for the subjugation of England more daring
than Plantagenet, Tudor, and Stewart had ventured on yet;
he desired openly and violently to put England into the some-
what reluctant hands of the Pope, and beside this desire every
other consideration was as nothing to His Majesty.

"Let 'em shout," he said. "I can afford it." And he
thought of his young heir, whose birth secured the Romish
succession in England ; an event that took the sting even from
the acquittal of the stubborn bishops.

" Your Majesty is indeed a great and happy Prince," remarked
my lord, with that softness that gave his compliments the value
of sincere meaning.

The King went up to him, smiled at him in his heavy way
and touched him affectionately on the shoulder.

"Well, well," he answered, "you give good advice, and I
thank you, my lord."

He fell into silence again, and the Earl took graceful leave,
left the cabinet gently, and gently closed the door.

When outside in the corridor he paused like one considering,
then went lightly down the wide stairs.

In the gallery to which he came at the end of the first
flight was a group of splendid gentlemen talking together ; my
lord would have passed them, but one came forward and
stopped him ; he raised his eyes ; it was M. Barillon.

" You have come from His Majesty ? "

" Yes, sir," answered the Earl.

"I do hope you did impress on him the need for a great

12 GOD AND THE KING

caution," said M. Barillon quickly, and in a lowered voice,
"The temper of the People hath been very clearly shown
to-day."

" I did my utmost," said my lord ardently. " Advised him
to make concessions, warned him that the Prince was dangerous,
but his obstinate temper would have none of it "

M. Barillon frowned.

" I hope you were earnest with him, my lord ; there is no
man^hath your influence "

My lord's long eyes looked steadily into the Frenchman's
face.

" Sir," he said, " you must be aware that I have every reason
to urge His Majesty caution, since there is none as deep in
his most disliked measures as myself, and if the Whigs were
to get the upper hand" — he shrugged gracefully — "you know
that there would be no mercy for me."

The French Ambassador answered hastily —

"Not for an instant do I doubt your lordship. Faith, I
know His Christian Majesty hath no such friend as yourself
in England — but I would impress on you the danger — things
reach a crisis, my lord."

He bowed and returned to his companions, while the Earl
passed through the galleries of Whitehall, filled with courtiers,
newsmongers, place-seekers, and politicians, and came out into
the courtyard where his chair waited.

While his servant was fetching the sedan my lord put on
his laced hat and lingered on the step.

A tall soldier was keeping the guard; my lord regarded
him, smiled, and spoke.

" Fellow, who is your master ? "

The man flushed, saluted, and stared awkwardly.

"Come," smiled the Earl whimsically. "Whom do you
serve ? "

The startled soldier answered stupidly —

" God and the King, your honour."

"Ah, very well," answered the Earl slowly; he descended
the steps and took a pinch of snuff. "So do we all — it is
merely a question of which God and which King."

CHAPTER II
THE EVENING OF JUNE SOra, 1688

BEFORE entering his sedan, Lord Sunderland gently bade
the chairman carry him round the back ways; that
strange quantity, the People, that every statesman must use,
fear, and obey, was abroad, roused and dangerous to-night,
and my lord's diplomacy moved delicately among high places
but never came into the street to handle the crowd ; he could
lead, control, cajole kings and courtiers, deal with continents
on paper, but he was powerless before the People, who hated
him, and whom he did not trouble to understand ; he was
aristocrat of aristocrat.

He was now the most powerful man in the three kingdoms,
and, next to Lord JefTeries, the most detested; he was the
only considerable noble (the other converts, Dover and Salisbury,
being mean men) who had sacrificed his religion to the bigotry
of the King; many courtiers to whom all faiths were alike
had rejected open apostasy, but my lord had calmly turned
renegade and calmly accepted the scorn and comment cast
upon his action; but he did not care to risk recognition by
the People bent on celebrating a Protestant triumph.

A little before he had gone down to Westminster Hall
to give that technical evidence against the bishops, without
which they could not have been tried (for he was the only
man who had seen Sancroft pass in to the King with the petition,
and therefore the only man who could prove "publication in
the county of Middlesex"), and it had taken some courage to
face the storm that had greeted the King's witness.

My lord did not wish for another such reception, and as

he proceeded down the quiet dark streets he looked continuously

13

14 GOD AND THE KING

from the window of his chair in anticipation of some noisy
band of Londoners who would challenge his appearance.

And that pale gentleman who peered out on to the bonfire-
lit night had soon been dragged from the shadow of the satin-
lined sedan and flung down into the gutter and trampled on
and murdered, as was Archbishop Sharp by the Covenanters,
had he been seen and recognized by some of the bands of
youths and men who marched the streets with straw Popes
and cardboard devils to cast to the flames.

My lord remarked that in every window, even of the poorest
houses, seven candles burned, the tallest in the centre for the
Archbishop, the other six for his colleagues ; my lord remarked
the rockets that leapt above the houses and broke in stars against
the deep blue ; my lord heard, even as he passed through the
quietest alleys, the continuous murmur of the People rejoicing,
as one may in a backwater hear the muffled but unsubdued
voice of the sea.

When he reached his own great mansion and stepped from
the chair, he saw that his house also was illuminated, as was
every window in the great square.

He went upstairs to a little room at the back, panelled in
walnut and finely furnished, where a lady sat alone.

She was of the same type as my lord — blonde, graceful, worn,
and beautiful — younger than he, but looking no less.

She was writing letters at a side table, and when he entered
rose up instantly, with a little sigh of relief.

" 'Tis so wild abroad to-night," she said.

The Earl laid down on the mantelshelf the overblown
white rose he had brought from Whitehall, and looked at
his wife.

"I see we also rejoice that the bishops are acquitted," he
remarked.

"The candles, you mean? It had to be — all the windows
had been broken else. They needed to call the soldiers out
to protect the Chapel in Sardinia Street."

He seated himself at the centre table and pulled from his
pocket several opened letters that he scattered before him ; his
wife came and stood opposite, and they looked at each other
intently across the candles.

THE EVENING OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 15

" What doth it mean ? " she asked.

"That the King walketh blindly on to ruin," he answered
concisely, with a wicked flashing glance over the correspondence
before him.

" The People will not take much more ? "

"No."

"Well," said Lady Sunderland restlessly, "we are safe
enough."

He was turning over the papers, and now lowered his eyes
to them.

" Some of your letters to my Uncle Sidney have been opened,"
he remarked. " This is M. Barillon his work — the King taxed
me to-day with being privy to the intrigue."

" I have thought lately that we were suspected," she answered
quickly. " Is this — serious ? "

"No; I can do anything with the King, and he is bigot,
blind, and credulous to a monstrous degree."

" Even after to-day ! " exclaimed my lady.

" He believeth the nation will never turn against him," said
the Earl quietly. " He thinketh himself secure in his heir — and
in the Tories."

"Not half the people will allow the child is the Queen's,
though," she answered. " Even the Princess Anne maketh a
jest of it with her women, and saith His Highness was smuggled
into Whitehall in a warming-pan by a Jesuit father "

" So you have also heard that news ? "

"Who could help it? 'Tis common talk that 'tis but a
device of the King to close the succession to the Princess Mary.
And though you and I, my lord, know differently, this tale is as
good as another to lead the mobile."

The Earl was slowly burning the letters before him by hold-
ing them in the flame of the wax-light of a taper-holder, and
when they were curled away casting them on the floor and
putting his red heel on them.

" What are these ? " asked the Countess, watching him.

" Part of His Majesty's foreign correspondence, my dear,
warning him to have an eye to His Highness the Stadtholder."

She laughed, half nervously.

"It seemeth as if you cut away the ladder on which you

16 GOD AND THE KING

stood," she said. "If the King should suspect too soon — or
the Prince fail you "

" I take the risks," said Sunderland. " I have been taking
risks all my life."

" But never one so large as this, my lord."

He had burnt the last letter and extinguished the taper ; he
raised his face, and for all his fine dressing and careful curls he
looked haggard and anxious ; the gravity of his expression over-
came the impression of foppery in his appearance; it was a
serious man, and a man with everything at stake on a doubtful
issue, who held out his hand to his wife.

She put her fingers into his palm and stood leaning against
the tall back of his chair, looking down on him with those
languishing eyes that had been so praised at the court of the
late King, now a little marred and worn, but still brightly tender,
and to my lord as lovely as when Lely had painted her beautiful
among the beautiful.

" You must help me," he said, his court drawl gone, his voice
sincere.

" Robert," smiled my lady, " I have been helping you ever
since I met you."

"'Tis admitted," he answered; "but, sweetheart, you must
help me again."

She touched lightly his thin, powdered cheek with her free
hand ; her smile was lovely in its tenderness.

"What is your difficulty?"

Subtle, intricate and oblique as his politics always were,
crafty and cunning as were his character and his actions, with this
one person whom he trusted Sunderland was succinct and direct.

" The difficulty is the Princess Mary," he answered.

" Explain," she smiled.

He raised his hand and let it fall.

" You understand already. Saying this child, this Prince of
Wales, will never reign — the Princess is the heiress, and not her
husband, and after her is the Princess Anne. Now it is not my
design to put a woman on the throne, nor the design of England
— we want the Prince, and he is third in succession "

" But he can act for his wife "

" His wife — there is the point. Will she, when she under-

THE EVENING OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 17

standeth clearly what is afoot, support her husband, her father, or
herself?"

The Countess was silent a little, then said —

" She hath no reason to love her father ; he hath never sent
her so much as a present since she went to The Hague, nor
shown any manner of love for her."

"Yet he counteth on her loyalty as a positive thing — and
hath she any cause to love her husband either ? "

Lady Sunderland's smile deepened.

" Ladies will love their husbands whether they have cause
or no."

The Earl looked gently cynical.

" She was a child when she was married, and the match was
known to be hateful to her ; she is still very young, and a Stewart.
Do you not think she is like to be ambitious ? "

" How can I tell ? Doth it make so much difference ?"

He answered earnestly —

" A great difference. If there is a schism between her and
the Prince his hands are hopelessly weakened, for there would
be a larger party for her pretensions than for his "

" What do you want me to do, dear heart ? "

"I want a woman to manage a woman," smiled the Earl.
" The Princess is seldom in touch with diplomats, and when she
is — either by design or simplicity — she is very reserved."

" She is no confidante of mine," answered the Countess. " I
only remember her as a lively child who wept two days to leave
England, and that was ten years ago."

" Still," urged my lord, " you can find some engine to do me
this great service — to discover the mind of the Princess."

Lady Sunderland paused thoughtfully.

" Do you remember Basilea Gage ? " she asked at length.

" One of the maids of honour to Her Majesty when she was
Duchess ? "

" Yes ; since married to a Frenchman who died, and now in
Amsterdam — she and the Princess Royal were children together
— I knew her too. Should I set her on this business ? "

" Would she be apt and willing ? "

"She is idle, clever, and serious — but, my dear lord, a
Romanist."
2

1 8 GOD AND THE KING

The Earl laughed at his wife, who laughed back.

" Very well," he said. " I think she will be a proper person
for this matter."

He put the long tips of his fingers together and reflected ;
he loved, of all things, oblique and crooked methods of working
his difficult and secret intrigues.

When he spoke it was with clearness and decision.

"Tell this lady (what she must know already) that the
King's measures in England have forced many malcontents to look
abroad to the Princess Royal, the next heir, and her husband to
deliver them from an odious rule ; say that His Majesty, however, is
confident that his daughter would never forget her obedience, and
that, if it came to a crisis between her father and her husband,
she would hinder the latter from any design on England and
refuse her sanction to any attempt on his part to disturb His
Majesty — say this requireth confirmation, and that for the ease
and peace of the government (alarmed by the late refusal of
Her Highness to concur in the Declaration of Indulgence) and
the reassurance of the mind of the King, it would be well that we
should have private knowledge of the disposition of Her High-
ness, which, you must say, you trust will be for the advantage of
the King and his just measures."

The Countess listened attentively ; she was seated now close
to her husband, a pretty-looking figure in white and lavender,
half concealed in the purple satin cushions of the large
chair.

" I will write by the next packet," she answered simply.

" So," smiled the Earl, " we will use the zeal of a Romanist
to discover the knowledge we need for Protestant ends "

As he spoke they were interrupted by a servant in the
gorgeous liveries that bore witness, as everything else in the
noble mansion, both to my lord's extravagance and my lady's
good management.

" Mr. Sidney was below — would his Lordship see him ? "

" Go you down to him," said the Earl, looking at his wife.
" You can make my excuses."

He dismissed the servant; my lady rose.

"What am I to say?" she asked, like one waiting for a
lesson to be imparted.

THE EVENING OF JUNE 30x11, 1688 19

He patted the slim white hand that rested on the polished
table near his.

" Find out all you can, Anne, but be cautious — speak of our
great respect for His Highness, but make no definite promises —
discover how deep they go in their commerce with him."

Again they exchanged that look of perfect understanding
that was more eloquent of the feeling between them than en-
dearments or soft speeches, and the Countess went down to the
lavish withdrawing-room, as fine as the chambers in Whitehall,
where Mr. Sidney, uncle of my lord (but no older) waited.

They met as long friends, and with that air of gracious com-
pliment and pleasure in each other's company which the fact of
one being a beautiful woman and the other a man of famous
gallantry had always given to their intercourse ; if every jot of
my lady's being had not been absorbed in her husband she
might have been in love with Mr. Sidney, and if Mr. Sidney had
not followed a fresh face every day of the year he might have
found leisure to fall in love with my lady ; as it was, he was
very constant to her friendship, but had not, for that, forgotten
the lovely creature she was, and she knew it and was pleased ;
in their hearts each laughed a little at the other and the
situation ; but my lady had the more cause to laugh, because
while Mr. Sidney always dealt ingenuously with her, she was
all the while using him to further her husband's policies, and
there was not a pleasant word she gave him that was not paid
for in information that she turned to good account.

To-day she found him less the composed gallant than
usual ; he seemed roused, disturbed, excited.

" The town to-day ! " he exclaimed, after their first greet-
ings. " Here is the temper of the people plainly declared at
last ! "

The Countess seated herself with her back to the candles on
the gilt side-table and her face towards Mr. Sidney ; he took his
place on the wand-bottomed stool by the empty hearth, where
the great brass dogs stood glimmering.

The windows were open, admitting the pleasant, intangible
sense of summer and the distant changing shouts and clamour
of the crowd.

With a kindly smile Lady Sunderland surveyed Henry

20 GOD AND THE KING

Sidney, who without her advantage of the softening shadows
showed a countenance finely lined under the thick powder he
wore ; man of fashion, of pleasure, attractive, mediocre in talents,
supreme in manners and tact, owning no deep feelings save
hatred to the King, whose intrigues had brought his brother to
the block in the last reign, and a certain private loyalty to the
laws and faith of England, Henry Sidney betrayed his character
in every turn of his handsome face and figure. A man good-
humoured, sweet-tempered but lazy, yet sometimes, as now, to
be roused to the energy and daring of better men. In person he
was noticeable among a court remarkable for handsome men;
he had been in youth the most famous beau of his time, and
still in middle age maintained that reputation.

His political achievements had not been distinguished. Sent
as envoy to the States, he had so managed to ingratiate himself
with the Prince of Orange as, in spite of the opposition of
the English court, to be appointed commander of the English
Regiment in the Dutch service, and the mouthpiece of His
Highness to the English Whigs.

James, who had always disliked him, had recalled him from
The Hague despite the protests of the Stadtholder, and he had
found himself so out of favour with Whitehall as to deem it
wiser to travel in Italy for a year, though he had never relaxed
his correspondence either with the Prince or the great Protestant
nobles who had been thrown into the opposition by the im-
prudent actions of the King.

He was in London now at some risk, as Lady Sunderland
knew, and she waited rather curiously to hear what urgency had
brought him back to the centre of intrigue.

His acceptance of her graceful excuses for the Earl was as
formal as her offering of them ; so long ago had it been under-
stood that she was always the intermediary between her astute
Jord and the powerful Whig opposition of which Mr. Sidney was
secretly so active a member.

" You and your friends will be glad of this," she said.

He looked at her a hesitating half second, then replied
with an unusual sincerity in the tones generally so smooth and
expressionless.

" Every Catholic who showeth his face is insulted, and a

THE EVENING OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 21

beadle hath been killed for endeavouring to defend a Romish
chapel — the People are up at last."

" I know," she answered calmly. " I feared that my lord
would not be safe returning from Whitehall."

" If they had seen him, by Heaven, he would not have been ! "
said Mr. Sidney. He spoke as if he understood the people's
point of view. Lax and careless as he was himself, Sunderland's
open and shameless apostasy roused in his mind some faint
shadow of the universal hatred and scorn that all England
poured on the renegade.

My lady read him perfectly ; she smiled.

" How are you going to use this temper in the People ? " she
asked. " Is it to die out with the flames that consume the straw
Popes, or is it to swell to something that may change the face of
Europe?"

Mr. Sidney rose as if his restless mood could not endure
his body to sit still.

" It may change the dynasty of England," he said.

My lady kept her great eyes fixed on him.

" You think so ? " she responded softly.

His blonde face was strengthened into a look of resolve and
triumph.

" The King hath gone too far." He spoke in an abrupt manner
new to him. " No bribed electorate or packed parliament could
force these measures — as we have seen to-day." There was, as he
continued, an expression in his eyes that reminded the Countess
of his brother Algernon, republican and patriot. "Is it not
strange that he hath forgotten his father so soon, and his own
early exile ? " he said.

" His over-confidence playeth into your hands," she answered.

He gave a soft laugh, approached her, and said, in his old
caressing tones —

" Frankly, my lady — how far will the Earl go ? "

"With whom?" she smiled.

" With us — the Prince of Orange and the Whigs, ay — and the
honest Tories too."

She played with the tassels of the stiff cushion behind
her.

"My lord hath the greatest affection and duty for His

22 GOD AND THE KING

Highness, the greatest admiration for him, the greatest hopes
in him "

" Come, Madarn," he responded, " we are old friends — I
want to know my lord his real mind."

" I have told it you," she said, lifting candid eyes, " as far as
even I know it "

"You must know that His Highness hath in his desk
letters from almost every lord in England, assuring him of
admiration and respect — what was M. Dyckfelt over here
for — and M. Zuylestein? — we want to know what the Earl
will do."

"What are the others — doing •?" asked the Countess lightly.

He saw the snare, and laughed.

" My hand is always for you to read, but there are others
seated at this game, and I may not disclose the cards."

My lady lent forward.

"You cannot," she said, in the same almost flippant tone,
" expect my lord to declare himself openly a Whig ? "

" He might, though, declare himself secretly our friend."

" Perhaps," she admitted, then was silent.

Intimate as he was with the Countess, Mr. Sidney was not
close with her lord, and felt more than a little puzzled by that
statesman's attitude. Sunderland, he knew, was in receipt of a
pension, probably a handsome pension, from France; he was
loathed by the Whigs and caressed by the King; as Lord
President and First Secretary he held the highest position in
the Kingdom ; the emoluments of his offices, with what he made
by selling places, titles, pardons, and dignities, were known to be
enormous; his conversion to the Church of Rome had given
him almost unlimited influence over James; and his great ex-
perience, real talents, and insinuating manners made him as
secure in his honours as any man could hope to be ; yet through
his wife he had dallied with the Whigs, written, as Sidney knew,
to the Prince of Orange, and held out very distinct hopes that he
would, at a crisis, help the Protestants.

Certainly he had not gone far, and it was important, almost
vital, to the opposition that he should go farther, for he had it in
his power to render services which no other man could ; he only
had the ear of James, the control of the foreign correspondence,

THE EVENING OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 23

the entire confidence of M. Barillon, and he alone was fitted to
mislead the King and the Ambassador as to the schemes of their
enemies, as he alone would be able to open their eyes to the full
extent of the ramifications of the Protestant plots.

It was the Countess who broke the silence, and her words
were what she might have chosen could she have read Mr.
Sidney's thoughts.

"My lord, who is the greatest man in the kingdom, hath
more to stake and lose than you Whigs who are already in
disgrace with His Majesty."

" I know that very well," he answered ; " but if the govern-
ment fell, remember there are some who would fall with it
beyond the hope of ever climbing again. One is my Lord
Jefferies, another my Lord Sunderland."

She looked at him calmly.

" They are both well hated by the people," she said. " I do
admit it." She leant forward in her chair. " Do you think it
would be worth while for my lord to stake the great post he
holdeth for the chance of safety if . . ."

She hesitated, and he supplied the words.

— " if there was a revolution," he said.

" Do you talk of revolutions ! " she exclaimed.

His fair face flushed.

" Listen," he answered briefly.

My lady turned her delicate head towards the window.
Beyond her brocade curtains lay the dark shape of London,
overhung with a glow of red that stained the summer sky. She
sat silent. Mr. Sidney stood close to her, and she could hear
his quick breathing ; he, as she, was listening to the bells, the
shouting, the crack of fireworks, now louder, now fainter, but
a continuous volume of sound.

"The People " said Mr. Sidney.

" Do they make revolutions ? " she asked.

" If there is a man to guide them they do *

"Well?"

" Before, there was Cromwell."

"And now "

" Now there is William of Orange."

My lady rose.

24 GOD AND THE KING

"His Highness," she said quietly but firmly, "may be
assured that he hath a friend, a secret friend in my lord."

Mr. Sidney looked anxiously into her eyes.

" May I rely on that ? "

She smiled rather sadly.

" You, at least, can trust me."

Mr. Sidney bowed over her slender hand.

" You are a sweet friend and a clever woman, but "

Lady Sunderland interrupted him.

"I am sincere to-night. We see our dangers. You shall
hear from me at The Hague."

CHAPTER III
THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30m, 1688

SOME hours after his parting with Lady Sunderland, Mr.
Sidney left a modest house in Greg Street, Soho Fields, in
company with a common tarpaulin, whose rough clothes were in
strong contrast to the rich appointments of the notable beau he
accompanied.

It was a fine night, but cloudy. The two men proceeded in
silence towards Gerrard Street, the sailor with his hands in his
pockets and Mr. Sidney swinging his cane.

Every house they passed had the seven candles in the
windows, and the sound of bells and shouting was as persistent
as it had been in the drawing-room of Sunderland House ; the
street was empty save for a few wandering link-boys and beggars.

As they, walking rapidly and steadily, approached St. Martin-
in-the-Fields, the feeble rays of the oil-lamps over every tenth
door, that only served to illuminate the signs and cast great
shadows from the passers-by, were absorbed in a red glare that
touched the brick fronts of the precise houses with a deep glow.

" A bonfire," remarked Mr. Sidney.

The tarpaulin answered in the accents of a gentleman.

"A Pope-burning — had we not best take another way?"

As Mr. Sidney hesitated the other added, with a laugh —

"After all, is it not a good omen? Let us see this
martyrdom," and he pressed into the confines of the crowd
gathered round an enormous bonfire, which blazed in front of
the church steps.

Mr. Sidney followed, and the two found themselves absorbed
into the multitude of apprentices, shopkeepers, clerks, and
citizens of all descriptions, who were engaged in celebrating the
acquittal of the bishops by burning His Holiness in effigy.

26 GOD AND THE KING

For awhile they were unnoticed in the general excitement,
then Mr. Sidney's appearance was remarked. His plumed hat,
his sword, his curling peruke, and the rich velvet mantle that
concealed his person instantly told them that he was not of their
class. Suspicion was roused that he was a spy of the Court, and
they began to rudely jostle him ; but the sailor, who kept closely
beside him, laughed good-humouredly, and cried —

" Gently, my friends. We are good Protestants come to see
the burning of the Devil and the Pope."

"Sure," came a quick answer, "if you were Popish dogs
you would scarce be here to-night ! "

Sidney smiled at the eager young man who spoke.

" No," he said. " Long live the King, the Church, and the
Laws — eh, my friend ? "

" I do not know so much about the first — but all my heart
the second and third ! "

The sailor looked sharply at the speaker, who was a youth of
two- or three-and-twenty, very plainly dressed, almost shabby,
with a keen, dark face, intelligent, ardent eyes, and a quantity
of untidy curly hair. He seemed to be a student or clerk, and
was obviously the leading spirit of a band of youths of his own
age, who were making most of the noise and clamour.

He in his turn closely scrutinized the sailor, then said, in
abrupt tones of friendliness —

" I'll get you through. You and the gentleman get behind
me, and I'll make 'em give away "

With the quick energy that seemed his characteristic he
shouldered his way through the press and forced a passage for
Mr. Sidney and the sailor, bringing them to the steps of the
church, where they had a good view over the crowd, and stood
directly behind the bonfire.

He paused, a little breathless with fighting through the
throng, and with blows given and taken, and asked Mr. Sidney,
whose splendour seemed to somewhat overawe him, if he had
ever seen a Pope-burning before.

"Never," smiled that gentleman; but the sailor added
instantly —

" I have, many a time ; 'tis the finest fun in the world."

The young man looked at him with the sharp suspicious

THE NIGHT OF JUNE SOTH, 1688 27

curiosity of youth. He was quick to notice the difference between
speech and dress, and his instant's glance further confused him.
The strong light of the bonfire showed a resolute-looking man,
dressed in the coarse worn clothes of a common sailor, but un-
mistakeably a gentleman. He seemed amused and interested. A
pleasant smile lit his face, and his grey eyes were bright and
self-contained.

" You were like to be clapt up if the watch caught you at
this," he said.

The youth was gloriously scornful.

" The watch ! Do you think we would disperse for a
regiment ? "

"Look out for the regiments though," smiled the sailor.
" There are sixteen thousand men on Hounslow Heath."

" How many of 'em would take arms against the city ? " was
the instant retort. "They too are good Protestants."

" I perceive that you are something of a Politic," said Mr.
Sidney ; and then all further remark was cut short by the arrival
of the procession carrying the Pope, at sight of which an almost
solemn hush fell on the crowd, who stopped supplying the bonfire
with squibs, oil, and tar, and drew back in close ranks before the
steps of the church.

The Pope was a huge figure of straw with a wax face, carried
in a chair on the shoulders of four men. He was clothed in an
expensive scarlet silk robe, and wore on his head a tiara of
painted pasteboard, decorated with sparkling glass ; his scornful
and saturnine face, which, if meant for the reigning pontiff, was
a cruel libel on the most honourable and simple of men, was
turned a little to one side in the action of listening to a huge
black-horned Devil who was busily whispering in his ear, one
stiff hand was raised with two fingers lifted in blessing, and the
other (both formed of white gloves stuffed, with glass beads on
the backs) hung limply by his side.

The young man who had befriended Mr. Sidney and his
friend gave a whistling signal, upon which the greater number
of the crowd broke into verses of a doggerel song against
Popery and the bishops. As each sang different words and
tune the result was a mere lusty din, in which not a syllable
was distinguishable; nevertheless the hundred voices of hate,

28 GOD AND THE KING

derision, scorn, and triumph addressing the dumb grotesque
image of a loathed religion had an impressive significance and
contained a deep warning.

For these were not isolated nor feeble voices — the will
and purpose of a great nation echoed in them — nor were they
the voices of mere fanaticism, but the cries of protest raised
by a jealous people whose liberties had been struck at and
broken.

In the faces the leaping flames brought into relief against
the surrounding darkness might be traced that fearless English
spirit that would not for long own a master ; in the coarse jeers,
hoots, and hisses might be discerned that devotion to the
reformed faith that had united Anglican and Dissenter (despite
the high bid the King had made for the favour of the latter),
in stern and unyielding opposition to the Romanist worship that
was in vain being forced on them.

Mr. Sidney wondered if James could see these faces and
hear these voices it would give him pause; if even his hard
bigotry would not learn something of the temper of a strong
people roused. It seemed incredible that could the King see
these people now he could forget Cromwell and his own exiled
youth.

The dummy Pope was lowered from his seat of mock triumph
and pitched forward into the centre of the flames, the Devil
clinging to him, at which a savage roar rose as if real flesh and
blood had been sacrificed to appease fierce passions.

Mr. Sidney a little drew back against the flame-flushed pillars
behind him. As the spreading fire scorched his face so the
temper of the crowd put a kind of awe into his heart.

"Who is to manage these?" he murmured. He was no
statesman. Then he pulled his companion by the sleeve.
" There was a man killed to-day — let us get on "

But the sailor, with his arms folded across his breast, was
watching the bonfire, in the heart of which the Pope appeared to
be writhing as he shrivelled, while his wax face ran into one
great tear, his tiara shrunk and disappeared, and the Devil, a
black patch in the redness, emitted horrid fumes of sulphur as
he was consumed.

" 'Tis a pretty show," he said briefly.

THE NIGHT OF JUNE SOTH, 1688. 29

" But one not pleasing to the King's Majesty, do you think ? '
flashed the dark youth who had been their guide.

"No," smiled the other. "I think it would grieve His
Majesty even more than the acquittal of the holy fathers "

The young man laughed ; he seemed very excited.

" See you, sir, if you wait awhile you will see a warming-pan
burnt — with the pretended Prince of Wales, that Popish brat,
within ! "

Mr. Sidney interrupted.

" We have a boat to catch at Gravesend, if you could make a
passage for us, my friend "

More than a little flattered at being thus addressed by so
fine a gentleman, the youth, by various shouted commands to
his companions, elbowings and blows administered in a lively
manner, steered Mr. Sidney and the sailor out of the crowd
with the same dexterity that had guided them to the church
steps.

On the confines of the press, Mr. Sidney, rather breathless,
shook out his mantle and adjusted his hat. The glow from the
bonfire cast their shadows long and leaping over the grass. In
the distance towards the archery fields and the Mall were other
crowds and processions to be seen passing in and out of the
trees, and another bonfire was burning in front of the mansion of
the Protestant Northumberlands. The air was full of the harsh
colour of artificial light, the smell of powder and tar, of burning
rag and oil, belching smoke and the crack of squib, rocket and
bomb, mingled with noisy shouting of anti-Popish songs and
hoarse cheers for the bishops, the Dissenters, and the Protestant
succession.

"This must be pleasant music at Whitehall," remarked the
sailor, with good-humoured indifference. He was standing now
full in the light of the lantern at the corner of the church, and the
young man, who had been looking at him with great eagerness
exclaimed softly —

" It is Admiral Herbert ! "

He turned instantly.

" My name is not for public hearing to-night," he said quickly
" And, God of Heaven, boy, how did you know me ? "

The young man flushed.

30 GOD AND THE KING

" You used to come to the 'Rose' in Charing Cross — near
here, you remember? My uncle kept it "

Arthur Herbert smiled.

" Yes — I remember ; and who are you ? "

"A scholar at St. John's now," answered the youth, in the
same eager, excited way ; " that is thanks to my Lord Dorset "

" Why, I recall," said Mr. Sidney ; " 'tis my lord's last genius,
sure — he who wrote a satire against the court last year with one
Charley Montague — a parody on Mr. Dryden's bombast, which
sorely vexed him "

" The same, sir," answered the young man, flushing deeper
with pleasure. " Lord Dorset is the Maecenas of the age, as I
have truly found "

" Well," said the Admiral, " you seem a likely spark — stick to
your Pope-burning and you'll find yourself at Court yet — that is
good advice. What is your name ? I don't read poetry."

" I don't write it, sir," retorted the other, with an engaging
touch of impudence. " Only verses — a little satire and a little
truth."

Arthur Herbert laughed.

" Well, what is your name ? "

"Prior, sir — Matthew Prior."

" Good evening, Mr. Prior, and remember that you did not
see me to-night — silence, mind, even to your friends the Whigs."

" I know enough for that, sir," responded the student simply.
He took off a battered hat with a courtly air of respect, and dis-
creetly turned away and slipped back into the crowd.

The two gentlemen continued their way.

" We run some risk, you observe," smiled Mr. Sidney. " Who
would have reckoned on that chance ? "

" None but good Protestants are abroad to-night," answered
the Admiral ; " but I doubt if you will be safe in London much
longer "

"I will come to The Hague as soon as I dare — tell His
Highness so much ; but I would not have my going prejudice
those who must remain at their posts — it would give a colour to
rumours if I was to return to The Hague "

"My Lord Sunderland manageth the rumours," smiled
Herbert.

THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30111, 1688 31

" My Lord Sunderland," repeated Mr. Sidney reflectively, " is
difficult stuff to handle. I tell you plainly that I do not know
how far he will go."

" But he will not betray us ? "

" No — I can go warrant for that."

They turned down the Strand and walked along the river,
which was lively with water-men and boats of music and great
barges.

" M. Zuylestein will be sending Edward Russell with further
news," said Mr. Sidney. " Look out for him, I pray you, at The
Hague."

" Edward Russell must be weary of running to and fro
England and Holland," remarked Herbert. " And how long will
the King allow M. Zuylestein to drill parties against him ? "

Mr. Sidney answered shortly.

"Mr. Russell hath my reason of hatred to the house of
Stewart, and as for M. Zuylestein he is too clever to give His
Majesty a chance to interfere."

They paused at one of the landing stages, and Herbert
shouted to an idle pair of oars that was looking for custom.

" Now, farewell," he said, " lest you shame my appearance — I
shall be at Gravesend to-night and, given fair wind, at Maasland-
sluys in a day." He pressed Mr. Sidney's hand, smiled, and
hastened down the steps.

With a sobbing swish of water the boat drew up ; the oars
clanked in the rowlocks. Mr. Sidney watched the tall figure in
the red breeches of the sailor step in, look back and wave his
hand ; then the boat joined the others that covered the dark river,
and was soon lost to sight in the cross glimmers of lanterns and
half-seen shapes.

Mr. Sidney remained gazing down the Thames — behind him
the great capital rejoicing with their bells and rockets and bon-
fires, their shouting and singing, behind him the luxurious palace
where the King must be enduring a sharp humiliation. Mr.
Sidney smiled; he thought, with a keenness rare in his soft
nature, of his brother who had laid down his life on Tower Hill
through the intrigues of the Duke of York, now King. It aston-
ished himself how much the memory of that injury rankled. He
had not loved his brother to half the measure that he hated the

32 GOD AND THE KING

man who had brought him to death. Indolent in mind and
temper, he loathed cruelty, and the blood of Algernon Sidney
was not the only witness to the cruelty of James Stewart. Mr.
Sidney had seen the look on the fair face of Lord Monmouth
when he landed at the Tower stairs ; he had seen well-born men
and women, implicated only indirectly in the late rebellion,
shipped off to Virginia as slaves, while the Italian Queen and her
women quarrelled over the price of them ; he had seen, in this
short reign, many acts of an extraordinary tyranny and baseness,
and his thoughts dealt triumphantly on Mr. Herbert, slipping
down the river out of the tumult and excitement to the quiet of
Gravesend with an important little paper in his seaman's coat
pocket.

CHAPTER IV
THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND

MADAME DE MARSAC, one time Miss Basilea Gage
and maid of honour to the Queen of England, sat in
the window-place of an inn in The Hague and looked down into
the street. There was an expression of indifference on her face
and of listlessness in her attitude, though a man in black velvet
was standing near to her and speaking with an appearance of
great energy, and he was M. D'Avaux, minister of King Louis xiv
to the States General.

Basilea was Romanist, of a family who had held that faith
since the days of Queen Mary Tudor ; her husband, two years
dead, an officer in the French Army, had left her with a small
fortune and no regrets, since she was yet undecided as to whether
she had liked him or no ; though too clever to be unhappy she
was miserably idle, and had drifted from Paris back to London,
and from London to Amsterdam, where her late lord's people
were prominent among the powerful French faction, and still
without finding any interest in life.

It was M. D'Avaux, with whom she had some former
acquaintance, who had urgently requested her to come to The
Hague, and she was here, listening to him, but without en-
thusiasm, being more engaged in watching the great number of
well-dressed people who passed up and down the wide, clean
street.

M. D'Avaux perhaps noticed her inattention, for he broke his
discourse with an abrupt question.

11 Would you care to see a revolution in your country — '49
over again with the Prince of Orange in place of Cromwell ? "

She turned quickly, obviously startled. Though so indifferent
to actual happenings, she was tenacious of tradition, and she felt

34 GOD AND THE KING

a vast, though passive, admiration for the action of King James
in re-establishing in his kingdoms the ancient faith that was hers.

" Why — you mean " she began, and paused, searching his

face with puzzled dark eyes.

" I mean, Madame," said M. D'Avaux strongly, " that your
King is cutting away the supports that prop his throne — you
must know something of the feeling in England."

"Yes," she assented; "the trouble with the colleges, the
declaration of Indulgence, and some rare malicious talk of the
Prince of Wales — but nothing like — a revolution ! "

The Frenchman smiled.

"Let me tell you some facts. When Henry Sidney was
Envoy here, he was in reality the channel of communication
between the Opposition in England and His Highness — even
since his recall he hath served the same turn — and these last
months Edward Russell hath been coming and going with
messages between the Prince and those great Protestants whom
the King hath put out of office."

" If this is known," cried Basilea, " surely it can be prevented
— it is treason ! "

"What is treason in England, Madame, is loyalty at The
Hague — and do you imagine that I have any influence with the
States, who are entirely under the rule of the Prince ? "

"I have noticed," answered Basilea, "a monstrous number
of English and French Protestants at The Hague, but thought
they came here for a mere refuge."

" They come here," said M. D'Avaux drily, " for revenge —
since the Edict of Nantes was revoked all the Huguenots look
to the Prince, and since he refused his assent to the Declaration
of Indulgence every Englishman who is not a Romanist looketh
to him also."

Basilea rose ; the sunshine was over her curls and blue dress,
and shook a red light from the garnets at her wrist ; her eyes
narrowed; she was interested by this clear talk of important
events.

" What could the Prince do ? " she asked quietly.

M. D'Avaux replied with some passion.

" This is the tenth year of the uneasy peace forced on His
Highness by His Majesty and the late King Charles, and not a

THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND 35

month of that time that he hath not been working to be avenged
on us for the terms we obtained then — he hath combined powers
in secret leagues against us, he hath vexed and defied us at every
turn, and he hath never, for one moment, ceased to intrigue for
the help of England against us — in some final issue."

"But England," said Basilea quickly, "is entirely bound to
France "

" Yes ; and because of that, and because the Prince of Orange
knoweth it, King James is in a desperate strait "

"Why?"

"Madame, I know the Prince tolerably well — he never
relinquishes any idea that hath a firm hold on his mind, and
what he cannot accomplish by diplomacy he will essay by force."

" By force ! " echoed Basilea, staring at the Ambassador.

He came a little nearer to her and lowered his voice.

"What is the business that keepeth Edward Russell on
messenger duty to and fro The Hague and London ? What is
the business that keepeth the Prince for ever riding from his villa
to the States ? Why are all the harness makers of the Provinces
making bridles, bits, and spurs ? Why is the Prince, if there is
not some great design afoot, buying up load after load of hay —
why are new ships being built, fresh troops being raised ? "

" Surely," answered Basilea, "I have heard it said that the
States were making ready in case the dispute between King
Louis and the Pope anent Cologne should involve attack on
their frontiers."

" I do not believe it," said M. D'Avaux. " But King James
and Lord Sunderland take your view — they will not be roused,
they will not see, and daily they further abuse that loyalty which
is their sole support. I am well informed from England that
not one man in ten believeth the Prince of Wales to be the
King's son, and that they regard the producing of him as a mere
fraud to cheat the Princesses of their birthright."

" What do you mean, what do you think ? " asked Basilea.
" It is not possible that the Prince should claim his wife's in-
heritance by force of arms ? "

" You put it very succinctly," said M. D'Avaux. " That is
exactly what I think he will do."

Basilea was silent. The, to her, amazing aspect of inter-

36 GOD AND THE KING

national politics disclosed in M. D'Avaux's brief and troubled
summary filled her with dismay and anger. The domestic
government of England did not concern her, since she did not
live under it, and her family, being Romanist, were more
prosperous under King James than they had ever been. She had
not given much thought to the justice or wisdom of the means
the King had taken to convert his kingdom, but she approved
of the principle. She had no admiration for the Prince of Orange,
and no sympathy for the cause he upheld.

"He would never," she remarked, continuing her thoughts
aloud, " dare the scandal of an open rupture betwixt himself and
His Majesty, who is both his uncle and his wife's father "

"There is nothing but dislike between them since the King
recalled Sidney and the Prince refused his assent to the repeal
of the Test Act "

"But the Princess," interrupted Basilea. "Why, I used to
know her, and I dare assure you she is not one to forget her
duty "

" Her duty ! " repeated M. D'Avaux.

He looked at her intently.

" You have touched the reason why I asked you to come to
The Hague," he said. " I want you to wait on the Princess and
obtain from her some assurance that she would never counten-
ance any menace to her father "

" I am sure she would not," answered Basilea at once.

" I do hope it, for if she will not support her husband his
design is as good as hopeless, since it is her claim, not his own,
he must put forward."

Basilea smiled.

"She is a Stewart, must be a little ambitious, if nothing else,
and hers was not a love-match that she should sacrifice every-
thing to her husband."

She glanced quickly at M. D'Avaux, and added —

" But you still look doubtful "

"Madame," he replied earnestly, "the Princess is a very
ardent Protestant "

" She was not at Whitehall."

" — She hath," he continued, "lived ten years with the
Prince "

THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND 37

" They say in England that he doth not treat her kindly "

"His Majesty hath done his best to put discord between
them — when Her Highness discovered that her chaplain and one
of her women, Anne Trelawney, were working, on His Majesty's
orders, to make mischief betwixt the Prince and herself, she
dismissed them. I thought that looked ill for us."

Basilea shook her head, still smiling.

" An English princess will not be so soon subdued — I'll
undertake to get assurances from Her Highness that she is
ignorant of these tales of the designs of the Prince, and that she
would never support them if she knew of them."

Basilea spoke with some animation ; she felt sure of what
she said, and was not ill pleased to be of service to her own and
her adopted country in this, as she thought it, pleasant fashion.

She remembered Mary Stewart as a lively, laughing girl, who
had detested and opposed her marriage with much spirit, and she
had no fear that she would find that wilful gay Princess difficult
to manage.

M. D'Avaux was not so confident.

"You do not know the Prince," he remarked, and Basilea
laughed.

" He is not so redoubtable where women are concerned,
I think," she answered ; " at least allow me to try."

" I ask it of you," he said gravely ; " for more hangs on this
than I dare think."

" Sure, you need not fear the Prince," she returned, " if he
had the most wicked will in the world — the difficulties in his
way are unsurmountable."

" France," he replied, " must make them so."

On that he took his leave, and left Basilea with more busy
thoughts than had been hers for some while since.

She returned to the window-seat, propped her chin on her
palm, and looked down the street. She was a pretty seeming
woman, slender, dusky brown in the hair and eyes, of a just
height and proportion, and her person was shown to advantage
by the plain French style of her gown and ringlets, which had a
graceful simplicity wholly wanting in the stiff fashions prevailing
in England and the Low Countries.

Her window looked upon an end of the Buitenhof, one of

38 GOD AND THE KING

the two great squares that formed the centre of The Hague
so admired by strangers ; it was planted with lime trees, now
past their flowering time, but still fragrant and softly green in the
gentle air of July.

A great number of people of both sexes, finely dressed, were
passing up and down, on foot, on horseback, and in little open
chariots and sedans. Basilea noticed many unmistakeably
English, Scotch, and French of varying degrees of qualities —
soldiers, divines, gentlemen, and women mingling with the crowd,
hastening past with intent faces or lounging with idle glances
at each other in hopes to detect a friend or patron.

She opened the window and leaned out so that she could see
the Buitenhof with the straight lines and arches of the govern-
ment buildings of the States, the trees that shaded the great fish-
pond called the Vyver, and the open square where the carriages
passed on their way to the fashionable promenade of the
Voorhout and Toorniveld.

Among all the varying figures that caught her glance was
that of a tall man in the garb of an English seaman — red breeches,
a tarred coat, a cocked hat with his captain's colours, and a heavy
sword.

She noticed him first because he stopped to ask directions of
two passers-by, English also, and because he was, even among so
many, of a fine and showy appearance.

He turned at first towards the arches that led through to the
Binnenhof and the Hall of the Knights, then hesitated, turned
back, and retraced his steps until he was just under Basilea's
window.

Here he paused again, and accosted a stout gentleman in the
dress of an Anglican priest, who was dashing through the press
with a great air of importance and hurry.

On seeing the tarpaulin he greeted him with noisy surprise
and pleasure, and drew him a little out of the crowd, and
proceeded to converse eagerly with the unction of the inveterate
talker.

Basilea laughed to herself as she observed the seaman's efforts
to escape, and to obtain some first answer to a question.

At last he seemed to accomplish both, for he wrenched
himself from the powerful presence of the priest, and hastened

THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND 39

towards the Stadhuis, while the other called after him in a voice
meant to be subdued, but still so resonant that Basilea could hear
every word : " The Prince will be back to-morrow evening ! "

The seaman waved his hat, nodded, and hastened on.

Basilea wondered why a common sailor should be concerned
as to when His Highness returned to The Hague, and concluded,
rather angrily, that here was evidence of one of the manifold
intrigues which the Whigs, M. D'Avaux had assured her, carried
on almost openly in Holland; she knew the priest to be Dr.
Burnet, one of the most active exiles at The Hague.

CHAPTER V
THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE

BASILEA DE MARSAC waited on Her Highness the day
after her interview with M. D'Avaux ; a curious coincidence
had strengthened her desire to see the Princess, and piqued her
curiosity as to the sentiments of that lady. One of the fast
packets that were constantly plying between the States and
England had brought her a letter from Lady Sunderland, who
was, to Basilea, a person who of all others must find it her interest
and duty to be intensely loyal. My lady wrote a long and
involved letter, but the sum of it seemed to be what M. D'Avaux
had put much more plainly, namely, that the King's party (among
whom was, of course, Lord Sunderland) had become alarmed at
the crisis the actions of His Majesty had brought upon the
country in attempting to push forward his own religion, and
that they feared an active interference on the part of the Prince
of Orange, now his wife's claims were indefinitely postponed by
the birth of the Prince of Wales, and his hopes of an English
alliance against the French for ever shattered by the policy of
King James.

Lady Sunderland concluded by asking of Basilea what
M. D'Avaux had asked — that she should discover the mind of
the Princess, and draw some promise from her for the satisfaction
of Royalist and Romanist, to the effect that Her Highness would
never let her title to the English throne be a handle for her
husband's political designs.

Basilea was half roused, half amused by the double errand.
She was not very well informed about politics, but she felt in her
heart an absolute doubt of any revolution in England. All her
life there had been talk of it, but it had always ended in a few
executions or fights in Scotland, or some such vague conclusions

THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 41

in which she had never been very interested; but she could
understand that Lady Sunderland did not feel lukewarm in the
matter. Ever since the May of last year, when the Earl had been
converted to the Church of Rome (a step which none other of the
King's ministers had taken), he had been as detested in England
as it was possible for a man to be. The King alone protected him,
and if the King fell, there was little doubt that his fall also
would be swift and terrible.

Basilea liked the Countess ; she was better pleased to serve
her than to serve M. D'Avaux, and she anticipated, with pleasure,
being able to write in answer that the Princess was still a
Stewart, despite ten years' residence in Holland.

It was late afternoon when Basilea had her audience
(accorded without difficulty) at the Prince's villa beyond The
Hague, called the ' huis ten bosch ' by reason of the beautiful
wood and deer park in which it stood. This house had been
built by the Prince's grandmother, Amalia of Solms, and con-
tained the famous hall which she had decorated in honour of
her husband, the Stadtholder Frederick Henry. There was no
splendour, however, in the apartments Basilea saw ; the appoint-
ments were neat and comfortable, but neither lavish nor rich, and
she had known English ladies better served as to the quantity
and appearance of servants than was the Princess Royal of
England.

In a room at the back, that overlooked a formal garden filled
with roses and box hedges, Basilea found the mistress of the
quiet house and the lady whose mind two great kingdoms were
anxious to know.

It was a chamber panelled in walnut, and furnished by chairs
with worked seats and stools with fringed covers, several fine
pieces of Eastern furniture, and many shelves on which stood
curious and vivid china monsters and vases, and bow pots filled
with roses.

Basilea did not know which of the two young ladies seated
by the window was the Princess, so utterly had ten years worked
their change.

She hesitated after her courtesy, and the taller of the two
ladies came forward and took her hand warmly.

"Are you Basilea Gage with whom I used to play at

42 GOD AND THE KING

Twickenham?" she asked. "Why did you not come to see
me sooner?"

She smiled half wistfully, and turned to her companion.

"This is Mademoiselle Dyckfelt, and this is Madame de
Marsac, Anne, whom I told you was coming to-day."

She had a timid way of speaking, as if she was shy, and, to
Basilea, something of the formal in her manner, as if she was
preoccupied.

The Dutch lady was like most of her countrywomen whom
Basilea had observed, very fair and pretty, with that glow and
robust brightness that gave the women of Holland their re-
putation for handsomeness. She was plainly dressed in grey
branched with silver, and was engaged in working a chair-cover
in cross stitch. The vivid green and blue of the wools she used
showed off her small, plump white hands — a common beauty
among her nation.

The Princess began talking of England and the people
she remembered there; while Basilea answered she observed
Mary, who seemed to her disappointingly strange and different.

Still little "more than a girl, she was extremely beautiful,
uniting her father's aristocratic grace and her mother's soft
charm; though dignified and above the common height, she
bore herself humbly and with a deprecating sweetness.

Basilea was not the only one who at first sight had been
impressed with the air of simple purity which heightened and
glorified Mary's beauty, for it was impossible to find a fault in
her person or manner : she was unconscious of herself, tactful,
without affectations or vanities, watchful for others, and charming
in address, though with that pretty reserve that Basilea called
formality.

Her features were not unlike those of her ancestress — another
Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland — soft and lovely, childlike in
profile, with the gentle curve of contour ; but grave and rather sad
in the full look, and with the expression of a woman, and a
woman who has observed, grieved, and pitied.

Her brown eyes were very large, misty, and continually
narrowed from weak sight, her hair, of the Stewart red-brown,
hung in thick natural curls from a simple knot in her neck.

She gained no advantage from her dress, which would not

THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 43

have offended a Puritan : the straight, boned bodice and stiff
falling stuff of a dull pink colour held no line of grace, and the
prim ruffles to wrist and throat were more decorous than
becoming. At the English court her attire would have been
considered ugly, if not ridiculous, and Basilea did not find it
pleasing. She was not herself of a type that can afford to forego
the advantages of adornment, and she reflected that with the
Princess's beauty and her own taste she could have made a
sumptuous appearance.

While thus inwardly admired and criticized, Mary was
speaking of England and all her one-time friends there, and
Mademoiselle Dyckfelt was making comments in pretty broken
English, accompanied with a little gasping laugh which Basilea
had noticed in many Dutch people.

Through all her amiable converse Mary betrayed some slight
inner agitation and expectation, as if she feared the visit might
have another meaning than mere courtesy ; and Basilea guessed
that she, whose position was one of such importance in Europe,
must be used to oblique attempts to sound her views.

With a half-faint amusement she made her own essay —

" Highness, I was in good hopes that you would not seem
such a stranger to me, because I am instructed to make the
venture to speak with you "

Mary looked at her quickly, and interrupted —

" By whom instructed ? "

" Lady Sunderland, Madame, for whom your Highness was
wont to have some kindness."

The Princess flushed, and Basilea wondered why, as her sole
answer was —

" I think Lady Sunderland a good woman."

Basilea smiled.

"She is also, as Your Highness knoweth, a great Politic,
which I never was nor could be, and hath set me to ask Your
Highness some questions bearing on great affairs."

"Great affairs," said Mary under her breath. She rose
gravely. " I think we must not plague Mademoiselle Dyckfelt
with this talk. Will you, Madame, come into the garden ? "

The Dutch maiden rose and unlatched the long window,
then returned placidly to her sewing.

44 GOD AND THE KING

Mary and Basilea descended a few steps into the formal
garden, mainly composed of box hedges and dipt rose bushes,
with a square pond in the centre bordered with little yellow
yew trees in wooden tubs and precise beds of pinks and herbs.

The tall and beautiful trees of the deer park in which the
villa stood rose up, with the elegant air of loftiness peculiar to
the trees of a perfectly flat country where they are the highest
thing the eye has within range ; the air also was characteristic,
being of that strangely exhilarating quality of salt freshness that
in every part of the United Provinces served as a perpetual
reminder of the sea. It was warm to-day, and the sun was golden
in the foliage, and lay in scattered flecks of light among the
flowers, and on the pond where two waterlilies were slowly
closing to the evening.

"You may speak quite frankly now," said Mary, as they
proceeded slowly down the gravel path. " Have you a message
from Lady Sunderland ? "

" No, Madame," said Basilea, surprised that the Princess
should seem to expect it. "Only — it is difficult to express,
Highness — but there are monstrous tales abroad in France,
England, and even here "

The Princess looked at her silently.

"They do say," continued Basilea, "that His Highness
meddleth in the affairs of England, and these rumours give
disquietude to His Majesty "

Mary broke in, rather breathless —

" I know nothing of business — my husband heareth so much
of it abroad that he is glad to talk of other matters at home.
What doth Lady Sunderland want of me ? "

Basilea answered directness with directness.

" She wisheth to know — that the Earl may put it privately
before His Majesty — your mind on the matter between His
Highness and the King."

" What matter is that ? " asked Mary.

Basilea was at a loss.

" Your Highness must know better than I : as for these
horrible rumours "

Mary paused by a rose bush and asked steadily —

" What rumours ? "

THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 45

" I think it would be unseemly to name them ! "

" I will hold you excused," said the Princess, still gravely.

" Then, Madame, 'tis said that His Highness is so exasperate
with the policy of His Majesty and postponement of your claim
by the birth of the Prince, that he might attempt to do what my
Lord Monmouth did "

Mary's fine fingers pulled delicately at the rose leaves.

"My husband and that poor unhappy gentleman are such
different characters and in such different situations," she said,
"that there can be no comparison. I think the Prince would
never do as the Duke did."

Basilea looked at her keenly.

"'Tis asserted, Lady Sunderland saith, that the Prince is in
league with all the discontents of England, that he sheltereth
many at The Hague "

" This country," answered the Princess quietly, " hath always
been a refuge for the unfortunate, and it is reasonable that the
near connection of my husband to the throne should give him
an interest in English business."

Basilea was older than the Princess, whose air of extreme
gentleness further emboldened her to take, half unconsciously, a
further liberty.

"I can assure Lady Sunderland that His Highness is
innocent of the designs imputed to him."

Mary glanced up from the rose bush ; she smiled very slightly.

" Why, you must go to the Prince for that assurance ; I know
nothing about it."

Basilea stirred the gravel with her square-toed red shoe.

" You must know, Madame," she said slowly, " whether you
would hinder or further the Prince his projects ? "

Mary flushed, and the full brown eyes narrowed.

" Neither you nor I," she answered, " can discuss His High-
ness his projects, which ever have been and will be for the good
of Europe."

Basilea looked at her curiously.

" I fear Your Highness will think me impertinent, but," she
thought of the grave words of M. D'Avaux, and the memory
urged her not to be put off by the evasiveness of the Princess —
" but there are strange things said in Paris and London "

46 GOD AND THE KING

"Madame de Marsac," interrupted Mary gently, "if my
father hath cause to complain of me, he must send a direct
messenger."

Basilea felt herself rebuked.

"I do not carry His Majesty's complaints, Highness," she
answered humbly. " I am but the poor engine of the fears of
my Lady Sunderland, who saith that in London the Prince his
name is on the lips of all the discontents, and it is feared that
they might set him up as a pretender ; and since that could not
be if you refused your consent, it would be a great comfort to
His Majesty and his faithful ministers if you would give that
assurance."

The Princess took a step forward, then stopped as if by an
effort of self-control.

" I cannot deal with these secret and underground counsels,"
she said firmly ; "and my poor brains are not fit for business."

"This is not business, Highness," urged Basilea.

"Whatever you call it," demanded the Princess, "why did
you undertake it ? "

"Because M. D'Avaux " began Basilea, then stopped

vexed ; she had not meant to mention that name.

"M. D'Avaux," repeated Mary, with a heightened colour;
" so he hath a mind to know what I shall do if a certain crisis
cometh ? "

Both the tone and the words seemed to betray more interest
and knowledge than she had yet disclosed, and Basilea was
encouraged.

"M. D'Avaux is an acquaintance of mine," she said frankly.

"Ah yes," replied Mary; "you are a Papist, and your
husband was a Frenchman. I think that meaneth," she added
courteously, "that we cannot see things the same."

"Your Highness doth not desire to behold Europe embroiled
in another war ! "

Mary answered earnestly —

" There is nothing further from my wishes, and no ambition
of mine," she added half wistfully, "would disturb anybody's
peace. I bless my God that I know the life I am suited to, and
I thank Him that He hath given me the grace to know when I
am happy."

THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 47

She put her hand gently on Basilea's sleeve.

"It is getting too dark to remain here, and you have not
even looked at my roses ! "

Basilea admitted herself defeated. She was a little chagrined

at the thought of the lame report she would have to give

M. D'Avaux, but she could press no more, especially as she had

'an uneasy feeling that the Princess thought the less of her for

the errand she had come upon.

She left talk of politics, and Mary accompanied her with
easy courtesy to the front of the villa, where her hired chariot
waited with her maid yawning herself to death over an old-
fashioned romance by Mademoiselle de Scudery, which she had
found in the inn parlour.

The sky was paling and flushing behind the great avenue of
trees rich in their full leafage, and the rooks were noisy in the
branches.

" This is a pretty spot, Highness," said Basilea, on the im-
pulse of the moment.

Mary smiled.

Two men were mounting the few wide entrance steps. Basilea
noticed them, because one was the red-breeched sailor whom she
had seen yesterday beneath her window, the other was a slight
gentleman in a circular mantle turned up over one shoulder,
wearing riding boots and carrying a whip ; Basilea saw his horse
being led off by a bareheaded groom.

She could not restrain her curiosity at seeing the seaman
entering the Prince's villa.

" Doth Your Highness know that man ? " she asked.

Mary glanced at the two as she closed the gate in the garden wall.

" Which ? " she asked, smiling.

"The English sailor "

"No; but he hath good credentials, for that is the Prince
with him," said Mary quietly.

Basilea was further surprised; she endeavoured to gain a
closer view of the Stadtholder and his companion, but they had
entered the house ; she was satisfied, however, that she had some-
thing to tell M. D'Avaux.

"You must not marvel at the companion of His Highness,"
continued the Princess ; " there are many come here who are

48 GOD AND THE KING

glad lo wear disguises, owing to the rancour of the persecution
of the Protestants in France."

Basilea curtsied her leave. She was quite convinced that the
seaman was not French nor on any message from France, and
she was beginning to be convinced, too, that the Princess was
marvellously changed and different, and that it would be well for
neither Lady Sunderland nor M. D'Avaux to be too sure of her
compliance.

Mary allowed her to depart without that demonstration of
kindness with which she had received her, and Basilea stepped
into her chariot feeling disappointed and dissatisfied.

Mary, still standing by the garden wall at the side of the
house, watched the little coach swing out of sight down the long
darkening drive, and when it was lost in the shadows ran lightly
up the steps and in through the tall doors ; there, in the light
painted vestibule, she found the Prince and the English seaman
conversing.

She paused, flushed, and breathing in pants. The Prince
took off his hat, and said —

" This is the Princess, sir."

The sailor turned quickly, and gave her a sharp look as he
bowed.

" This is Admiral Herbert, Madame," continued the Prince,
"who is new come from England."

The colour receded from Mary's face. She glaced in a half
frightened way at her husband.

" Oh," she murmured, " I wished to speak to you — but it
can wait — for I suppose Admiral Herbert his business is ...
important."

There was a tenseness of containment among the three of
them, as if they were all aware of great events and would not
speak of them.

" If the Princess is informed " began Arthur Herbert.

The Stadtholder interrupted.

" The Princess knoweth everything, Mr. Herbert."

Arthur Herbert betrayed the slightest surprise, covered
instantly by a ready turn of speech.

" Her Highness will understand, then, the importance of my
business."

THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 49

He bowed again, very courteous, to Mary, who answered
instantly —

" I will not hinder you, Mr. Herbert, not for an instant."

The Prince looked at her.

" Send for me when I am free, Madame."

With that they both saluted her, and turned into the room at
the right of the vestibule.

Mary stood motionless in the twilight, peered at the closed
door that concealed the English messenger, then went softly
and, it seemed, fearfully away.

CHAPTER VI
THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT

WHEN Admiral Herbert found himself closeted with
William of Orange, he had some eagerness in observing
that Prince whose name was so much in the mouths of men, and
who had grown to be a kind of lodestar to Protestant England.

The first thing that impressed a courtier of the Stewarts,
used to a lavish and extravagant habit of living, was that there
was no splendour in the plain dark room, the stern furnishing
of which seemed almost parsimony in a royal Prince, nor any
manner of display about the Stadtholder himself, who, with
his own hands, shifted the candles in the brass sticks from
the mantelshelf to the table, and set open the window on the
summer woods.

Arthur Herbert looked keenly at him ; he had dropped
his hat and mantle on to a chair, and his person was fully
revealed in the steady red candle glow.

He was at this time in his thirty-seventh year, at the
height of his reputation : the most respected statesman, one
of the most feared generals and powerful rulers in Europe, the
head of the nation which was supreme in trade and maritime
dominion, the foremost champion of the reformed religion,
first Prince of the blood in England, the close ally and councillor
of the Empire, of Spain, the Northern States, Germany, and,
as it was whispered, of the Pope, the leader of the English
opposition, and husband to the heiress of that country, the
rallying point for the discontents and indignations of all those
whom the King of France had injured or the King of England
put out of humour.

This combination of circumstance and quality that had

given him the unique position he held, made him the most

50

THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT 51

discussed and famous figure at present before the eyes of men.
Even where he was abused and decried he was never forgotten,
and shared in the minds of the French almost as much
attention as their own exalted King.

Added to his present fame was the glamour of past
heroism, the history of his splendid house, the great deeds of
his ancestors, his own breaking from unhappy childhood and
desolate youth to power in one day of chaos and ruin, blood
and despair; his almost miraculous deliverance of his country,
constant devotion to it, and his firm adherence to the persecuted
religion were unique in the history of princes, and lived in
the minds of men.

The man who was of this estimation in Europe, who
possessed so many extraordinary qualities, and had had so
strange a history, appeared to the Englishman as a gentleman
of no particular appearance of energy, rather below than above
the middle height, and of a frail physique and slenderness of
proportion rare in a man of action, and which reminded Herbert
of my Lord Shaftesbury, whose impetuous and fiery manners
had counteracted the effect of his feeble person.

The Stadtholder differed there, being entirely composed
and stately, and holding himself with a certain stiff control, as
one trained to maintain dignity and the foremost place in
the sight of men.

His countenance was manly, grave, and remarkable, chiefly
by reason of his large brilliant eyes of a lively hazel, sparkling
and expressive, and his thick dark brown hair, which he wore
falling on to his collar like an old-fashioned cavalier ; his high
aquiline nose, full mouth very firmly set, slightly cleft chin
and hollowed cheeks, clear and tanned complexion, conveyed
a subtle sense of youth and simplicity, despite his rather severe
and austere expression, as if at heart he was still as ardent
as when he wrested the three conquered provinces from the
French ; his face, though thin and worn, was unlined.

He wore a violet riding coat of a heavy fashion, and a
cravat of thick Bruges lace and a plain sword. Herbert would
never have taken him for a soldier. He wondered if he would
ever please the English as he had done the Dutch, or courts
as he did people, and was conscious of an unreasonable

52 GOD AND THE KING

feeling of incongruity that this should be the man looked to as
the saviour of England, indeed of half Europe.

The Prince pulled off his gloves slowly, the while looking
on the floor. He was seated the other side of the table to
Herbert, who thought he had found some reluctance or difficulty
in speaking, perhaps because he was using English, with which
language he was tolerably familiar, but spoke with no kind
of grace, but rather a distaste.

" You are sent by Mr. Sidney ? " he asked at last.

He had a short, strong way of speaking; his manner was
stately to coldness. Arthur Herbert looked in vain for any
trace of emotion or curiosity as to the momentous errand he
must know that he, Herbert, had come upon, or even, as he
reflected rather vexedly, any welcome for himself.

" By Mr. Sidney and some others, sir," he answered.

The Prince put his gloves on the table, and raised his eyes.

"You have, Mr. Herbert, brought some answer to my late
request that some powerful English families should give me
a written invitation to this expedition to which the Protestant
lords have so constantly, and, of late, so insistently urged me."

Admiral Herbert put his hand into the breast of his common
coat, and pulled out a sealed packet, which he handed to the
Prince.

"This association, Your Highness, of which you have had
advices from my Lord Shrewsbury and Mr. Sydney, is at
length signed by seven of our great men, and I pray Your
Highness to take it as full warrant for interfering in the present
miserable estate of England."

After having delivered this speech, Admiral Herbert looked
straightly at the Prince, who was slowly breaking the seals.
He felt more enthusiasm for the cause than for His Highness,
and more warmly for both when he was not in the actual
presence of the Prince, whose personal coldness had an ill
effect on the Englishman's impatient nature.

" This is Mr. Sidney his hand," remarked the Prince.

Arthur Herbert laid another letter on the dark, shining table.

"There is also a personal letter from that gentleman."

William looked rapidly over the contents of the packet,
and his thin cheek flushed.

THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT 53

" This is definite," he said.

" Your Highness asked that it might be."

The Prince took up the other letter, and read it over with
great quickness.

"Mr. Sidney saith my Lord Nottingham would not sign,"
he remarked ; " is that timidity ? "

"Some manner of prudence, I suppose, sir; but he will not
betray our design. He gave us leave to take his life if we
thought him capable of it; but I believe he can go even to
Court and not discover any sign of the concern he is under, so
close a man he is."

" Oh, he is honest," said William dryly. He took up the first
letter again; it was signed at the bottom by seven numbers,
thus: 25, 24, 27, 29, 31, 35, 33; the Prince did not require
the code sent him by Henry Sidney to discover the names
these numbers stood for; he had the cipher by heart, and
knew that the seven who had signed were Lord Shrewsbury,
Lord Devonshire, Lord Danby, Lord Lumley, the suspended
Compton, Bishop of London, Admiral Russell, and Mr. Sydney
himself. They represented a body of opinion that was weighty ;
if they were not many, they were powerful, and the Prince
himself had said that he did not need many names if they
were those of great families. Lord Halifax, who had been one
of his warmest supporters, had shrunk from the first hint of
anything so violent as a revolution, and the Prince had forbidden
the design to be opened to him ; for the scruples of Lord
Nottingham he had also been prepared ; therefore the signatures
were the utmost that he could have hoped for; but he gave
no sign of excitement or satisfaction, but sat thoughtfully looking
at the two papers in his hand.

"Mr. Sidney saith that you are well instructed in these
affairs, Mr. Herbert," he said at last, raising his great eyes.
" This paper is well composed and comprehensive, but it saith
nothing of how far the King is suspicious of these gentler en and
their correspondence with me. And that is an important matter."

Admiral Herbert answered instantly.

"The King is kept amused by my Lord Sunderland, sir,
who hath his entire confidence."

" My Lord Sunderland hath not openly joined you ? "

54 GOD AND THE KING

" No, sir ; and in truth his conduct is a mystery, but Mr. Sidney
hath a pledge from the Countess that he will not betray us."

" I am tolerably sure of my lord," answered the Prince
" He hath control of the foreign correspondence, hath he not ? "

"Yes, Your Highness. We have felt some fears for M.
D'Albeville, the King his envoy here, it being generally believed
that he is in the pay of M. Barillon."

"He receiveth some kind of pension from him," said the
Prince calmly, " and maketh him all manner of promises. But
he is better fee'd by me, and I do know that he sendeth beguiling
letters home."

" Then I think there is no one likely to open the King his
eyes. It all resteth now on the resolution of Your Highness."

The Prince very faintly smiled.

"They suggest any attempt, if any be made, this year,
do they not ? ' he said, instantly grave again.

"At once, sir, is what we should wish."

The Prince rose and crossed to the hearth.

" This winter would be the soonest," he answered quietly.
"Tell me more of England — it is the King his purpose to call a
packed parliament in the autumn?"

Arthur Herbert replied with a kind of angry energy that
betrayed the force that had involved him in these intrigues.

" The charters being taken from the towns, the franchise is
in the King his hands, and is only to be granted to those who
will swear to return His Majesty his candidate, the Protestant
Lord-Lieutenants have been displaced by Catholic, and they
have orders to let no one into office who will not consent to the
repeal of the Test Act — so we are all officered by Papists, and
to be a Protestant is to starve."

" My uncle," said the Prince, with an accent of cold con-
tempt, "would never make a good tyrant; when liberty is
conquered 'tis by more subtle ways than this."

Arthur Herbert's eyes sparkled.

" I tell you, sir, that in one place where the electorate hath
been reduced to fifteen, even these are so little to be relied upon,
the King was told his man had no chance."

" Why, surely," answered William, " the English are not of a
spirit to endure this monstrous breakage of the laws."

THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT 55

Arthur Herbert looked at him again with that half admira-
tion, half dislike; in truth there was nothing in common
between the two men but enthusiasm for the same cause — in the
one transient, impulsive, based on personal interest; in the
other strong, unchanging, deep as life itself.

Some weeks ago the Englishman had received a letter from
the Prince offering him his protection, and Arthur Herbert
could not recognise in the quiet Stadtholder the writer of that
warm, firm, courteous, well-turned letter, but none too quick as
his perceptions were, they perceived that there must be some-
thing in this man that he had missed; the fire and ardour
might escape him, but it must be there. Meanwhile, gratitude
was still his cue ; warming with a real sense of the grievous
hurts done to the liberties of England, he proceeded to enlarge
on the text of the letter, to paint the distracted, exasperated
condition of the public mind in England, the common hopes
of the Prince, the ardent desire among the most prudent and
knowing men of affairs for his active interference before the
packed parliament was called to force the repeal of the Test
Act, the disbelief in the young heir being a child of the Queen,
and the small chance that either the army or the navy would be
loyal to James.

The Prince listened with attention but no sign of feeling ;
when Mr. Herbert finished William crossed to the window and
closed it, the draught was setting the candles guttering.

" M. Zuylestein hath been successful ? " he asked, and
coughed a little.

" He seemeth a most able man, sir ; at his secret house in
Greg Street all this hath been considered and performed. We
did desire him to remain in England until we had an answer
from Your Highness, and, to give a careless air to his staying,
he hath gone into the country."

" It is well," answered the Prince, approaching the table.
" Mr. Herbert, you shall have your answer very soon. I shall
to-night consult with M. Fagel and M. Dyckfelt, who, as you
know, were aware of these affairs from the first inception of
them ; to-morrow I will advise with you again. Meanwhile I
will ask you to take your entertainment at my house."

He paused to draw breath, as he always did after any save

56 GOD AND THE KING

those very brief sentences he usually employed. The asthma he
had had for years was obvious in these painful gasping breaths
and constant coughs.

" You have done me a great service," he continued. " I am
very much obliged to you; you are a man of spirit."

Admiral Herbert rose.

" I am greatly indebted to the generosity of Your Highness ;
but there are spies at The Hague, and it might give a colour to
reports already too persistent were I discovered to be lodging
with Your Highness. Among the fugitives from England in the
town I am easily hid."

Again William gave his faint, instantly checked smile.

" I am glad that you are not forgetful of prudence, Mr.
Herbert. We cannot be too careful."

Mr. Herbert hesitated, eyed the Prince, then said, with more
boldness than he felt —

" I must tell Your Highness that there is one matter, too
delicate to commit to writing, that hath been in debate among
your friends in London "

" Ah ? " questioned the Prince.

" — 'tis the attitude of the Princess, sir."

William seemed to slightly stiffen and straighten.

" What should her attitude be but the same as mine ? " he
asked.

Mr. Herbert coloured.

" Forgive me, sir, she is King James his daughter "

The Prince interrupted —

"Also my wife," he said quietly, but with extraordinary force
and, it seemed, pride. " You shall hear the lady for yourself, sir,"

He touched a heavy bell on the table and a servant instantly
appeared.

"Request the presence of Her Highness," he said, then
spoke again to Herbert when the man had gone.

" It is only just that in this great issue in which she is so
intimately concerned you should hear her mind from her own
lips."

" No one doubteth the loyalty of the Lady Mary to yourself,
sir," answered Mr. Herbert, lying cheerfully, for he had been
one of the most cynical in discussing this same loyalty in London.

THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT 57

William coughed again, and seated himself by the table with
his Frisian lace handkerchief pressed to his lips. Mr. Herbert
was suddenly impressed by the fact that he looked not only ill
but in pain.

A little pause of silence, and the Princess entered. She had
changed her gown, and wore a dress of the same stiff pattern in
white brocade, with tinsel and a ribbon of pearls in her hair.

William rose and gave her one look as she closed the door,
then lowered his eyes as he spoke.

" Madame, Mr. Herbert cometh from England with an
invitation to me from my friends to go there with a force to
protect the laws and the religion "

" Ah ! " exclaimed Mary ; she came straight to the table and
dazzled in the candlelight. Mr. Herbert looked at her, and
noticed only her comeliness ; he was not a man to distinguish
types or degrees in beauty. If a woman were pretty, to him she
was nothing more, and the prettier she was the less he credited
her with sense or strength. The Princess's air of dignity and
spiritual look did not save her from this judgment; he dismissed
her as a pleasing young creature, useful for nothing save to smile
and work fantastic finery when she was not saying her prayers.
He smiled, therefore, at the Prince's grave way of speaking to her ;
she seemed, he noticed, much moved, her body quivered, and
she fixed her eyes on her husband with a painful intensity.

" You know," he continued, with a certain simplicity that had
a curious effect, taken with his great seriousness, " the project
that was first suggested to me by Lord Mordaunt a year gone ;
this hath been repeated by weightier men, and the times are
riper "

He paused rather abruptly.

" Will you tell Mr. Herbert that you would approve of this
undertaking ? " he finished, and with a palpable effort.

Mary withdrew her eyes to fix them on Mr. Herbert.

"Surely," she said, "you do not require that assurance
from me ? "

She gave a little weak laugh, and clasped her hands tightly
and unclasped them.

" I do not know what words to choose to convince you how
utterly I am in the hands of my husband, nor how foolish I am

58 GOD AND THE KING

in matters of business." She drew a deep breath, and added, with
a blushing earnestness, " If circumstances permit my husband
to make this attempt, my will is one with his in the design,
which I consider holy as well as just "

Mr. Herbert bowed, and the bright young beauty added with
the gravity that was her manner —

" — but if my husband his design was not just, I fear I should
still support him in it ! "

Mr. Herbert could do nothing but bow to this outspoken
statement; if the words were spontaneous or learnt, lesson
fashion, from the Prince, was no matter to him. They set at rest
the doubts some of the seven, particularly Lord Danby, had
raised concerning her attitude.

He took his leave of the Princess, and she seemed like one
amazed, as if she neither saw nor heard him. The Prince went
with him into the antechamber, and the last look Herbert had
of Mary was the sight of her standing quite still, with her face
as pale as the little braid of pearls in her dark hair, and the
fingers of her right hand pressed to the tinsel bows on her
stiff bodice.

In a few moments the Prince returned, and then she moved
abruptly and took the tall-backed walnut chair Mr. Herbert had
occupied, pushed it from the table, and gazed up at her husband.

He had still the two letters in his hand. He looked at Mary.
With the departure of the Englishman his manner had entirely
changed ; this was very noticeable, though he said nothing.

" You are fatigued," said Mary in a shaking voice, " so fatigued
—I know "

He cast the letters down between them.

" Oh, silly ! " he answered, " that must be always thinking of
my fatigues ! "

He put his thin hand over hers, that rested on the edge of
the table, and gave an excited little laugh.

" Thou hast heard this man, Mary. ... I think I am pledged
to an extraordinary task."

CHAPTER VII
THE SILENT WOOD

MARY answered simply, but with a dreadful force of
emotion —

" You will go ? "

He replied to her tone more than to her words.

"Nay, I must." He pressed the fingers lying cold under his.
" Do thou forgive me, but I must."

" Oh, God pity me ! " cried Mary.

The Prince flushed.

" There is no other way to preserve Christendom," he said ;
" if I do not take this step there is a life's work wasted, and we
are no better than we were in '72."

"I know," she answered hastily. "I know — but — oh, that
our duty had lain another way ! Yet I will not be weak ; if I
cannot help I will not hinder."

She bit her lip to keep back tears, it seemed, and smiled
valiantly.

" Tell me all that Mr. Herbert said."

He broke out at that.

" These foreigners ! That black-avised stalwart thinketh of
nothing but his own interest. He cometh here, in his feeble dis-
guise, like a boy playing at a game, and, by Heaven, 'tis the
manner they all take it in "

" You must not call them foreigners," said Mary, in a quick
distress ; " your mother's people and mine "

The Prince lifted his hand from hers, and let it fall
impatiently.

" Foreigners to me ! Once I may have felt that tie, but now I
dislike them when they flatter and when they sneer." He changed
abruptly to a tenderer tone. " What had you to say to me?"

" Nothing," she answered, " of importance beside this news j

59

60 GOD AND THE KING

only that an old schoolfellow of mine — a meddling Papist —
(God forgive me, but I liked her not) sought to sound me
to-day, set on by M. D'Avaux, who must guess something — but
what is that beside this ? "

She pointed piteously to the letters.

"They have committed themselves now, these gentlemen,"
remarked William, with a certain grim satisfaction. " They can
scarcely go back on their written word, even these weathercocks
of Englishmen."

" They want you to go — this year ? " She could not keep a
certain energy of fear from her tone.

"Before the parliament is called in the autumn," he said
concisely.

Mary rose abruptly and crossed to the window. The rustle
of her stiff gown made a noticeable sound in the stillness, which
was deep and intense — the inner stillness of the house set in the
outer stillness of the wood. The glance of the Prince followed
her. He stood silent.

"There must be difficulties." She spoke without looking
round.

" Difficulties ! Ah yes, and these English do not guess one-
half of them."

She made no reply. Her head bent and her fingers fumbled
at the latch, which she presently undid, and a great breath of
cool air, pure, with the perfume of a hundred trees, swept into the
room.

The wood was motionless, the boughs dark against a lighter
sky ; one or two stars pulsed secretively through and above the
leafage, for all the summer night they had a cold look, as if
they circled in far-off frozen latitudes.

Mary knew and loved the wood so well that she was sensitive
to those subtle changes in it which were like moods in a human
being; to-night, unseen, shadowed like the thought of coming
trouble, it seemed to her sad, mysterious, and lonely, as the image
of retreating happiness.

She rested her head against the mullions, and presently put
her hands up to her face. Her husband, who had stood without
a movement by the table watching her, at this crossed over to
her side.

THE SILENT WOOD 61

" I would to God," he said with energy, " that this could be
helped. I would the scandal of a break with your father could
be avoided. But he hath had every chance to be my friend and
ally — you must admit, Mary, that he hath had every chance."

The few words conveyed to the Princess his meaning. She
knew that he referred to his long uphill struggle, lasting close
on twenty years, to induce England to shake off the yoke of
France, and, in taking her proper place among nations, restore
the balance of power in Europe. Throughout the years of the
disgraceful reign of his Uncle Charles, William had never swerved
from his policy of endeavouring to detach him from France, for
it was very evident that but little headway could be made against
Louis while England was in his pay. When James had come to
the throne, the Stadtholder, with the utmost patience, had
changed his tactics to please the new King, and had, as he said,
given him every chance to put himself at the head of the in-
evitable conflict between France and Europe, which must shortly
take place.

Mary knew this; she knew how reluctantly her husband
would employ force against so near a kinsman, how unwillingly
he would leave Holland, how much long experience had taught
him to mistrust the levity of the English, even those most pro-
fessedly friendly to him, and she was aware that only a tremendous
need could force him to this tremendous resolution, which was
at once more daring and more necessary than any man could
realize save himself.

In her heart she blamed her father most bitterly for forcing
on them this hateful expedient ; but would not say so, nor open
her heart at all on that matter, lest her lips said more than her
conscience could approve.

So to this remark that she so perfectly understood she
replied nothing, and did not move her hands from her face.

The Prince spoke again rapidly.

"Everything is strained to breaking-point, and he who
strikes the first blow will have the advantage. If I go into the
fight again without the help of England, I am no better than a
man fighting with tied hands "

He paused, and added with vigour —

" We cannot do it alone. We must have England."

62 GOD AND THE KING

It was what he had said sixteen years ago in '72, and the
years had made the need more, not less, imperative, He
continued, as if he justified himself to that still figure of his
wife, with her hands before her face.

" I am forced to this decision. No consideration of justice,
of ambition, nay, even of diplomacy or good sense, can move
His Majesty to break off with France ; his insults to the liberty
of England are incredible. He hath done all he can to thwart,
cross, and hamper me. And now is the moment when we must
try conclusions."

The Princess's white brocade shivered with her trembling.

" I know," she murmured — " I know."

But she was weeping, and the tears ran down through her
fingers.

The Prince was at a loss to know why she was so distressed.
She had long been involved with him in the growing rupture
with her father, to whom no affection or respect bound her,
only the mere name of duty, and lately she had been well aware
that the actions of the King were driving the Prince into open
opposition.

He looked at her, rather pale, and frowned.

"You think of your father . . ." he said, . . . "your
father . . ."

Mary, who knew that tears vexed him, endeavoured to check
her sobbing ; but she could not control her voice to speak.

" I am indeed unfortunate," added the Prince rather grimly,
" that to do what I must do I am under the necessity of the
scandal of a breach in my own family."

She answered faintly, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes —

" God forgive me, I did not think of His Majesty."

"Of what, then?"

There was the slightest pause, and then she answered steadily,
still staring out at the dark wood —

" Of — ourselves. Of the great change this will make —
success or failure."

The Prince was silent.

" I have been," continued Mary, very low, " so happy here —
in the life most suited to me, in this dear country, where
every one is so good as to love me a little."

THE SILENT WOOD 63

The candlelight glimmered in the little braid of pearls in
her hair and flowed in lines of light down her thick satin gown,
showed, too, her cheek colourless and glistening with tears.

The Prince, standing close to her, with his back to the
window, watched, but neither spoke nor moved.

"It is nigh ten years," she said, "since you went to the
war . . . and now the peace will be broken again. . . . And
I know not how I can well bear it if you leave me."

The Prince was still silent, and studied her dimly seen face
(for her back was to the light) with what was almost a passionate
attention.

" I am a poor creature," she added, with a kind of desperate
contempt for herself, "to think of my wretched self at such
a juncture; what are my own melancholies compared to what
you must undergo ? Yet, humanly speaking, I have no courage
to face this crisis . . . that my father should be guilty of such
a horrible crime against Church and State, and you bound by
your duty to oppose him by force "

" It had to be," said the Prince sombrely. " This rupture
was inevitable from the first, though I tried to deny it to
myself. But in my heart I knew, yea, ever since '72, that
England would never get herself out of this tangle from
within."

"But it is hard," replied Mary; "even though I know the
hand of God in it "

She turned her eyes, tearless now, but moist and misty, on
her husband, and added simply —

"If you knew how happy I have been here you would
understand how I dread the mere chance of leaving it "

" I shall return," he answered. " It is not possible nor
wishful that I should dethrone the King; but I will get such
a handle to English affairs that they will never league with
France again ; and thou — thou needest not leave The Hague
for an hour."

"There is the least of my troubles disposed of," she
answered sadly. "For you forget how your poor wife loves
you, and how the thoughts of the manifold perils, and your
own rash temper that will not regard dangers, will put me into
a fright which will come between me and God Himself."

64 GOD AND THE KING

The tears gushed up again, but she checked them, dabbing
her eyes with a damp handkerchief, while she exclaimed on
the gasp of a trembling laugh —

" If I cry any more I shall be blind for a week ! "

The Prince put his hand on her shoulder.

"'Tis a silly to spend tears for me," he said, "who will go
into no more dangers than I have ever been used to, and

who only taketh the common risk of common men He

paused a moment, then added abruptly —

" Yet God He knoweth these tears of thine are all I have
in the world for my solace, and I was one of Fortune her
favourites, child, to have you to my wife."

His hand fell from her white sleeves, and she caught it
between hers so that the rings he wore pressed into her
palms.

"Only love and pity me a little," she said, "and I can
bear anything. For surely I only live to serve you."

A pause fell, more hushed than common silence ; they stood
side by side looking out on to the wood, now sad and dark,
which had surrounded all their united lives.

Mary was in that mood which takes refuge from the real
facts in symbol. She did not look back on her life, but on
the history of the wood since she had known it; radiant in
summer, complaining in the wind, silent in the rain, bare
and bright and wonderful amid the snow, flushed with loveliness
in the spring. She thought that this pageant had ended for
her, that though the wood might bloom and change she would
never see it again after these leaves fell ; she had been haunted,
though not troubled, all her life by the presentiment of an
early death, and now this feeling, which she had never imparted
to any, became one with the feeling that the wood was passing,
ending for her, and that all the thousand little joys and fears
associated with the trees, the flowers, the sunshine, and the
snow, were fading and perishing to a mere memory.

Her fingers tightened on the Prince's hand.

"'Tis such a beautiful night," she said in a strange voice;
"it maketh me feel I must die."

He, who all his life had lived on the verge of death, smiled
to hear these words uttered by blooming youth.

THE SILENT WOOD 65

" You," he said calmly, " have no need to think of that for
many a year. Death and you! Come, you have stared too
long into the dark."

Reluctantly she let his hand free, and latched the window
with something of a shiver, but smiled too at the same time,
in a breathless way.

" What will you do now ? " she asked.

The Prince went to the table and snuffed the candles with
the shining brass snuffers, and the flames rose up still and
pointed.

" I have sent for M. Dyckfelt and M. Fagel," he answered,
and seated himself on one of the stiff walnut chairs. His face
was bloodless under the tan of his outdoor life. The excitement
that had shown when Mr. Herbert left had utterly gone; he
was composed, even sombre and melancholy, and his thoughts
were not to be guessed by his countenance.

Mary looked at him with an almost terrified longing for him
to disclose his mind, to some way speak to her, but he seemed
every second to sink deeper into a silence that was beyond
her meddling.

She moved about the room softly, picked up her sewing
from a cabinet in the corner, and began disentangling the
coloured cottons that had been hastily flung together.

The Prince looked round at her suddenly.

" Have you seen Dr. Burnet of late ? " he asked.

" Yes — he came yesterday when you were out hunting."

" Well," said William, " not a word of this to him — I would
not trust him with anything I would not say before my
coachman."

Mary smiled; she shared her husband's dislike to the
officious, bustling clergyman who considered himself so in-
dispensable to the Protestant cause, and who was tolerated
for the real use he had been to the Prince.

" Can you not trust my discretion ? " she asked.

He gave her a brilliant smile.

" Why, I think you are a fair Politic, after all "

The usher, entering to say that the Grand Pensionary and
M. Dyckfelt were without, interrupted him, and the Princess, pale
and grave again, said hastily —

66 GOD AND THE KING

"I will go — but I shall be in the withdrawing-room when
they have gone "

She waited till William had dismissed the usher, then added,
in a tremble —

" — You will let me know what you have decided ? I could
not sleep else," she added piteously.

He held out his hand and drew her up to him.

" Child," he said earnestly, " 'tis already decided ; 'tis only the
means to be discussed — and those thou shalt hear at once."

He patted her hand and let her go. With a kind of wild
gaiety she caught up her sewing silks. She was laughing, but it
was a laughter more desperate than her gravity. She did not
look at the Prince again, but hurried from the room, a gleam of
satins in the sombre setting.

The Prince looked after her, then picked up the two letters
from England.

CHAPTER V11I
THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE

ASPARD FAGEL, Grand Pensionary of Holland, and
M. Dyckfelt, entered the little room where the Prince
awaited them. They were both statesmen who had been trained
under the last Grand Pensionary, John de Witt, whose
Parliamentary Republic had kept the Prince twenty years out of
his hereditary offices, and both retained something of the
simplicity and sternness of their early life, especially M. Dyckfelt,
who wore the plain falling band of the Republican era and a suit
old-fashioned in primness and sombre colour.

He was a cleverer man than M. Fagel, who was utterly and
entirely under the dominion of the Stadtholder, and saw too
clearly with his master's eyes even to have an opinion of his
own. His manner to the Prince was the more humble, but both
addressed him with that deep respect which does not preclude
perfect openness.

William looked at them both sharply, then down at the letters
in his hand.

" I have received the invitation from England for which I
have been waiting," he said.

M. Dyckfelt bowed, and M. Fagel answered —

" May I congratulate Your Highness "

" Not yet," interrupted William. " Listen first to these letters
— they ask almost the impossible."

He made a little gesture to the straight chairs the other side
of the table, and the two seated themselves. M. Dyckfelt had
flushed with eagerness and excitement, M. Fagel looked tired
and ill. They were both considerably older than the Prince, both

men of a fine type with honest, shrewd faces.

67

68 GOD AND THE KING

William drew his chair nearer the table and held the letters
under the glow of the flame of the tall wax candles.

" These," he said, looking down at the flowing English
writing, " were brought me by Mr. Herbert, whom I suppose you
met, M. Dyckfelt, in England, and are written by Mr. Sidney."

He paused with a little cough ; neither of the other two men
spoke.

" In the preamble," continued William, " they say that they
are pleased to learn from M. Zuylestein that I will be of assistance
to them, but they fear the difficulties ; and though every one is so
dissatisfied with the King his government it would not be safe
to speak to them beforehand — and though they might venture
themselves on my landing they will do nothing now." He smiled
unpleasantly, and added, " In brief, they are on the winning side,
and I must go with strength enough to defend myself until they
can be gotten into some order. For the army, they say the
discontent is such that the King could not count on them, and
for the navy, they believe not one in ten would do him any
service in such a cause."

" Mine own observations confirm this advice," said M.
Dyckfelt, with his eyes fixed on the Prince. " And M. Zuylestein
hath writ the same."

William made no comment on that.

" Now," he said, " we come to the gist of the business, which
is, that these gentlemen fear affairs will be worse next year, both
by the officering of the army with Irish Catholics, the calling of
a packed Parliament to pass the repeal of the Test Act, and
the employment of violent means against the remaining liberties
of the Protestants."

He raised his brilliant eyes to the two intent faces opposite.

" Therefore they wish me to undertake this expedition this
year."

A soft exclamation broke from Gaspard Fagel.

"Can it be done?"

"If it must be done it can be done," said the Prince firmly;
"and I think it is 'nunc aut nunquam,' M. Fagel."

M. Dyckfelt gave a movement of irrepressible excitement.

" Do they not recognise the difficulties of Your Highness ? "

William looked again at the letter.

THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE 69

" These are their words, Mynheer : ' If the circumstances
stand so with Your Highness, that you believe you can get
here time enough, in a condition to give assistance this year
sufficient for a relief under these circumstances which have been
so represented, we who subscribe this will not fail to attend Your
Highness upon your landing, and to do all that lies in our power
to prepare others to be in as much readiness as such an action is
capable of, where there is so much danger in communicating an
affair of such a nature, till it be near the time of its being made
public.' Then follow their difficulties : ' We know not what
alarm your preparations for this expedition may give, or what
notice it will be necessary for you to give the States beforehand,
by either of which means their intelligence or suspicions here may
be such as may cause us to be secured before your landing ' "

William laid the paper down.

"That is their main trouble — they doubt whether I can be
so secret as not to cause them and all like to support me to be
clapt up before I sail — and wish to know my opinion on it —
further, they mislike my compliment to the King on the birth of
the Prince of Wales, which hath, they say, done me injury among
the Protestants, of whom not one in a thousand believeth the
child to be the Queen's — and for the rest— dare I, will I,
adventure on the attempt ? "

He drew a deep breath as he finished this speech, and fixed
his eyes on the dark, uncurtained square of the window as if he
pictured something in his mind too vast, too confined, for the
narrow room, and must imagine it filling the silent night without.

M. Fagel spoke, very low.

"Your Highness doth not hesitate?"

" I cannot," answered the Prince simply ; " for it is the only
way to gain England from France."

In those plain words lay the whole policy of his life — to gain
England from France, to weigh the balance of Europe against
Louis by throwing into the scale against him a nation so
powerful, so wealthy, and anciently so glorious as England ; for
ten years he had been at the hopeless task of gaining England
through her King, now he was going to ignore the King and go
straight to the people ; but confident as he was in his destiny, the
difficulties of the project seemed overwhelming.

70 GOD AND THE KING

He turned again to the letter.

" This is signed by seven great lords," he said, " but I do
not know that they are any of them great Politics — Mr. Russell
and Mr. Sidney are the most knowing in affairs, and the last
sendeth me words of no great encouragement "

He picked up the other letter.

" There is advice here that I should take M. de Schomberg
for the second in command, for he is beloved in England."

"Hath he not been too long in the service of France?"
asked M. Fagel.

" Yet he resigned all his posts when the Edict of Nantz was
revoked," said M. Dyckfelt. "And being so staunch a Pro-
testant, and so famous a captain, it would be well if Your Highness
could borrow him, as Mr. Sidney saith."

" He is very knowing in his profession," said William, without
enthusiasm ; " but I doubt he will be too dear — apart from his
age, and, God forgive me, I do not relish a lieutenant of eighty."

He leant forward with one arm resting on the dark table.
Behind him was the shadowed mantelshelf and the dark picture
of a storm that occupied the whole width of the chimney shaft,
obscured in gloom and touched only vaguely now and then with
passing glimmers of candlelight. The Prince's face, which wore
an extraordinary expression of concentration and resolve, was
thrown out clearly against this darkness, for the lights stood
directly before him, and the two men watching him, almost with
suspended breath, were (though so familiar with his features)
powerfully impressed by this intent look of unconscious strength
in the mobile mouth and glowing eyes.

There was the same spirit of enthusiastic energy in his words,
though his utterance was laboured and his voice husky from so
much speaking.

" Those are the difficulties of the English," he said. " Mine,
you know," — he brought his fine hand down lightly on the table, —
"after all they are — as always — summed up in one word — France."

The manner in which he stressed that name was almost
startling in its bitterness, hatred, and challenge.

"Is it possible," asked M. Fagel, who was always at first
afraid of the daring schemes of the Prince, " for you to deceive
the French?"

THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE 71

"M. D'Avaux is a clever man," answered William grimly,
" but Albeville and Sunderland will lull King James, and even
I think M. Barillon. My Lord Sunderland," he added, with some
admiration, "is the finest, most bewitching knave I have ever
met "

"Then," said M. Dyckfelt, "there are a many at the Court
whose interest it is to keep the King deceived — namely, those
nobles whose letters of service I brought to Your Highness —
and from what I observed of His Majesty he was so infatuate
with his own conceptions of affairs as to give scant hearing to
good advice."

"That may be," answered M. Fagel. "But will France be
so easily beguiled? M. D'Avaux at The Hague itself must
suspect."

"He doth already," said William, in a kind of flashing
shortness ; " but he cannot prove his suspicions."

"Your Highness," asked M. Fagel, still anxious, "must take
an army and a fleet with you "

" You do not think," answered the Stadtholder, " that I
would go with a handful of adventurers, like my poor Lord
Monmouth ? "

" Then," urged the Grand Pensionary, " what is to become
of the States with all their defences beyond the seas and you
absent ? "

An expression of pain crossed William's face.

" It must be risked," he said, in his hoarse, tired voice. " Do
you not suppose I have counted these risks?" he added half
fiercely.

M. Fagel looked at him straightly.

" Will the States permit Your Highness to take these risks ? "
he asked.

" I must hope to God that the States will trust me as they
have done before," answered William, with dignity.

"Your Highness must lay down new ships, raise new
companies, and under what pretence?"

"It can be done," said William. "Have not Algerine
corsairs shown themselves in the North Sea? There is one
excuse."

M. Dyckfelt spoke now.

72 GOD AND THE KING

" I see other difficulties. I do not think that Your Highness
need fear the loyalty of the States, but what of your Romanist
allies, the Pope himself?"

"The Pope," said William calmly, "is on the verge of war
with Louis over the Cologne affair, and as long as I stand
against France I am assured of his secret support — and as for
England, I have it from a sure hand that His Holiness was so
offended by the sending of Lord Castlemaine as envoy that
all King James his compliments to his nuncio have had no
effect."

He could not forbear a smile, for in truth the sending to
the court of the saintly Pontiff of a man who owed his very title
to an infamous wife was one of those almost incredible blunders
it is difficult to believe even of the stupid.

"I have good hopes from that incident," continued the
Prince. " The King who made that mistake may make others."

"Ah! Highness," said M. Dyckfelt, "the mistakes of King
James will not help you so much as your own wisdom."

William glanced at the speaker. In the faith and trust of
such lay his surest strength. These men, incorruptible, clever,
industrious, devoted, and patriotic, such as the two now facing
him, were the bulwark of the position he had held fifteen years,
the instruments of all his projects. These thoughts so moved in
his mind that he was constrained to speak warmly.

"Mynheer, neither on my own understanding nor on the
mistakes of my enemies do I rely, but on the services of such as
you and M. Fagel."

Praise was rare from the Prince they served, and at the
sound of it the two grave diplomats coloured.

M. Dyckfelt answered.

"Where should Your Highness find perfect loyalty if not
in us?"

"God be thanked," said William, with a contained passion,
"I have no cause to doubt my own people. But here," he
added frankly, "we have to deal with foreigners, and those a
nation of all others light and changeable in politics, arrogant
and wilful. At present every noble out of office for not attend-
ing Mass, and every officer removed to give place to an Irish
Papist, is for me ; every courtier who thinketh the King insecure

THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE 73

is my very good friend, and every country gentleman deprived
of his vote raileth against King James — it will take some
diplomacy, gentlemen, to combine these into a firm support
for my design, and at the same time to conciliate the
Catholics."

" There is a great body of fanatics very eager to call Your
Highness their champion," said M. Dyckfelt.

" The Hague is full of them," replied the Prince ; " but as
each man spendeth all his energies in advancing his own
grievances and his own schemes there is not much use in them.
Methinks the Tories are a surer strength, but they love me not —
only use me to save their liberties. The Whigs shout for me,
but know me not "

"They are a corrupt and shallow people," said M. Fagel.

M. Dyckfelt, who had spent several months in England
marshalling the discontented factions, and putting them under
the leadership of the Prince, answered this statement of the
Grand Pensionary.

"There are many able, knowing, and patriotic men among
them, though, being out of office, they are not so commonly
heard of as the knaves who make the ministry."

William spoke with some impatience.

"Heaven help me, I would never trust an Englishman,
unless it were Mr. Sidney ; for when they are honest they are
lazy, as Lord Halifax and Sir William Temple, and too in-
different to business to be stirred ; and when they are dishonest,
which I ever found the great majority, they are the most shameless
creatures in the world."

"Yet in the present instant Your Highness must trust them."

William smiled grimly.

"Their heads are on their secrecy this time, Mynheer.
Besides, I think these men are spirited enough if I can use
them before their indignation cools."

There was a second's pause of silence, then M. Fagel spoke.

" Your Highness will require a vast deal of money."

" Yes," said the Prince dryly ; " but I believe that it can be
raised.'

"In England?" inquired M. Dyckfelt.

" — and among the French refugees here — and from my

74 GOD AND THE KING

own fortune, Mynheer, which hath ever exceeded my wants —
also, Mynheer, I hope the States will help."

" How great a sum would it be, Highness ? "

William, who had the whole project already clear in his head,
and had made careful calculations as to the cost, answered at
once.

"About three hundred thousand pounds."

M. Fagel was silent. His secret thought was, that to raise this
money, overcome all opposition, and complete every preparation
by the autumn was impossible.

The Prince was quick to divine his doubt.

" You think I cannot do it ? " he asked, with that breathless-
ness that was a sign of his rare excitement.

" No, Highness. I think of France."

" France ! " cried William. " I think of France also."

" If they should attack us while you were absent — or even
before you were ready "

William lifted his hand gravely and let it fall lightly on the
smooth surface of the table.

" Ah, //— M. Fagel," he said solemnly ; " but that is in God
His keeping, where all our destinies be — and we can but fulfil
them."

He smiled a little as if he thought of other things, and his
bright gaze again sought the window, but instantly he recalled
himself.

" I need detain you no more to-night — I shall need to see
the States separately and the Amsterdamers — everything must
be put in train immediately."

All three rose. The two older men were much moved ; before
the mind of each were pictures of ten years ago when with the
same deliberate courage and heroic fatalism the Prince had
pitted himself against France and been forced by the treachery
of Charles Stewart into the peace of Nymwegen.

Ten years ago, and ever since William had been working for
and planning a renewal of the war he had then been forced to
conclude ; now it seemed that he had accomplished his desire,
and that his re-entry into the combat would be in a manner to
take the breath of Europe.

Grave men as these two were, and well used to the spectacle

THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE 75

of high policies, they felt that extraordinary thrill which shakes
those about to watch the curtain draw up on tremendous
events.

They knew that in that quiet little room actions were being
resolved and put in train that would stir every court in Europe
and make all the pomp of Versailles show hollow if successful ;
and looking on the Prince, they could not think of failure.

When they had taken their leave, William locked the two
letters in a Chinese escritoire. Mr. Sidney had requested that
they, being in his known hand, might be destroyed, but the
Prince considered his desk as safe as the fire, and was always
loath to burn papers of importance.

In that same inner drawer where these letters now lay were
offers of services from many famous English names, and that
correspondence with Henry Sidney which had prepared the way
for the invitation received to-night ; also all the letters from King
James written since the marriage of Mary, which the Prince had
carefully kept.

As he turned the little gold key in the smooth lock he
thought of his father-in-law and of the personal aspect of his
undertaking. Though he would very willingly have avoided the
odium and scandal that he must incur by a break with so near a
relation, he had no feelings of affection or even respect for King
James. They were antagonistic in religion, character, aims, and
policy. James had opposed the Prince's marriage, and ever
since he had come to power opposed his every wish and desire.
The withdrawal of Sidney from The Hague, the sending of
Skelton in his stead, the attempt to recall and place at the
disposal of France the English troops in the service of the State,
his refusal to interfere with Louis' insulting seizure of Orange,
his constant spyings in the household of the Princess, his
endeavour to convert her to his own faith, had been all so many
widenings of a breach that had never been completely closed ;
and, on the other hand, the Prince knew that the King had never
forgiven him three things — the League of Augsburg (which
confederacy of the German Princes against France was known
to be his work, though his name did not appear in it), the refusal,
really his, though nominally the State's, to return the English
troops or to put Skelton at the head of them, and his refusal to

76 GOD AND THE KING

countenance the Declaration of Indulgence, even when accom-
panied by the tempting bribe of alliance against France.

They were, and always had been, natural enemies, despite
the accident of the double tie of blood and marriage, and even
the conventional compliments of their rank had long since been
worn thin between them. William was indebted to his uncle for
nothing. James did not even give his eldest daughter an allow-
ance, while his youngest received a princely income ; but the
Prince, faithful to his unchanging policy, would have passed all
this, would James have but done what Charles had always been
pressed to do by his nephew, namely, join the States in an
alliance against France. The Prince had, indeed, with this end in
view, endeavoured to please the King on his first accession, and
would have worked with him loyally as an ally.

But for the last year he had seen clearly, and with mingled
wrath and pity, that James was bent on the old dishonest policy
of packed parliaments, French money, and corrupt ministers,
added to which was an intolerant, almost insane, bigotry which,
discountenanced by the Pope himself and displeasing to all
moderate Catholics, was an impossible scheme of government,
and in William's eyes, all religious considerations apart, the act
of a madman or a fool.

And it did not suit his statecraft to have either on the throne
of England. He had waited a long time for this country, which
he had seen from boyhood was essential to his schemes for the
balance of power and the liberty of Europe, and now was his
moment.

As he walked up and down the plain little room he vowed
that the difficulties should be conquered, and that even if the
Bourbon lilies were flying over Brussels he would lead an
armament to England that year.

CHAPTER IX
FRANCE MOVES

MIDWAY through September and a beautiful day of pure
gold the Prince was riding home through the brown-
leaved woods that surrounded his villa. Contrary to his custom,
he rode slowly, and constantly checked his fine animal, for he was
thinking deeply, and those moments when he rode to and from
his house were almost the only time when he was alone and not
under the necessity of speaking to some one. He had just come
from the last of the private sittings of the States, which had
given their formal assent to the gigantic enterprise he
meditated. He had now no further difficulty with his own
country. The merchants, exasperated by the refusal of King Louis
to allow herrings and woven goods from Holland into his
country, had stifled opposition to the Prince in Amsterdam. He
had always been sure of the rest of the Provinces, who, after the
late persecutions of Protestants in France, the refusal to allow
the Dutch in that country to retire to Holland, the constant
fears they had been under since King James commenced re-
building his navy and King Louis commenced his aggressions in
Cologne, looked to the Prince with that same passionate devotion
as they had done in '72, and trusted to him to save them again
from dangers little less pressing ; for, the last year past, Gaspard
Fagel had been encouraging this dread of an armed alliance
between France and England which seemed so near consumma-
tion and would be fatal to the very existence of the United
Provinces.

It was from abroad came the difficulties that, for the last six
months, had made the Prince's days almost unbearably anxious ;
and as the time drew near that anxiety became a lively torture
absolutely unguessed at by those who judged the Prince by his

78 GOD AND THE KING

calm, almost cold quiet. Certainly the Spartan boy with the
ferret under his cloak showed no more heroic fortitude than did
the Stadtholder during these weeks of preparation. Of those who
surrounded him perhaps only two, his friend William Bentinck,
and Gaspard Fagel, understood his position, and even these could
not share his sufferings, however much they might his disquietude.

From the allies whom, during the last two years, he had been
marshalling into a league against Louis, there was little to fear,
though it required delicate handling not to offend Catholic
potentates such as the Pope and the Emperor ; but from France
was fearful and pressing danger, and England, where eventually
success or failure must lie, was a suspicious quantity to William,
who had been tricked and dealt ill with (though never deceived)
by English politics all his life.

If the certain news of his expedition reached James and that
monarch clapt up the Protestant lords and united with Louis in
an attack on the United Provinces, William would have to face
another '72 over again, and with but little better chance of success
than he had then ; if Louis made an attack on the frontiers of
Brabant or the Spanish Lowlands before the Prince sailed the
States would refuse to allow his departure, and the moment in
England would be lost, perhaps for ever; if, most terrible
alternative of all, he took all the forces of his country, naval
and military, to England, and there met with opposition, delays,
even defeat — if James roused and the English bulk were faithful
to him and Louis seized the opportunity to pour his troops into
defenceless Holland while her ships and men were absent — then
the Prince, who loved his country with a deep and intense passion,
would have to accuse himself as the author of her ruin.

Certainly he was jeopardizing the utmost any man could —
the dearest thing in the world to him, beside which his own life
was not even taken into consideration — and yet the only other
course was to risk this same beloved liberty of his country, not
by violent means, but by inaction and gradual weakening before
a stronger power, and this was against all the teaching of his
race, all the experience of his life, his own imperious temper, and
the settled conviction both of his soul and his intelligence of
what was the best, not alone for Holland but for Europe.

As he approached the ' huis ten bosch ' he brought his

FRANCE MOVES 79

reluctant horse to a slow walk. M. D'Avaux had done what the
Prince had long expected, requested a private, informal audience,
and William had told him that he should be walking in the
garden at the back of his house that afternoon. As the time for
this interview approached the Prince felt a weariness unutterable
at the thought of meeting his enemy ; he knew very well what
M. D'Avaux had to say and what his own answers would be, and
a smooth passage at arms with the French Ambassador was the
last thing suited to his present temper.

Day after day he had to listen to, arbitrate among, encourage,
check, guide, and advise the impetuous, arrogant English gathered
at The Hague, and lately joined by men of importance such as
my Lord Shrewsbury and my Lord Manchester, and this, to one
of his reserve, was perhaps the most distasteful side of his task ;
it left him no leisure even for his one diversion of hunting, since
it filled all the little time left from business, and begat in him a
fatigue that longed for the relaxation of the unending strain.

He had an almost feverish love of exercise and fresh air, and
as he came within sight of the plain front of his house showing
at the end of an avenue of magnificent trees he stayed his horse
altogether and sat still in the saddle looking about him ; three
things that he loved dearly, clear sunshine, pure salt air, and
intense quiet beguiled him into forgetting for a few seconds his
deep anxieties.

The atmosphere had that peculiar mellow quality of soft light
found only in the Low Countries ; the trees were motionless, and
their leaves hung clear cut from the graceful branches in burning
hues of crimson, gold, and brown ; wreaths and twists of fallen
leaves lay in the damp cold grass, and fine brittle twigs scattered
over the hard paths where the frost had made little glittering
ridges ; the sky was blue, but blue hazed in gold ; a large piece
of water reflected the polished trunks of beeches patched with
moss, the twisting red roots of brambles, and the foxy colour of
broken ferns ; two swans moved slowly along this lake, and the
water was in sluggish ripples against their dead white breasts ;
their feet seemed to stir with difficulty, and they left a clear track
behind, which showed that a thin breath of frost had passed over
the water, dulling the surface.

The man on the horse noticed this, and it brought him back

8o GOD AND THE KING

to what was ever rolling in his thoughts. If this sign of an early
and severe winter was made good, he would have the less to fear
for the United Provinces, since they were almost impossible to
invade in the depth of snow and ice. This was one reason in his
choosing this season for his expedition. As he watched the two
silent swans and the film of frost they displaced, his whole face
changed with the intensity of his thought; he straightened in
the saddle and clutched the reins tightly in his thickly gloved
hands ; before the frosts had ceased and the waters were running
free in spring he would deal with France on equal terms or be
dead in the endeavour.

Heated by the wave of inner exaltation that shook him he
lightly touched his great grey horse and took the avenue at a
gallop, drew rein at the villa steps, and blew a little whistle he
carried. When the groom came he dismounted, and entering the
private garden by the door in the wall to the right of the house
walked slowly to the covered alley where he had promised to
meet M. D'Avaux.

The garden had the same stillness as the wood; the late
chilled roses hung motionless on their stems, the curious agave
plants and Italian laurels were stiff against the wall, a deep
border of St. Michael's daisies showed a hard colour of purple
about the three steps of the sundial and the flat basin where the
fat carp s-hook golden gleams under the curling withering water-
lily leaves.

As the Prince turned into the walk at the end of the garden,
shaded overhead with ilex trees and edged with a glossy border
of box, he saw the Frenchman pacing the sunless path.

William touched his hat and the Ambassador bowed. The
Prince's sharp glance detected that he was something out of
countenance.

"I wonder, M. D'Avaux, what you can have to say to
me."

" Yet Your Highness is well able to guess," de Avaux answered,
with the air of a compliment.

William looked at him again ; he detested all Frenchmen, and
since the day when, a grave child of eleven and a state prisoner,
he had sat sternly in his coach in the Voorhout, and refused to
yield precedence to M. D'Estrees, he had especially hated the

FRANCE MOVES 81

French envoys to the States, who had always been, in the truest
sense, his enemies; the only thing that softened him to M.
D'Avaux was that diplomat's cleverness. The Prince, who loved
a worthy antagonist, admired him for his real wit and skill in the
long and bitter game that had been played between them ; never-
theless, there was, in the full bright glance he cast on him, a
quality that his antagonist did not mistake.

" I fear," added the Ambassador, " that I do not find Your
Highness very well disposed towards me."

"This is matter of business, is it not, Monsieur?" answered
the Prince. " When you have opened your subject I will dis-
cover my disposition to it."

They were walking up and down the long walk; the thick
gold sunshine slipped through the ilex branches and flickered on
the Frenchman's black satins and the Prince's heavy fur-edged
cloak. M. D'Avaux held his hat in his hand, but the Prince still
wore his brown beaver.

" I am very sorry," said the Frenchman, in his quiet, pleasant
manner, but with obvious indication of the concern he was under,
" that I have had so few opportunities of assuring you in what
esteem my master holdeth Your Highness "

William made no reply.

"These are no idle words," continued M. D'Avaux, fingering
the black curls of his peruke on his breast. " Despite all un-
fortunate differences, His Majesty hath, as all Europe, a great
admiration for the courage, wisdom, and address of Your
Highness "

" Is it not rather late for these compliments, M. D'Avaux ? "

"There is an object in them, Monseigneur," answered the
Ambassador ; " for in consequence of the feeling of His Majesty
to Your Highness I am speaking to you now instead of to the
States."

" Ah," said William. He switched at the box hedge with his
short riding-whip. " Do you not, Monsieur, consider myself and
the States as one?"

"History, Monseigneur, showeth that the House of Orange
and the United Provinces have not always been of the same
sentiments and design."

" They are so, however, now, Monsieur," answered the Prince
6

82 GOD AND THE KING

dryly ; " and whatever your business, you may put it before myself
or the States, whichever you choose."

M. D'Avaux bit his lip ; he read in William's curt words a
reminder that he was absolute with the States and more confident
than ever of his power over them ; he was nettled into a colder
tone.

" Yet I think that Your Highness would rather hear me than
let me take my message to Their High Mightinesses."

William coughed. His cloak was fur-lined, but he constantly
shivered ; the shade, even of a September day, was hateful to
Aim.

" Come into the sun," he said, and turned out of the alley
into the clear-lit garden. They walked slowly towards the sundial
and the carp basin, M. D'Avaux prodding the hard gravel with
his cane and the Prince with his switch under his arm.

" Well, your business," said William calmly.

" Monseigneur," replied M. D'Avaux, with sincerity and some
earnestness, " I think that you are embarked on a dangerous
enterprise."

" The French say so," answered the Prince. " I have been
told of the most extraordinary reports in your gazettes and
pamphlets."

" I do not obtain my information from gazettes and pamphlets,
Your Highness," answered the Ambassador firmly, "but from
more reliable sources."

William paused by the carp pond and the bed of violet daisies.

" What is your information ? " he asked.

" The last which Your Highness would wish in the hands of
France."

"You seem to think, Monsieur," said William, with the
shadow of a smile, " that I am an enemy of His Majesty."

He was not looking at the Frenchman, but down at the bed
of daisies that he stirred gently with his whip as he spoke.
M. D'Avaux looked sharply at his haughty aquiline profile, and
answered with a quickening of the breath —

" His Majesty cannot forget what you said at your table a
year ago, Monseigneur. You said, Your Highness, when you
heard that His Majesty had seized and dismantled Orange on
the claim of the House of Longueville, that you would teach

FRANCE MOVES 83

him what it was to insult a Prince of Orange, and you refused to
retract or explain the words."

"His Majesty," replied William, "hath neither retracted nor
explained the deed."

"Your Highness has often repeated those words."

The Prince lifted his brilliant eyes.

" I shall repeat them again, Monsieur," he said, in his strained
low voice, " and again until I obtain satisfaction."

He saw that M. D'Avaux had made the allusion to humiliate
him, and though there was no sign of it in his countenance the
shaft had told, for the insulting seizure of his personal princely
apanage, for which he had been powerless to avenge himself, had
been the hardest to bear of all the insolences of France, and the
revenues had been a real loss.

" You see," bowed M. D'Avaux, " that we have some reason
to believe Your Highness the enemy of France."

The Prince continued to look at him steadily.

" His Christian Majesty is very interested in my affairs," he
said.

11 It is the affairs of King James," returned the Frenchman,
with some grandeur, " that my master is interested in "

" How doth that touch the States ? "

" It toucheth Your Highness, for we believe that you make
preparations to lead an armament against His Britannic Majesty."

William lowered his eyes almost disdainfully.

"I perceive," he said, "that you do get your information from
the gazettes after all "

" No," answered M. D'Avaux softly. " I will tell Your High-
ness where I get my information. You know of one Verace, of
Geneva ? "

The Prince's whip still stirred leisurely among the daisies.

" He was steward once to the Princess and dismissed."

"As early as August, Monseigneur, this Verace wrote to
M. Skelton giving information of the intrigues of Your Highness,
the Princess, and M. Bentinck."

He watched the effect of his shaft, but the Prince was
unmoved.

" You might as well quote the gazettes, Monsieur," he said.

" These letters, Your Highness, were sent by M. Skelton to

84 GOD AND THE KING

my Lord Sunderland," replied M. D'Avaux, "and he took no
heed of them — we have reason to believe that they never reached
the King."

William answered dryly —

" None of this is very interesting, Monsieur. You have had
the assurances of M. Van Citters in London, of M. Castagnana,
King James himself is content, M. D'Albeville is content, and it
is not for France to take this part of interfering on the informa-
tion of cast-off servants."

"I have had other news from Rome," said M. D'Avaux
coldly, "of the intrigues of Your Highness with the Vatican.
Your Highness, methinks, knoweth something of some letters
which went in to the Pope in a basket of wax fruit."

William gave him a quick glance.

"Take these advices to the court of England, which they
concern, Monsieur."

" Your Highness is very well aware that all the foreign in-
telligence that goeth to England is under the control of M. de
Sunderland — who is your very good friend."

The Prince faintly smiled.

" I thought M. de Sunderland was believed the very good
friend of France."

"He may," said M. D'Avaux, rather hotly, "deceive M.
Barillon, but he doth not deceive me."

"It is unfortunate," remarked the Prince, "that you are not
Ambassador to London. I think your abilities wasted here,
Monsieur."

" I thank Your Highness." He bowed grandly. " Such as my
talents are, I find scope for them at The Hague — I only regret
that my confrere is no longer M. Skelton."

He said this knowing that M. Skelton was detested by the
Prince, who had made his residence in Holland unendurable to
him. The dislike was returned by the Englishman, who was the
close ally of M. D'Avaux in the attempt to expose and ruin the
plans of William. William, however, had triumphed in ousting
Skelton from The Hague, and his successor, D'Albeville, was,
as M. D'Avaux knew to his vexation, a mean creature that no
one could long depend on.

"M. Skelton," said the Prince, "is no doubt extremely

FRANCE MOVES 85

useful in Paris. And I must ask you, Monsieur, to let me know
the true object of this audience, which was not, I think, to discuss
these puerile rumours."

The Frenchman flushed; he had always found the Prince
difficult to come to conclusions with. William had a short, flash-
ing way of scorn, an inscrutable calm, that even now, when,
in his certain knowledge of the Prince's intended enterprise,
M. D'Avaux decided he had the upper hand, was difficult to face.

M. D'Avaux felt himself, as always, confused and heated ; he
believed that the Prince was laughing at him and at France, and
a wave of anger shook him both against the supine James who
would not be roused, and his own government who would not
credit half the information he sent home. He tried that dry
directness which his opponent employed with such effect.

" Your Highness will scarcely deny that you intend a descent
on England?"

" I should," answered William, " be a fool if I did not deny
it when asked by you, Monsieur."

M. D'Avaux thrust his cane into the crevices of the stone
pedestal of the sundial.

" Whatever Your Highness may say — I know."

" Ah ! " answered William, " but can you prove ? "

" To the satisfaction of my own intelligence, Monseigneur,"
said M. D'Avaux vigorously. "You cannot suppose that I have
been unobservant as to your measures since the beginning of the
year."

William kept his eyes fixed on the carp sluggishly moving
round the fountain basin.

" It would interest me, M. D'Avaux," he said, " to hear what
you have discovered of these measures of mine."

" You shall hear, Monseigneur." The Frenchman spoke as one
spurred and goaded. " For one thing, I know that you obtained
four million guilden from the States for repairing the fortifications
of Brabant — that this money was to be payable in four years,
and you have raised it in one. Your Highness hath the money,
and the forts are untouched."

William was silent.

"Another public fund of equal value you have diverted
from its proper use ; you have farmed out the revenues of the

86 GOD AND THE KING

Admiralty, and this, with your own great fortune, maketh Your
Highness master of a huge treasure — apart from the money you
are constantly raising among the French and English refugees.
For what purpose is all this wealth intended ? "

" You say you know," replied William, without looking up.
" And, my faith, what kind of an answer can you expect from me ? "

" Your Highness can give no good reason."

" None of any sort, to you, on any part of my conduct," said
the Prince coldly. " You already overstep your province."

Pale, but firm, M. D'Avaux stood his ground.

" I do not overstep my duty to my master if I ask why Your
Highness persuaded the States to build forty new ships of war,
and secretly added twelve by your own authority — why these
ships were sent publicly to remote stations and secretly brought
back — why a great army is encamped at Nymwegen — why M.
Bentinck is so continually closeted with the Elector and Your
Highness with the States, the German Princes, the Landgrave
of Hesse and M. Castagnana — why seven thousand Swedish
mercenaries have been hired, and a huge number of Dutch
soldiers and sailors secretly raised and privately drilled?"

The Prince turned his back to the sundial, so that he faced
the Ambassador ; his hands, clasped behind him, held his riding-
whip ; his face was inscrutable.

" Well, what else ? " he asked dryly.

" Only this, that Your Highness and your creatures may de-
ceive the King of England into thinking it is against Denmark
and the Corsairs that all these preparations are being made, but
you cannot so deceive the King of France."

" And yet," returned the Prince, " I thought His Majesty
gave but a cold attention to your alarms."

This, accompanied by a pointed smile, told M. D'Avaux that
William was quite well aware that it had not been so easy to
rouse Louis to a sense of his danger. The Frenchman bit his lip ;
he had a master-stroke in reserve.

" Your Highness is a very able Prince," he said, on an oblique
line of attack, " but my master pays well and is well served. I
know who, under so many different names and pretences, pur-
chaseth and hireth transport boats in so many different ports ; I
know who ordereth the bakers of Amsterdam to make biscuit,

FRANCE MOVES 87

the saddlers to make bridles and saddles — why all the artillery
is leaving the towns and coming down to the coasts — why
magazines of hay are waiting in all the seaports, and why English
noblemen are living furtively at The Hague."

He paused and looked narrowly at the Stadtholder, who, he
was confident, must be taken aback at this knowledge of his
plans ; but the Prince was so immovable that the wild thought
occurred to M. D'Avaux — is it really Denmark or his own
country, as King James contends ?

" I cannot conceive why you come to me with this," said
William.

"To warn you, Monseigneur."

" Of what ? " flashed the Prince.

" Of France," answered M. D'Avaux impressively.

William drew a deep breath.

" You should know better than to seek to frighten me, M.
D'Avaux. I am not by nature timorous."

" I warn Your Highness," repeated the Ambassador. " I
remind you that you are not a sovereign Prince."

" I rule a sovereign state, Monsieur."

"The first magistrate of a republic, Monseigneur, cannot
behave as a king. Since Your Highness will give me no satis-
faction, I shall go to the States."

" You will do as you wish," answered William ; " but you are,
nevertheless, perfectly well aware that I rule the States."

M. D'Avaux bowed.

"Give me credit for that discernment — the card I play is
not an appeal from Your Highness to the States "

"What then?"

The Frenchman moved a little farther back, still in a
courtier's attitude, with his hat in his hand, looking intently at
the Prince, who stood on the steps of the sundial with the violet
daisies brushing his cloak and boots.

" Mr. Skelton hath prevailed on M. de Louvois to command
me to say to the States that there is such friendship between His
Majesty and King James that any attack on Britain would be
regarded in the same light as an attack on France. That," added
M. D'Avaux softly, " may make the States see their interests as
different from those of Your Highness."

88 GOD AND THE KING

William gave not the least sign of surprise or confusion.

" So it is M. Skelton's advice to endeavour to frighten the
States ? " he remarked.

" I shall deliver my message to-morrow," said M. D'Avaux,
"and then Your Highness will see if the States are prepared for
an attack — an instant attack on their frontiers — if they are
prepared to allow you and their whole strength to leave
a country which France is menacing. You saved the Pro-
vinces in '72 — without you they could not save themselves
now "

" You must follow out your instructions, Monsieur," said
the Prince.

He stepped down from the sundial and looked narrowly at
the Ambassador.

" You have nothing more to say ? " he added.

" Nothing, Monseigneur, unless Your Highness can give me
the assurances I was bid to ask "

" What would be the use of that, Monsieur, when you know,
as you say," returned the Stadtholder.

M. D'Avaux was slightly baffled ; he thought that the Prince
must betray more concern unless he had some counter-stroke to
this of the threat to the States.

He answered with dignity —

"Then I need trouble Your Highness no further."

" Very well," answered William. " I am sorry that you have
wasted your time, Monsieur; but I always was of a tolerably
positive disposition, and difficult to turn."

"All Europe knoweth that," answered M. D'Avaux, with a
little flush ; for the Prince's words were an obvious assertion of
the fact that he would not alter his plans for any French threats
— an obvious challenge.

They walked down the hard gravel path between the beds
of late roses. At the garden gate the Prince parted from M.
D'Avaux with that simplicity which was his natural manner, but
generally credited to him for guile.

" I am obliged to you for this courtesy," he said. " Au
revoir. Monsieur."

"I thank Your Highness," answered M. D'Avaux, with a
grand bow.

FRANCE MOVES 89

The Prince closed the gate on him, and went instantly into
the house by the back entrance. And so straight to his private
room, where a little company, consisting of M. Fagel, M.
Bentinck, M. Dyckfelt, the envoy of M. Castagnana, Governor
of the Spanish Netherlands, the envoy of the Elector of
Hanover, a Prince of Lunenburgh, and the Landgrave of Hesse
were awaiting him.

They all rose at his entrance. He came swiftly and breath-
lessly to the table, flung off his hat, and said —

"Gentlemen, M. D'Avaux knoweth everything — that villain
D'Albeville hath betrayed us. There is a bomb to be dropped
to-morrow that is like to blast us all."

CHAPTER X
THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR

MD'ALBEVILLE ? " echoed the Landgrave.
"It can be none other, Highness," answered
William, with energy. "No one else was privy to my Lord
Sunderland his part "

M. Fagel gave a quick exclamation.

" He knoweth that ? "

" Yes — he scenteth it," said the Stadtholder grimly. " And
he hath a pretty idea of the preparations, only he doth not
guess either their magnitude nor their forwardness."

He seated himself, and the others took their places again.
There was, in the whole assembly, a breathless air of expectation
and excitement. The room was full of steady mellow sunshine,
which brought out every detail of the persons of the gentlemen
about the walnut table and glimmered in the fair hair of M. de
Lunenburgh, who sat facing the window.

The Stadtholder glanced round these intent faces and took
off his gloves, unclasped his cloak, and said, in a passionate
voice, directly addressing the Grand Pensionary —

" M. Fagel, the design is to frighten the States, by declaring
that any design against England will at once provoke France
into an attack on the Provinces."

M. Fagel was silent. This stroke was unexpected and
tremendous. If Louis fell on the frontiers of the States, Their
High Mightinesses would certainly not permit the Prince and
the army to sail for England.

" You know my opinion," continued William, looking at the
Spaniard, "that if M. de Castagnana can but keep Ostend,
Mons, and Namur till the spring, I shall then have settled this
English business, and be able to return with a sufficient force to
drive the French out of Flanders."

THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR 91

" I think," said M. Fagel, " that the States would not take
the risks, and this threat from France will have a very ill effect
among the common people."

"And," added M. Dyckfelt, who had primary charge of
English affairs, " if M. D'Avaux and M. Skelton succeed in un-
deceiving King James as to the true design of M. de Sunderland
that would be a shrewd blow "

" One which shall not be delivered," said the Prince firmly.
" M. de Sunderland is the one man who can keep the foreign
intelligence from the King, and he stayeth in office. M.
D'Albeville is a dirty tool, but there is more use to be got out
of him "

"But he, Your Highness, you say hath betrayed us?"
questioned M. de Hesse.

" And now he can betray them," said William. " By Heaven,
Highness, do you think we, at this stage of our endeavours, shall
trip over an insect like this D'Albeville ? "

He finished his sentence with a smile at M. de Hesse. He
was himself of a German House, a German Prince and a
Grandee of the Holy Empire, and had alway an affection for
and a powerful influence over the Landgraves, Electors, and
Princes who made up the German confederacy.

M. de Hesse responded —

" We are, as ever, ready to do what Your Highness thinketh
fit in this juncture."

" Ah ! " answered William warmly. " I should do ill to fail
with such friends "

" Should we not," asked M. Bentinck, " consult with some
of the English at The Hague ? "

"No," said the Stadtholder firmly. "They have none of
them any conception of continental affairs, and at present are
engaged in disputing over the form of the Declaration, for they
seem already to be split into very decided parties."

M. Fagel and M. Dyckfelt both considered it a mistake not
to more fully trust the English nobles, but both were aware that
the Prince's distrust of that nation (but too well founded on
experience) was not to be shaken.

The German Princes and Ministers were willing enough to
keep the threads of the coalition as much as possible in their

92 GOD AND THE KING

own hands, and none of them could believe that a youth like
Lord Shrewsbury and an eccentric rake like Lord Mordaunt
could be of use in serious counsels.

The envoy of the Elector of Hanover proceeded to lay
before William the plans for the fortifications of the Rhine which
the Germans had agreed to defend with troops, replacing those
withdrawn by the States, in the same way as M. de Castagnana
had engaged to fortify the frontier of Brabant on the side of
Flanders.

William surveyed the plans and listened to the explanations,
in which the Landgrave and M. de Lunenburgh eagerly joined,
with an elated satisfaction which even the stroke about to be
dealt by M. D'Avaux could not destroy. His spirits, as ever,
rose with increasing difficulties and dangers, and after having to
listen to the thousand, to him, paltry arguments of the English
party leaders, this talk of the real heart of affairs, the hand-to-
hand grips with France, had a ringing pleasure for his ears.

M. Fagel, withdrawn into the window embrasure, was speak-
ing with William Bentinck, a tall, fair, and handsome man, of a
quiet dignity, a few years older than the Stadtholder, and that
Prince's closest friend, of the probable effect of this move
planned by the wit and watchfulness of M. Skelton and
M. D'Avaux, when an usher entered to inform His High-
ness that the English Ambassador requested an immediate
audience.

William was roused at once from his maps and papers, and
a movement of excitement silenced the low, serious voices.

"M. D'Albeville ! " exclaimed the Stadtholder. His eyes
flashed, and he rose. " Conduct him here."

As the usher left, all looked at the Prince.

" Why should he come ? " asked M. de Lunenburgh.

William laid his hand affectionately on the German's brown
velvet sleeve.

" My child," he said softly, " whatever he hath come for, we
will turn him to our own uses."

At this moment the English Ambassador entered, amid an
absolute silence; he paused on the threshold and glanced at
the men before him : the Stadtholder between M. de Lunenburgh,
the Landgrave and the Hanoverian envoy at the opposite side

THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR 93

of the dark circular walnut table ; the Spaniard, very splendid
in gold brocade that caught the sun, standing with his back to
the hearth, and opposite him in the dazzling length of the
window M. Bentinck with the two Dutch ministers.

So were gathered in this small, plain room representatives of the
most of the members of the huge coalition which the formidable
Stadtholder had laboured so long to combine against France ;
and M. D'Albeville, standing for England, equally precious
both to these allies and to Louis, instinctively drew back a
little, as one who has stepped among silent enemies.

He was a slight Irish Catholic, and had been handsome, but
dissipation, poverty, and meanness had given him a haggard and
livid appearance; he wore gaudy, but tarnished, finery, and a
huge red-brown peruke that hung in knots of heavy curls either
side his sharp face.

" I desired a private audience, Highness," he said, speaking
in perfect French.

"We are private here, M. le Marquis," answered William,
handing the packet of papers back to M. de Hesse. " And we
are glad that you have come, for we had business to discuss
with you."

He seated himself at that, and M. D'Albeville came to the
opposite side of the table, so directly facing him ; the others
remained standing.

"You," said William, with energy, "have been trying to fool
me, M. le Marquis. You have seen fit to convey warnings to
the court of England and to M. D'Avaux."

The look of fear that was never quite absent from the
Irishman's face deepened; he seemed to shrink into his stiff
buckram and brocade clothes.

" So God help me " he began.

" Oh, enough of your oaths ! " cried the Prince, in a sudden
burst of fury. " Do you think I have time to listen to your
cursed excuses? How much have you told that damned
Frenchman ? "

So direct, terrible, and sincere was his passion that the
object of it retreated towards the door, and even the spectators
were awed.

" I protest," answered the Ambassador, dry-lipped, " I have

94 GOD AND THE KING

told nothing. I have sent reassuring messages to His Majesty,
as Your Highness knoweth "

"Were you not well enough paid for them," demanded
William fiercely, "that you must go cry your wares in the
French market?"

" Monseigneur, you are misinformed "

The Prince cut him short

" M. D'Avaux hath been told of M. de Sunderland's part —
you told him. Hath King James been warned also ? "

"I came to tell Your Highness so," stammered M.
D'Albeville. "Not by me, God knoweth; but I had this
morning a message "

"From whom?"

"Not from my Lord Sunderland — direct from His Majesty
bidding me ask the States the reason of the preparations of
Your Highness "

The Stadtholder glanced at his friends; he was still taut
with passion. Dealing with mean creatures such as this roused
that rare fury in him that brought him out of himself.

" So now you are afraid, eh ? " he asked. " You are not
quite so sure which is the winning side, M. le Marquis "

M. D'Albeville came nearer the table. Another fear con-
quered his fear of the terrible Prince.

" I cannot go on," he said feverishly. " I dare not. I can
help you no more, Monsieur. I must deliver that message, and
I must tell the King everything "

"You will deliver the message," interrupted William grimly;
" but you will not open the eyes of His Majesty until I bid you."

The Irishman clutched his hand on his breast, with a con-
tortion of terror and despair on his face. He had been playing
fast and loose between France and Holland so long that he
scarcely knew how far he had betrayed one to the other, only
that of late he had kept the greater faith with the Prince, who
terrorized him, as did all the English envoys, except those he
won by friendship, such as Temple and Sidney.

M. D'Albeville was now convinced that, in view of the
coming French action, the Prince could not succeed, and he
wished fervently that he was before James or Louis that he
might gain a good price by telling what he knew of William's

THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR 95

plans. He already regretted having come before His Highness,
yet he had not dared act without warning him, and had been
in some hopes of persuading him of his own faith and use.

Disappointed in this, he groaned aloud, began a feeble sentence
that died on his lips, and cast a furtive glance for a way of escape.

This did not fail of notice by the Prince.

" Bentinck," he said, " look to the door."

That nobleman stepped quietly in front of it, and the wretched
Ambassador shrilled a protest.

" Doth Your Highness intend violence ? "

" I intend to make use of you, Monsieur ! " cried the Prince.
" We are men in earnest. Do you think that we should allow
you to in any way incommode us ? "

" It will be Tower Hill for me ! " cried M. D'Albeville. " I
dare keep silent no longer — if my Lord President goeth, what
protection have I got?"

"M. de Sunderland shall not go until I have sailed from
Helvoetsluys," said William. "How much hath M. D'Avaux
promised you for telling everything to the Court of St. James ? "

M. D'Albeville shrugged, but obviously brightened as the
talk changed to money.

" You are quite mistaken, Your Highness— — "

" How much was it ? " interrupted William.

"Naturally, if I could help M. D'Avaux — I should expect
some consideration for the trouble "

The Prince for a moment took his great eyes from the
Irishman and addressed a rapid sentence in Dutch to M. Dyckfelt,
who at once went to the Chinese bureau at the side of the
fireplace and unlocked a drawer.

" I must deliver the message to the States," said M. D'Albe-
ville, between cringing and defiance. He was really afraid of what
might have happened in England — Sunderland might be in
disgrace, and the whole intrigue discovered by James, for all
he knew.

" It is my wish that you should," answered William. " It will
ccme very pat with M. D'Avaux his message."

M. Dyckfelt put on the table a gold standish, a sheet of paper,
and a casket, which last the Prince kept before himself.

11 M. le Marquis," he said, " you will do me one more service

96 GOD AND THE KING

— you will write to His Majesty that his suspicions are quite
unfounded, that my preparations, you are assured, are against
Denmark, and that no credit is to be given to the tales of
M. Skelton and M. D'Avaux about M. de Sunderland."

The Ambassador's face became absolutely blanched ; he
moistened his lips, and murmured, "I dare not — I dare not,"
between dry breaths.

"You dare not refuse," answered William. "I could so
expose you that not a court in Europe would employ you.
Besides, it is enough that I command you. Sit down and write."

M. D'Albeville came slowly nearer the table.

" I would do anything to serve Your Highness, but not this —
it is too late — it has gone too far "

"Write," said the Stadtholder briefly. "I pay well, you
know that."

M. D'Albeville sat down in the chair opposite the paper and
standish.

" But His Majesty will learn from others, and I shall be
recalled and "... he complained miserably ..." death . . .
treason is death. Oh, my God, I cannot do "

" M. le Marquis," interrupted William, " His Majesty is
simple enough to trust you, and for the rest I protect those
whom I use."

M. D'Albeville shivered and took up the pen. He had, and
knew it, no chance with the Prince, whose potent personality
always completely mastered his. He dared not, from some sheer
unnameable fear, refuse or resist, but the damp stood on his
brow and his heart was cramped at the thought of the possible
vengeance of the master whom he was betraying.

" You know what to write," said William. " Put it in your
own hand and your own style — you do not, I think, use cipher —

Tears of terror, rage, and mortification stood in the Irishman's
eyes. He had come to excuse himself from a service that had
become too dangerous, and found himself overpowered into
going still greater lengths. He could not bring himself to write
the letter which would eventually cut him off from all hope of
pardon from England.

" He shall write," said the Prince, in a low tone, to M. de
Hesse, " if I have to hold a pistol to his head the while."

THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR 97

And he came softly round behind the Ambassador's chair.

"Gentlemen," complained M. D'Albeville, "is this a way
to treat the representative of His Britannic Majesty ? "

The Landgrave and M. de Lunenburgh closed nearer round
him.

M. D'Albeville looked up at the grave faces bent on him,
and began to write.

"Make haste," said the Prince, drawing a round filigree
watch from his pocket and glancing at the time.

The Ambassador groaned and drove his pen the faster; in a
few moments the sheet of paper was covered, sanded, and signed.

"There is my ruin, Highness," said M. D'Albeville dramati-
cally, handing it with shaking fingers.

" Men like you are never ruined," returned the Prince. He
glanced over the letter, ill spelt, ill expressed, but all that
Sunderland would need to quiet the fears of his master.

The Prince folded it across, and M. D'Albeville held out his
hand.

"By your leave, M. le Marquis, I will post this," William
opened the casket M. Dyckfelt had brought from the Chinese
bureau, and took out a couple of little linen bags, which he slid
along the table towards the crumpled figure of the Ambassador ;
the glint of gold could be seen between the wide meshes.
"The audience is over," he added dryly.

M. D'Albeville got to his feet and began to pick up the
money and thrust it into the huge flap pockets of his silver-
branched coat, making the while little sounds of protest, and
shaking his head dismally.

"Listen," said the Prince vigorously. "You will give your
message to the States to-morrow, and you will send no letters
of any kind to England until I request you to "

" I am always the servant of Your Highness," said M. D'Albe-
ville with a dreary submission, yet with a kind of satisfaction
in the bribe that lay heavy in his pockets ; the Prince always
paid better than M. D'Avaux, kept short by M. de Louvois,
who disliked him.

"All packets leaving our ports are watched," remarked
William. "So do not try to send any secret messages to
England."
7

98 GOD AND THE KING

The Ambassador picked up his white-plumed hat, that had
fallen to the floor, then came towards the Prince with a humble
gesture, as if he would have kissed his hand ; but William drew
back with a haughty disgust that brought a blush even to
M. D'Albeville's brazen cheek. He withdrew backwards, M.
Bentinck opened the door for him, and closed it after he had
departed, bowing.

" By Heaven ! " burst out the Landgrave, " to think that
a great nation should send as representative such a rascal ! "

" His Majesty hath always been unlucky, Highness," answered
William, "in the gentlemen he sendeth to The Hague. To
use such tools ! " he added impatiently ; " but I think we have
checkmated M. D'Avaux. — M. Fagel," he turned swiftly to the
Grand Pensionary, "you see your part? The two messages
will come the same day, and you are to protest that there must
be some secret alliance between France and England that the
States have been kept in the dark about, and that we can give
no answer till that is explained ; you must feign alarm which
will further inflame the people against France and her designs,
and so we may provoke King James into repudiating the French
alliance and offending His Christian Majesty."

Having thus indicated the policy that his genius had instantly
conceived, he paused with a little cough, then laughed, which
he seldom did save when he had discomfited some one. He
laughed now, thinking of M. D'Avaux, and there was a malicious
note in it which would not have pleased that diplomat to hear.

The German princes laughed also, in a more good-natured
fashion, and the whole company moved from their places with
a sense that a final resolve had been reached.

" Come, gentlemen," said the Prince in his tired voice, " I
think we have earned our dinner."

He handed to M. Fagel the letter written by M. D'Albeville.

CHAPTER XI
THREE PAWNS

THREE English gentlemen were walking slowly round the
Vyverburg on the side where stand the spacious courts
of the Buitenhof; the ground beneath their feet was thickly
covered with dry yellow leaves, and the trees above their heads
almost bare, but the sun shone as strong as summer on the
placid surface of the water, and gleamed with a red fire in the
rows of long windows of the Government buildings ; the sky was
a great luminous space of blue gold, against which the trees and
houses the other side of the lake showed with a tender clarity,
like the pictures of that great artist, Ver Meer of Delft.

There were swans and ducks on the lake ; they, like the
water on which they swam, were touched with this universal hue
of gold, and seemed to be cleaving a way through glimmering
mists of sunshine.

The three gentlemen paused by one of the posts protecting
the edge of the water ; it was near evening, and under the calm
was the sense of a little rising wind, salt from the sea. Not a
word was spoken between these three who had fallen from much
talk to idleness; all had the same subject in their minds,
though each coloured it with his own temperament ; all of them
were remarkable-looking men, and typical of some aspect of the
great movement of which they formed a part.

The eldest was a man still in his prime, red-haired and
tanned to an unnatural darkness, with something stern, sad, and
passionate in his face, and an abruptness in his movements ; he
wore the splendid appointments of a soldier; across his
shoulder was twisted a rich oriental scarf of coloured silk and
gold threads ; his name was Fletcher of Saltoun, a noble Scot,

99

ioo GOD AND THE KING

who had returned from the Turkish war to assist in the enter-
prise of the Stadtholder.

The second was a youth of singular sweetness of expression
and delicacy of feature, plainly dressed in grey ; the charm of his
appearance was marred solely by a black silk patch which he
wore over his left eye; he was staring at the water with a
melancholy air, and now and then sighed; this was Charles
Talbot, eleventh Earl of Shrewsbury, dismissed last year from
the army and the Lord-Lieutenancy of Staffordshire for refusing
to abjure his religion ; he had mortgaged his estates for
^40,000, which was now at the Bank of Amsterdam at the
service of the Prince. He was for the moment but one of the
many refugees at The Hague.

The third was by far the most remarkable, and bore most
signs of greatness : young, though a little older than the Earl, he
was not, perhaps, half the height, being hunch-shouldered to a
deformity, and thin and meagre in body; his face, livid and
lined with disease, wore a sparkling expression of energy, his
eyes, large, noble, and ever changing in expression with a kind of
restless animation, scorn, impatience, and dare-devilry ; even
now, when standing still, he thrummed with his fingers on the
railing and whistled ' Lillibulero ' under his breath.

He was that Lord Mordaunt whose fiery, careless courage
had urged this expedition on the Prince a year ago.

Fretting under the languor and idleness engendered by the
beautiful late afternoon and the serene fair prospect, he pro-
ceeded to lead his companions out of the silence to which they
were so obviously inclined.

"Where will the Prince land, eh, my lord?" he asked of
Shrewsbury. " In the south-west or the north-east ? "

He knew that my lord could not know what was not yet
decided, but the question served to break the pause.

" Why, 'tis even what they argue about," answered the Earl.
" Lord Dunblaine was with His Highness yesterday, and gave as
his father' advice that we should choose the north, because
'tis so easy to obtain horses in Yorkshire "

"Or because my Lord Danby," sneered Mordaunt, "hath
such a pull in that county that he hopeth to get His Highness
into his hands."

THREE PAWNS 101

" The Prince is very secret," said Mr. Fletcher.

" He listeneth to all and agreeth with none," answered my
Lord Mordaunt.

"He might be more open," complained the Earl, who of
the three was most in the favour of William ; but Mordaunt
perhaps understood the Prince better.

"Dr. Burnet is to draw up the letter to the Church,"
remarked Mr. Fletcher. " I ever disliked him."

" He is translating the Prince his Declaration also," said
the Earl discontentedly. " I do hope the Prince will not be led
by such an extreme Low Churchman "

" M. Fagel wrote it," answered Mordaunt. " His Highness
said the English were all such party men he would not trust
them to prepare it. He is himself writing the letter to the army
— you have heard ? He is clever with the pen."

"He may," broke out Mr. Fletcher, "trust Dr. Burnet as
much as he pleaseth ; but if he is to put his confidence in my
Lord Danby we are as good as lost "

"Better my Lord Danby than my Lord Sunderland,"
interrupted Shrewsbury ; " it surpriseth me that he can deal with
such a knave."

Lord Mordaunt gave an impatient pirouette.

" Why is there all this delay — delay ? " he cried. " /would
have sailed months ago ! "

Mr. Fletcher roused at that. He was innocent enough in the
matter of politics to have been one of those who accompanied,
with hope of success, Lord Monmouth on his fatal expedi-
tion, and to consider the Prince's attempt as such another
enterprise.

" You are right," he said gloomily. " The King will get wind
of it, and Dartmouth will have his ships spread all round the
coast to prevent a landing."

" I am sick of The Hague — sick ! " exclaimed Mordaunt im-
petuously. " If His Highness don't leave the cursed place soon,
I'll go without him ! "

Shrewsbury laughed, then Mordaunt himself good-
humouredly; Mr. Fletcher stared at the slow-sailing ducks.
He did not care much what happened, but he hated inaction
and began to regret the Turks who had provided it.

102 GOD AND THE KING

" You have heard that Skelton hath been recalled and lodged
in the Tower ? " asked Mordaunt.

"Yes," said Shrewsbury; "it was in the letters this
morning. It might have been expected after His Majesty's
denial of a French alliance and reprimand to M. Barillon."

"Sure bad policy," said Mr. Fletcher, but without
enthusiasm, " and a good stroke for the Prince."

In truth none of these gentlemen guessed what a stroke.
James had actually stepped into the trap laid for him, and, seeing
how great an advantage the appearance of an alliance between
him and France gave the States, had angrily repudiated the
suggestion, and haughtily reprimanded M. Barillon for French
interference with his affairs. Sunderland, prepared by the Prince,
had urged him on to this course, and the letters of M. D'Albeville
had served to back the Lord-President's reassurances. The
Prince had been triumphant in this encounter, the States and
the people were warmer in his cause than ever after this proof,
as they took it, of a connection, between France and England,
dangerous to themselves. M. D'Avaux; since the disgrace of
Skelton, was silent with mortification, and a kind of lull hung
over Europe ; William was looking with a terrible anxiety
towards Flanders, where Louis had his troops threatening the
frontiers of the Spanish Lowlands, and so the United Provinces.
What would Louis do now the King of England had rejected his
warnings and refused his aid ? On the answer to that question
the fate of Protestant Europe depended.

But these three knew and cared little of these matters;
their minds were set wholly on the domestic policies of
England, and occupied with a vague ideal of liberty for
their own faith and their country's laws, not unmingled
with some desire for vengeance on the party now upper-
most.

" I saw Sir James Stair to-day," said Mr. Fletcher suddenly ;
" he hath come from Leyden to join the Prince. I suppose he
will take to himself the affairs of Scotland."

" Nay," answered the Earl ; " the Prince is all for William
Carstairs, a poor, mean Scottish minister ; but, sir, more in the
Prince his confidence than any of us "

" Carstairs," cried Mordaunt, with flashing eyes, " hath been

THREE PAWNS 103

under torture with secrets of M. Fagel in his keeping, and never
betrayed them. A brave man ! "

Shrewsbury shrugged his shoulders delicately.

" I wish we sailed to-morrow," said Fletcher of Saltoun.

The restless Mordaunt moved on, and the others sauntered
beside him.

"The boats are all creeping down to the sea laden with
arms," he said excitedly. " They lie thick as pebbles among the
reeds of the islands of the Rhine and Meuse. Sirs, ye should
see them."

"I had the Prince his command to stay at The Hague,"
answered Shrewsbury. " Saw you these boats ? "

"That I did, and pontoons, and transports, and the hay
slung in ropes in the ports, and the great trains of artillery . . ."

They were walking towards the Gevangenpoort, the prison
gate which rose up by the side of the Vyver. The hazy sky was
changing to a tawny colour behind the dark roof lines of the
houses, flushed here and there with gold and a stain of purple ;
little pale, shell-coloured clouds floated away to the uppermost
heights of heaven where the clear blue was still untouched, and
the water began to glow and burn with the reflected fires of
the sky.

The clear chimes of the Groote Kerk struck the hour, and
the sound of oncoming horsemen caused the few passers-by to
pause before entering the narrow way of the prison arch.

A cavalcade came into sight from the direction of the Stad-
huis, and moved at a swift trot towards the Gevangenpoort — a
number of gentlemen, with two riding before the others.

As they passed every hat was removed.

" The Prince returning from Helvoet," said Lord Mordaunt,
and the three uncovered as the horsemen approached.

The Stadtholder was mounted on a huge grey Flemish horse,
and on his right hand rode the Marechal de Schomberg, still
erect and magnificent ; the two were talking with a certain stiff
courtesy ; behind them came the Spanish envoy, M. Zuylestein,
M. Zolms, and M. Auverquerque, together with a number of
Dutch and German nobles.

The Prince saw the three Englishmen and saluted very
graciously ; the setting sun was for a moment full on his grave

104 GOD AND THE KING

face, then he passed through the prison arch, and the company
clattered over the cobbles out of sight.

" No Englishman with him, mark you," said Mr. Fletcher.
" Mr. Herbert told me that he could not be open with us,"
replied Shrewsbury.

" Yet Herbert is to have the command of the expedition, is
he not?"

" They say so ; but he is full of discontent. Admiral Evertzen
hath spoken against him to the Prince, methinks."

Mr. Fletcher saluted one of his countrymen whom he had
recognized, and the three turned back.

A steady dusk was descending, extinguishing the colours in
the sky, in the water, in the windows of the Binnenhof, and
blurring those in the dresses of the people passing to and fro ;
only the trees and the houses retained their distinctness and
sharpness of outline, and they took on a marvellous colour of
living silver grey. Long deep shadows blended with the water
the beautiful irregular buildings that had been the theatre of so
many great events ; the swans stood out, a dead white, from hues
rapidly darkening and mysterious ; their feathers were ruffled by
a long breeze that swept chilly from the sea and salt dunes at
Scheveningen.

A yellow light sprang up in one of the lower windows
of the Binnenhof, and cast reflections far beneath it in the
water.

"Did you ever hear the story of John de Witt, the late
Grand Pensionary ? " asked Shrewsbury, pulling his cloak about
him. " M. Bentinck told me, and kept me out of bed with the

tale "

"Why should you think of that now?" asked Mordaunt
curiously.

" You see that light there — the first to be lit in the Binnen-
hof?— that was his room, and M. Bentinck said that always when
one passed late one would see that candle shine and know that
M. de Witt was still waking."

"He got a poor reward," said Mr. Fletcher. "He was torn
to bits on the Plaats, was he not ? "

" Anyone whose memory goeth back sixteen years will give
you an account of it," answered my Lord Mordaunt dryly. " I

THREE PAWNS 105

wish I had been beside M. de Witt that day with a sword in my
hand ! "

The Earl sighed

" How cold it bloweth ! A severe winter is presaged, do you
not think, my lord ? " he said. Then abruptly : " Why should
good men meet such ends ? "

Lord Mordaunt laughed.

" You ask me to explain ingratitude ? By Heaven, I have
not the wit for the task."

" Ingratitude ! " frowned Shrewsbury ; " yet these people love
the Prince because he hath done them great services "

" But shall we ? " interrupted Mordaunt. " Ah, sir, I think
the Prince will meet the same spirit as did John de Witt, should
he ever rule in England "

" Why, God forbid ! " exclaimed Mr. Fletcher.

"What?" demanded Mordaunt sharply — "that we should
ever be ungrateful ? "

"No; that His Highness should ever rule in Britain."

Lord Mordaunt answered with some intensity —

" Are you so simple, sir, as to think we can have a man like
that among us not ruling us ? "

Lord Shrewsbury was doubtfully silent. His timorous nature
had been startled by the sudden action into which circumstances
had spurred it. A sense of loyalty, a terror of underhand methods,
a dread of anything so violent as a revolution made him already
secretly regret the part he had so far played so well.

Mr. Fletcher answered carelessly and thoughtlessly —

" You set too high a value on the little Prince. His life is
not worth a year's purchase."

Lord Mordaunt flashed an extraordinary look over the fine
person of the speaker, and the comely youth of the Earl. His
thin hand clutched on to his sword-belt, and his haggard face
flushed.

" You set too high a value on bone and muscle ! " he cried,
with a passionate sneer. " You are jolly fellows, both of you ;
but who will remember you when you have been dead a year ?
But men," he added with a terrible energy, "will talk of the
Prince of Orange, and of me."

They stared at him, amazed at this outburst, and Shrewsbury,

106 GOD AND THE KING

seeing what a frail, deformed creature he was, blushed with a kind
of shame.

" Good God ! " said Mr. Fletcher, " I am not working for
fame, my lord."

" No ! " flashed Lord Mordaunt ; " creatures of clay — of clay !
Prettily coloured, but a breath of the fire that burneth in the
little plain vessels would crack you in a day."

He gave a flourishing bow, and walked off towards the
Stadhuis.

" An Eccentric," remarked Mr. Fletcher, looking after him.

" I fear so. He will put himself into a passion at a word ; but
he would pledge his whole fortune for you if you were in need
of it," answered the Earl. " How suddenly dark it is ; let us,
sir, go home."

CHAPTER XII
FRANCE MOVES AGAIN

IT was mid-October ; the Prince's preparations were complete,
even to the putting of the horses on board, and yet there
was silence from France. A terrible lull of suspense hushed the
United Provinces, and of all the anxious hearts there was none
so anxious as that of the man who had staked this great wager
—the Stadtholder.

On this day, the nineteenth of the month, he returned from
the camp at Nymwegen, where he had been reviewing the troops
long since secretly raised and drilled by him, and now sanctioned
by the States, entered The Hague privately, and rode to the
Binnenhof, where he was closeted with M. Fagel, who gave
him the last assurances that all opposition, even from the
Republican or Loeve Stein party, was extinct.

When he left the Grand Pensionary and came out into
the still corridors of the Binnenhof, he stood thoughtfully for
a moment, at the head of the staircase, thinking of the various
threads, all so different in texture, that he had almost succeeded
in weaving into the completed pattern of his design.

His own country, the German princes, the Empire, Spain,
Sweden, England, the Pope — all combined at last with one aim,
to answer the aggressions of France.

For ten years, ever since the Peace of Nymwegen had been
forced on him, he had been working through gloom, dis-
appointment, discouragement, for this end. His answer to the
revocation of the Nantz Edict and the seizure of Orange had been
the League of Augsburg, which was now bearing fruit, and all
Europe was directed against France.

Toil, energy, courage, patience, and genius were telling.
The young disinherited Prince, who had been treated as a mere

io8 GOD AND THE KING

pawn by Charles and Louis, the general of twenty-two with
a miserable army, who had been offered humiliating terms by
the insolently victorious French, had slowly grown to be a
power that both Bourbon and Stewart feared, and whose in-
fluence was predominant over the larger half of the Continent.

His rapid thoughts went back over the years to those black
days of blood and despair when he had been put at the head
of his country's fortunes and trusted with her sole hopes. Defeat
— disappointment had often been his in his struggle to maintain
the position of the States in Europe, but even to his own judgment,
and he ranked his own achievements low, it seemed that success
had waited on all his apparent failures, for his country was not
only free but great, and he not only independent but powerful.

Slowly he began to descend the stairs, which were full of
a misty sunlight. When he reached the first landing-place a
man stepped from one of the tall doors, and, seeing the Prince,
bowed and stood very respectfully waiting for him to pass.

William paused, came to a stop, and regarded this man
with a close, keen scrutiny.

He stood so still that the object of his gaze lifted surprised
eyes, and the two looked at each other.

The Prince stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, one
hand resting on the polished newel post. He was in buff military
attire and carried over his right arm a heavy dark cloak ; he wore
a black beaver that shaded his brow, but the rich light was full
on his face, which expressed a strong emotion sternly contained.

Behind him a blue and green tapestry hung on the dark
wall ; it showed a sea fight with curious ships and curling waves,
and banners rising through smoke; the sun showed every
thread in it — every crease, and the latent gold in the heavy
chestnut locks of the Prince.

" M. Heinsius," he said softly.

"Your Highness?"

The Prince did not change his position nor move his
brilliant gaze.

"I think to leave the States very soon, as you know,
Mynheer ; you know also under what circumstances." He paused
a second, then added : " I have your good wishes, Mynheer ? "

Antoon Heinsius coloured from chin to brow. He had been

FRANCE MOVES AGAIN 109

of the Loeve Stein party and in favour of France, but his
policy had changed lately to an adherence to the Stadtholder ;
he had not expected this to be remarked by William.

" Every true heart in Holland," he answered strongly, " must
pray for the success of Your Highness."

William descended to the landing-place and laid his frail
hand, half concealed in embroidered linen ruffles, on the sleeve
of M. Heinsius.

"You are the kind of man I want. M. Fagel is old and
in failing health — he needeth help," he said. "You are a
patriot ; you would, I think, do anything for the States."

The words were poor compared to the fire and energy in
the Stadtholder's strained but steady voice, and the purpose
in the gentle firm touch of his hand on the other man's arm.

M. Antoon Heinsius answered instantly, with a deepening
of the colour in his fine handsome face —

"Your Highness doth me exceeding honour."

"I am never better pleased," said William, "than when I
can make a man like you my friend."

"Your friend — your servant, Highness," murmured M.
Heinsius. He was considerably moved by this kindness from
one usually so stately and reserved, and one whom he had
of late, as he understood his policy better, warmly admired.

"You know my aims, my plans of government," continued
the Stadtholder ; " you will know what to do in my absence, —
by serving Holland you serve more than Holland."

M. Heinsius answered earnestly —

" Before God I will do my best."

" Your best is well worth having, Mynheer. I have noticed
your career."

The two men, but a little time since in opposition, looked
with complete understanding into each other's eyes. The Prince
had won the fine loyalty of M. Heinsius as he won all whom
he set himself to gain, as he won ultimately, indeed, all those
who served him and came to know him intimately.

"The States have acted to the wishes of Your Highness?"
asked M. Heinsius.

" The States have trusted me," answered the Prince. " Even
the Loeve Stein faction are eager for me to depart on this

no GOD AND THE KING

expedition, in the hopes, maybe" — he smiled — "that I shall
be slain or affronted. But I have anxieties."

He paused and looked at the water of the Vyver that lay
glinting with autumn gold beneath the window.

" Mynheer," he added, " a country is a high stake — one's own
country. Mynheer," he looked again into the face of the older man,
"you have perhaps thought there was some wantonness in this
my resolve, you have thought that I may have dared too much in
offering to take beyond seas all the defences of the States."

" Never ! " answered M. Heinsius firmly. " I understand and
I applaud the policy of Your Highness."

"It is," said the Stadtholder, "on a sure bottom and to
be justified. Yet, until I know what France doth, I am no
better than a man on the rack."

"You think — even now?"

" Even now — if they were to fall on the frontier ! Nought
there but the Spaniards ! But a little while will show us."

He paused again, then said, weighing his words, and with
a strange mingling of simplicity and dignity.

" I am no King in this country, Mynheer, but the servant
of the Republic, and you, who are a knowing man and one
who hath the common welfare at heart, I would have hold
me justified in this I do. I have been believed ambitious,
but my ambition is one with the good of the States, and God
knoweth that I do not take this tremendous risk from any
such paltry motive, but because it is our chance, which if we
do not take we are as good as lost."

" It is no flattery to say that I agree with Your Highness,
who seeth farther and more clearly than most men."

" You will hear them," answered William, " talk of England,
and what I do to gain England, and how much store I set
by that country. Be not deceived ; England is but a counter
in the game I play, and, if I succeed, will be but one of many
allies which we will lead against France. And always with me,
Mynheer Heinsius, it is the Republic — always."

He spoke with intensity and emotion that were the more
moving in contrast to his usual sternness.

"The deeds of Your Highness have proved your words,"
answered Antoon Heinsius in an unsteady voice.

FRANCE MOVES AGAIN in

The Stadtholder sighed.

" I will not disguise from you that my sufferings are terrible
— my disquietude almost unbearable, for it is the Republic
at stake," he said.

He gave his hand to M. Heinsius, who kissed it very lowly,
and left the Binnenhof.

He had not so much as a footboy in attendance, and rode
rapidly to the 'huis ten bosch' with little regard for the
salutes and respectful homage of those he passed. His contem-
plated enterprise, the very daring of which, owing to his usual
caution, was the more awe-inspiring, made him even more
than ever an object of admiration and attention at The Hague.

Once within the bounds of his own woods he was enwrapped
in the gracious loveliness of the trees — the quiet of the frost-
bound earth, and had almost reached the house before he met
anyone ; then, round the turn of the long main avenue came a
lady, very gracefully riding a white horse.

The Prince gave her a quick glance, touched his beaver, and
was passing with no slacking of his pace, but she drew rein and
said in a faint voice —

"Your Highness " with a little gesture that seemed to

entreat him to stay.

He turned his horse instantly.

" I am leaving The Hague, sir," she said, speaking English,
which was obviously her native tongue. " I have the permission
of Her Highness to go see my sister who is sadly worse."

She was young, very slender, and carried herself with a
certain air of fire and pride, a certain poise of dignity and
animation charming to behold ; her features were ordinary, but
vivacious and intelligent ; there was a certain set or cast in her
brown eyes not unattractive, and her hair, in a hundred gleaming
hues of gold, red, and deep honey colour, hung in thick curls
on to her riding coat, cut like a man's and thickly embroidered
with gold.

" Madame Bentinck is worse ? " repeated William in a quick
distress.

" They did say so. I felt I should go."

"I am grieved a thousand times," he added, "and for
M. Bentinck " — he spoke with real feeling, but with that

H2 GOD AND THE KING

touch of constraint (unlike his usual reserve) which marked her
manner to him — "and for you, Madame."

Miss Villiers hesitated a second, then said abruptly —

" I did not think to meet you. I shall not see you again
before you sail. Take my poor wishes with you."

" I have been so bold as to feel sure of them," he answered
gravely. She was silent, but he did not ride on, but sat with slack
reins looking at her, half in the thick autumn sunlight, half in
the shade of the close tree trunks, for the sun was sinking.

They had not spoken to each other alone for years ; but when
she had first come to The Hague with his wife there had been a
swift attraction between them, which, for all her discretion and
his reserve, had not failed to be seized upon by the English agents
to work discords in the Court of The Hague. It was not so
long ago that the Princess's Chaplain, Dr. Covell, and Miss
Trelawney, had been dismissed by Mary for inventing and
spreading this kind of gossip for the benefit of those spies of the
English Court who were ever endeavouring to estrange the
Prince from his wife.

The Stadtholder was sensitive to these malicious scandals.
He rather avoided Miss Villiers, who, on her part, was utterly
indifferent to report and, secure in the position the marriage of
her sister to M. Bentinck gave her, troubled herself not in the
least either about Mary's gentle dislike or her own unpopularity
in The Hague. She had great gifts — wit and courage and under-
standing, enthusiasm and self-control ; she was very reserved, no
one knew her well, not the Prince now, though once he had had
her inspiring friendship, her brilliant advice, her ardent attention ;
she was still of service to him, but always through the medium of
her sister and M. Bentinck. It was strange to both of them to
come face to face like this in those woods in which, near
ten years ago, they had walked together, and he had told her
of his hopes and fears previous, and just after the Peace of
Nymwegen.

He smiled and she frowned ; each wondered how much that
friendship had been worth to the other ; Miss Villiers thought
that she had long been balanced with his wife in his affections ;
he, that she had never considered him as more than the em-
bodiment of a policy that she admired — both were wrong.

FRANCE MOVES AGAIN 113

"Tell me," she said suddenly, "are you still in fears of the
French ? "

" The greatest fears. Until I know how they are going to
move I consider the whole plan in jeopardy. If they should
march on the frontiers "

" God forbid ! " she exclaimed fervently. " When will you
know?"

" I am utterly in the dark."

"I shall not sleep until you have safely sailed," she said.
" For what is to become of England if this faileth ? "

" It must not fail," he answered quietly.

Miss Villiers looked at him strangely.

" No," she remarked ; "I do not think you will fail — in
the end."

She lowered her eyes, patted the strong arched neck of her
horse, and added —

" I have seen my Lord Shrewsbury and my Lord Manchester,
and laboured to strengthen them in your cause." She smiled.
" They are discontented already."

" Does it matter ? " asked William.

"A vast deal. You must, sir, try to please the English
more ; they do not love you."

" Then I cannot make them."

She raised her eyes again.

"Perhaps you do not quite understand us — the English —
though you have known a many by now "

" I do not even understand you, Madam," he answered, "save
that you have done great services to the cause I stand for, and for
that," he added earnestly, " you must not think me ungrateful.
Some day I may be able to share prosperity with my friends."

He said the last sentence with a warmth yet a simplicity
wholly charming. Miss Villiers paled and averted her eyes.

"What use is my advice!" she exclaimed bitterly. "What
use am I ! "

He looked in surprise at this sudden alteration in her even
demeanour.

"It hath been of use to us," he said gravely. "And what
you say now is just, and I will remember it "

Miss Villiers suddenly laughed.
8

H4 GOD AND THE KING

"Yes; you must be very civil, sir, to the English, and — you
must never trust them ! "

She touched up her horse.

" Sure, I will not detain Your Highness "

He took off his hat.

" I have writ to M. Bentinck," he said earnestly ; " but tell
him yourself what a great concern I am under as to your sister
her health — and that he must send a messenger with news."

Elizabeth Villiers bent her head, smiled rather sadly, and
they parted ; he towards the house at the end of the long
avenue, and she through gold-red glittering woods into the hazy
autumn distance.

When he reached the steps of his villa he saw another woman
awaiting him — the Princess, standing in the full last light, with a
light cloak about her. As soon as she beheld his approach she
came forward, and was at his stirrup before he had dismounted.

" There is a galloper from Flanders with news," she said ;
her voice was strained, and she clasped her hands tightly together
to steady them.

A broken exclamation escaped the Prince.

" If the French are marching on the frontiers I cannot go ! "

The grooms came forward and took his great horse; he
sprang from the saddle and went with the Princess up the
shallow sun-flooded steps.

" Oh, my dear ! " cried Mary under her breath, " if there are
ill advices "

He pressed her hand fiercely.

" I cannot leave the country if they are invading Flanders "

In the simple vestibule was the impatient messenger — a young
Spanish officer, who went, very courtly, on one knee when the
Prince entered, and handed a packet from M. de Castagnana.

" News of the French ? " demanded William swiftly.

11 1 do believe so, Highness."

The Stadtholder broke open the dispatch, glanced down the
close lines of Spanish, and turned instantly to his pale wife, whose
eyes were fixed on him with a piteous intensity.

" The French have abandoned Flanders ! " he cried ; " their
troops are pouring into Germany — the States are safe, thank
God! thank God "

CHAPTER XIII
THE GREAT ENTERPRISE

ALL difficulties were overcome. Louis, angry at the English
King's rejection of his advices, and perhaps hoping that
his great enemy would run on disaster in his audacious under-
taking, or perhaps believing that it was now too late in the year
for any such expedition, had suddenly diverted his troops into
Germany, where in a few days he had taken every fort along
the Rhine ; successes celebrated with great pomp in Paris, but
worthless indeed to Louis should William accomplish what he
was now free to attempt, and bring England out of her shackles
into the alliance against France.

The Prince's preparations were complete ; his Declaration
had been published and circulated in England by the arts of his
friends, his ships and troops were ready, even to the embarking
of the soldiery, and he himself had to-day taken his farewell
audience of the States; for now the south-west wind had
changed, and the great fleet gathered at Goree was free to sail.

Mary, in the chilly autumn garden of the c huis ten bosch,'
waited his return. Four times a day she went to public prayers,
but not all her ardent faith could quell the tumult in her soul ;
her anxieties were not to be repressed, even at the communion
table, which added to her distress, her self-reproach, her un-
easiness.

She walked with a quick step up and down the bare alleys,
the hard gravel paths, between the newly-turned flower-beds,
the late yellowing plants, and stiff evergreens.

The violet St. Michael's daisies were brown and withered on
their stems, the last roses had fallen, and the carp been removed
from the fish basin, where the water lay frost-bound under a
thin covering of ice ; there was no sun to cast a shadow from

"5

n6 GOD AND THE KING

the finger of the grey sundial, and the sky was obscured with
low, floating, changing clouds ; a little wind brought the salt pure
air from the sea-coast and stirred Mary's bright locks inside her
miniver hood.

As she was pacing her most familiar and beloved walk, the
little alley at the end of the garden, sheltered by interlacing
trees now bare, the sound of a footstep brought her to turn with
a glad expectancy.

But it was not the Prince, only M. Auverquerque, a noble
who had long been his friend, and who had saved his life amid
the bloody steppes of St. Denis, and for this reason always high
in Mary's regard.

"Do you come from the States, sir?" she asked wistfully,
speaking in English, for her Dutch was still very indifferent, and
she was shy of using it save on a necessity.

" Yes, Madame, and I left His Highness conversing with M.
Fagel and M. Heinsius."

The Princess stood still. Her loose velvet coat, of a bright
blue colour, served to accentuate the pallor of her face, which
was worn and strained in expression ; her eyes were reddened
with recent weeping, and narrowed with a look of trouble.

" There was no opposition to him — now, I think," she said,
with a sudden smile.

" Madame — none ; there was great enthusiasm and great
grief at the going of His Highness," answered' M. Auverquerque
warmly " He alone was unmoved — I would you could have heard
his words, Madame — 'I have had no thought,' he said, ' since I did
undertake this position I hold, save for the good of the States,
and I do take God to witness that, if I have erred, it hath been
because I am human, and not through lack of affection for, or
care of, this country. Now, going to make the endeavour to be
of service to our common faith, I do commend to your care and
guardianship all that I hold dear — these States and my wife ' —
and at this they were stirred to tears, Madame, for there was not
one who could not remember what he had brought them
through."

Mary was silent; she pressed her handkerchief to her lips
and looked towards the house. M. Auverquerque regarded
her tenderly.

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE 117

" The States professed great devotion to Your Highness," he
said, " and spoke from their hearts."

" I do thank you," she answered, in a very low tone. " Will
you not come into the house?"

He followed her across the bare garden, and there was
nothing said between them, each being deeply engaged with
different thoughts on the same subject.

As they neared the villa, one of the gentlemen of the Princess's
household came to meet them and acquainted Mary that a lady
who besought her charity .implored her for an immediate audience.

The Princess was well used to these applications. Out of her
meagre allowance she contrived to greatly assuage the sufferings
of the distressed refugees at The Hague, and this liberality of
hers being known, she received more petitions than she could at
all comply with, which was a source of great distress to her
gentle heart.

" Alas ! " she said ; " I have already a great list of persons
unsatisfied, and worthy cases, too ', but it is more than I dare put
before His Highness in this present juncture "

"This seemeth, Your Highness, a gentlewoman of the better
sort, English, and most earnest for speech with you."

" I can but see her," answered Mary quickly. "Only I trust
she will not raise her hopes of what I can do for her. M. Auver-
querque, forgive me."

With a little curtsy to that gentleman she entered the house.

" Where is this gentlewoman ? "

In her withdrawing room, she was told, and there Mary pro-
ceeded, without ceremony, still wearing her cloak.

The small but handsome room held a pleasant sense of
comfort in contrast to the dead grey weather without. A great
log fire cast a glittering light over the dark furniture, and in the
full glow of it stood a tall lady wrapped in a crimson mantle that
half disclosed an embroidered sacque, and wearing, twisted round
her head and shoulders, a fine Eastern scarf embroidered in
many colours; she was much older than Mary, and looked
fatigued to illness ; her large fair eyes were heavily shadowed and
her mouth strained, but her appearance was one of great beauty.
When the Princess entered she made a little deprecating,
half-expectant movement forward, as if hoping for recognition ;

n8 GOD AND THE KING

but she was utterly strange to Mary, who looked at her in some
embarrassment, seeing at once that this was no ordinary
supplicant.

The strange lady gazed at her sadly.

"Ten years have changed you to beauty and me to age,
Highness," she said, in a voice of singular sweetness. "You
have forgotten me. And I should scarcely have known Your
Highness."

" Indeed," answered Mary, a little bewildered, " I cannot
recall you. But I do perceive that you are my countrywoman ;
perhaps I knew you at Whitehall ? "

" It was there we met, Madame, — and of late we have corre-
sponded "

" Why, who are you, Madame ? "

The elder lady cast herself to her knees before the Princess,
and answered with some wildness —

" I am the unfortunate wife of my Lord Sunderland ! "

" My Lady Sunderland ! Madame, you must not kneel. Oh,
what hath passed in England to bring you here ? "

Mary impetuously raised the Countess, who kissed her hands
in a kind of frantic entreaty.

" Where is the Earl ? " cried Mary, with a flush of agitation.

" He hath fled," whispered Lady Sunderland, " to Amsterdam,
where he is in hiding. We have lost everything — everything ; his
life was in danger ; there was no man in all the ministry hated
like my lord "

The painful colour burnt in Mary's cheek.

"His Majesty discovered — the intrigues — with us?" she
asked.

" No — else it had been Tower Hill ; but the Catholics under-
mined him — my lord could not hold his own — he was dismissed
all his offices, and when the Prince his Declaration was spread
abroad, there rose such a spirit in the nation that we were no
longer safe, and while we could, we fled."

Mary took a quick step across the room and laid her
trembling hand on Lady Sunderland's arm.

" The King — knoweth? " she asked.

" The last dispatch of M. D'Albeville told him, and he was
struck silent with dismay."

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE 119

" Alas ! alas ! " was wrung from Mary, " that this should
have had to be ! It is my father, Madame, and I do a bitter
thing against him "

She sank into the great walnut chair by the fire, and the
ready tears overbrimmed and ran down her white cheeks.

"Your Highness hath a patriotic public duty to perform,"
said Lady Sunderland. " And must not think of this "

"No," answered Mary unsteadily, "no;" she stretched
out her hand and drew the other woman towards her ; " but you
— you have taken a strange part, my lady "

"My lord," said the Countess earnestly, "hath served His
Highness to his own extreme peril, and now I am come to plead
a pardon for him from you "

" But you yourself," urged Mary ; " what have you felt towards
these affairs ? "

She rose, still holding the fluttering hand of Lady Sunderland,
and looked steadily into her eyes.

"I have done as my lord directed," was the answer. "I
have served him all my life. I shall serve him — always."

Mary dropped her hand. The thought that stirred her was
that she could not judge, since that same unquestioning devotion
ruled her life too.

" My lord his services," she said faintly, " are not such as the
Prince can with honour reward."

" Nor," answered my lady with some pride, " such as he can
with honour ignore "

" He is apostate," said Mary ; " that cannot be forgiven."

" It can be pardoned."

"What would you, Madame? The Earl is no subject of the
Prince."

" He is his supplicant — as I am ; he might have gone to
France, but he hath put himself at the mercy of His Highness."

" The Prince is ever generous," answered Mary, " but what
he can do here I know not."

She drew away a little from the Countess5 for in her thoughts
were rising the remembrances of all the ignoble parts my lord had
played, and the ill reports she had received of him and his wife
from her sister, the Princess Anne.

" You must see the Prince," she said, something coldly.

120 GOD AND THE KING

Lady Sunderland was quick to notice this change of manner.

" I am a woman in bitter trouble," she answered. " I stand
before you no better than a beggar. If it were not that I might
still be of use to my lord, I would pray to die."

" You are very weary," said Mary, with instant kindness. She
drew her to seat herself on the long brocade couch — " Poor soul,
I doubt that you are very sad ! "

Lady Sunderland looked at her wildly, then burst into
anguished tears.

" Ah, Madame ! " cried Mary, bending over her, " I do
beseech you take comfort."

The Countess kept her face hidden, and her bowed shoulders
heaved.

" Nothing shall happen to the Earl, I dare swear."

Lady Sunderland looked up.

"Forgive me. I have not wept for so long, My son, my
eldest son, is recently dead in Paris in an obscure duel — I hoped
so much from him — once. Dead ! Indeed I know not what
I say."

Mary shuddered. She recalled the Lady Sunderland of
former days — brilliant, ambitious, superbly happy — a woman she
herself had looked up to with a half awe as a personification of
all the allurement of that splendid life she had left so early ; she
thought of all the unscrupulous intrigues, bargains, deceits,
buyings and sellings this lady had helped her shameless husband
with ; the extraordinary double game they had played so long
and successfully. But looking at this, the sudden end, penniless,
bereaved, exiled, she felt no scorn, only a great pity; for the
Countess had been faithful, and Mary thought that a great virtue
in a woman.

" I did not know that of Lord Spencer," she said gently. " I
am very sorry ; it is sad for you."

The Countess dried her eyes swiftly.

" I do not know why I should weep for him," she answered
half fiercely; "he went near to break my heart. He was what
they call worthless."

She paused, and Mary stood silent ; she was not unaware
that the sharpest prick to Lord Sunderland's magnificence had
ever been that poor useless rake, his son, nor ignorant of the

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE 121

Countess's long endeavour to make some show before the world
in this matter, and now that broken pride opened its heart to
her, a stranger, the sadness of it held her mute.

Lady Sunderland's wet strained eyes looked past the fireglow
to the bare boughs and cloudy heavens framed in the tall window.

" It is much better that he is gone," she continued. " Yet —
last night I went on the deck of the packet and it was all so
dark and cold, not a star, and the waves sounding, but not to be
seen, and I remembered how little he was once, and how warm
in my arms, and then methought he was somewhere crying for
me in the chill blackness . . . abroad — in a poor lodging with
no friend."

She wrung her hands together with irrepressible horror.

" My God ! " she cried, " there's a way to die ! "

Mary caught her arm.

" You must not think of it like that ; there is another side
to it — God is very merciful, I know nothing — but in heaven
there is great pity for all of us."

The Countess turned and stared at her a moment, with her
handkerchief to her lips, then said unsteadily —

" I never meant to speak like this — but Your Highness is so
gentle "

Mary smiled.

" I must carry you to my Lady Argyll, Lady Balcarres that
was, who is here with her daughters "

She turned swiftly, for the door opened, and a familiar voice
behind her said eagerly her name — " Marie, Marie "

It was the Prince; as he entered he paused, seeing the
Countess, who had instantly risen.

" Lady Sunderland ! " he exclaimed, before Mary could speak,
and stood amazed.

They had not seen each other since the occasion of the
Prince's last visit to England, and though he knew her at once
he found her considerably changed.

"The Earl hath fallen?" he added swiftly.

Lady Sunderland was mistress of herself immediately on
his appearance. By force of her long training she fell into
the same manner she would have used to him at Whitehall or
Windsor ; she gave him a great courtly courtsey.

122 GOD AND THE KING

"The Earl is a refugee at Amsterdam, Your Highness," she
said, " and I am here beseeching charity."

" Ah." William drew a quick breath. " I thought my lord
was safe enough — the King discovered him?"

" No, sir, the Catholics unseated him."

The Prince crossed slowly to the fire.

"So," he said slowly — (<well, Madame, the Earl is safe in
Amsterdam, and the Princess will make you welcome."

A flush of reviving hope kindled the refugee's pale cheek.

"We are assured of the gracious protection of Your
Highness ? " she asked ardently.

"My lord hath done me considerable service," answered
William. " But, Madame, he is not loved by those English I
have about me now." He smiled dryly. "Yet, if he will lie
quiet awhile — I am not ungrateful "

"It is all we ask," said Lady Sunderland warmly. "My
lord wisheth only to live in quiet obscurity unless he can serve
Your Highness — some way "

William gave her a keen look.

" I hardly think," he answered, " that M. de Sunderland is
fitted for quiet obscurity — but perhaps he will endure it a little
while. I leave for Helvoetsluys to-morrow."

"God bless this noble enterprise Your Highness hath on
hand!" cried the Countess fervently. "Could you see the
crowds waiting outside Whitehall and a-studying the weather-
cock and praying for a Protestant wind you would be heartened
further in your daring ! "

The Prince took a swift look at his wife, who stood with
averted face by the window.

" The King — how took he the news ? " he asked.

" I heard that he was all bewildered (being then deeply
engaged in the Cologne dispute and thinking nothing of this,
like a man besotted) and would not part with the Declaration of
Your Highness, but carried it ?,bout with him re-reading it — then
he called the bishops to ask if they had put their hands to the
invitation, and they gave him no — after which he made all
manner of concessions, like one in a panic fear "

"Concessions?" interrupted the Prince.

"Sir, he gave back the charter to the city with due

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE 123

solemnity, and their privileges to the fellows of Oxford and
Cambridge, and there was held an inquiry into the birth of the
Prince of Wales — all of which but wasted the dignity of His
Majesty and brought more ridicule than respect — for all are
equally eager for Your Highness, and these concessions come
too late."

"Too late, indeed," said William quietly. "I hope this
week to be in England. How came you across, Madame? I
have stopped the packet service lest they carry too sure advices
of what we do here "

Lady Sunderland smiled sadly.

" In a little owler, sir, we slipped off from Margate sands,
and the weather was so terrible we were like to have been
whelmed by the overtopping waves; yet we gained Maaslandsluys,
and from there my lord went on to Amsterdam "

"He was wise," said the Prince, "not to come to The
Hague."

Lady Sunderland looked at Mary, who had stood motionless
so long.

" Your Highness — may I not retire ? I have taken too much
of your time "

The Princess turned about with a little start.

" Where are you lodging ? " she asked.

"With one Madame de Marsac — known, I think, to Your
Highness "

" You must stay with me," answered Mary warmly, yet with
a curious absent air of distraction. " I will take you to the other
English ladies "

She looked at her husband.

" I shall come back," she said. He gave a little nod which
cut short the graceful gratitude of the Countess, and the two
ladies left.

Now he was alone he seated himself near to the fire with
that air of utter fatigue that was like apathy and seemed at times,
when he was out of the sight of men, to overwhelm his great
spirit.

He sat quite still, gazing into the fire from under drooping
lids, and when Mary softly returned he did not move.

She slipped behind his chair and took the stool the opposite

124 GOD AND THE KING

side of the hearth ; she had put off her cloak ; the firelight
touched her brown dress and brown hair to a beautiful ruby
warmth and gave a false rosiness to her pale face.

" I am grieved for Lady Sunderland," she said.

The Prince answered absently.

"Ah yes — I believe she is a knave like him — but they are
clever, and he at least hath some root of patriotism in him."

" Yet I am sorry that you must use such people."

He made no reply, but continued to gaze sadly and sternly
into the fire.

Mary gave a little shudder.

" I cannot believe that to-morrow we go to Helvoetsluys "

Her voice broke, and she steadied it hastily.

"The States are coming also, are they not, to see your
departure ? "

"They are paying me that compliment," he answered
indifferently.

"What chance will your poor wife have to speak to you
then — amid that pomp "

He sat up and looked at her with instant attention.

"Have you something that you wish to say to me, Marie?"

"Yes," she said earnestly. "I do desire to ask you — for
your own sake — to see that no harm happeneth to — my father."

Now she had spoken she sat very pale and distressed, but
fixing him with her soft brown eyes ardently.

He flushed, and seemed much moved.

" That you should need to ask " he began, then checked

himself. " I promise," he said.

" For your own dear sake," she cried, " forgive me for speak-
ing of this — but let people know you would not have him
hurt "

He gazed at her intently.

"This is hard for you," he replied. " I could not go without
your sanction and your help "

He broke off again. Speech, which had always seemed in-
adequate to him, now seemed to merely travesty his feelings.

She too was silent ; she had lowered her eyes and seemed
to be thinking deeply. The Prince studied her with an almost
painful intensity.

THE GREAT ENTERPRISE 125

She was so lovely, so gracious, so sweet, so high souled . . .
he remembered how he had disliked and despised her, treated
her with neglect, then indifference, made no effort to please or
win her ; and yet she, during the ten years of their marriage, had
never from the first failed in obedience, sweetness, self-abnega-
tion, nor once faltered from a passionate devotion to his interests,
an unchanging belief in him, and now, for him, she was doing
violence to her own heart and setting herself in active opposi-
tion against her father, a tremendous thing for such a nature to
bring itself to. As he gazed at her fair youth, pale with anxiety
for him, he felt she was the greatest triumph of his life, and her
love an undeserved miracle.

And there came to his mind a certain conversation that he
had had with Sir William Temple in a sunny garden at Nymwegen
before his marriage. He remembered that the Englishman had
smiled at his scornful talk of the Princess, and had said — " Do
not despise good women because there are so many of them "

Mary suddenly moved and rose. The sun had parted the
loose clouds and a fine ray fell through the tall window and
shone in her bright hair and satin skirt. His thoughts were
scattered by her movement ; he rose also.

She smiled at him.

" How kind you are to me," she said, trembling, and very low.

" Dear God ! " he exclaimed softly, as if he was mocked.
"In what way?"

"In giving me so much more of your company of late,"
answered Mary simply.

The Prince looked at her strangely.

" Women are wonderful," he said humbly.

CHAPTER XIV
STORMS

THE long sand-dunes about the village of Scheveningen
were covered with spectators to the number of several
thousands, comprising nearly the entire population of The Hague,
several strangers, refugees from other parts of Holland, and
many French, German, and English; they were principally
women, children, and old men, or those in the sober attire of
merchants, clerks, servants, or shopkeepers.

One single object seemed to animate these people; they
were all utterly silent, and all directed their gaze in one direction
— that of the sea.

There, covering the entire sweep of water and obscuring the
great horizon itself, rode that huge armament which contained
the whole strength of the Republic, and on which was staked
her hopes and her safety.

This fleet had weighed anchor during the stillness of the
previous night ; a few hours after the wind had turned to the
south and so brought all the ships on the north coast, where,
for half a day, they had been in full view of The Hague.

The weather was still and warm, the sky a sunny blue, and
the long stretches of the dunes touched from their usual greyness
to a gold look. Towards afternoon a fine mist rose shimmering
from the sea and gave a curious unreal flatness to the naval
pageantry, as if it was some magnificent vision painted between
sea and sky.

Without speaking, save in short whispers to each other, with-
out moving, save to change their places by a few steps, the
people continued to gaze at the gorgeous spectacle, the like of
which no living man had been able to see before.

There were no less than sixty-five great ships of wars, splendid

vessels rising high above the waves, with much gold on them,

126

STORMS 127

seventy vessels of burden in attendance on them and five
hundred transports.

These ships carried five thousand cavalry and ten thousand
infantry of the magnificent Dutch army, the six British regiments
in the employ of the States, the French Protestants formed into
a regiment by the Prince after the Edict of Nantz was revoked,
and the whole artillery of every town in the Republic, which had
been left stripped of all defences save twelve ships of war and
the German troops on the Rhine frontier.

The immobile, silent effect of this great and terrible fleet,
spreading for miles and representing the entire strength of a
vast maritime power, making little progress and waiting for the
wind, wrought a kind of exaltation in the hearts of the spectators,
all of whom felt their fortunes dependent on the success of this
enterprise, and most of whom had friends and relations on board,
or in England, whose lives were now at the hazard.

But no dread of personal loss or discomfiture, no fear for
those dear to them, could equal the grand swell of pride the
Dutch felt at beholding the magnificence of the Republic they
had built up out of blood and tears, the power of the Religion
they had preserved through perils and agonies inconceivable,
and which had now grown, from a little feeble spark, to a torch
to illume half the world.

The dangers to which they were exposed, the chances of attack
from a powerful enemy while their defences were abroad courting
the fortune of war and the hazard of the winds and sea, the fact
that their artillery was gone and their frontier was on one side
in the possession of their enemies and on the other but protected
by German mercenaries, could not check the sense of glory that
stirred them as they watched the changing leagues of ships, so
near, yet so silent and beyond communication.

The exiles, French and English, gazed with more sullen
feelings ; but while no national pride was thrilled in their bosoms,
the thought of their former wrongs and suffering and the antici-
pation of their speedy avenging made them no less fiercely wish
success to those spreading sails wooing the wind for England.
And there was one foreigner, who loved Holland as her own
country, and whose heart beat with a pride and a terror as in-
tense as that which inspired any of the Dutch.

128 GOD AND THE KING

This was the wife of the Stadtholder, who had yesterday re-
turned from Helvoetsluys. She had been above two hours riding
up and down the sands watching the slow passing of the fleet ;
in her company were the English ladies, the Countesses of
Sunderland and Argyll and some of her own attendants ; she had
been very silent, and, now, as the afternoon was fading, she
touched up her beast and galloped away from all of them along
the dunes.

She reined her black horse at a higher point where some
sparse poplar trees, stunted, leafless, and tufts of crackling grass
grew out of the dry white sand, and looked round at the great
sweep of sea covered with ships and the great curve of shore
covered with people.

Then her glance returned to the object where it had rested
since she first rode down to Scheveningen, the blue flag hanging
heavily above the " Brill," the ship in which the Prince sailed.

Amid all the crossed lines of mighty masts, intricate cordage,
and strained sails she had never failed to distinguish, now in
sun, now in shade, sometimes lifted by the breeze, sometimes
slack, this standard, though she was very shortsighted, and
much clear to the other spectators was a blur to her. When she
used her perspective glass she could sometimes read the legend
on this flag, which was the motto of the House of Orange with
the ellipsis filled in — " I will maintain the liberties of England
and the Protestant Religion."

Mary rode out farther along the dunes, the crisp sand flying
from her horse's feet. She was a fine horsewoman, and had
dropped the reins on her saddle to hold her glass. The wind was
keen on her face and swept back the long curls from her ears
and fluttered the white plume in her beaver. Though she was
near so vast a multitude no human sound disturbed the clear
stillness ; there was only the long beat of the surf on the smooth
wet sand and an occasional cry of some pearl-coloured sea-bird
as he flashed across the golden grey.

In Mary's heart all terror, remorse, sadness had been ab-
sorbed by strong pride, the doubts, shames, fears that had
tortured her were gone ; she did not think of her father, of her
danger, of her loneliness, only that she, of all the women there,
was the beloved wife of the man who led this — a nation's strength

STORMS 129

—into war for that cause which to her was the holiest of all causes,
the new liberty against the ancient tyranny, tolerance against
oppression — all that she symbolized by the word Protestantism.

She was so absorbed in this ecstasy of pride and enthusiasm
at the sight on which she gazed that she started considerably to
hear a voice close beside her say —

" Is it not a magnificent spectacle, Madame ? " Mary turned
quickly and saw a plainly dressed lady on a poor hired beast
riding close up to her. Solitude was dear to the Princess but to
rebuke an advance was impossible to her nature.

" Are you from The Hague ? " she asked gently.

" Yes, Madame, I came there yesterday."

She was English, and obviously did not know Mary, who was
moved by something pitifully eager and wistful in her worn thin
face and stooping figure.

" You are belike one of the English exiles ? " she suggested
kindly.

The other opened out at once with a glow of gratitude at the
interest.

"My husband was an officer in the Staffordshire, and we
had no money but his pay, so when he refused to abjure there
was nothing for us but exile."

Mary pointed to the fleet.

" He — your husband — is there ? "

"Yes — the Prince gave him a pair of colours in one of the
English regiments."

" You should be proud," smiled Mary.

She answered simply —

" I am very proud. I pray God to bless the Prince day and
night. Where should such as I be but for him ? You, I see,
Madame, are also English."

"Yes."

The stranger lady glanced at Mary's gold-braided coat and
splendid horse.

" But not a refugee ? " she questioned.

" No — my home is at The Hague. I am married to a
Dutchman."

The other was looking out to sea again.

" Can you tell me how the ships are disposed ? " she asked.
9

130 GOD AND THE KING

"What is your name, Madame ?':'

" Dorothy Marston."

" Well, Mrs. Marston, those in the foremost squadron, to the
left" — Mary indicated them with her riding-stock — "have on
board the English and Scotch, commanded by General Mackay
— they sail under the red flag of Admiral Herbert, who is given
the van out of compliment to the English," added the Princess,
with sparkling eyes.

Mrs. Marston drew an excited breath.

" Those scattered ships, under the white flag, are the Germans,
the Prince his guards and Brandenburgers under Count Zolms,
and these that bring up the van are the Dutch and the French
Huguenots under the Count of Nassau — this squadron is under
the orders of Admiral Evertzen."

" And where, Madame, is the Prince ? "

" In the centre — you can see his flag with his arms — it is
called the ' Brill.' "

"Thank you, Madame — it is a noble sight, is it not ?"

Mary laughed softly ; she was so secure in her own exaltation,
that she felt a kind of pity for the rest of the world.

" Your husband is aboard the fleet ? " asked Mrs. Marston,
with friendly curiosity.

"Yes," said Mary quietly.

" Well, there is heartache in it as well as pride for us, is not
there, Madame?"

Mary answered with sparkling animation, her eyes on the
blue flag.

" That is for afterwards."

Mrs. Marston sighed.

" I know — but one storm "

" Speak not of storms," answered Mary, " when we have all
whom we love on board yonder ships "

"Not a//."

Mary turned her eyes from the fleet that was gradually
becoming enveloped in the mists of the darkening afternoon.

" How— not all ? "

"There are always the children," answered the other lady,
with a bright tenderness. "I have three, Madame, whom we
keep in Amsterdam, as The Hague is so expensive '

STORMS 131

Mary's horse started, and she caught up the reins and clutched
them to her bosom. " They are — boys ? " she asked, in a changed
voice.

"Two, Madame. If they had gone I should indeed be
desolate — but they are too young, and I am selfish enough to be
glad of it."

Mary sat motionless. The whole sky was darkening, and
hurrying clouds hastened the twilight. The waves were growing
in size and making a longer roar as they curled over on to the
land ; the great ships of war could be seen tossing as their wind-
filled sails drove them forwards, and the little boats were pitched
low on their sides.

"It indeed seemeth like a storm," said Mary faintly; her
courage, her pride, had utterly gone ; the eyes she strained to fix
on the blue flag were sad and wild.

"A storm?" echoed Mrs. Marston. "O God, protect
us!"

Suddenly a low deep murmur rose from the distant multitude.

"What is that?"

"They have lit the lantern on the Prince his ship," said
Mary, very low.

The English exile thrilled to see the great clear light hoisted
amid the masts and cordage, sparkling, a beacon through the
stormy dusk ; her thoughts travelled from her children, whom so
lately she had spoken of.

" It is sad," she remarked, " that the Prince hath no heir."

"His cousin, the Stadtholder of Friseland, is his heir,"
answered Mary, with sudden harshness.

" Ah yes ; I meant no child. My husband saith it is cruel
for any man and terrible for a great Prince — for how useless all
seemeth with none to inherit ! And such an ancient family to
end so suddenly "

Mary murmured something incoherent, of which Mrs. Marston
took no notice.

"I would not be the Princess," she continued, "for her
chances of a crown, would you, Madame ? It is a cruel thing — I
met in Utrecht a Scotswoman who had been her tirewoman, and
she told me that the poor lady was like a maniac after her second
hopes were disappointed and for ever "

132 GOD AND THE KING

Mary put out her hand ; her face was concealed by the
deeping dusk and the shade of her hat.

" Please stop," she said, in a hard voice. " I — you do not
understand — do people talk of this ? God is hard it seems — and
you have children, and I pitied you. I have been too proud —
but humbled enough, I think."

Her speech was so confused and broken that the English
lady could make no sense of it ; she stared at her in surprise.

"Why, my speech annoys you, Madame."

Mary turned to the sea again.

" No — continue — people talk of this ? " She was facing the
overwhelming bitterness of the discovery that her inmost anguish,
which had been too sacred to take on her own lips, was matter
for common gossip. It was an extraordinary shock, so carefully
had the subject always been ignored before her, and yet, she
told herself fiercely, she might have known that it was discussed
in the very streets, for it was a matter that affected nations.

" You must have heard it spoken of if you have lived any
time in Holland," answered Mrs. Marston — " ay, or in England
either — they say 'tis a pity the Princess cannot do as the Queen
did, and smuggle an heir out of a warming-pan — why, see, the
ships are moving out of sight ! "

A great wind had risen which tore the clouds across the
paling sky and drove the ships across the rising sea ; already a
widening expanse of waves showed between the fleet and the
sands from which the people were beginning to depart in silent
groups ; all mist had gone, swept away like vapour from a mirror,
and every tumbling crested wave was clear in the storm-light.
Mary held herself rigid, watching the blue flag lurching to the
pitching of the high vessel ; a mere speck it was now, and near
the horizon, and she watched it with no feeling of pride now,
that was ; the momentary exaltation had passed, been crushed
utterly by a few careless words.

Mrs. Marston spoke again, but Mary did not hear her ; she
was alone in a world of her own. The rapidly disappearing fleet
was blurred to her vision, but she could still see the great light at
the prow of the " Brill " as the crowded canvas bent and leapt
before the sudden fury of the wind.

" A storm," she said, aloud — " a storm."

STORMS 133

Her horse moved along the dunes and she did not check
him ; against the blue-black clouds was the indistinct figure of
Dorothy Marston on her little knock-kneed hack, excitedly
waving her handkerchief to the disappearing ships.

Mary passed her without speaking, then suddenly turned and
galloped back towards Scheveningen, where, in front of the
church, her attendants were waiting for her ; she rode in among
them, and, for some reason she could not have herself explained,
passed her own friends and singled out Lady Sunderland.

" Let us go home," she said ; " it is going to be a stormy
night."

The Countess at once noticed the change in her manner — the
brave calm changed to piteously controlled trouble, the superb
pride turned to trembling sorrow.

" Those ships, Highness," she answered, " can weather very
fierce storms."

" Yet a little accident might sink them," returned Mary, in a
quivering voice — " like hearts, Madame, that are so hurt with
little pricks yet will survive a deep thrust "

She lifted her beautiful face to the failing light; even the
lantern on the " Brill " had disappeared now ; the dark sea was
almost clear of sail, the horizon was obscured in part by the
passing of the vanguard, but for the rest was silver white, a line
of radiance fast being obscured by the overwhelming threatening
clouds.

In silence Mary turned and rode back to The Hague ; the
other ladies whispered together, but she said nothing until they
reached the ' huis ten bosch ' ; then the rain was falling in cold
drops and the heavy wind was casting down the snapped branches
along the wide bare avenue.

They dismounted, and Mary turned impulsively to the little
quiet group.

"You are extraordinarily kind to me," she said, "and I must
thank you all."

She smiled a little and went from them to her chamber, and
then walked straight to the window embrasure and stood listening
to the growing sound of the wind that lashed the darkness with
spreading fury.

She would not come down to supper or even change her

134 GOD AND THE KING

clothes, though she was usually very careful not to disturb the
routine of her well-ordered life ; yet, in this little intimate court
where every one was her friend, she felt she might allow herself
this solitude.

With the increasing darkness the storm rose to fierce height ;
the rain dashed against the window-pane, making the glass shiver,
and the wind was tearing through the wood as if every tree must
break before it. Mary took off her hat and cloak and called for
candles ; when they were brought she sent for Lady Sunderland.

The Countess came, looking wan and old ; she wore no rouge,
and the fair, carelessly dressed hair showed the grey locks un-
concealed.

Mary turned to her dry-eyed.

" Do you hear the storm ? " she said. She was seated on a low
red stool by the window and held a Prayer Book in her right hand.

" My Lady Argyll is weeping downstairs," said Lady Sunder-
land ; " but I perceive that Your Highness hath more constancy."

Mary held up the Prayer Book.

"I have been trying to set my mind on this." she answered,
"but the devil is busy about me — and I cann<> iix my thoughts
on anything but — those ships "

Lady Sunderland, who had made a great cKi.. ith her devo-
tions at Whitehall, with the sole object of covering ner husband's
apostasy, but who had no real religion, knew not what to say.

" God," continued the Princess gravely, " must surely protect
an enterprise so just, but since His ways are mysterious it might
be His will to bring us to disaster, and, humanly speaking, it is
a terrible night."

"I fear they will be diverted from their course," said the
Countess, " since faith cannot still the winds "

Mary rose and handed her the Prayer Book.

" I think we should pray — will you read ? — I have had a course
of humours in my eyes, and of late they are so weak "

The Countess took the book with shaking fingers, then laid
it down on the blue-and-white chintz-covered chair beside her.

" I cannot," she said half fiercely. " It is, Madame, no use."

Mary looked at her curiously, and a pause of silence fell,
during which the triumphant progress of the storm seemed to gather
and swell abroad like a trumpet blast without the dark window.

STORMS 135

Presently Mary said in a moved and barely audible voice —

" Madame — about your son — have you ever thought that you
would — forgive me — but he was nothing but pain to you "

She paused, and Lady Sunderland answered from a kind of
self-absorption —

"I did my best. It all seemeth so pointless now we are
ruined — I thought of the name, but there is his brother — a cold,
hard spirit who hath no kindness for me."

Mary was looking at her intently.

"That must be terrible," she said, breathing quick. "To
have children who love one not — do you not think, perhaps,
Madame, that it might be better — to — to have none ? "

Suddenly Lady Sunderland saw what she meant, divined the
desperate appeal for comfort disguised in the halting sentence.

"I do think so, truly, Madame," she answered instantly.
" My children have, for all my care, been but discomfort to me."

" But there was the time when they were little," said Mary,
with a note in her voice that caused Lady Sunderland to turn
away her face. "And you must have been glad of them — I —
ah, I forgot what I was saying."

She was young enough herself to be the Countess's daughter,
and that lady felt a great desire to take her in her arms and
weep over her, but a certain reserve and majesty about Mary's
very simplicity prevented her from even discovering her sympathy.

" It is very strange to me to think of my husband abroad in
this great storm," said the Princess, looking up at the window.
" I bless my God that I have the trust to believe that he is safe,"
she added quietly. " It was as if my heart was torn out when he
left me, and since I have been in a kind of numbness."

" It is hard on women that they must always sit at home,"
remarked the Countess ; she thought of her own lord lurking in
the back streets of Amsterdam ; she would rather have been
with him than playing her part at The Hague.

The wind rose on a great shriek that seemed to rattle every
board in the house.

Mary winced back from the window, and her face was white
even in the candle glow.

" Let us go to prayers," she said faintly.

CHAPTER XV
THE SECOND SAILING

THE next day the Prince of Orange re-entered Helvoetsluys
attended by four maimed ships, the rest having been
utterly scattered and dispersed by the fearful storm; he then,
though giddy and scarce able to stand through seasickness,
proceeded, with a serene composure, to go from ship to ship
animating his discomfited followers, and refused to be put on
shore, lest it should be taken as a sign that he was discouraged
in his enterprise and intended to postpone his sailing till the
spring.

For the next week the great ships of war with tattered sails
and broken masts came creeping out of the ports and creeks
where they had taken shelter to join the fleet at Helvoetsluys.

Many of the horses had been thrown overboard to save the
others, and one transport had been lost on the coast of Ireland,
but there was no further damage, and the Prince by his great
constancy, enthusiasm, spirit, and courage soon had all repaired
and made fit, though he caused it to be put in the Dutch Gazette
that he was utterly confounded and his forces so broken by the
storm that he could not possibly sail before April, and copies of
these Gazettes he saw were smuggled into England, where they
were read by King James, who was mightily pleased by this news —
and said it was no wonder since the Host had been exposed a
week, and thereupon withdrew all the concessions that the
reported coming of the Prince had frightened him into, and so
showed plainly that fear and not desire had wrung them from him ;
and both the relaxing and the tightening of his rule were fatally too
late for his fortunes, for men had no longer any trust in his word
or sincerity, and half the great lords were pledged to the Prince,

and the greater number thought there could be no salvation save

136

THE SECOND SAILING 137

in his coming, so gave no heed to the actions of the King,
but watched the weather-cocks and prayed for a Protestant
wind.

Within Whitehall was a medley of priests and women, mingled
with some honest gentlemen who really were loyal to the King-
ship and the House of Stewart, and who were in no way listened
to, and silent courtiers who were pledged to William, about the
stern foolish King who alternated between weak hesitation and
self-confident obstinacy.

Sunderland had kept the business of the Kingdom together,
and now Sunderland was gone everything fell into bewildering
chaos ; the King, distracted between the advices of M. Barillon
and the fears of Father Petre, the tears of the Italian Queen and
the sullen coldness of his nobles, bitterly regretted Sunderland,
whose intrigues he had not as yet any glimpse of. There was a
fine fleet the King might have relied on, and the Admiral, Lord
Dartmouth, was loyal enough, but the Duke of Grafton, son of
the late King, and a rude handsome rake, went down privately
to Plymouth and extorted a secret promise from most of the
Captains that they would not fight for a Catholic King against a
Protestant Prince.

The Army was gathered on Hounslow Heath with the object
of overawing the capital, and the advice of those spirited gentle-
men who were truly desirous to see the King retain his dignities
was that he should put himself at the head of it and so advance
to meet the invader.

But the spirit that had inspired James when he was rowed
with his flag through the fires of Solebay had long left him ; his
courage had been the mere flash of youth and noble blood ; he
was old now, and his soul sank before danger ; the terrors of his
father's fate, the miseries of his own exiled youth, came upon him
with horrible vividness ; he let disasters crowd down upon him,
and clung to his priests and his faith with the despair of stupidity.

Meanwhile the Prince of Orange, having taken a second leave
of his wife and the States, sailed with great pomp, the sound of
trumpets, the flutter of flags, and the discharge of artillery, from
Helvoet, having been but eleven days repairing his ships, re-
placing his horses, and reassembling his fleet, and having, by the
serenity of his behaviour, the unfaltering decision of his actions,

138 GOD AND THE KING

the wisdom of his proposals, snatched glory from disappointment,
as was ever the way of this Prince.

The little advice packets that darted out from the coast of
England to watch his movements reported that he was making
for the north, in which direction, with a brisk gale in his sails, he
indeed steered for twelve hours ; but when the night fell and the
advice packets had hastened home with news, the Prince signalled
to his fleet to tack about, which it did, and, with all the sail it
could spread, put before the wind to the westward, and under a
fair sky bore for the coasts of Devon.

This ruse had its full effect, for Lord Feversham, who
commanded the English troops, was bid march northwards, and
all the cattle were ordered to be driven from the coasts of
Yorkshire.

With the next dawn the Dutch van made the Channel, along
which it stretched for twenty miles in full view of England and
France, the shores of both these countries being covered with
spectators who viewed a sight such as had not been seen in these
waters since the great Armada crossed the seas, a hundred years
before.

The magnificence of this procession of mighty ships, which
took seven hours to pass, going at their full speed before a
strong east wind, the strength and purpose that they symbolized,
the power of the Religion, once despised and oppressed, but
that now was able to split the world into factions, whose name
showed beneath the arms of Orange, that family which of
all others had been most distinguished in the defence of
liberty, the sheer pomp of war in the great vessels with their
guns, flags, and netting, their attendant ships and companies
of soldiers on board, the prestige of the man who led this daring
expedition, all combined to thrill the hearts of those who
watched, whether on the French or English coasts, whether
they uttered curses or blessings, prayers for failure or success.

About noon, they then being in Calais roads, the Prince
gave orders to lay by, both to call a council of war and to
strike terror into the two watching nations by displaying his
strength in this narrow sea.

Accordingly he himself changed to the foremost vessel,
taking with him his own standard, and there waited for the

THE SECOND SAILING 139

rest of the armament to come up, which they presently did,
and formed into one body, sixteen ships square, only a league
at each side, from either shore, and when they were drawn up,
the Prince, from that ship which was nearest the English coast,
signalled that the two famous forts of Calais and Dover were
to be saluted, which was done at the same moment with great
thunder of the deep-mouthed artillery, which was an astonishing
spectacle that there should be in Dover Straits a fleet so huge
that it could salute these two forts at the same time and be
but a league from either. There was something awful in the
sound of this warlike courtesy, to the ears of both nations,
and some awe and terror mingled with their admiration as the
smoke obscured the green dancing waves.

From Dover Castle there was no reply, the doubt of England
being expressed in this silence ; but from Calais came a proud
answering salute as from a mighty foe who honours himself
by the formalities of respect to his adversary, and the Prince
standing on the upper deck amid the slow-clearing gunpowder
vapour flushed to hear again the French guns who had last
spoken to him among the heights of St. Denis, ten years
ago.

At the council of war now held it was decided that the
disposition of the fleet should be changed, for news had come
that the English, who lay at the Gunfleet, were making full
endeavours to overtake and fight the Dutch, for though Lord
Dartmouth knew that half his officers were pledged to the
Prince, and his men very doubtful of engaging in the cause
of the King, yet he resolved to use his utmost powers to
prevent the landing of His Highness, for he was under personal
obligations to James, who had always treated him more as
a friend than a subject, and was filled with an honourable
desire to serve His Majesty in this crisis.

The Prince, knowing this from my Lord Grafton, was eager
to avoid a conflict, for however well disposed the English sailors
might be to his religion and person, he wisely suspected that
a nation so proud, and in particular so jealous of their prestige
on the sea, would, when faced in order of battle with those
people whom they had so often and so recently fought, forget
everything save the desire to achieve a victory over that

140 GOD AND THE KING

Republic which alone disputed with them the over-lordship
of the ocean.

For this reason His Highness had given Admiral Herbert
the command of his armament, that the English might salve
their arrogance by the thought that an Englishman led this
invading force; yet he secretly believed that the names of
Herbert and Russell would not prove so potent a motive for
peace, as the sight of the foreign flags, jacks, and haughty ships
would prove an incentive to rage in the bosoms of the British,
who could endure, it seemed, any hardship but the idea of
foreign dominion.

Therefore it was decided that the Prince and the transports
with the troops should continue to lead the van with three
ships of war to guard him, and so, sailing down the Channel,
make the coast of England, in the west, and that the bulk
of the fleet should remain in the van ready to engage the
English should they leave their station and venture into the
open straits.

But this, though it was the thing he most longed to
accomplish, Lord Dartmouth found impossible, for that east
wind so favourable to the hopes of the Prince was a tyrant
to him and held him helpless abreast of the Long Sands,
with his yards and topmasts down incapable of purchasing his
anchors, while he beheld some of the Dutch vessels pass within
his very sight making triumphantly for the coast he was bidden
protect while his ships rode at their station useless as a
fishing fleet.

And this was in some part the fault of my Lord Dartmouth,
who cursed the wind in a passion of misery, for he had ignored
the advice of His Majesty, who was a knowing man in naval
affairs, which was to anchor east of the Gallopper, so that his
ships might be free to move which way they pleased, instead
of which he acted on his own sense, which was not equal
to the King's advice ; as was proved, for the scouts, who were
left at the Gallopper, captured a Dutch transport, and if they
had been greater in strength might have served the whole
body of the invader the same.

Now in full sight of the shores of these two countries,
England and France, the Dutch fleet performed their evolutions,

THE SECOND SAILING 141

with the pomp of war, the discharge of artillery, the music of
trumpets and drums, and the salutes of the entire armament
to the ship which carried the Prince and his standard as she
made her way to the van; and this all under a blue sky
crystal-clear that reflected in the tumbling waves lashed by
the strong high English wind a hundred tints of azure and
water-green, above which the smoke hung in light vapours.

The Prince, under full sail, made for Torbay, which was
large enough to contain a great number of the transports, but
the Dutch pilot, not being just in his reckoning, went past
both that port and the next, which was Dartmouth. The third
port was Plymouth, but this being a naval station and a well-
fortified place, the Prince was by no means inclined to risk
a landing there, since he was not certain of the disposition of
the inhabitants towards him, and his great object on land, as
on sea, was to avoid a combat, since his sole argument for
Interfering in the affairs of England was the wish of the
English themselves and the invitation of their principal nobles,
as he had acknowledged in his Declaration, and it would give
a very ill look to this claim of his if his landing was opposed
by a bloody fight.

Yet to tack about to enter Torbay was attended by almost
equal danger, since the wind had changed, and Lord Dartmouth
with his entire fleet had left Long Sands and was now under
full sail in pursuit.

The Prince, distracted by these conflicting considerations,
knew not what course to take, and was tortured by the most
cruel anxiety, since to either advance or retire might be followed
by misfortunes fatal to his whole design.

While he was still undecided as to what orders to give
and which risks to choose, the wind changed in an instant to
the south, which had the effect of bringing the Prince within
a few hours into Torbay and forcing the English Admiral back
to Long Sands.

It being the 4th of November when the Prince saw the
cliffs of Devon and the great natural harbour overlooked by
the tourelles and towers of Brixham and Torquay, he was
anxious to effect a landing there, because it was both his
birthday and the anniversary of his marriage, and so he put

142 GOD AND THE KING

off in a cock boat with a few of the English nobles and M.
Bentinck, and came ashore at Brixham, where there were none
but fishermen to receive him, the which stood about staring
half in admiration, half in awe, thinking maybe of Monmouth's
landing not so far off nor so long ago, and how the county had
suffered for it under the executions of my Lord Chief Justice.

The Prince called for horses, which were being put ashore
as fast as might be where the water was shallower; yet it was
not possible to make the landing effectual till the morrow, and
but few of the transports were able to land that night.

The Prince, who had well studied the map of England,
resolved to march to Exeter and there wait the coming of his
English friends; but for this night the wooden tent that he
used in war was put up in a neighbouring field, to the great
amazement of the country-folk, who had never beheld anything
of this nature.

The friends and followers of the Prince being gathered about
him to congratulate and flatter, among them came his chaplain,
Dr. Burnet, expounding in his usual talkative excitement on the
marvellous success of the expedition.

The Prince was more than ordinarily cheerful, and spared the
rebuke with which he usually checked the meddling enthusiast.

He gave the Englishman his hand, and looking round the
darkening landscape said, with a smile —

"Well, doctor, what do you think of predestination now?"

CHAPTER XVI
NEWS FROM ENGLAND

THE weeks that followed, so full of great events, passions,
movements, and suspenses in Britain, passed with an
almost uneventful calm in The Hague, where the Princess, round
whose rights half the turmoil had arisen, and the wives of many
eminent men engaged in, or affected by, the rapid changing of
events, waited for the packets that brought the English letters,
and lived in between their coming in a kind of retired anxiety
supported by prayers and saddened by tears.

The Elector of Brandenburg and his wife came on a visit to
Mary, and she entertained them as best she might with her heart
aching with other thoughts. They went, and she was alone again
and free to go to and from her chapel and wait for her letters
and wonder and dread the future through the cold winter days in
the quiet town, which seemed, as she was, to be waiting with
suspended breath.

The progress of affairs in England came brokenly and from
various sources, letters arrived slowly, at irregular intervals,
delayed by ice-blocked rivers, storms at sea, detained messengers.
At first the news was of the Prince's progress to Exeter and the
cold reception of that city, the long delay of his friends to join
him, the mere wondering apathy of the country-people, who made
no movement one way or another, save to make a spectacle of
the passing of this foreign army and to petition the Prince that
he would, when he could, remove the hearth tax.

The next news was that when the Prince was near resolved
to return home the spirited English gentry began to rise in his
favour, the Lord Wharton and the Lord Colchester marched
from Oxford to join him, and my Lord Lovelace broke through

the militia, and though arrested once and taken to Gloucester,

143

144 GOD AND THE KING

yet forced out of prison, and with the help of some young gentle-
men who had taken up arms for the Prince, drove all the Papists
out of that city, and so joined His Highness at Exeter ; soon
after the Lord Delamere came from Nottingham and took
Chester, which, under a Papist, Lord Molineux, held out for the
King, and my Lord Danby rose up in the North, and with other
persons of quality seized on the city of York and turned out the
Papists and clapt up the Mayor, while Colonel Copley, with the
aid of some seamen, seized Hull and the powder magazine, and
the Earl of Bath took Plymouth from the Earl of Huntingdon
and declared for the Prince, as did all the seaport towns in
Cornwall.

At which, the news ran, the King went to join his army at
Salisbury, having sent the Prince of Wales to Portsmouth, but
afterwards returned to Windsor upon an alarm of the approach
of M. de Schomberg, and so to London, where he found his
favourite, Lord Churchill, his son-in-law, Prince George, and his
daughter, Anne, had fled to the Prince of Orange, attended by the
suspended Bishop of London, who had signed the invitation to
His Highness. Then followed news of the skirmish at Wincanton,
where some of the Prince's guards under Lieutenant Campbell
were put to the rout by the King's men, commanded by that
gallant Irishman, Patrick Sarsfield ; soon the fleet, growing cold
in the service of His Majesty, sent up an address for a free
parliament and the army deserted by the regiment.

Now the King took out of the Tower Sir Bevil Skelton, late
ambassador to Versailles, cast there for the move he had con-
certed with M. D'Avaux, which if truly followed had saved the
King, as he now came to say, and so made Sir Bevil governor of
the Tower and Master of the Keys of the Kingdom.

After which he went to Hungerford in great despair of mind,
where, advised by the Queen and the Jesuits, he sent overtures
to the Prince, offering to defer all grievances to the calling of a
free parliament, the writs for which the Lord Chancellor Jefferies
had already been bid to issue.

The Lords Halifax, Nottingham, and Godolphin, having
taken this message, brought back an answer which was the best
the King could have hoped for, since it made only those demands
which were reasonable, such as that the Papists should be

NEWS FROM ENGLAND 145

removed from office and that Tilbury Fort and the Tower of
London should be put into the hands of the Capital.

But when they returned with these terms to Whitehall, the
commissioners found that the King, either through fearfulness
or weakness, or wrought on by the advices of M. Barillon, had
taken the extraordinary resolutions — first, of sending his wife and
son to France, and secondly, of flying London himself, leaving
the government in chaos. Upon which these three lords, perceiv-
ing they had been sent on a mock embassy, became for ever
incensed against His Majesty. He left a letter for the com-
mander of the army, a Frenchman, Lord Feversham, which that
general took to be an order for the disbanding of the forces,
which finally put everything into the greatest disorder.

The next letters that came to The Hague were full of the
Prince's success against the Irish Guards at Twyford Bridge, out-
side the town of Reading, and the behaviour of the multitude in
London, who, as soon as they heard of the departure of the
King and the Jesuits, and the near approach of the Prince of
Orange, got together and demolished all the new mass chapels
and convents ; among which was the great monastery of St. John,
which had been two years building at a great expense, but was
now burnt down and the goods seized as the monks were
hurriedly removing, besides all the timber stored in Smithfield for
the finishing, which was stacked into a bonfire and burnt at
Holborn by the river Fleet.

Likewise the chapels in Lime Street and Lincoln's Inn Fields,
the lodgings of the resident of the Duke of Florence, and Wild
House, which was the mansion of the Spanish Ambassador, were
spoiled and defaced; yet to the great credit of the English
people, in all this heat and excitement, there was not one slain
or even hurt.

To put a stop to these mischiefs, the lords who were then
in London went to the Guildhall and, having demanded the keys
of the Tower from Sir Bevil Skelton and delivered them to the
Lord Lucas, they took upon themselves the governance of the
kingdom for the maintenance of order and the prevention of
bloodshed. At first they associated with themselves the magis-
trates of the city, but on finding that those who are born
traders cannot contest with gentlemen in great affairs, they used
10

146 GOD AND THE KING

them not as their colleagues but as their servants, and gave their
orders as the King had done.

Soon after they invited the Prince, who was now at Windsor,
to London, and the same day that he received their address he
was presented with another to the same effect from the City of
London, which he accepted with more pleasure, and let it be
seen that he did ; for his titles and encouragements had always
come from the people, and his enemies from the nobles, both in
his own country and England.

To the anxious hearts at The Hague all seemed now clear for
a peaceful conclusion, when the news came that the King, having
by foul weather been cast upon the coast of Kent, was there
stopped and roughly handled by several of the common people
who knew him not.

When the governing lords heard of this they sent an express
begging His Majesty to return to London, which he did after
some difficulty, and on Sunday, being the i6th of December,
entered the capital, attended by some troops of the Life Guards
and Grenadiers ; and a set of boys following him with cheers put
up his spirits so that he thought he had the people with him
again.

At this juncture he sent the Lord Feversham to His Highness
at Windsor, asking him to come to St. James's and settle matters ;
but His Highness had by now perceived that no settlement of
any difficulty could be arrived at while this obstinate, foolish, and
fearful King remained in London, and, having discovered that His
Majesty had no courage to resist authority, he took a high hand,
arrested the Lord Feversham for travelling without a passport,
and sent three lords to Whitehall with a message desiring the
King to retire to Ham, having first secured all the posts and
avenues about Whitehall by replacing the English guards by
Dutch. On receipt of the message the King instantly agreed,
only asking that it might be Rochester and not Ham, which
desire was communicated to the Prince by messenger (His
Highness being then at Zion House). He sent an answer by
M. Bentinck that he gave his consent, only adding that he
wished His Majesty to leave early that he might not meet him
on the road.

So the King, having with him the Earl of Arran and a few

NEWS FROM ENGLAND 147

other gentlemen, went by barge to Gravesend and so overland
to Rochester, where he lay in the house of Sir Richard Head.

The afternoon of this day on which the King left London for
ever, the Prince and his retinue came to St. James's, the whole
city shouting and blazing in his honour. But having always
hated these displays, and despising the levity that prompted them,
he drove by a back way to the Palace, and the people got no
sight of him. All the persons of quality in town now flocked to
offer their congratulations, and the city sent up a most obliging
address which His Highness very cordially received ; soon the
lords and the city requested the Prince to take the government
on himself, which he did, his first act being one which gave
him peculiar satisfaction — he ordered M. Barillon to leave the
kingdom in twenty-four hours, and had him escorted to the
coast by Dutch guards, which was a severe knock to the pride
of France.

As to the affairs of the kingdom, he ordered writs to be
issued for the calling of a Convention, which was to consist
of all persons who had sat in parliament during the reign of
His Majesty Charles n.

All this was great and triumphant news to the States and
the Princess. The nobility then at The Hague came to com-
pliment Her Highness, and three deputies were sent from the
States-General to congratulate the Prince, and were magnificently
received by the English.

The Prince then commanded all Papists to depart out of
London and Westminster within three days, and to engage
the city in his interest he asked them for a loan, and though
the security was but his bare word and the sum he asked but
a hundred thousand, they subscribed three hundred thousand
and paid it in, in so many days.

His Highness being gone to Windsor so as not to prejudice
the meeting of the Convention, that body came together on
the 22nd of January, and after having humbly thanked His
Highness for their deliverance, prayed him to continue to
administer the government, and appointed a day of thanksgiving,
fell to considering what course they should take.

With comparative ease they declared the throne vacant by
the flight of the King, but were not so quick in deciding who

148 GOD AND THE KING

should fill it. The Prince meanwhile kept silence, observing the
same composure that he had maintained during the whole
progress of the Revolution, even hunting, staying at private
houses, and keeping out of the capital ; only sending one brief
letter to the Convention, in which he prayed them to come quickly
to a decision, as there was the safety of Europe to consider.

Despite this withdrawal of himself, this calm that he displayed
in the midst of the turmoil, he was the pivot round which all
circled, the one authority respected by all, the one defence
against anarchy and mischievous confusion.

The English, who knew in their hearts that they could not
do without him, could by no means make up their minds what
to do with him, and soon, after their custom, split into very
decided parties, which were most violent against each other and
got every day farther from a settlement.

At this time the news that reached The Hague was most
astonishing, and very unwelcome to the Princess ; this was the
manner of her receiving it. One day, very cold, in late January,
she was riding in her chariot in the Voorhout, reflecting on this
extraordinary revolution in her native country, and thinking of
her father (who was now fled to France), when she was accosted
by M. D'Avaux, who still remained at The Hague.

The Princess was much surprised by this, and was giving
a mere formal salute, when M. D'Avaux, with his hat clasped
to his bosom, galloped up to her open chariot in such a manner
that she could do nothing but desire it to stop.

" Ah, Madame," said he, smiling, and very courteous, " am
I to condole with the daughter of King James or congratulate
the wife of the Prince of Orange? "

She looked at him, very pale, but with a great majesty.
" You are to respect a woman in an extraordinary and sad
situation, Monsieur," she answered gravely.

" Extraordinary indeed, Your Highness," said M. D'Avaux.
" But scarcely sad to you, I think, who are like to be Queen."

It flashed through Mary's mind how near to war they must
be with France before he could venture to speak so.
She answered instantly —

" I take no public reprimand from the Ambassador of France,
Monsieur."

NEWS FROM ENGLAND 149

M. D'Avaux bowed.

"More a congratulation, Highness, to the future sovereign
of England."

Her look of amaze was not to be concealed. His keen eyes,
that never left her face, remarked it.

"Ah, Your Highness hath not heard the last news from
England ? " he asked quietly.

" News from England ! " repeated Mary, " I hear nothing
else "

"Then you will have heard that the Convention is for
making you Queen, Madame," he answered, "which perhaps
is not quite the consummation His Highness desired."

Mary gazed at him a second, then made a motion with her
gloved hand to the coachman.

"It is cold to keep the horses waiting," she said, and so
drove on.

Cold indeed, and the snow beginning to fall in heavy flakes
across the straight fronts of the noble houses in the Voorhout ;
the people of quality gathered there on horseback and on foot
began to scatter before the chilly wind and slow darkness. The
Princess shuddered inside her fur coat, and drove back to the
'huis ten bosch.'

As she passed down the gaunt avenues of bare trees over-
shadowing frozen water and frozen ground, showing between
their dark trunks glimpses of a pale February sunset fast being
blotted out by the thick snow clouds, she felt to her very heart
the awful desolation of approaching change, the wild regret for
a happy period closed, the unnameable loneliness which assailed
her when she considered how she was being caught up and
hurried into a whirl of events foreign and distasteful.

When she reached home she asked for her letters; but
evidently the packet that had brought M. D'Avaux his had
none for her. She made no comment, but played basset awhile
with Lady Sunderland, went early to her prayers, then wept
herself to sleep.

CHAPTER XVII
FAREWELL TO HOLLAND

SOON after the Groote Kerk had struck midnight, one of
the Princess's Dutch ladies came to the chamber of her
mistress with the news that letters from England had come, it
being the command of Mary that she should always be roused,
whatever the hour, when the mail arrived.

She came out now, in her undress — a muslin nightshift with
an overgown of laycock, and with her hair, which was one of
her principal beauties, freed from the stiff dressing of the day
and hanging about her shoulders — into the little anteroom of
her bedchamber, where the candles had been hastily lit and the
tiled stove that burnt day and night stirred and replenished.

There were two letters. She had no eyes save for that
addressed in the large careless hand of the Prince, and tore
it open standing under the branched sconce, where the newly-
lit candles gave a yet feeble light from hard wax and stiff wick,
while the Dutch lady, excited and silent, opened the front ot
the stove and poked the bright coals.

The Princess, who had waited long for this letter, owing
to the ice-blocked river, was sharply disappointed at the
briefness of it ; the Prince requested her to make ready to come
at once to England, as her presence was desired by the Con-
vention, told her what to say to the States, and remarked that
the hunting at Windsor was poor indeed compared to that of
Guelders.

Mary laid the letter down.

"I must go to England, Wendela," she said to her lady;
then sat silent a little, while the candles burnt up to a steady
glow that filled the room with a fluttering light of gold.

" Is my Lady Sunderland abed ? " asked Mary presently.

FAREWELL TO HOLLAND 151

" No, Madame ; she was playing cards when I came up."

"Will you send her to me, Wendela?"

The lady left the room and Mary noticed the other letter,
which she had completely forgotten. She took it up and
observed that the writing was strange ; she broke the seals and
drew nearer the candles, for her eyes, never strong, were now
blurred by recent tears.

The first words, after the preamble of compliments, took
her with amazement. She glanced quickly to the signature,
which was that of Lord Danby, then read the letter word for
word, while her colour rose and her breath came sharply.

When she had finished, with an involuntary passionate
gesture and an involuntary passionate exclamation, she dashed
the letter down on the lacquer bureau.

Lady Sunderland, at this moment entering, beheld an
expression on the face of the Princess which she had never
thought to see there — an expression of sparkling anger.

" 111 news from England, Highness ? " she asked swiftly.

"The worst news in the world for me," answered Mary.
Then she cried, " This is what M. D'Avaux meant ! "

The Countess raised her beautiful eyes. She was very fair in
rose-pink silk and lace, her appearance gave no indication of
misfortune, but in her heart was always the sharp knowledge
that she was an exile playing a game, the stake of which was the
greatness, perhaps the life, of her husband.

" What news, Highness ? " she questioned gently.

Mary was too inflamed to be reserved, and, despite the vast
difference in their natures, a great closeness had sprung up
between her and the Countess during these weeks of waiting.

" They wish to make me Queen," she said, with quivering
lips, " to the exclusion of the Prince. My Lord Danby, whom I
never liked, is leading a party in the Convention, and he saith
will have his way "

Lady Sunderland was startled.

"What doth His Highness say?"

"Nothing of that matter — how should he? But he would
never take that place that would be dependent on my courtesy —
he ! " She laughed hysterically. " What doth my lord mean ? —
what can he think of me? I, Queen, and the Prince over-

i$2 GOD AND THE KING

looked ? — am I not his wife ? And they know my mind. I told
Dr. Burnet, when he meddled in this matter, that I had sworn
obedience to the Prince and meant to keep those vows "

She paused, breathless and very angry ; her usual vivacity had
changed to a blazing passion that reminded Lady Sunderland
of those rare occasions when His late Majesty had been roused.

" My lord meant to serve you," she said.

" To serve me ! " repeated Mary, " when he is endeavouring
to stir up this division between me and the Prince — making our
interests different "

" You are nearer the throne, Highness "

Mary interrupted impatiently —

" What is that compared to what the Prince hath done for
England ? Can they think," she added, with a break in her
voice, "that I would have done this — gone against — His
Majesty — for a crown — for anything save my duty to my
husband? What must he think of me — these miserable
intrigues "

She flung herself into the red brocade chair in front of the
cabinet, and caught up the offending letter.

" Yet," she continued, with a flash of triumph, " this will give
me a chance to show them — where my duty lieth "

She took up her pen, and Lady Sunderland came quickly to
the desk.

" What do you mean to do ? " she asked curiously.

" I shall write to my lord, tell him my deep anger, and send
his letter and a copy of mine to the Prince."

Lady Sunderland laid her hand gently on Mary's shoulder.

"Think a little "

Mary lifted flashing eyes.

" Why should I think ? "

" This is a crown you put aside so lightly ! "

The Princess smiled wistfully.

" I should be a poor fool to risk what I have for a triple
crown ! "

"Still — wait — see," urged the Countess; "'tis the crown of
England that my lord offereth "

" Do you think that anything to me compared to the regard
of the Prince?" asked Mary passionately. "I thought that

FAREWELL TO HOLLAND 153

you would understand. Can you picture him as my pensioner —
him ! It is laughable, when my whole life hath been one sub-
mission to his will. Oh, you must see that he is everything in

the world to me ... I have no one else " She continued

speaking rapidly, almost incoherently, as was her fashion when
greatly moved. " At first I thought he would never care, but
now he doth ; but he is not meek, and I might lose it all — all this
happiness that hath been so long a-coming. Oh, I will write
such a letter to my lord ! "

"You sacrifice a good deal for the Prince," said the
Countess half sadly.

"Why," answered Mary, "this is easier than going against my
father, and giving the world cause to scorn me as an unnatural
daughter "

Her lips quivered, but she set them proudly.

" I have talked enough on this matter, God forgive me, but I
was angered by this lord's impertinence."

The Countess made some movement to speak, but Mary
checked her.

"No more of this, my Lady Sunderland," she said firmly.
She took a sheet of paper from the bureau and began to
write.

Lady Sunderland moved to the stove and watched her
intently and with some curiosity. The wife of my late Lord
President was tolerably well informed in English politics, and
knew that the Tories would rather have the daughter than the
nephew of the Stewarts on the throne, and that the great bulk of
the general nobility would rather have a woman like the
Princess than a man like the Prince to rule them.

She did not doubt that Mary, with her nearer claim, her
English name and blood, would readily be accepted by the
English as Queen, and that the nation would be glad to retain
the services of her husband at the price of some title, such as
Duke of Gloucester — which had been proposed for him before —
and whatever dignity Mary chose to confer on him. She
certainly thought that this scheme, pleasing as it might be to
Whig and Tory, showed a lack of observation of character on
the part of the originator, my Lord Danby ; Lord Sunderland had
always declared that it was the Prince they needed, not his wife,

154 GOD AND THE KING

and that they would never obtain him save for the highest price —
the crown.

Yet the Countess, standing in this little room, watching
Mary writing with the candlelight over her bright hair and
white garments, seeing her calmly enclose to the Prince Lord
Danby's letter and a copy of her answer, could not help some
wonder that this young woman — a Stewart, and born to power
and gaiety — should so lightly and scornfully put aside a crown —
the crown of England.

When Mary had finished her letters and sealed them, she
rose and came also to the stove. She looked very grave.

" The Prince saith not one word of our losses," she
remarked — "Madame Bentinck, I mean, and M. Fagel, yet
both must have touched him nearly. I am sorry for M.
Bentinck, who hath had no time to grieve."

" What will happen in England now, Highness ? " asked the
Countess, thinking of the Earl.

" I suppose," said Mary, breathing quickly, " they will offer
the Prince the throne ... he commandeth my presence in
England ... I must leave Holland "

" You love the country ? "

u Better than my own. I was not made for great affairs. I
love this quiet life — my houses here, the people . . ."

She broke off quickly.

" What will you do, Madame ? "

Lady Sunderland indeed wondered.

" Go join my lord in Amsterdam," she answered half reck-
lessly. " An exile remains an exile."

" The Prince," said Mary gravely, " hath some debt to my
lord. He never forgetteth his friends — or those who serve
him."

" I thank you for that much comfort, Madame."

" You must return to England — to Althorp," continued the
Princess gently; "you have done nothing that you should stay
abroad "

Lady Sunderland shook her head.

" What is Althorp to me, God help me ! I think my home is
in Amsterdam — I shall go there when Your Highness leaveth for
England."

FAREWELL TO HOLLAND 155

Mary put her cool hand over the slim fingers of the Countess
that rested on the back of the high walnut chair.

" Are you going with Basilea de Marsac ? "

" Yes ; she is a good soul."

" A Catholic," said Mary, with a little frown ; " but I like her
too— better than I did "

" She hath become very devoted to Your Highness ; she is
very lonely."

" What was her husband ? "

Lady Sunderland smiled.

"An incident."

Mary smiled too, then moved back to the bureau.

" I must get back to bed ; I have a sore throat which I must
nurse." She coughed, and moistened her lips. " I am as hoarse
as a town-crier." She laughed again unsteadily and rang the
silver bell before her. " I never pass a winter without a swelled
face or a sore throat."

The Dutch waiting lady entered, and Mary gave her the
letters.

" See that they go at the earliest — and, Wendela, you look
tired, get to bed immediately."

With no more than this she sent off her refusal of three
kingdoms. When they were alone again she rose and suddenly
embraced Lady Sunderland.

" Do you think I shall come back to Holland ? " she asked
under her breath.

" Why— surely "

11 Ah, I know not." She loosened her arms and sank on to
the stool near the stove. " Sometimes I feel as if the sands were
running out of me. You know," she smiled wistfully, " I have
an unfortunate name; the last Mary Stewart, the Prince his
mother, was not thirty when she died — of smallpox."

She was silent, and something in her manner held Lady
Sunderland silent too.

" A terrible thing to die of," added Mary, after a little. " I
often think of it ; when you are young it must be hard, humanly
speaking, but God knoweth best."

" I wonder why you think of that now ? " asked Lady
Sunderland gently.

156 GOD AND THE KING

" I wonder ! We must go to bed . . . this is marvellous
news we have had to-night ... to know that I must sail when
the ice breaketh . . . good night, my Lady Sunderland."

The Countess took her leave and Mary put out the candles,
which left the room only lit by the steady glow from the white,
hot heart of the open stove.

Mary drew the curtains from the tall window and looked out.

It was a clear frosty night, utterly silent; the motionless
branches of the trees crossed and interlaced into a dense black-
ness, through which the stars glimmered suddenly, and suddenly
seemed to disappear.

The chimes of the Groote Kerk struck the half-hour, and the
echoes dwelt in the silence tremblingly.

Mary dropped the curtain and walked about the room a
little. Then she went to the still open desft and took up the
remaining letter — that of the Prince.

With it in her hand she stood thoughtful, thinking of her
father in France, of all the extraordinary changes and chances
which had brought her to this situation, face to face with a
dreaded difference from anything she had known.

She went on her knees presently, rested her head against
the stool, worked by her own fingers in a design of beads and
wool, put the letter against her cheek, and desperately tried to
pray and forget earthly matters.

But ever between her and peace rose the angry, tragic face of
her father and the stern face of her husband confronting each
other, and a background of other faces — the mocking, jeering
faces of the world — scorning her as one who had wronged her
father through lust of earthly greatness.

CHAPTER XVIII
BY THE GRACE OF GOD

THE Princess's boat, with her escort of Dutch warships, rode
in the Thames at last. The frost had broken, and she
arrived not long after her letter to Lord Danby had scattered
that statesman's party, and frustrated his hopes of placing her on
the throne. The Prince having soon after declared his mind to
the lords in council, that he would accept no position dependent
on his wife's pleasure or the life of another (for there had been
talk of a regency, leaving the King the nominal title), made it
clear that if his services were to be retained, if he was not to
abandon them to the confusion, strife, and disaster from which
his presence alone saved them, he must be King. All parties
uniting, then, on what was now proved to be the winning side,
the Convention voted the offer of the crown to the Prince and
Princess jointly — the sole administration to rest with him.

The succession, after naming the direct line, was left vague
to please the Prince, who was free to flatter himself that he could
choose his own heir.

This news had come to Mary before she left The Hague,
and she knew that the day after her landing there would be a
formal offering and acceptance of the crown of Great Britain.
She beheld the prospect with extraordinary sensations as, passing
Gravesend, and leaving her vessel and escort at Greenwich, she
proceeded in a state barge to the more familiar reaches of the
river, Rotherhithe, and presently the Tower, rising golden grey
in the chill spring sunshine, by the bridge with the deep crazy
arches through which the water poured in dangerous rapids.
Crowded with houses was this old bridge, and in the centre a
little chapel with a bell, now ringing joyfully.

Mary remembered it all — the long busy wharves, now taking

'S7

158 GOD AND THE KING

holiday ; the barges, boats, and compact shipping now hung with
flags; Galley Key, where the slaves in chains unlade the oranges,
silks, and spices from the East; the houses, on the side of
Surrey, among which rose the spire of the great church at
Southwark ; the merchants' houses built down to the water's
edge, with pleasant gardens filled with poplar trees and set with
the figureheads of ships in which some adventurer had sailed
his early travels long ago in the time of Elizabeth Tudor ; and
the distant prospect of the city itself shimmering now under an
early haze of sunshine.

All was utterly strange, yet nothing was altered ; it looked the
same as when, weeping to leave England, she had come down
these waters in a barge with her silent husband, ten years ago,
and waited at Gravesend for the wind.

One difference attracted Mary's eyes. Behind and beyond
the Tower a mass of scaffolding rose that dominated the whole
city, and through the crossed poles, boards, and ropes, she could
discern the majestic outline of the dome of that vast church
which had been slowly rising out of the ashes of the old St.
Paul's since she was a child.

At the Tower Wharf she landed, laughing hysterically, and
hardly knowing what she did. They gave her a royal salute of
cannon, and she saw all the guards drawn up in squares, with
their spears in the midst, and a red way of brocade carpet laid
down for her, and a coach with white horses and running footmen,
and beyond, a press of noblemen and officers, and the sheriffs and
aldermen of the city with the Lord Mayor.

She hesitated on the gangway, amidst her ladies, her spirit
completely overwhelmed. She looked round desperately for
some one to whom to say — " I cannot do it — I cannot put it
through. I must die, but I cannot be Queen."

The complete incomprehension on the excited faces of these
ladies, the strangeness of many of them, recalled her with a
shock to herself; she felt as if she had been on the point of
betraying her husband. She recalled his last letter, in which he
had asked her to show no grief or hesitation in her manner, and,
biting her lips fiercely, she stepped firmly on to English soil, and
managed somehow to respond to the lowly salutations of the
crowd pressing to receive her. The Prince was by the coach

BY THE GRACE OF GOD 159

door ; she noticed that he wore his George and garter, which he
had not done perhaps twice before. There were a great many
gentlemen behind him, many of them those whom she had
already met at The Hague, others strange to her, several of the
Dutch officers, and M. Bentinck in mourning for his wife.

Mary, still English enough to think her country the finest in
the world, was thrilled with pleasure to see how respectfully all
these great nobles held themselves to the Prince. She was used
to see him receive this homage in his own country and from
the magnates of the Empire, but these Englishmen were to her
more than any German princes.

The Prince took her hand and kissed it, and said very quickly
in Dutch —

" I would that this had been in Holland."

The English gentlemen bowed till their long perukes touched
their knees, Mary entered the coach with Lady Argyll and a
Dutch lady, the Prince mounted his white horse, and the
cavalcade started through the expectant city with all that pomp
which the people would not forgo and the Prince to-day could
not avoid.

All London was eager for a sight of the Princess. The last
Queen, foreign, proud Romanist, and hard, had never been a
favourite, the Queen Dowager had never counted for anything,
and was now a forgotten figure in Somerset House ; but Mary
was English, Protestant, and her image had long been faithfully
cherished in England as that of a native Princess who would
some day restore the old faith. Therefore her greeting was such
as made her turn pale ; she had never before heard such thunders
of acclamation, popular as she was in the United Provinces.

Every road, every housetop, all the windows, alleys, and
turnings were filled with well-dressed, orderly people, who
cheered her and cheered the Prince till Mary felt dizzy. She saw
in this their true title to the crown ; the lords were but obeying
the people in setting it on their heads, and she recalled how
these same Londoners had besieged the doors of Westminster
Hall, while the Convention was sitting, and threatened to use
violence if the Prince was not elected King.

Her appearance of beautiful youth, her sparkling excitement,
her gracious smiles made a favourable impression, and further

160 GOD AND THE KING

roused the enthusiasm which the very stiff demeanour of the
Prince, to whom this display was hateful, was apt to damp.

By the time they reached Whitehall she was more popular
than he, and the nobles who rode in the procession thought to
themselves that the English wife would serve to keep the foreign
husband in the affections of the people.

Whitehall was filled with English, Dutch, and Scotch waiting
to kiss her hand: Mr. Sidney was there, Mr. Herbert, Mr.
Russell, Lord Shrewsbury, Lord Devonshire, Lord Halifax, Lord
Godolphin, Lord Danby, and others whom she did not know or
had forgotten ; their background was that splendid palace, seem-
ing vast and magnificent indeed after her houses in Holland,
which she had left so sadly ten years ago. Then she had wept,
now she laughed and was very gracious, but in her heart she was
as reluctant to enter Whitehall as she had ever been to leave it ;
the memories the place aroused were poignant, not sweet.

It was three hours before she found herself alone with the
Prince in that gorgeous little chamber that had once been her
father's, and still contained his pictures, statues, his monogram
and arms on chairs and carvings.

The instant he had closed the door the Prince kissed her in
silence, rand she burst into speech.

" Are you satisfied ? Are you pleased ? Is this another step
in your task — they — these people — will they help ? How long
the time hath seemed ! "

" To me also," said the Prince unsteadily.

She stepped back to look at him anxiously : he was extrava-
gantly vestured in embroidered scarlet, lace, jewels, the George
and garter conspicuous, and a great star of diamonds on his
breast. A close scrutiny showed that he looked more ill and
weary than she had ever known him.

" You are changed," she said quickly. " Oh, my dear, the
climate doth not suit you "

He smiled languidly.

"I would we had met in Holland," he answered. "I am
sick for Holland, Marie."

" Already ? "

He seated himself in the deep window-seat that overlooked
the privy garden and she took the low stool beside, studying him

BY THE GRACE OF GOD 161

wistfully for one hint of that enthusiasm and elation which she
hoped would be called forth by his splendid success.

"We could not have asked God for a more happy ending,"
she said in a trembling voice.

" They — the English — will declare against France," he
answered, but without spirit, and as if it was an effort to speak at

all. " If I could get them into the field this spring " He was

interrupted by his cough, which was violent and frequent, and he
flung the window open impatiently. "There is no air in this
place," he continued, in a gasping voice ; " their smoky chimneys
and their smells are killing me ; I cannot endure London."

" We need not live here," said Mary quickly.

" They think so," he returned ; " 'tis our post, where we are
paid to be "

The scarcely concealed bitterness with which he spoke of
England was a matter of amaze and terror to Mary, in whose
ears still rang the enthusiastic shouts of the people and the
flatteries of the courtiers.

" But you are popular " she began.

" Hosanna to-day, and to-morrow crucify ! " he answered. " I
shall not long be popular — the great lords have not loved me
from the first. They offer me the throne because there is no
other to serve their turn, and I take it because it is the only way
to secure them against France. But I undertake hard service,
Marie."

"You mean — the difficulties?"

" The difficulties ! I confess I am overwhelmed by them ;
everything is confusion — everything ! To get the bare Govern-
ment on a business footing would take a year's hard work, saying
every one was honest — and every one is corrupt. I can trust none
of them. There is Ireland in a ferment and the Scottish affairs
in a tangle ; there are a hundred different parties, with indecipher-
able politics, waiting to fly at each other's throats ; the Church is
hydra-headed with factions — and a cow might as well be set to
catch a hare as I set to put this straight, and I have had the
business of Europe to conduct already."

Mary's pride and pleasure were utterly dashed. Troubles and
difficulties she had been prepared for, but they had been vague
and distant ; she had not thought to find the Prince already
ii

162 GOD AND THE KING

whelmed in them. She reflected swiftly on the anxiety, labour,
and anguish that had gone to this expedition, the odium they
had both incurred, the violence she had done her own feelings,
and she wondered desperately if it had been worth the price.

The Prince took her hand, having noticed the paling of her
face and the distress in her eyes.

" We will talk of other things," he said, with an effort over
his tired voice. " I am weak to burden you at once with this ;
you at least will be beloved here "

Mary broke in passionately —

" I do not love England — nor want to be Queen. I doubt I
can do it — I was made for little things and peace — I hate this
palace," she glanced desperately round her father's splendour;
"our own homes — where we were so happy — are they not
better ? "

The Prince went very pale.

" I should not have repined," he said ; " it is my task, which
I must put through . . . the part you have been made to take
is the worst for me — the part you may have to take "

"If it serveth you I am very content," she answered; "if I
can do anything to help I shall be happy "

The tears sprang into the Prince's eyes. He looked away out
of the window.

" Marie — about His late Majesty — I could not help — that he
was stopped in Kent ... I would not have had it happen —

" Do not fear," she answered wildly, " that I do not in every-
thing hold you justified ? "

Her voice broke, and she began to weep.

The Prince rose and helped her to her feet.

" We must not show tears here," he said gently, " for we are
not at home — but among many enemies "

She dried her eyes and smiled bravely.

" Do we feel constraint so soon ? "

"We pay something," he said sadly, "that we are, by the
grace of God, Monarchs of England."

PART II
THE QUEEN

" I have really hardly had time to say my prayers, and was feign to run
away to Kensington, where I had three hours of quiet, which was more than
I had had together since I saw j^u.

" That place made me think how happy I was there when I had your dear
company ; but now — I will say no more, for I shall hurt my own eyes, which
I now want more than ever.

"Adieu ! Think of me and love me as much as I shall you, who I love
more than my life." — QUEEN MARY TO KING WILLIAM, \yhjuly 1690.

" Every hour maketh me more impatient to hear from you, and everything
I hear stir I think bringeth me a letter. ... I have stayed till I am almost
asleep in hopes ; but they are vaine, and I must once more go to bed and
wished to be waked with a letter, which I shall at last get, I hope . . . adieu !
Do but love me and I can bear anything." — QUEEN MARY TO KING WILLIAM,
July 1690.

— " My poor heart is ready to break every time I think in what perpetual
danger you are ; I am in greater fears than can be imagined by any who
loves less than myself.

" I count the hours and the moments, and have only reason left to think —
as long as I have no letters all is well. ... I never do anything without
thinking — now, it may be, you are in the greatest dangers, and yet I must see
company on my set days ; I must play twice a week ; nay, I must laugh and
talk, tho' never so much against my will. I believe that I dissemble very ill
to those who know me ; at least it is a great constraint to myself, yet I must
endure it. All my movements are so watched, and all I do so observed, that
if I eat less, speak less, or look more grave, all is lost in the opinion of the
world ; so that I have this misery added to that of your absence and my fears
for your dear person, that I must grin when my heart is ready to break, and
talk when my heart is so oppressed I can scarce breathe. . . . Besides, I
must hear of business, which, being a thing I am so new in and so unfit for,
doth but break my brains the more and not ease my heart. . . .

" Farewell ! Do but continue to love me and forgive the taking up so
much of your time to your poor wife, who deserves more pity than ever any
creature did, and who loves you a great deal too much for her own ease, tho'
it can't be more than you deserve."— QUEEN MARY TO KING WILLIAM,
yh. September 1690.

CHAPTER I
A DARK DAWNING

IN the King's antechamber at Kensington House my Lord
Dorset and one of his pensioners (of which he had a many)
awaited an audience of His Majesty.

It was a year since the Revolution, a cold-wet autumn, and
Kensington House, recently bought from my Lord Nottingham,
stood blank and sad among dripping wet trees.

Lord Dorset strolled to the window and looked out on the
great park spreading to the horizon. He, in common with every
other Englishman, found both house and grounds an ill
substitute for Whitehall, where the King would never go when
not forced, spending his time at Hampton Court, Holland
House, or here, in this half-built villa, still disfigured with the
scaffolding poles of the alterations Mr. Wren was putting in
hand. Lord Dorset sighed; he was a tolerant, sweet-natured
man, more interested in art than politics ; he had been magnificent
as Lord Buckhurst, and was more magnificent as Marquess and
holder of the office of Lord Chamberlain.

Presently the Lords Shrewsbury and Nottingham came out
of the King's Cabinet; the first looked downcast, the second
sour.

Dorset lifted his eyebrows at Shrewsbury, who said dolefully
as he passed —

" Good God ! we are like to get on the rocks — nothing is
right."

When the two Secretaries of State had passed, Lord Dorset
remarked to his young companion, with a kind of good-natured
softness —

" You see — I have brought you to Court in an ill time ;

perchance I had best not press for an audience to-day "

165

166 GOD AND THE KING

But even as he spoke the door of the Cabinet opened and
the King came out.

He stood for a second in the doorway, looking at the few
gentlemen standing about the bare, large room ; then his glance
fell on Lord Dorset, who moved forward with his splendid air of
grace.

" Is it the wrong moment to present to the notice of Your
Majesty the young poet of whom I spoke yesterday ? "

The King's large open eyes turned to the pale and agitated
young man in question, who instantly went on his knees.

" A poet ? " repeated William ; the word to him conveyed a
mild, but scarcely harmless madness. He thought the patronage
of these people an irritating trait in his Lord Chamberlain.
" Have we not already poets in our Court ? "

Lord Dorset smiled.

" This poet, sir, is also a very good Protestant, and one who
did much service in writing of satires "

"We have always uses for a clever pen," said William, in
whose own country the printing press was a powerful political
engine. He turned gravely to the young man —

" What is your name ? "

" Matthew Prior, Your Majesty."

" You wish a post about the Court, Mr. Prior ? "

The aspirant lifted sincere and ardent eyes.

"I have desired all my life to serve Your Majesty," he
answered, which was true enough, for he cherished an almost
romantical admiration for William.

" My Lord Dorset," said the King, " is a fine guarantee for

any man ; we will find some place for you " He cut short

protestations of gratitude by saying, " You must not expect us to
read your poems, Mr. Prior."

"Your Majesty was ever severe on that art," smiled Lord
Dorset.

" I do not understand it," said William simply ; but the Lord
Chamberlain had a fine enough perception to discern that
there had been more poetry in the actions of the King's life
than ever Matthew Prior could get on paper. He took the
following silence for dismissal, and withdrew with his grateful
pensioner.

A DARK DAWNING 167

The King drew out his watch, glanced at it, and called up
one of the ushers at the further doors.

" When Lord Halifax arriveth bid him come at once to us."

He hesitated a moment, looking at the sombre prospect of
grey and rain to be seen through the long windows, then returned
to his private room and closed the door.

A wood fire burnt between two brass andirons and filled the
plain closet with warmth, above the walnut bureau hung a map
of the United Provinces, and on the high mantelshelf stood
several ornaments and vases in blue-and-white delft.

The King seated himself in the red damask covered chair
before the desk, and mechanically took up the quill that lay
before him ; but presently it fell from his fingers and he leant
back in his seat, staring at the map of his country.

Since his coronation in April last, nay, since his first assump-
tion of the government a year ago, everything had gone wrong,
and he had been blamed for it; nothing could exaggerate the
difficulties of his position. He had partially expected them, for
he was not naturally sanguine, but his worst imaginings had
fallen short of the actual happenings.

Affairs had now reached a crisis. In England, Scotland, and
Ireland was a deadlock, on the Continent imminent peril, and the
King, for the first time in his life, doubted his own capacity to
deal with such huge obstacles as those which confronted and
threatened to overwhelm him.

Sitting utterly still, he mentally faced the task before him.

He believed that to fail utterly was impossible, since that
would be to deny the teaching of his own soul, and so, God ;
but he might fail partially, and he might, even in winning a
small measure of success, forfeit tremendous stakes.

The loss of personal ease, of his popularity in England, a
complete misunderstanding of his motives, the rancorous,
malicious hate of his enemies — these things he had, from the
moment of his coronation, been prepared for ; but it might be
that he would be called upon to make vaster sacrifices — the
friendship of many former supporters, even their long-cherished
love and loyalty, the trust and confidence of the allies, the
admiration of the dissenting churches throughout Europe, even
his own peace of soul. Everything in brief, that he valued, save the

1 68 GOD AND THE KING

love of Mary and the friendship of William Bentinck, must be
pledged, and might be lost in this forthcoming conflict.

He had honestly and justly tried to satisfy the English, but
had met with utter failure. They reproached — reviled him, com-
plained, and loudly voiced their dissatisfaction; he had not
pleased one of those who had placed him on the throne. The
chaotic state of the Government might, to a superficial observer,
appear to give some warrant for their discontent; but, as the
King cynically observed to himself, they were incapable of even
suggesting a remedy for the ills they so decried ; he did every-
thing, and Whig and Tory alike agreed in putting all burdens on
his shoulders, then in blaming his administration.

In the crisis of '88 their action had been oblique. They had
shifted the almost intolerable confusion of affairs into his hands,
then stood back to watch and criticise, while he, who had already
the business of half Europe on his mind, made what order he
could out of jarring chaos. His health had broken under the
strain ; even his friends noticed a new languor in him, which the
English were quick to dub sloth. Deprived of his one recreation
of hunting — for which he had no time — hardly able to endure the
stenches and smoke of London, his reserved temper taxed almost
beyond bearing by the incessant, unreasonable, shortsighted
quarrelling by which he was surrounded, he felt his strength
slipping like water through his hands.

His popularity had gone as he had predicted it would. The
Jacobites were already a tremendously strong party, and his own
ministers were half of them already beginning to traffic with the
exiled King — who was now in Ireland with French troops, and of
whom it had been said that, would he but change his religion, he
could not be kept out of England six weeks.

William, reviewing his position, smiled at the shallow taunts
that accused him of having thirsted for a crown.

He was working like a galley-slave for England — working with
insufficient money, false servants, unfriendly onlookers, and an
apathetic nation ready to seize on frivolous pretexts to dub him
unpopular — and his reward for labours, that perhaps not one of
his subjects had any conception of, was the nominal dignity of
kingship and the long-fought-for alliance of England with the
States.

A DARK DAWNING 169

He was certainly paying a bitter price.

All the great nobles were dissatisfied. The King had a keen
dislike of party, and his ideal of government was a cabinet com-
prised of the best men of every faction to advise a ruler free to
decide the final issue of every question. He had tried this scheme
in England, equally honouring Whig and Tory, and taking his
ministers from the rival ranks.

The plan had been an utter failure ; each faction wanted the
supreme control. The Whigs wanted the King to become their
champion, and avenge them indiscriminately on every Tory ;
the Tories, who had always been opposed to William, refused to
work with the Whigs ; Danby, created Marquess of Caermarthen
at the Coronation, was furious because he had not the privy seals ;
Halifax, to whom they had been given, grudged Danby the
Marquisate ; the two Secretaries, Shrewsbury and Nottingham,
were scarcely on speaking terms ; Russell, now Lord Orford, and
Herbert, now Lord Torrington, quarrelled fiercely over the naval
affairs; at the Treasury Board, Lord Mordaunt, now Earl of
Monmouth and Lord Delamere, both hot Whigs, did their best
to disparage their colleague, Lord Godolphin, who, of all the
Government, was the quietest man and the one most esteemed
by the King; Clarendon, the Queen's uncle, had refused to
take the oaths; and his brother Rochester was suspected of
plotting with James. There was, in fact, scarcely one English-
man, even among those who had accompanied William to
England, whom he could trust, yet the advancement and favour
he showed his Dutch friends was made the matter for perpetual
and noisy complaint.

On the other hand, the Church of England, which owed its
very existence to the Revolution, proved itself unreasonable and
ungrateful ; it refused stubbornly to grant any concessions to Non-
conformists, and wished severe penalties visited on the Papists.

Added to this, the home government was rotten to the core,
the army and navy in a miserable state, the people overtaxed,
business disorganised, the treasury empty, credit low, every one
discontented, Ireland in the possession of James, a revolt in
Scotland, and, on the Continent, the French making unchecked
progress, and the Dutch beginning to complain that they were
being neglected for the English.

170 GOD AND THE KING

When it is considered that the man who was to face and
overcome these difficulties was disliked, distrusted, misunder-
stood, and betrayed on every hand, it can be no wonder that
even his brave soul was drooping.

His position was in every way complex. By nature imperious,
arrogant, of the proudest blood in Europe, he had a high idea of
the kingly prerogative, and by instinct leant to the Tories ; but
the Whigs claimed him as peculiarly their champion, and it was
undoubtedly to their influence that the Revolution was due. As
King of England he was head of the Anglican Church and sworn
to uphold it ; but he was a Calvinist himself, and the whole tenor
of his life had been towards that broad toleration which the
Church regarded with abhorrence. He was avowedly latitudi-
narian and set his face resolutely against any form of persecution
for religious belief, and while this attitude cost him the support of
the Church, his refusal to treat the Catholics harshly lost him the
alliance of the Dissenters, who regarded him as disappointingly
lukewarm in the true cause.

A gentle treatment of the Papists was essential to William's
foreign policy, since he had promised his Catholic allies — Spain,
the Emperor, and the Pope, to protect those of this persuasion —
and it was, besides, his own conviction of justice and the general
good. He had therefore forced through Parliament the Tolera-
tion Act, which was, however, too limited to heal the internecine
disorders of religious parties; he had then endeavoured to
bridge the schism between Nonconformists and Anglicans by
the Comprehension Bill, but the measure was before its time and
failed to pass.

Many of the bishops and clergy having refused to take the
oaths and been obliged to resign, William had been forced to
make new appointments, every one of which, including that of his
chaplain, Dr. Burnet, to Sarum, caused universal dissatisfaction.

There had been a mutiny in the army which had to be re-
pressed by Dutch troops — a further grievance to the English, who
began to bitterly resent foreign soldiers in their midst ; yet on
these troops alone could the King rely.

William's lieutenant, the popular and brilliant Schomberg, had
proved an expensive failure. He was at present in Ireland, with a
huge army dying of fever about him, doing nothing but writing

A DARK DAWNING 171

maddening letters of complaint to the King, who had, on the
other hand, to listen to the ceaseless goadings of the English
Parliament, who wished to know why Ireland was not reduced,
and who, until that plague spot was attended to, refused to turn
their attention to the Continent, where the great events gathered
that were ever next William's heart.

Those were the great difficulties, but there were many smaller
vexations, such as the party the Princess Anne, under the
influence of those adventurers — the Churchills — was forming
against the Court; the sulky, unreasonable behaviour of Lord
Torrington at the Admiralty Board; the constant necessity the
King was under of going to London (the air of which was liter-
ally death to him), and of dining in public at Whitehall — a practice
he detested ; the lack of money for the buildings at Hampton
Court and Kensington, which were both in an uncomfortable
state of incompletion ; his own ignorance on little technical points
of administration and custom, which made him dependent on
his English advisers — all these were added annoyances and
humiliations that went far to unman a nature well inured to
strenuous difficulties.

The King made a little movement forward in his chair with a
short cough, as if he caught his breath, his eyes still fixed on the
map of the United Provinces ; his haggard face slightly flushed
as if he was moved by some intense thought.

The latch clicked, and William turned his head quickly.

In the doorway was the handsome figure of the tolerant, able,
and cynical chief adviser to the Crown, the Lord Privy Seal, my
Lord Marquess Halifax.

CHAPTER II
THE KING AT BAY

MY Lord Marquess left His Majesty after a dry and formal
interview concerned with minor but necessary business,
and, leaving the King still sitting before the map of the United
Provinces, proceeded to the incomplete and ill-furnished council-
chamber, where my lords Shrewsbury, Caermarthen, Nottingham,
and Godolphin were gloomily conferring.

Halifax was the only man in the assembly not of decided
Whig or Tory politics — it was believed that this was the reason
that the King had elected him to fill the highest place in his
councils. Lord Caermarthen, who, jealous of his elevation, was
known to be secretly working his downfall, greeted him with
haughty frankness.

"I hope, my lord," he said, "your interview with His
Majesty hath had some smack of satisfaction in it "

" Why, none," answered the Lord Privy Seal ; " there is no
satisfaction anywhere."

He seated himself on one of the red damask covered stools
by the table, and looked with a kind of cynical amusement at the
other ministers, all of whom, he well knew, were, however diverse
their several opinions (with the exception of Lord Godolphin),
doing their utmost to oust him from the position he held. His
mobile, easy, and delicate face was turned towards the meagre
but noble figure of Caermarthen, in whom he recognised his
chief enemy. Indeed, that statesman, who, as Lord Danby, had
himself narrowly escaped the attacks of Jack Howe in the last
Parliament, was endeavouring to stir up the present Commons
to impeach Halifax.

" His Majesty," added the Lord Privy Seal, in his pleasant,

tolerant voice, " is very discontented with all of us."

172

THE KING AT BAY 173

Shrewsbury — a duke now, and crowded with dignities beyond
his years — blushed.

" What are we to do ? " he asked, in a kind of frantic way.

The other Secretary, Nottingham, dark as a Spaniard and
sour in expression, remarked briefly —

" We can do nothing until we see which way the Parliament
moveth."

" The Parliament," said Caermarthen, " will do nothing until
some satisfaction is given for the money voted to Ireland. Schom-
berg, I doubt, is doited ; he hath not moved since he landed "

" The King," put in Halifax, " is desperate to go to the
Continent, where the allies clamour for him and King Louis
gaineth headway every week "

Caermarthen sprang up from the window-seat.

" By God, he cannot go abroad until Ireland is settled ! " he
cried ; " the country will not stand any war but that "

" The King," answered the Lord Privy Seal, " hath such a mind
to France one would think he took England but on the way "

" France," said Shrewsbury, with feverish anxiety, " is not the
question ; we have to think of England. War was declared last
May, and we are still incapable of putting a single regiment in the
field. By Heaven, the Government is too disjointed for us to
interfere in foreign affairs ! "

"You should have thought of that, my lord," answered
Nottingham dryly, " when you put a foreigner on the throne."

A deep colour again flushed Shrewsbury's beautiful face.

" I judged from His Majesty's reputation that he would have
done better," he murmured.

" His Majesty is a great man," said Halifax placidly.

Caermarthen shrugged his shoulders.

" Is it the kind of greatness that will help England ? "

" Or your party to places, my lord ? " retorted the Lord Privy
Seal shrewdly.

Caermarthen's thin face darkened.

" His Majesty doth not know his friends," he said.

" He will not be a party leader," returned Halifax ; " but I do
doubt whether England .will be ever governed save by factions "

Shrewsbury came up to the table and looked round the faces
of his colleagues. He was by far the youngest of the company,

174 GOD AND THE KING

and his soft good-looks were incongruous to the importance of his
position ; Lord Godolphin, a quiet, thin man, who so far had not
opened his lips or taken any notice of anything, nsw fixed his eyes
on Shrewsbury, and kept them there keenly while the Duke spoke.

" Sirs, what is to be done ? We have very good assurance
that the Government cannot hold — nay," he added, with increasing
agitation, "if King James were to land to-morrow, who would
stay him from the throne ? "

" His Majesty," said Lord Godolphin quietly.

Caermarthen caught the words.

"His Majesty! I have little faith in him now; he is a
dying man "

"The doctors," added Nottingham gloomily, "give him
another year "

"No more, I truly think," said Halifax calmly. "The
Dutchmen themselves say they hardly know him for the man he
was at The Hague "

" What then ? " cried Shrewsbury, in a desperate frankness.
"Are we all to fall into the laps of women and my Lord
Marlborough ? "

" The Queen could never hold the throne," answered Halifax ;
"she is not loved," he smiled; "the people dislike her for her
false position "

" By God ! " interrupted Caermarthen hotly ; " what know you
of Her Majesty ? She would rule better than any Stewart hath
done yet "

"Maybe, and wed another foreigner," retorted Shrewsbury.
" Besides, I think you are wrong. No woman could rule England
now "

" Nor any man, it seemeth," smiled Halifax sadly. " For my
part I am weary of all of it — and so, I think," he added, " is His
Majesty. He is greatly angered that the Bill of Indemnity is
changed into a Bill of Pains and Penalties, and there are such
heats over it "

"What course doth he think to take?" asked Shrewsbury
abruptly.

" He said very little to-day," answered Halifax. " Our talk
was all of business ; he is of an extraord nary industry," this with
admiration, " and hath mastered the details of the government

THE KING AT BAY 175

already. Were he a stronger man I should have no fear for
England "

" Talk — antic talk ! " cried Caermarthen impatiently ; " and
are no nearer a solution "

The sound of the opening of the heavy carved door caused
them all to pause. Godolphin, who was the only one facing it,
rose respectfully ; the others turned.

It was the King.

His bright glance went from face to face. He came slowly to
the head of the table, and seated himself in the wand-bottomed
chair there ; his ministers were on their feet waiting for him to
speak. Surprised as they were by this unexpected appearance,
their agitation showed in their faces, Shrewsbury in particular
was colourless; only Lord Godolphin remained perfectly com-
posed.

The King continued to look from one to the other ; he wore
a heavy brown velvet thickly braided with gold, and held in his
right hand a paper written upon, and folded across.

" Affairs," he said, in his tired voice, with his peculiar short
manner of speaking, "have reached a crisis, my lords, and I
have come to acquaint you with my resolution."

He leant forward a little, and rested his right arm on the
table, keeping his dark, powerful eyes fixed on these ministers
whom he read so perfectly.

" My lords," he continued quietly, almost gently, " it is a
year since I took up the government of this country, and in that
time I have done nothing to please any one of you." He coughed
and pressed his handkerchief to his lips. " I have done my best
to govern justly," he added proudly, " but I confess I took up a
task beyond my powers. My lords, I cannot rule a disaffected
country with disaffected ministers. I admit I do not understand
you. As I am often reminded, I am a foreigner."

The five nobles made a common movement as of painful
expectation The King's plain speaking took all words from them ;
Shrewsbury was painfully agitated.

" What doth Your Majesty propose ? " asked Halifax anxiously.

The King opened out the paper on the dark walnut table, and
laid his right hand on it. He wore round this wrist a bracelet of
red glass or crystal, cut into facets, that caught and threw back

i;6 GOD AND THE KING

the light ; it gleamed now strongly through the thick Bruges lace
of his ruffles.

" I mean," he said, " to resign the crown and return to
Holland — where I am needed," he added strongly.

" My God ! " exclaimed Caermarthen ; the rest were silent.

The King surveyed their changed and utterly amazed faces
with a gleam in his eyes.

"My convoy is in readiness," he said, "and here, my lords,
is the speech in which I announce my intention to Parliament" —
he glanced at Sidney Godolphin — "my lord," he added with
dignity, "will do me a last service and correct my poor
English "

Caermarthen broke out passionately —

" Sir, you cannot know what you are saying — this is unheard
of "

" I know very well what I am saying, my Lord Marquess,"
answered William. " I cannot please you, but I think the Queen
can. I believe you would be faithful to her — she is English;
but as for me, you can manage your business better without me
— and I am needed on the Continent."

He rose, and Halifax, rather pale, came up to him.

" What is to become of England if Your Majesty leaveth us ? "

" The Queen will please you," repeated William.

"This action on the part of Your Majesty will mean chaos,"
cried Shrewsbury desperately.

The King smiled sternly.

" No confusion could be worse than what we now endure —
perhaps alone ye can put it straight."

They looked at each other. In their hearts they all knew that
the King, and the King alone held them together and kept them
from France ; to the Whigs his departure would mean ruin, and
among the Tories there was not one man capable of undertaking
a tithe of what the King — who had foreign affairs exclusively in
his hands — performed.

"What is Your Majesty's reason for this bitter resolve?"
cried Caermarthen.

"I am needed in Holland," said William. "I have, my
lord, my lifework to do. There are certain things put to my
hand for me to accomplish, and I have pursued them through

THE KING AT BAY 177

too many difficulties to be thwarted now by the disputes of the
English Parliament "

He spoke with a sudden force that lashed them.

" I took this crown," he added, holding his hand to his breast,
" that I might, with God His help, put England in her ancient
place among nations, not that I might lose myself in heated
factions and blind animosities."

"If Your Majesty desert us we are all undone," said
Caermarthen passionately.

" Ah, my lords," answered William, " I am not of a nature to
be the puppet between your parties. God gave me a disposition
different — I cannot mix in these your politics."

His cough interrupted him; he gave a little shudder, and
sank back into the walnut-backed chair.

" There are some things beyond a man's strength," he said
hoarsely, "and I, hampered as I am, cannot govern England."

"I," cried Halifax sincerely, "have tried to help Your
Majesty "

"And what is your reward?" asked William quickly.
" Parliament is so pressing on you, my lord, that I shall have
to forego your services — what is any honest man's reward in this
country? As angry dogs ye rend each other. My God, will
there never be an end to these dissensions ? "

He crushed the rough draft of his speech up in his hand and
flung it on the table.

" There is my answer to this question," he said, and made to
rise again, but Shrewsbury came forward and cast himself on his
knees before him.

" I entreat Your Majesty to consider — to reflect — to spare us,
to spare this unhappy country "

The King looked wildly but not unkindly into the fair,
agitated young face.

" I cannot do what you want of me," he answered. " Every-
thing I do displeaseth — I stand for toleration and ye will have
no manner of toleration — hath not the Indemnity Bill become a
Bill of Pains and Penalties ? Is not Parliament busy looking up
charges of twenty years ago against men of position ? Is not the
Church crying out against the Dissenters, and the Dissenters
against the Papists?"

12

178 GOD AND THE KING

They were all silent ; Shrewsbury on his knees by the King's
chair.

" As to the civil government," continued William, " ye know
perfectly well what corruption is there. For the last two reigns
every honour in the gift of the Crown hath been put up to sale
with women and priests for brokers — I can trust no one save, of
course, yourselves, my lords," he added, with a faint sarcasm.
" There is neither honesty nor industry nor credit in any depart-
ment of the administration. I can do no more."

Lord Godolphin came forward from the window ; he was
known to be higher in favour with the King than any there, and
the others waited with a silent, anxious curiosity for him to speak.

" I think Your Majesty will change your resolution," he said,
with sudden warmth, " for the sake of Europe."

" For the sake of Europe, my lord, I shall persist in it."

Sidney Godolphin looked straightly at the King.

" No — Your Majesty is not the man to shirk difficulties — bear
with us a little."

" My lord," answered William, " if all were as you I should
have no difficulties — rise up, my lord of Shrewsbury ; this is not
your fault."

The Duke got to his feet and retired to the deep window- .
seat ; he appeared utterly overwhelmed.

" I undertook to'serve a King," said Godolphin, deeply moved.
" Let me resign that service while you are still my King — if Your
Majesty becomes Prince of Orange I become a private gentleman.
I pray Your Majesty accept my resignation."

" And mine, sir," added Halifax.

" I hope that you will serve the Queen," replied William ; he
leant back in his chair and his face was colourless against the
red brocade cushion.

" It was to Your Majesty I swore obedience," said Godolphin
firmly.

" I set you free of those oaths — all of you, my lords — my
convoy waiteth at Gravesend. In Holland I can be of service —
not here." He, with infinite weariness, sat up and took his speech
from the table. "Take this, my lord." He held it out to Lord
Godolphin.

The minister went on one knee.

THE KING AT BAY 179

" I cannot be a party to this," he said. " Your Majesty must
forgive me — but I cannot "

The blood rushed into the King's thin cheek.

"What do you want of me?" he cried passionately. "You
know I do not shirk labour. I have worked like a government
clerk since I have been in London, and I am well used to it —
but it is no use."

Godolphin answered him with equal passion.

" Is all this labour to come to nothing, sir? If Your Majesty
giveth up, there will be no heart in any of us — everything will
fly asunder, and we be unprotected for the French and Irish to
overrun. Your presence, your Dutch troops alone keep order.
Without you we are lost again, and worse than we were before

"Your Majesty cannot — Your Majesty must not," cried
Caermarthen.

Shrewsbury raised his face ; he was trembling, and weeping
softly.

" God in heaven ! " he whispered, under his breath.

Nottingham looked at him with contempt.

"Will Your Majesty forsake your friends?" he asked
sombrely. "Where do we stand if Your Majesty resigns the
position we asked you to accept?"

" Sir," said Halifax firmly, " the Prince of Orange cannot go
back on what he hath undertaken."

William leant forward, resting against the table; his eyes
filled with tears, and he gave a short cough as if he caught his
breath.

" You ask too much of any man — to rule this country under
the disadvantages that whelm me," he said faintly. " I was not
made to be cabined in these small factions— — "

" We cannot do without Your Majesty," said Halifax sharply.
" Are all your glorious deeds and achievements to end in this, sir ? "

The King put his hand before his eyes and sobbed heavily.

" O God," cried Godolphin, in bitter distress, w what pass is
here ? " He turned on the others. " Is this to what we have
brought the Prince who saved us ? "

The tears were in his own eyes, and his voice was broken.

Halifax spoke to Caermarthen.

1 8o GOD AND THE KING

"This is like of be the end of us, my lord," he remarked.
"Cry 'finis' ! for the play is over now."

The King continued to weep ; his whole frail figure was
shaken with his passion. The last cold daylight was over his
gold broideries and the crimson bracelet round his wrist
Caermarthen was pacing to and fro in a kind of frenzy.

" What is to do ! " he asked himself. "What is to do ! " and
he clutched the cambric ruffles on his bosom.

Godolphin again dropped on his knees before the King and
took William's cold left hand to his lips.

" Your Majesty will not leave us," he murmured, in a quiver-
ing tone.

The King lifted his great eyes, blurred, yet bright, with tears.

" If I stay," he answered, " it is on certain terms — I will not
be the puppet of factions." He stopped, exhausted ; he composed
himself and flushed feverishly; his speech was interrupted by
continual and painful coughing. " I will not be a party to perse-
cution." He clenched his thin hand on the smooth curved arm of
his chair , and spoke with a force and energy that gripped and
almost frightened his listeners. " A measure must be passed to
prevent it — and I must go to The Hague next spring."

" Ireland " began Caermarthen.

William caught up the word.

" I will go to Ireland — since ye think so much of that wretched
country I will get it "

Even in the midst of their relief that they had moved him
the ministers were shaken at this resolution.

" Your Majesty cannot be spared from London," exclaimed
Halifax.

"I shall prorogue Parliament before I leave," answered
William fiercely. " That or nothing, my lords. I do not stay here
to be King Log "

They bowed before his terms as they had done in the crisis
of '88 ; only Shrewsbury, who saw the downfall of his party in
the prorogation of a Whig Parliament, made a feeble protest.

" Fever is epidemic in Ireland — the health of Your Majesty "

"You fear to lose me, my lord, before I have served your
turn ! " was struck out of the King ; then he amended his con-
tempt, for he was ever fond of Shrewsbury. "It is the only

THE KING AT BAY 181

thing to do — if the reduction of Ireland is necessary before the
Continental Campaign — I must go." He looked sharply round.
" Gentlemen, do you take these terms — will you unite to help me
to them ? "

" We have no choice," said Lord Godolphin, and he tore the
draft of the King's speech across.

CHAPTER III
THE BEST OF LIFE

IT was early May ; the King was walking in his park at
Kensington, with his friend, William Bentinck, Earl of
Portland.

It was the eve of his departure for Ireland ; he had yesterday
prorogued Parliament, and laughed a little as he related the dis-
comfiture of the Whigs at his speech.

" I shall be glad to be under canvas again," he added. " For
myself it will be a holiday, but I pity the poor Queen." He
repeated with great tenderness — " the poor Queen ! "

" How doth she take your going ? " asked the Earl.

"Ah, heavily — what have I brought her but affliction? —
sometimes I think of that "

He spoke sadly, and pressed Bentinck's hand.

"Be good to the Queen," he said wistfully. "As you love
me, William, help the Queen when I am not here. ... I think
women have the harder part."

" I have great faith in her courage and wisdom, sir," said the
Earl.

" There is no woman like her," answered the King, under his
breath. He added aloud, with a flashing smile, " As there is no
friend in the world like you ! "

" Ah, sir," cried Portland, much moved, " you ever flattered
me."

He was not so reserved as the King nor yet so demonstrative.
William could express by word and letter, strong passion, but
this was not possible to William Bentinck. Devotion to his
master was the motive power of his life, but he could not say so.

The King again pressed his hand affectionately. They were

walking under limes, and hawthorns white with blossom. The

183

THE BEST OF LIFE 183

sky shone cloudy blue, and the pale English sunshine was over
the young grass.

William looked round him with the sick eyes of exile ;
thoughts of Holland tugged so sharply at his heart that he gave
a little suppressed sound of pain.

"What of this Crone and Fuller plot?" asked Portland
suddenly.

"I am sorry to leave that on the Queen her hands," said
William quietly ; " but I do not think it serious."

" Some great men are implicated ? "

" I do not doubt it."

Portland hesitated a moment, then said —

" Nottingham's spies intercepted letters to St. Germains, he
saith — who were they from ? "

"People of no station," answered the King. "Nottingham
is over zealous."

" And you, sir, are over easy."

William smiled at him, and seated himself on a wooden bench
under one of the limes.

"That is an old complaint between us, is it not?" he said
kindly. " Dear lord, let it be "

Portland smiled also ; he was not satisfied ; he stirred his
cane among the scattered hawthorn flowers and his fair face
hardened. After a little he asked his dismissal, and turned
towards Kensington House.

The King remained alone in the park, sitting a little droop-
ingly ; he hardly ever held himself erect now ; he had shifted his
sword-belt so that the weapon was across his knees, and he held
pommel and point of the scabbard with his bare, delicate hands ;
his clothes were dark and plain ; he wore high riding-boots and
a beaver with a great plume of white feathers. So still he sat,
and so shaded was his figure in the deep glowing shadow cast by
the lime boughs of budding foliage, that a young man coming
moodily along the path was upon him before he noticed that
any sat there.

" Ah, sire ! " he exclaimed, in confusion, and pulled off his hat.

William looked up at him ; it was the Duke of Shrewsbury.

" I am glad to see you, my lord. I wished to speak to you."

" I was about to seek an audience of Your Majesty."

184 GOD AND THE KING

Shrewsbury was in a painful agitation, further increased by
this sudden meeting with the King, utterly unlocked for. It was
rare to find William at leisure or on foot.

The King's deep eyes regarded him sadly and kindly.

"Was it to a second time offer your resignation?" he
asked.

Shrewsbury went crimson under his powder ; he seemed to
find it difficult to maintain even a show of composure.

" Yes, Your Majesty," he answered.

" Very well," said William quietly. " I am sorry that you
will not serve me till my return from Ireland."

" Sire, my health," murmured the Duke faintly — " I have had
a fall from my horse — I am not fit."

Still holding his sword in both hands, the King rose.

" My lord — is that your sole reason ? " he asked gently.

The blood ebbed from the young man's soft face; he
answered with an effort.

" My sole reason, Your Majesty."

William continued to fix his eyes on him.

" My lord, when did you last see Roger Fuller ? "

Shrewsbury shivered ; he stammered painfully.

" I — I — do not know — the fellow "

" I take your word, my lord," said William gravely.

He dropped his sword, and laid his hand with a gentle dignity
on the young man's heaving shoulder.

" Remember I trust you," he added quietly.

"Sir," cried Shrewsbury, through pale lips — "what is your
meaning — do you think "

" I think that you are a man of honour," said William.
"You have given me your word, and I trust you. Remember it."

"Your Majesty," began the Duke wildly, "I never
meant "

" Hush," interrupted the King. " I know nothing. Take
care of your health, my lord."

He touched his hat and moved on. The young Duke looked
after him with eyes of agony, then stumbled wretchedly away
through the trees.

William proceeded slowly to the privy garden, which was full
of stocks, pinks, wallflowers, aloes, and early roses.

THE BEST OF LIFE 185

He found the Queen and Lady Nottingham seated in front
of a great bush of box clipped into the shape of a peacock.
Between them was a length of yellow silk that they were sewing
with blue beads in little crosses and stars.

At the King's approach Lady Nottingham rose and retired
with a courtsey. Mary looked after her kindly.

" She is a sweet lady — I like her vastly," she said.

" You find most ladies sweet, do you not ? " answered the
King ; he seated himself beside her on the bench, and took up
the end of silk Lady Nottingham had laid down.

" I have spoilt your work. But I wished to tell you some-
thing, Marie."

Mary glanced at him anxiously ; she was slightly pale, and
wore a black scarf wrapped round her head and shoulders ; her
petticoat was striped red and frilled at the foot, her over-gown
dark blue and spread round her in circling folds of glittering
silk. For all the sombre heaviness of this stately dressing she
looked very young — sad, also, for all the desperate gaiety to
which she was continually nerved.

The King looked about him to see that they were not over-
heard, then said, in a low voice —

" I have accepted my Lord Shrewsbury his resignation."

Mary waited, catching her breath.

"He," continued William, "hath tampered with His late
Majesty."

The Queen gave a little sound of distress, and dropped her
sewing.

" Shrewsbury ! " she whispered.

"I have sure proof of it," said the King. "I am sorry for
him," he added simply; "and for myself, it something moved
me, for I ever liked my lord."

Mary flushed and clenched her hands on her lap.

" How base every one is," she cried, and the angry tears
glittered in her eyes.

" There is not much honour in England, Marie. Have a care
of all of them — particularly of that knave" — he spoke with
strong force — "that villain, my Lord Marlborough "

" Need he be of the Council ? " she asked eagerly.

" Child, he is the best soldier in England, and if I was to

1 86 GOD AND THE KING

leave you a Council of honest men they could not be of this
nation — trust none of them."

" God help me," said the Queen. " I know not how I shall
support myself when you are not here — but how weak I am to
talk thus — my part is little compared to yours."

She smiled with a pitiful brightness, and the King, looking at
her, flushed as if he had been hurt and suppressed the pain.

"Talk no more of this," he said quickly — "in this little time
we have together "

Mary laid her hand on his.

" How pale the sunshine is — not thick and golden like The
Hague — the flowers seem so different too; is not that a silly
fancy ? " She smiled again, and her voice quivered.

" You are not happy here, Marie."

She answered hastily.

" Happy wherever I have your dear company — but I confess
I am a coward without you — but God is greater than our hopes,
our fears, our desires ; He knoweth best."

When her soft voice ceased the only sounds were those of
water running in the lead basin of a fountain hidden somewhere
behind the alleys of wych-elm, and the occasional distant blows
of a hammer from the workman engaged on the scaffolding of
Kensington House.

She spoke again at last, her white fingers tightening over his.

"I wonder if you will ever rest — if achievement will ever
come — at last, if you will ever think your work done "

" How can I ? " he answered. " That is my sole excuse to
live — that there is something for me to do — and I am so used to
work I think I could not rest "

" It hath been hard — hard and long," said Mary. " You must
be so weary of it all — the lying, the treachery, the weakness, the
opposition, the delays, the disappointments "

The King smiled faintly.

" Yet I have done something "

" So much ! " exclaimed Mary proudly. " But I do long for
you to have some leisure now ... for both of us ... to be
alone, at last "

" When the war is over "

She interrupted gently.

THE BEST OF LIFE 187

" When the war is over ! Alas ! " She shook her head. " So
long still to wait." She smiled. "I would that you had not
been a great man, dear — but just a simple citizen." She laughed
charmingly. " And we would live at The Hague always and have
a great garden where you should grow ' La Solitaire ' for the
thousand gulden prize — and I would polish all the furniture
myself — and I could call you 'Willem' then before all the
world, and we should have long days together . . . and you
would read of great events in the Gazette and never want to
mix in them, and I should laugh at those unhappy kings and
queens "

Her husband looked at her in silence.

"So you see I am a good housewife, no more!" she con-
tinued, in a kind of wild gaiety. " Alas, I have no brains for
business ! "

" I have thought, too," said William, " that I would like to be
a mere gentleman watching events, not guiding them ; but these
thoughts are beneath us — and idle visions."

" Idle visions !" repeated the Queen. "And you must go
to the war again — Death's target — and I must stay behind and
keep my countenance ! I am such a poor weak fool ! " she
added, in bitter self-reproach.

The King raised her head and pressed it against his heart.

" That kind of fool I could never have done without," he
said impetuously. " If I have ever achieved anything, the credit
is to you, my dearest, my dearest "

He dropped her hand, and abruptly broke his speech.

" What more can I want than to hear you say that ? " answered
Mary. " Only love me and I can bear anything "

The King's brilliant eyes rested on her pale but smiling face ;
he spoke slowly, and his tired voice was hoarse and unequal.

" When I was a boy — a youth — I was so proud, so self-con-
fident. ... I remember I thought I was capable of anything —
I took my inexperience, my handful of soldiers, into the field
against France — against Condd ! I had been very much alone,
and so learnt reserve that I had almost lost the power of expres-
sion— I was also very unhappy — I think I had no support in
the world but my pride — I thought God had elected me to be
his Captain "

188 GOD AND THE KING

He paused, but Mary did not speak. Only the little gurgle
of the unseen fountain broke perfect stillness.

" I remember," continued William, " the first time I went to
Middleburg and heard the people shout for me — and saw the
Town Council bowing. ... I never had felt so lonely. Twenty
years ago — and I have greatly changed, but in a fashion I have
kept the vows I made then to God — I have not turned back from
defending His Faith — but that was before He pleased to humble
me by constant defeat. I was so confident, Marie ! Ah, could
I recapture that exaltation of the morning it would all be so
easy — I felt so glad of what I had to do — but now ! "

He raised his hand lightly and lightly let it fall ; his profile
was towards the Queen now, and his gaze directed towards the
English hawthorns that showed above the box hedge of the
privy garden.

" But though," he added, " it hath all darkened since then,
I think God meant me to go on — for He sent you, my wife . . .
and you are the one thing that hath never failed me."

She hid her face in her hands, and sat trembling ; the little
tray of blue beads fell from her lap, and they were scattered over
the gravel path.

" If I am not good at gratitude," said the King haltingly —
" yet believe me — while you are there I can endure anything.
After all, there is nothing in the world for me but you and
Holland, and while I have both why should I complain of any
difficulties ? "

Mary raised her face.

" If I could think I made that difference to you ! " she said.

" You have given me the best of life," he answered gravely.

CHAPTER IV
THE SECRET ANGUISH

IN that ancient palace called Hampton Court, on the banks
of the Thames, the Queen of England walked through
the rooms that were rebuilding, and tried to subdue her
soul to peace.

The King was at the war in Ireland, and she, with the aid
of the nine councillors — men divided by personal spites and
party differences — was ruling England through a bitter and
desperate crisis.

Mary, a woman and utterly unused to business (though
she had always taken an intelligent interest in politics), yet
found all these men, on whose wisdom she was supposed to
rely, peevish and silly. Marlborough was using her sister to
stir up opposition against the Government, — she strongly suspected
him, Godolphin, and Russell of having made their peace with
King James; Caermarthen she personally disliked; the Crone
and Fuller plot had proved to be a widespreading affair, in
which there appeared every possibility of her uncles being
involved ; the country was denuded of troops, and the fleet in
disorder; the treasury empty, and the French threatening the
Channel.

These were the first few moments of leisure the Queen had
known since her husband's departure; she was eager to have
Hampton Court ready for his return, and so had come eagerly
to see the progress of the rebuilding and alterations.

Here again she was met with difficulties and humiliations.
Mr. Christopher Wren, the architect, was in want of money,
the workmen were unpaid, the contractors refused to deliver
any more Portland stone on credit.

Mary had no money, and knew not where to get it; she

189

GOD AND THE KING

soothed Mr. Wren as best she could, and desperatel re-
solved that these debts should be paid ; the thought of them
was an added vexation. She felt there was a kind of meanness
in so lacking money, and that the rebuilding of Hampton Court,
which had been her one pleasure, was a reproach and a mistake.

M. de Ginckle had written to her from Ireland that they
were so straitened in the camp that the King had refused to
sign for wine for his own table, and was drinking water with
the men.

Mary thought of this passionately as she surveyed the
unfinished building the grumblers declared such an unwarranted
luxury, and remembered the noble fortune William had lavished
on the public cause.

Under some pretence, she slipped away from her ladies
and Mr. Wren, and, with a wild longing to be alone, made her
way to some of the old deserted Tudor rooms of the palace,
opened now for the first time for perhaps fifty years.

In the wing in which Mary found herself there were near
a hundred chambers, and she, new to the palace, was soon lost
in the maze of apartments.

She was wildly glad to be alone, to drop, for a moment,
the mask of composed gaiety that she ever kept over her
anxiety.

Door after door she opened, and room after room she
traversed, until she reached a little winding stairway that led
to a chamber in one of the fine red turrets with the graceful
decorated chimney-stacks that Sir Christopher was so calmly
destroying.

Stairway and chamber were both covered with thick white
dust; the bolts on the door were rusty and loose; there was
no furniture save an old rotting chest, rudely carved ; but the
walls were beautifully panelled with oak in a linen pattern, and
the low lancet window disclosed a perfect view.

Mary went straight to it, leant her sick head against the
mullions, and gazed over the fair prospect of unkept garden,
field, meadow, and river, all shimmering under a July sun.
The Thames showed argent gold between banks of willow and
alder; stretches of daisies, buttercups, clover, and poppies
reached to distant groves of elm, oak, and beech.

THE SECRET ANGUISH 191

In the nearer glades deer wandered in and out of the
sweeping shadows, and the air was soft with the whispers of
the ringdove.

Such a different England this seemed from that England
shown in London, so far removed from war and discord,
danger and alarm.

The lonely young Queen felt her own desolation heightened
by the solitude ; she became almost afraid of the silence.

When she reflected that the person who was everything to
her was distant, exposed to many perils, that her father was
opposed to him in battle, that the great responsibility of
government was intrusted to her, and that she had no one on
whom she could rely or even to whom open her heart (for
William Bentinck had, after all, been summoned to Holland),
she felt a melancholy creep over her spirit that was near despair.

The sun was warm on the sill where her hand rested and
on her cheek; she leant a little farther out of the narrow
window, that had neither glass nor casement, and fixed her eyes
on the pulsing flow of the river.

A little sound behind her caused her to turn quickly with
a nervous start.

Before a small worm-eaten inner doorway that she had not
noticed stood a comely child of five or six years, gazing at her
intently. The colour fluttered into the Queen's face; they
stood staring at each other — the woman and the child — as if
they were both afraid.

"What are you doing here?" asked Mary coldly, after a
second.

The child did not answer ; he had as little expected to see
this tall young lady in the fine blue gown as she had expected
to see him.

" You have no business here," said Mary, in the same tone ;
" this is private. Go, find your people."

And she turned towards the window again so that she could
not see him.

He answered now.

" I have lost my way."

"There are the stairs," said Mary, without looking round.
"Go down there, and you will find your way."

192 GOD AND THE KING

There was silence, and she waited a little ; then looked over
her shoulder to see him still standing there, staring at her.

"Why don't you go?" she asked harshly. "You are not
allowed here."

"Yes, ma'am, I am," he replied. ."Father said I could go
where I liked."

"Who is your father?"

The child laid a delicate ringer on the smooth carving of the
wall.

" He maketh — these," he explained.

"A carver," said Mary. "Is he working here?"

"Yes, ma'am. We come every day; there is another little
boy — you are the mother of the other little boy?" he
questioned.

" No," said Mary coldly.

"He isn't here to-day," remarked the child rather sadly.
" When he is we go out, because he is a bigger boy than me.
If you had been his mother I thought you might have taken
me out."

" Your father can take you out."

"Father is working with Master Wren. Do you know
Master Wren?"

"Yes."

"He goeth up and down in a basket outside the house.
Once I went too, and he held me so tight that it hurt He
is too old to play with."

He came a little farther into the room, eying Mary wistfully.
She was stately as well as tall, and the high lace commode she
wore, and the stiff arrangement of her heavy curls, further added
to her dignity. The child looked at her in some awe.

" Are you cross with me ? " he asked gravely.

" No," answered the Queen — " no — but your father will be
looking for you — best go and find him."

"I have lost my way," he said, subdued by her coldness.
" I was asleep in there." He pointed to the little sunny annexe
to the turret from which he had come. " I am glad I met you,
ma'am."

"Why? "asked Mary.

The child smiled, in an effort to win her.

THE SECRET ANGUISH 193

" I get frightened when I am alone," he said. " Don't you,
ma'am ? "

"Sometimes," answered the Queen ; she bit her lip and fixed
her narrowed brown eyes on the boy; he was fair, and rather
delicate, and wore a shabby suit of red tabinet.

He slowly and reluctantly moved towards the narrow dark
stairs.

" I wish this house was finished," he said plaintively. " It
is so large. The King will live here," he added. " I saw the
King talking once to Mr. Wren."

Mary gave him no encouragement to stay, but he still lingered
by the rotting door, that swung back against the wall, and looked
at her with wide, puzzled eyes.

"I am going now," he said at last; his hands went to his
cravat, which was sadly knotted. " Would you tie this for me
first? Father don't like me to look untidy."

" Come here," said Mary.

He came at once and stood before her.

" I don't think I can do it," said the Queen unsteadily.

She took hold of the scrap of cambric awkwardly, while he
obediently held his head up ; but her cold fingers bungled, and
the bow was clumsy.

" I can't do it," she murmured.

" You are so tall, ma'am ! "

She looked into his upturned face.

"Too tall to be so stupid," she answered, and untied the
bow. "Have you a mother?" she asked suddenly, holding his
shoulder gently.

" No, ma'am."

" Ah, poor soul ! "

She spoke so sadly that he was distressed.

" What is the matter, ma'am ? "

" I was thinking of what we both have missed," said Mary
gently.

His bright eyes were bewildered. The Queen drew him to the
old chest, seated herself there, and again tied the cravat.

" What is your name ? " she asked, as she smoothed it.

"James, ma'am — it was the King his name when I was
born," he added proudly.
13

194 GOD AND THE KING

Mary drew a quick breath.

"But you serve King William."

" I know," he answered dutifully. " He is a soldier, father
saith. I would like to be a soldier, ma'am."

Mary smiled ; though she had done with his cravat she still
kept her hands lightly on his shoulder.

" Not a wood-carver ? "

He shook his head.

" Father saith, ' Better be a soldier these days — there is no
living else,' " he quoted wisely.

" There is time enough to decide," said Mary softly ; her
ringed right hand timidly caressed his hair, scarcely touching it.
" Have you many toys ? "

"No, ma'am."

" Do you care for them ? "

He considered.

" Books," he said, with a little frown, " that you can tear the
pictures out of — pictures of fights, ma'am — and blackamoor's teeth."

" What are they ? " asked Mary, gazing earnestly at him ; she
spoke with a catch in her breath.

He put his hand into his pocket and produced several cowrie
shells.

" There, ma'am — they come from far away." His eyes glittered.
" It would be good to be a sailor, would it not, ma'am ? "

"You are a grave child," said Mary; she drew him softly
nearer to her, and bent her beautiful pale face near to his. " You
pray for the King, do you not ? "

" On Sunday, ma'am."

" Pray for him whenever you say your prayers — and for the
Queen."

He nodded.

"The poor Queen ! " he said.

" Why do you say that ? " asked Mary, startled.

"Master Wren said those words — like that — 'the poor
Queen ! ' ma'am."

Mary stared at him intently ; her arms tightened about him.
Suddenly she pressed him up to her bosom, where his little head
rested patiently among her thick laces.

"The poor Queen!" she whispered wildly, and drew him

THE SECRET ANGUISH 195

closer, till he was half frightened by the force of her embrace and
the beating of her heart beneath his cheek.

" Oh, ma'am ! " he cried, " I have even dropped the blacka-
moor's teeth."

She let him go, and watched him with desperate eyes while
he searched and recovered the gleaming white shells from the
dusty floor.

As he busily sought for one in the shadow of the chest, a soft
whistle sounded twice ; he sprang to his feet at once.

"That is my father — I must go now, ma'am."

The Queen held out her hands appealingly.

"Will you not kiss me?"

He came obediently and held up his unconscious face.

Mary's lips touched his brow in the saddest salute he was
ever like to know. He did not offer to return it, but made a
little bow, and so left her. She sat quite still, listening to the
sound of his unequal footsteps departing ; then she stooped and
picked up the shell he had abandoned.

She fancied that it was still warm and moist from his tight
clutch, and as she looked at it the tears veiled her eyes and fell
on to her trembling palm.

" O God ! " she cried aloud, with a passion that had slipped
her control. " Ye had no right to make childless women ! "

She flung the shell from her, and buried her face in her hands,
while the painful sobs heaved her body.

She had not long even the comfort of lonely weeping, for the
sound of voices and footsteps coming up the narrow stairs caused
her to rise heavily, with a start of self-reproach.

It was her secret boast that she had not allowed a tear or a
sigh to escape her in public since the King had gone. She dried
her poor tired eyes hastily, and bit her lips to steady them, while
she thrust her sorrows back into her heart with that placid
courage that never failed her. She descended the stairs and faced
the people who were, she knew, looking for her.

She was not prepared to see Lord Nottingham, whom she had
left at Whitehall ; the sight of him among her attendants caused
her to pause at the foot of the stairs.

" You, my lord ! " she cried faintly.

His dark face showed obvious relief at her appearance.

196 GOD AND THE KING

"I have been searching for Your Majesty," he said, with
some reproach. " I have ridden hot after Your Majesty from
London "

"There must be grave news," said Mary, knowing that
otherwise he would not have come himself.

"There is, Madame — the gravest."

Mary raised her head ; she was perfectly composed.

" From— the King ? " she asked.

"No, Madame."

Mary smiled superbly.

" Then it is not the worst." She was colourless to the lips,
but bore herself with majesty. "What is it, my lord?"

Nottingham was always tragical in his discourse, and now his
face and tone were gloomy in the extreme.

" Madame, M. de Waldeck and the allies have been defeated
at Fleurus, M. de Tourville and the French fleet have been spied
under full sail for the coast of Devon. There is no relying on
our sailors — there is a panic in the city."

The Queen's eyes flashed with something of her husband's
look when fronted with disaster.

"We will to London," she said — "there to face these
misfortunes."

CHAPTER V
A WOMAN'S STRENGTH

THE council of nine was sitting at Whitehall waiting for
news from the English Fleet, which, under command of
Lord Torrington, had sailed out from Plymouth to meet the
French.

The Queen sat at the head of the table, as usual silent and
as usual watchful ; at her right hand Lord Caermarthen, at her
left Lord Devonshire, the others along the table, and at the foot
Sir John Lowther.

The room was very handsome : the walls of varied-coloured
tapestry, the cornices of gilt wood, and the floor covered with
rugs from Persia. Through the tall, majestic window might be
seen a view of housetops and a little turret with a bell clear
against a sky of flaming summer blue.

Mary was seated in a heavy chair with crimson cushions ; she
wore a violet dress of stiff damask satin and a petticoat flounced
with lace ; her arms were covered to the wrist with ruffles of
muslin, and she held a long chicken skin fan with ivory mounts
and an emerald in the handle ; her shortsighted and narrowed
eyes dwelt anxiously and critically on the faces of these men in
whose hands she, and England, lay.

Facing her, Sir John Lowther, commonplace, courtly, agitated,
was stabbing the polished table with a broken quill ; to his left
sat Edward Russell, impatient, blond, swaggering; to his right,
Pembroke, gentle, hesitating, reserved. Godolphin, thin and
hectic, was, as ever, mute and self-effacing ; his companion was
the restless, feverish, and volatile Monmouth, extravagantly
dressed and fiery in manner.

Opposite him sat the gloomy honourable Nottingham, and

another man, an object of peculiar dislike and suspicion both to

197

198 GOD AND THE KING

the King and Queen, John Churchill, recently created Earl of
Marlborough.

Of all the company he was the most remarkable in appear-
ance— young, tall, of extreme good looks, though florid and
flamboyant in type, of a calm, easy, and courtly demeanour, but
obviously not an aristocrat nor anything of a great gentleman,
but rather of a kind of vulgarity, even in his richly coloured
beauty, and in that different to the other ministers, who were all
of noble appearance ; he was dressed in scarlet silk and wore a
very rich sword-belt ; he sat opposite the window, and the sun-
light made his splendour glitter.

My Lord Devonshire was of another and more winning type
of handsomeness ; his young face was refined and delicate in
feature, yet expressed an ardent strength and a proud decision ;
he looked continually at the Queen, and seemed, with the ex-
ception of Caermarthen, to be the only one who had much
sympathy or regard for her position.

" The conspirators " began Nottingham heavily. He was

drawing up a list of the suspected names ; he had industrious
spies, as the Whigs had found to their cost.

" Well, my lord ? " asked Godolphin imperturbable. He had
made his peace with King James himself, but was calm in the
knowledge that he had been far too cunning to leave evidence of
it in anybody's hands.

Nottingham pursed his lips ; he added a name to his list, and
handed the paper with a significant look to Russell, who shrugged
and passed it on to Monmouth.

"These are people to be put under arrest, are they not?"
asked that nobleman.

"Yes," said Nottingham dryly. "Shall I leave that last
name? "

The paper was now in Lord Marlborough's hands ; he smiled
serenely, and put up his glass.

Mary spoke, and her woman's voice sounded strangely in the
council chamber.

"What is this name?"

Marlborough inclined with great deference towards her.

" The Earl of Clarendon, Your Majesty."

The other councillors were silent ; he was the Queen's uncle,

A WOMAN'S STRENGTH 199

and even the most callous of them felt some pity for her dilemma.
Devonshire cast an indignant look on Marlborough, whom he
hated, but nothing could put that gentleman out of countenance.

" I will erase the name," muttered Nottingham.

The Queen put out her hand in a gesture to stay him.

11 No, my lord. I know," she said, with great dignity,
"and you all know, that my Lord Clarendon is far too guilty to
be left out."

"A wise decision, Your Majesty," remarked Marlborough
calmly.

She set her lips in disdain of him, and turned to the haggard
Lord President on her right. She had never liked Caermarthen,
even though she owed her marriage largely to him, but she
softened to him now ; since the King's departure he had worked
incessantly. He was in extreme ill-health, and she believed he was
loyal.

" My lord," she said, " should we not soon have news from
Lord Torrington? It is twenty-four hours since he had our
orders to fight."

" We are better waiting for that news than listening to it, Your
Majesty," said Admiral Russell bluntly.

Mary knew that he was largely inspired by professional
jealousy.

" Oh, sir," she answered, " we will have more trust in the man
on whom the fate of three kingdoms dependeth."

"Madame," said Lord Devonshire, "I do not think Lord
Torrington a man to be intrusted with the fate of three kingdoms."

Mary answered with animation.

" That censure hath been passed before, my lord — and at the
privy council — but since we must trust my lord let us pray God
he will not fail us."

" He would not like those orders to fight," exclaimed Edward
Russell, who had been the main means of sending them. " A
cautious man ! "

" One who was not cautious should have been sent to urge
him ! " cried Monmouth, who was angry that his entreaty to be
permitted to join the fleet had been refused.

Mary pressed her fan to her lips and sat mute ; in truth, the
agony she endured was not to be soothed with words. Her whole

200 GOD AND THE KING

being was strung for the arrival of the next letters, not only from
Torrington, who was now the sole defence of England, but from
Ireland, where she knew her father and husband were rapidly
approaching face to face.

"Maybe," said the Lord President, "Torrington never got
Your Majesty's dispatch "

Monmouth, who was discussing with Godolphin the details of
Fuller's confession (that conspirator having turned informer to
save his neck), swung round violently in his seat.

" Dear Lord ! " he exclaimed. " Do you mean that he may
be still idle at St. Helens?"

" It may be — the advice packets last reported that he had not
moved, and that M. de Tourville was beyond the Needles."

" Oh, were I on board, " cried Monmouth, " there should be
a battle — I pledge my life on it ! "

Mary was perfectly pale ; she still held her fan to her lips
and sat silent, so motionless that it seemed as if she scarcely
breathed.

" He had positive orders to fight," said Godolphin.

"Oh, my lord," answered Marlborough sweetly, "is it not
believed that this invasion is in concert with these plots among
the malcontents ? "

"Do you mean that Lord Torrington is a traitor?" asked
Caermarthen bluntly ; he gave Marlborough a glance that con-
veyed he thought him one.

The Queen dropped her fan and clenched it tightly in her
right hand.

" Gentlemen, this is no time for these insinuations, with the
enemy on the coast. We," she said proudly and courageously —
" we trust all those in our service, and have faith in God who
hath it all in His keeping."

She paused ; the effort of speaking had brought the colour
into her face, her eyes sparkled, and the western sunlight
trembled in her auburn hair. They waited silently, watching her
with curiosity and some judgment. She was principally conscious
of the malignant smiling eyes of my Lord Marlborough.

" This is our decision," she continued, with unfaltering voice —
" that Admiral Russell and my Lord Monmouth go down to the
coast, and there join the fleet, and give our commands to Lord

A WOMAN'S STRENGTH 201

Torrington that, for the honour of England, he fight the French,
whom he must now outnumber since his juncture with the
Dutch. My lords, the council is over."

It was the first time that she had given her commands to her
advisers, almost the first time she had announced her opinion on
their discussions ; but she left them no chance to doubt that she
meant what she said ; she had the manner of Kings.

" Let these disloyal subjects," she added, pointing to Lord
Nottingham's list, " be at once lodged in the Tower."

She rose, gave her hand to Lord Caermarthen, and descended
from her high chair with a soft, heavy sound of silks.

" England is Your Majesty's debtor," said Lord Devonshire,
bowing low.

She answered with her sweet stateliness.

" I do what a woman can, my lord."

"Your Majesty doth what few women would," said Caer-
marthen warmly ; he had for her a real and deep devotion.

She turned as if she would have rebuked his compliment, but
checked herself at sight of his worn and ghastly face, livid with
fatigue and anxiety.

" I am like your lordship," she answered kindly, " I am fond
of my country."

He coloured with pleasure, and bent over her fine hand.

"Now I must go wait for. letters." She smiled and left them
with her usual little formal salutation.

Devonshire looked round at the other councillors.

" There is more courage in that lady than in most of us," he
said gently. " I did mark the tears lying in her eyes even while
she smiled."

" She will need her courage," answered Caermarthen briefly ;
" for seldom hath the country been in the pass it is now."

Mary had gone no farther than the antechamber with the
French tapestries and crystal candelabra when she was met by
the news that the Duke of Shrewsbury required an immediate
audience.

Her face hardened ; she could not forgive Shrewsbury either
his secret treachery or the vexation he had caused the King by
his sudden resignation; she hesitated, then commanded his
presence.

202 GOD AND THE KING

When he entered she was standing before the great gilt
mantelpiece, very cold and contained.

" What is the reason of your coming, my lord ? " she said.

His gentle face was flecked with feverish colour in the
cheeks, he drew his breath sharply, his riding-suit was dusty;
indeed, he was spent with rapid riding.

"Madam," he answered, "upon this news — that M. de
Tourville rode at the Isle of Wight — I am come at once to
London to offer Your Majesty my services — my sword "

"You, my lord ! " exclaimed Mary.

"Madam," he said, "for the second time all I have is at
the service of His Majesty."

She looked at him steadily ; she could not doubt his sincerity.
He was again the man he had been in '88. Danger struck a fine
spirit out of him, she thought, and she the more deplored his
miserable defection of late.

" Ah, my lord," she said sadly, " when His Majesty wished
for your services you refused them "

" Then," cried Shrewsbury, " the French were not on the
coasts."

She saw in his eagerness a desperate remorseful desire to
make atonement, and further softened.

" I am in such a strait that I can refuse no offers," she said ;
" but, sir, I have no work for you."

"Send me to the Fleet, Madam — put me under my Lord
Marlborough with the army. I will serve as a volunteer — as
anything "

" Had you shown this spirit before His Majesty went to
Ireland I had been more grateful," Mary replied gently. " But
I am glad to know of your loyalty, my lord."

" Madam, this is an urgent crisis — there is almost an open
panic — as I rode up from Epsom, the people came running out
of their cottages crying that the French were coming; in the
country all are looking out their arms "

The Queen interrupted.

"Some, I fear, with the design of joining the invader."

"Why, God forbid ! " he cried.

"I have commanded the Guards down to Devon to seize
the arms and houses of suspect persons," said Mary quietly;

A WOMAN'S STRENGTH 203

" and to-night, my lord, all the leaders of this Fuller plot will be
in prison — yea, even to my Lord Clarendon."

"Ah !" exclaimed Shrewsbury sharply.

Mary fixed him with a proud but kind gaze.

" There are many others whose guilt I know who have not
been arrested," she said slowly.

The young Duke pressed his hand to the embroidered ruffles
over his bosom.

"Why is Your Majesty thus tender with these — traitors?" he
asked, in a trembling voice.

" It is my policy," she answered quietly. " I am only a
woman, and must trust to instinct. My lord, I will ask your
advice about this matter."

" My advice ? " he stammered, very pale.

" Yes. Supposing a great nobleman who had finely served
His Majesty in '88 — one whom His Majesty loved and trusted —
had, in a moment of weakness, of temptation, betrayed him,
and then, being remorseful, I think, left his service — supposing,
I say, that this gentleman came forward now, with offers of help,
should I not trust him ? "

Shrewsbury stood mute.

" I think I should," said Mary softly. " He is an English
gentleman, and he would not take advantage of my great
difficulties to intrigue against me ; he would not take advantage
of my confidence to lead his people to join the French — am I
not right ? "

The Duke raised his head ; his face was pitifully trembling.

"Your Majesty's generosity would not be misplaced," he
answered hoarsely.

" I am glad you think so, my lord. I may trust him, then ? "

"I pledge my life you may," said Shrewsbury ardently.

" Thank you, my lord — I shall find you at your town house ? "

" I shall wait there to receive the commands of Your Majesty."

Mary moved a little from the mantelpiece and held out her
hand.

Shrewsbury went on one knee to kiss the soft fingers.

" I hope to see you at court once more," she said, with a
pretty smile. " I hope you will serve the King again when we
are through this difficult pass."

204 GOD AND THE KING

He answered from his heart —

" I would serve His Majesty with my life."

When he had gone Mary went to the window, for the light
was beginning to fade, and drew from her waist a crystal watch
enamelled with white violets.

It was nearly time for her supper. She resided now at White-
hall to please the people, and to please the people dined nearly
always in public, a practice the King detested and could scarcely
ever be brought to do ; that penance was over for to-day, but she
had other disagreeable duties to perform.

She rang the handbell on an ormolu bureau between the
windows, and asked the Dutch usher who came if Lord Feversham
was without.

He had, it seemed, been long awaiting an audience.

The Queen commanded him to be brought to her, and seated
herself in the yellow brocade chair to the right of the fireplace.

Lord Feversham, a Frenchman, a Catholic, and Chamberlain
of the Dowager Queen Catherine's household, entered with a
most lowly obeisance.

Mary looked at him haughtily.

" You can guess the matter on which we have sent for you ? "
she asked, speaking in French.

"I fear I have again fallen under Your Majesty's displeasure."

"Both you and your mistress are very much in our dis-
pleasure," answered Mary. " It was our duty to reprimand you
three days ago for leaving out the prayers for the success of His
Majesty in the services held in Her Majesty's chapel, and we
listened for near an hour to your excuses, nor could make much
sense of them. And now the offence is repeated."

" I entreat Your Majesty to believe that it was an oversight,"
answered Feversham humbly.

" Disloyalty and insolence prompts such oversights," flashed
the Queen. " We will not take it, my lord ; for though we may
be meek, yet we stand for His Sovereign Lord the King. Tell
Queen Catherine so, and bid her to-night put up prayers for
the success of my Lord Torrington against our enemies the
French "

Feversham winced, and stole a startled glance at the woman
he had believed to be an amiable cipher; the young beauty's

A WOMAN'S STRENGTH 205

demeanour as she sat stately and resolved in her regal gown un-
deceived him.

" When we rode abroad in Hyde Park to-day," she continued,
" we did note many swarming villains, French and Irish, who gave
us impertinent and joyous looks as if they did anticipate a
triumph, and maybe Her Majesty thinketh also that she may do
as she list now M. de Tourville is in the Channel. But we have
no fear of any kind as to the issue of these matters, nor shall we
be weak. Some great men will lie in the Tower to-night. Bid
your mistress take care."

She rose, and her full height, with heels and head-dress, was
more than his. He made as if to speak.

"There is no more to say," she said coldly, and left him
discomfited.

No news came, but many rumours found their way into the
crowded galleries at Whitehall, where the anxious courtiers waited
and endeavoured to read the situation in the Queen's face and
manner.

She baffled them all, both at her supper-table and afterwards,
when she sat down to basset as usual in that splendid hall where
King Charles had held his festivals. She was gay and gracious
and unconcerned — some even thought her unfeeling. She
appeared to notice nothing ; but her eyes and ears were quick
for it all — the whispers, the. looks, the ill-concealed fears and
hopes.

She was, she knew, absolutely alone ; not one of the throng
about her could she confide in, and very few could she trust. She
suspected that many of them were but waiting for a slackening
of her courage to call all lost and hasten to make their peace
with James ; ill news from the Fleet or from Ireland might mean
instant rebellion, she was well aware.

Meanwhile she played basset and made no mistake in her
moves.

When it was near ten of the clock Lord Nottingham entered
the room. The Queen's eyes at once distinguished him among
the crowd.

She continued dealing the cards. When he approached her
she looked up with a steady smile.

Her lips shaped the one word —

206 GOD AND THE KING

" News ? "

He placed a dispatch on the card-table beside her fan and
gloves. She saw at once that it was not from Ireland, and she
drew a breath between relief and disappointment.

Her glance went swiftly round the faces now undisguisedly
watching her, and then she broke the seal.

While she read her bosom heaved, and those nearest her saw
the colour faintly stain her face.

She folded up the letter and rose. The ace of spades fell
from her lap to the shining floor.

There was a pause of silence. Mary's eyes were the eyes of
a creature at bay.

" This is evil news," she said, at length, to Lord Nottingham,
and a proud little smile curved her lips.

She had just read that Lord Torrington had been utterly
defeated off Beachy Head by the French, who were landed at
Tynemouth.

" What will Your Majesty do ? " he asked, under his breath.
" The courier saith the enemy is in possession of the west "

She crushed up Lord Torrington's letter in a passionate right
hand ; she saw that his defeat had been inglorious. The Dutch
had been in the van all day and were near annihilated; the
English, mere spectators, had drawn off to Plymouth almost
untouched.

"The French are landed," she said, "but we English will not
let them far advance. I will call upon the city of London
Summon to me the Lord Mayor."

CHAPTER VI
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!

ON the evening of the fourth day after the defeat at Beachy
Head, the Queen, who would abate none of her state
during this time of anxiety, but rather kept it more splendidly, as
a besieged general will hang out all his flags when his garrison
becomes scant, so as to defy and deceive the enemy, held court
in the most sumptuous gallery of Whitehall.

The land was full of panic, of terror, of mistrust, but the
spirit of the people had risen to the need. The city of London
had responded finely to the Queen's appeal ; a hundred thousand
pounds had been paid into the treasury, she had to-day reviewed
the train-bands in Hyde Park and received an address assuring
her of the loyalty of the capital.

The spirit she showed made her suddenly popular. The
distant King and the Dutch were viewed with more favour.
Hatred of the French was an emotion powerful enough to over-
come all lesser dislikes, and the whole nation, Whig and Tory,
Protestant and Catholic, shook with rage at the part Lord
Torrington had made the British navy play.

It was apparent to all the world that he, irritated by orders
he conceived were devised by his rival Russell, had sacrificed the
Dutch, whom he believed were so unpopular that no outcry
would be raised at their destruction, to the English.

Admiral Evertzen, the admiral of the States, had, with heroic
valour, fought his ships all day long against the overwhelming
armament of France, while the English fleet looked on, and only
came forward at nightfall to tow the disabled Dutch hulks away
and destroy them at Plymouth,

Popular fury rose high. The London crowd would gladly
have torn Torrington limb from limb. Mary sent him to the

307

208 GOD AND THE KING

Tower and dispatched a special envoy to the States with the
best and most flattering apology she could devise; her very
blood burnt with shame that her husband's people should be
thus sacrificed and her own behave so basely ; she ordered the
wounded Dutch seamen to be tended in the English hospitals,
and wrote a letter of compliment to the gallant Evertgen.

She had, in every direction, done what she could, and the
spirit of England had responded; but the situation was still
acute, might yet turn to utter disaster, and though people might
shout for her in the street, there was little but enmity, jealousy,
and opposition among those by whom she was personally
surrounded.

Even her own sister was, under the influence of the Marl-
boroughs, her enemy, and the Catholic Queen Dowager had no
love for her; it was these two women she was watching as she
sat in her lonely weariness beneath a candelabra of fifty coloured
candles.

Anne, beautiful, but stout and sullen, lacking all vivacity and
charm, was making knots near the gilt chair of the little dark
Portuguese lady who had been the wife of the second Charles.

Catherine very seldom came to court, and would not have
been there now, as Mary reflected with a swelling heart, had the
last news been of victory instead of defeat.

The Princess, who lost no opportunity of vexing her sister,
was attired in the free and gorgeous costume of the last two
reigns, in defiant contrast to the decorous modes the Queen
had made fashionable, and Catherine of Braganza wore a stiff
farthingale of brown brocade sewn with pearls.

Presently Anne, becoming aware that Mary was watching her,
broke into challenging laughter, which rang false enough at this
juncture.

Mary hung her head ; it seemed terrible that the wretched
family divisions to which she had been forced to be a party
should be increased by this breach between her only sister and
herself. On a sudden impulse she sent her new maid of honour,
Basilea de Marsac, with a message requesting Anne's company.

The Princess tossed her head and came reluctantly ; she was
at no pains whatever to conceal her rebellious attitude towards
the throne.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! 209

Mary greeted her gently.

"It would be more fitting if you would give me some of your
company, Anne ; Queen Catherine's sentiments are well noised
abroad — you need not — laugh — with her at such a time."

Anne sank down on the other end of the settee ; the ladies
behind the Queen withdrew, leaving the sisters alone; the
musicians were playing a monotonous little march in the gallery.

"We should display a united front now," continued Mary
unsteadily.

"I don't know what you mean, Madam," answered Anne
almost insolently ; she never used any manner of respect to the
Queen ; she considered that she was of as much importance ; she
never ceased to flaunt that she was the mother of the child who
would be the future King of England.

Mary gazed at her pouting, overblown comeliness with sad
eyes.

"You will not understand," she answered. "You take a
pleasure in doing everything contrary to what I do "

Anne smoothed her grey satin skirt with a plump white hand.

" Our tastes are different," she said.

Mary was silent. Anne kept her languid eyes downcast, then
jerked out —

" I have writ to the King for the vacant Garter for my Lord
Marlborough. I hope Your Majesty will use your influence?"

Mary coloured hotly.

" You have writ to the King in Ireland on such a matter ? "

" And so hath the Prince. It is allowable to write to the
King, I hope?"

" You should have spoken to me first," answered Mary, with
trembling lips. " I have no mind that the King should be vexed
with these things. I do not think he meaneth the Gartertfor
Lord Marlborough."

Anne flung up her head with a force that set her huge pearl
earrings quivering.

"And who better deserveth it, I should like to know?
I suppose it is meant for Lord Portland, or some other
Dutchman ? "

" Anne, you are infatuate to speak so. The services of my
Lord Marlborough have been well rewarded."

210 GOD AND THE KING

At that Anne burst out with what had evidently been her
secret grievance.

"He is slighted on every possible occasion — 'tis he who
should have reviewed the militia this afternoon ! "

Mary turned angrily.

" This is my Lady Marlborough her doing ; she put this into
your head, Anne, and it is too much."

"Yes, it is too much," answered Anne, "that Your Majesty
should have such a dislike to my friend."

" Her insolence," exclaimed Mary, " is beyond all bearing.
I have it on good report that she hath spoken of the King with
great disrespect."

" She ain't the only one if she hath," retorted Anne. " His
Majesty ain't so popular "

" I command you stop," said Mary, in a cold tone of deep
anger.

Anne submitted sulkily.

" La, I meant no harm."

" You go too far," answered Mary in a low controlled tone.
" His Majesty thinketh it ungenerous to quarrel with a woman, or
your behaviour would have been put a stop to before. I, perhaps,
shall not be so long enduring. I cannot and will not take the
defiance of my Lady Marlborough — no, nor your incivility either,
Anne."

" I don't suppose Your Majesty would hesitate to clap me up
if you dared," said Anne, lashed by the attack on her favourite.
"There is one of your relations in the Tower, and where the
uncle is the sister may follow ; but I warn Your Majesty that I
have the Parliament behind me "

Again Mary interrupted.

" Leave me until you can command yourself."

Anne hesitated, but the music that had screened their talk
had ceased, and beyond a point Mary always quelled her. She
rose, courtsied haughtily, and withdrew to the other end of the
gallery, where Lady Marlborough — a gorgeous blonde shrew with
a vulgar voice — was playing comet with Prince George for partner.

Mary closed her eyes for a second. This sordid quarrel with
her sister, mainly based on demands for money, was the last
bitterness of her position ; she had tried every means of concilia-

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! 211

tion in vain. Lady Marlborough's hold on her puppet was too
firm, and Anne but took advantage of any kindness from the
Queen to press 'for an addition to her already huge allowance.

The violins played a gavotte. Mary sat motionless, listening
to the subdued volume of talk by which she was surrounded, and
thinking of that far-distant day when she had danced with her
husband in this very room — a week or so before her marriage.

She recalled how she had enjoyed dancing, and wondered to
think how dead that passion was.

" I used to think," she thought, " that a dance measure would
lure me from my grave, and now the gayest melody written will
not move me."

She gazed over her shoulder at her reflection in the tall
mirror against the wall to the left ; she beheld a fair image, in
yellow silk and diamonds, with a very proud carriage. A Queen,
young and beautiful — the description sounded like a favoured
creature from one of those fairy tales she used to read; she
knew the reality — a tired woman, unutterably lonely, estranged
from all her family, childless, and forlorn.

Queen Catherine came to take her leave.

"No news yet from Ireland?" she asked, in her awkward
English.

Mary courteously rose before the woman who had been
Queen in Whitehall when she was a child.

"None, Madam."

The Queen Dowager hesitated a moment, then said —

"I have not failed of late to put up prayers for His
Majesty's good success."

"I thank you, Madam."

Catherine of Braganza pulled at her curling feather fan
and laughed.

"We are both in a strange position, are we not?"

"The positions God put us in," said Mary coldly. She
wondered why the other woman paused to talk.

The Queen Dowager continued to smile over her fan.

" I think to go back to Portugal."

" That must be as Your Majesty pleaseth."

" England is no longer the same to me."

Mary's hand tightened on the rich back of the settle. She

212 GOD AND THE KING

read perfectly well the scorn of the Stewart's wife for the
usurper and the Protestant.

"I find Whitehall a little dull," continued Catherine, with
a malicious twist of her lip. " Geneva bands and black coats
are a strange sight in these halls "

" Certainly they were not seen here in the days of my Lady
Portsmouth," flashed Mary.

The little Portuguese winced slightly, but ignored the
thrust.

"I do not blame Your Majesty," she said. "You are not
so fortunate in your court as I was; the Dutch," she raised
her thin shoulders in a shrug, "do not make the best of
courtiers "

"No," answered Mary impetuously; "but they make good
husbands, Madam."

Catherine made no attempt to turn this hit. She put her
hand to her dark throat, and her large melancholy eyes filled
with tears. She answered the thought and not the words.

" I cared as much as you do, all the same ; " she said, " and
I shall always be a Jacobite for his — worthless — sake."

" Forgive me," murmured Mary instantly. " I had no
right. But do you be charitable. I am in great trouble,
Madam, and very much alone."

Catherine lifted her small olive face with a kind of defiant
brightness.

" We have that loneliness in common, Madam. If you or
I had an heir it would have all been different. I shall say a
mass for your husband his safety. Good night, Your Majesty."

She swept her grave foreign courtsey and retired, followed
by her silent duennas. Mary stood pressing her handkerchief
lo her lips, and felt the whole pageant of people, lights, speech,
music, swing past her like reflections on troubled water — broken,
scattered without substance or meaning.

No news came.

She dismissed the Court presently and went to her rooms ;
it was late, long past ten o'clock, yet she would not go to bed,
but sat in her cabinet writing to the King. Sheet after sheet
she covered with news, hopes, fears, love, entreaties for God's
blessings — all her heart indeed laid out before her one confidant.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! 213

The candlelight hurt her eyes, weaker of late with work
and tears, and at last she folded up the letter unfinished. The
express did not go till the morning, and she hoped that by
then she might have the long-looked-for news from Ireland.

When she rose from her desk she was utterly tired, yet
could not rest — there was so much to do.

Her letter to Admiral Evertzen, which she had written
with great pains in Dutch, had been returned as unintelligible,
and now she must write again in English, which language the
Admiral understood perfectly, it seemed. There was the question
of the command of the Fleet on her mind; Russell and
Monmouth had been met at Canterbury by the news of the
disaster of Beachy Head, and now were back in London, hot
against Torrington ; Mary feared that the King would be vexed
with her for having let them leave the council, yet she must
again send some one to the Fleet, now without a commander.
Her choice had fallen on Pembroke, who was an admiral, and
Devonshire, whom she could trust, and thereupon Caermarthen
had taken umbrage, and it had been a weary work of tact
and sweetness to prove to him that he was indispensable in
London and could not be spared — yet perhaps she had been
wrong, and she should have let him go.

All these lesser anxieties crowded on her weary soul, aching
with the desire for news from the King, and, as she left her
cabinet and came into her bedchamber, a profound melancholy
overthrew her gallant spirit.

Only two of her ladies were up — Madame de Marsac and
Madame Nienhuys. Mary told them to go to bed, and cast
herself into the window-seat and pulled the curtains apart
from before the windows open on the warm soft night.

"It is Your Majesty who should go to bed," said Madame
Nienhuys firmly.

Mary shook her head.

"I cannot. I cannot sleep until I get a letter."

" You neither sleep nor eat," protested the Dutch lady.

" I am very well," smiled Mary sadly. " Go to bed, like
a good creature "

" Indeed, Madame, I will not leave you in this state."

"Have you been with me so long that you become dis-

214 GOD AND THE KING

obedient? Very well, put out some of the candles — the light
hurts my eyes."

Basilea de Marsac rose softly and extinguished all the candles,
save those on the mantelshelf. The large rich chamber was
full of grateful shadow. Mary's yellow gown gleamed secretively
like gold through a veil.

She took the diamonds from her neck and arms and gave
them to Madame Nienhuys. She pulled off her rings slowly,
and dropped them into her lap, looking the while out on to
the July dark, that seemed to her to be painted with the
menacing forces of war, flags, banners hanging bloody to their
poles, the hot, smoking mouths of cannon, the glitter of armour
through the dust — her husband's army and her father's struggling
together to the death.

She rose so suddenly that the rings fell and rolled all over
the floor.

" I think I will go to bed after all," she said faintly.

They undressed her in silence and left her wide-eyed in
the great crimson bed, canopied and plumed and enriched with
the arms of England.

When they had gone she lay for a while quite still. There
was no moon, and she could not distinguish a single object
in the room, and only uncertainly the dim spaces of the window.

All that had seemed small, petty, and wretched in the
daytime seemed a thousand times more mean and unworthy
now. She was haunted by the stiff little figure of Queen
Catherine, whose personality had suddenly flashed out on her,
by the fair sullen image of Anne, and the vulgar enmity of Lady
Marlborough. She was tortured by the idea that she had
done everything wrong. . . .

She sat up in bed and locked her hands over her heart.

" I must not despair — God will not let me despair," she clung
to that word, " God — ah, He knoweth best — He seeth what man
cannot see — therefore He did not give me children, knowing
I could not have endured this if their safety had been at
stake."

The Palace clock struck one. Like an echo came the bell of
the Abbey Church, then the dead silence again.

The Queen rose from her bed and made her way lightly to

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! 215

the dressing-table. After a little fumbling she found the tinder-
box and struck a light.

The silver table, the enamel, jade, and gold boxes glittered
into points of light. In the depths of the mirror she saw her own
face lit by the little flame she held.

It flared out between her cold fingers. She struck another
and lit one of the tall candles in the red copper stands.

By the dim wavering light she found her scarlet shoes and a
little mantle of fox's fur that she put on over her muslin night-
dress. She then took up the candlestick, which was so heavy
that it made her wrist shake, and quietly left the room, which
opened into the cabinet.

Here she paused at the red lac desk, unlocked it with the
gold key she wore round her neck, and took out a packet tied
with orange ribbon.

These were the letters she had received from the King since
his departure. She looked at them tenderly, took up her candle
again, and passed on through an antechamber to a private door
that led straight into the chapel.

Her feeble light gave her glimpses of the lofty walls panelled
in cedar wood, the majestic altar of white marble gilt, and the
great painting brought from Italy — all heavenly blue, and deep
crimson, and angelic faces breaking from rosy clouds.

Mary went to the altar steps, set the candle on the topmost
one, then fell on her knees with her letters pressed to her heart.

As she prayed she bent lower and lower till her beautiful
head touched the marble, and there it rested while she sobbed
out her humble prayers for her husband, her father, for England,
for her own poor tired soul.

She grew cold as she lay across the altar steps, and peaceful
in her heart. She thought God was not so displeased with her ;
a confidence rose in her bosom that he would not let His cause
fail though her weakness . . .

A gentle confusion came over her senses, and she fell into a
kind of swoon ; when this passed she found that her candle had
burnt to the socket and gone out, and that a blue dawn was light-
ing the glowing arms of England in the painted glass windows.

She got to her feet, shivering but calm, and went back
stealthily through the vast silent rooms, filled with the early

216 GOD AND THE KING

sun, and so reached her bed ; and, for the first time for weeks,
fell placidly asleep. Next morning when she woke she was very
silent ; but, as her ladies thought, more at ease.

She had hidden her letters under her pillow, and when she
was dressed slipped them into her gown.

As she left her apartments on the way to the chapel she was
met by Lord Nottingham.

The news from Ireland at last !

" The King is safe, Madame," said my lord, in pity of her face.

She stood speechless ; those about her were little less moved.
The silence hung heavy.

" His late Majesty is also safe," added my lord delicately.

She spoke then.

" I— I thank you."

She tore open her letters, but could not read them.

"Oh, tell me, sir," she said hoarsely.

" Madame, the King hath had a great victory at Boyne Water.
Ireland is conquered."

Even as he spoke the bells broke out from a thousand steeples
and the guns of the Tower boomed triumph.

"The news is just abroad," said Nottingham.

Mary flushed into a glorious exaltation.

" The King hath redeemed us all ! " she cried, with inexpress-
ible pride. " The King hath saved us ! "

" Not the King alone, Madame," answered my lord, with a
flush on his shallow face — " listen to these "

From without came the sound of wild joyous murmurs from
the crowd that had gathered to hear the news. As it sped from
mouth to mouth a frenzy of relief and triumph shook the people.
They burst into one shout that drowned the cannon and the bells —

" Long live the Queen ! God save and bless the Queen ! "

CHAPTER VII
THE SHADOW

MR. MATTHEW PRIOR, Private Secretary to the Earl
of Portland, was enjoying the winter sunshine in the
gardens of Hampton Court Palace.

It was the year 1694, and near Christmas. Many vast events
had taken place since the young poet had been first introduced
to the Court by my Lord Dorset — plots, counter-plots, change of
ministers, of parliaments, the defeat of Landen and Steinkirk, the
great victory at La Hogue, the loss of the Smyrna Fleet, four
bloody campaigns, four winters of gloom, depression, and
internal convulsion, and still, as by a kind of miracle, the two
lonely princes ruling England maintained their station and kept
their faces calmly to their enemies.

Mr. Prior was a grateful soul ; he adored the King and wor-
shipped the Queen ; he had berhymed both copiously, and was
ever ready to use his sword or his wit in their behalf. The last
of the King's unending differences with the Parliament was on
the matter of the Triennial Bill, and Mr. Prior had his tablets
on his knee and his pencil in his hand.

He was engaged in composing a pamphlet in defence of His
Majesty's action in firmly refusing to curtail the regal authority
by passing an Act that permitted no parliament to sit longer than
three years.

But it was cold, and the neat little secretary found his fingers
too stiff to write. He returned his papers to his pocket, rose, and
walked on briskly.

Both palace and grounds were now very noble, being designed
closely after the King's house at Loo : trees, thirty-five years old,
had been transplanted either side of a wide canal that had been
cut opposite the Palace; beds were shaped, walks laid down,

?T7

218 GOD AND THE KING

shrubs cut after the Dutch style; every endeavour had been
used to make the place as much like Holland as possible. Even
now, in mid-winter, topiary art had preserved monstrous box
hedges and bushes in the shape of windmills, birds, and animals.

The day was cloudy, but the sun streamed through in a fine
gold light on the splendid front of the Palace, still unfinished
but very imposing.

Mr. Prior turned to the left, where was the privy garden
directly beneath the royal apartments, and the covered walk
where the Queen would sit in summer with her ladies, sewing
and reading. There, too, was a small sunk Dutch garden, with
a fountain in the centre and tiled paths, bare now of everything
save a few evergreens, but in the spring a mass of blooms from
Holland.

Here walked two ladies and a gentleman, all muffled in furs,
and talking together with some earnestness.

Mr. Prior took off his hat ; he recognized the Queen, his
patron, the Earl of Portland, and Lady Temple. He was passing
respectfully on when Mary called to him.

He came up to her, and she paused to speak to him.

" My lord tells me you are just returned from The Hague ? "
questioned Mary.

"Yes, Madame."

" I envy you," said the Queen wistfully ; " it is, Mr. Prior,
such a dream with me to see The Hague again."

The ardent little poet thought he had never seen her look
so beautiful. There was an almost unnatural lustre in her eyes,
an almost unnatural brightness on her lip and cheek ; the fresh
wind had stirred the auburn hair from her brow, and the fitful
sunlight touched it to sparkles of red gold.

" The Hague liveth only in hopes of one day seeing Your
Majesty," he answered. " You are most extraordinarily beloved
there, Madame."

"They were always very good to me," said Mary simply.
"I still feel an exile here— but you must not breathe that, Mr.
Prior," she added almost instantly.

"Are you returning to Holland?"

" Very soon, Madame."

" Well," smiled Mary, " I hope that when next I see you it

THE SHADOW 219

may be at my house in The Hague — for I have good hopes that
I may be free to go there soon. Let me at least flatter
myself so."

She dismissed him kindly and continued her walk, keeping
her gloved hand affectionately on Lady Temple's arm.

" What is this of the Duke of Leeds ? " she asked Portland.

"They say he is to be impeached in the new Parliament,
Madam, for taking money from the East India Company."

Mary frowned.

" That is a hit at me," added Portland calmly.

" And at the King," she said proudly. " There is no end
to the spite of these people. Heard you also that Sir John
Dalrymple must go for the Glencoe affair?"

" If the Parliament had their way, it would be his head and
not his place he lost."

" It seemeth to have been a cruel thing," said Mary, " if it
is true? But I am sorry for the Duke of Leeds (Danby he
always is to me) for he has been a faithful servant."

" The King would like to employ Sunderland, who lieth quiet
at Althorp," said Portland, with some bitterness. " A villain if
there ever was one ! "

Mary glanced at him anxiously.

"The King doth not love Sunderland," she said, "but might
find him useful."

" Will he persuade His Majesty to pass the Triennial Bill ? "
asked Lady Temple.

" No man can do that," answered the Queen. " If any
could have done it, it would have been your lord, a year ago —
but nothing will move the King once his mind is resolved." She
laughed, and added, " You both have known him longer than
I have — tell me if you ever knew him change his decision ? "

"Never," said Portland. "When he was a child he was
immovable."

" Sir William hath wasted eloquence on him more than once,"
smiled Lady Temple.

The sun had suddenly gone in, and a greyness overspread the
gardens.

" Let us go in," said Mary.

They entered the Palace by the private door that led to the

220 GOD AND THE KING

King's apartments. Portland prepared to leave for Whitehall,
where His Majesty stayed to open the Parliament, and the two
ladies went to the Queen's great gallery, that was fine and
beautifully furnished, though but ill heated by the one fireplace
where the pine logs blazed.

They joined the little company gathered about the fire and
protected by tall lacquer and silk screens.

Mary took off her furs and drew close to the flames. She
was shivering violently.

" The room is too large," she said, " but a noble apartment,
is it not ? "

She had taken great pride in furnishing Hampton Court and
Kensington House, and in introducing and making fashionable
the arts and crafts of Holland — the pottery, the brass-ware, the
painted wood, and wrought silver.

The ladies answered in eager praises. The Queen's modest
court now consisted of a set of gentle ladies, Dutch and English,
who were her constant companions ; their piety, their charity,
their blameless lives, their industry with the needle, made them
utterly different to the ladies of the two last reigns, and set an
example which had made soberness fashionable, at least in many
homes ; for Mary had won England as, many years before, she
had won her husband, and was now nearly as beloved in London
as at The Hague — at least among the common people.

One fashion she set was a rage through the country — this was
the collecting of strange and monstrous pieces of old china.

Above the yellow brocade chair where she now sat was a
shelf laden with vases and figures of extraordinary shapes and
violent colours. Mary loved them all ; she looked up at them
with a little smile, then took up the book from which she had
been reading to her ladies, but dropped it on to her lap, and sat
with an air of lassitude, gazing into the flames.

" The truth is," she said, " I have a great headache, and have
had one this three days past."

" It is the wind," answered Lady Nottingham.

Mary shivered.

" I have taken cold, I think," she remarked. She laughed ;
she was more than usual gay.

She was expecting the King in a few days, and, for the

THE SHADOW 221

moment, the troubles and difficulties had a little cleared from
his path. For the first time since the war began the last campaign
had decided in favour of the allies ; the weight of England was
beginning to tell in the balance. Mary could not forget that ;
it coloured her days with pleasure.

" I think the ball will be popular," she continued irrelevantly :
"every one seemeth very pleased "

" What is the date, Madame ? " asked Lady Temple.

"The twenty-eighth — about a week from now," answered
Mary. " I am to have a new dress ! " She laughed again ; she
seemed, for her, to be very excited. " I shall put it on presently,
and you must judge of it."

She leant back in her chair, and was suddenly silent. The
short day was darkening ; sullen crimson, presaging rain, burnt
fitfully in the west, and a gloomy brightness reflected through the
windows of the great gallery, and struck changeful colour from the
mother-of-pearl figures on the black china screens.

Mary coughed and shivered. She turned to Madame
Nienhuys.

" When is your cousin coming to Court ? " she asked.

" Not yet, Madame. I had a letter from The Hague yesterday
from her mother saying she would send her in the spring."

" Why not sooner ? " asked the Queen.

" She saith she is frightened by the reports of the plague in
London."

" They say it is worse this year," assented Mary. " And the
smallpox."

" And the smallpox, Madame. But it is foolish of my cousin
to be so timid."

" Yes," said Mary gravely ; " since timidity will save no one.
God doth His will, despite our fears."

She opened the work-table beside her and took out a chair-
cover she was working with a design of birds and flowers on a
black ground. She made a languid attempt to thread the needle,
then dropped the sewing as she had the book.

" I will try that gown on," she said, " and then we will make
tea in the little antechamber — this is so large."

The ladies rose with a pretty rustle of skirts, folded up their
work, and followed Mary through Sir Christopher's noble apart-

222 GOD AND THE KING

ments to her chamber, which was very exactly furnished but
cold.

On the canopied bed of blue and yellow damask lay the
Queen's new gown, and two sewing-girls sat on low stools and
stitched the lace into the sleeves.

At Mary's approach they rose silently.

" How cold it is ! " shivered Mary. " Put rne down a
grumbler, but we had warmer houses at The Hague."

" But the dress is beautiful ! " cried Lady Nottingham, and
the five ladies gathered about the bed with exclamations of
admiration.

It was of white velvet, embroidered with little wreaths of
coloured silk flowers opening over a silver petticoat trimmed
with flounces of lace. The sewing-maidens eyed it shyly, and
blushed at the compliments bestowed.

" I must dance in that," smiled Mary. " Dancing used to
be one of my prettiest pleasures, as you may remember, my
Lady Temple ! "

" Will Your Majesty try it on ? " asked Basilea de Marsac.

"Yes," laughed Mary, "the sewing-girls will help me; get
you into the other room and make the tea "

The ladies trooped off, and the two sempstresses timidly helped
Mary out of her brown velvet and laced her into the state
dress.

A fire was burning, and the Queen stood between it and the
bed, facing the long glass mirror above the mantelshelf that was
crowded with china grotesques. As they pinned, arranged, and
draped the rich silk about her, Mary felt a sudden great fatigue ;
her limbs were heavy beneath her, and she gave a little sigh of
weariness.

The dress was cut very low, and one sleeve was yet un-
finished, so her shoulders and left arm were bare save for her
shift, and, as she moved for her skirt to be adjusted, that slipped.
The Queen noticed this in the mirror, and put up her right hand
to draw it up, when suddenly a deep shiver ran through
her. She stepped back, clutching the dress together on her
shoulder.

" It is too dark to see," she said levelly. " There is a silver
lamp in my cabinet — will you fetch that ? "

THE SHADOW 223

The sewing-girls looked surprised. The light still held, and
there were candles in the room; but they left at once, with
respectful courtsies.

The instant they had gone the Queen sprang to the door
and locked it, then went back to the bed and leant heavily
against the post nearest the fire.

She felt sick and weak ; her head was giddy.

"Be quiet — be quiet," she said aloud, and pressed her
clenched knuckles against her leaping heart.

Only for a second did this weakness endure. She returned to
the glass and turned her chemise down ; there she saw again
what had made her send the sewing-girls away — a large purple
patch on the white flesh, unmistakable.

For an instant she stood gazing, then sat down in the
majestic arm-chair beside the bed. There was another test she
knew of — she winced from applying it, yet presently rose and
took from a side-table near the tall clock a rat -tailed spoon she
used for rose-water.

She put the bowl of this far back into her mouth, and then
withdrew it ; the silver was covered with bright blood.

Footsteps sounded without. Mary flung the spoon on to the
fire and softly unlocked the door.

The sempstresses entered with the silver lamp, dutifully lit
and placed it on the mantelshelf.

Mary stood holding her garments tightly together on her
breast.

" Have you ever had the smallpox ? " she asked gently.

They both answered together.

"Yes, Your Majesty; but not the black smallpox, an it
please Your Majesty."

Mary looked into their fair, undisfigured faces.

"No," she answered; "the black smallpox is ever fatal, is it
not "

" They say so, Your Majesty," said the elder girl, pinning up
the lace on the silver underskirt. " And there is a deal of it in
London now, Your Majesty."

Mary made no reply. They finished with the dress and left
her, having laced her into the brown velvet.

The Queen put out the silver lamp and went into the ante-

224 GOD AND THE KING

chamber where the ladies were chattering over the tea Lady
Temple was making in a Burmese silver urn.

Mary seated herself near the fire.

" We will go to Kensington House to-morrow," she said. Then,
noticing Lady Temple's look of surprise, she added, with a slight
tremor in her voice, " I have a fancy to be near the King."

CHAPTER VIII
FEAR

MY Lord Sunderland was climbing from obscurity, disgrace
and infamy to that great position he had once held —
climbing very cautiously, working secretly, biding his time,
venturing a little here, a little there, helped always by my lady
and some few ancient friends.

The King had been obliged to leave him out of the Act of
Grace. He was, nevertheless, at this moment waiting for a private
audience of His Majesty, who had already visited him in his
princely palace at Althorp.

The King had gone in state to Parliament ; my lord did not
care to yet take his seat in the House on great occasions;
he preferred to wait in Whitehall and reflect quietly on his
policies.

He believed that the summit of his ambitions was about to
be reached ; he had staked on William of Orange twenty years
ago, and had never lost faith in him. The King was not a man
to be ungrateful. Sunderland saw close within his grasp the
moment he had worked for steadily, unscrupulously, so long —
the moment when William of Orange and he should rule
England together.

From his seclusion at Althorp he had watched the King's
stormy reign, and known that if he had been at William's right
hand half the troubles would have been averted or smoothed over.

He was even scheming to make the Court popular; the
attitude of the people towards his hero considerably annoyed him.

It was undeniable that the irreproachable example of the
Court awoke in the English more ridicule than respect or admira-
tion ; they regarded with a sneer the sincere efforts of the gentle
young Queen to elevate and dignify her position, to improve the
15

226 GOD AND THE KING

tone of a corrupt society. The industrious simplicity of the King,
his dislike of blasphemy, evil-speaking, and frivolous amusements,
his private tolerance, justice, and modesty were as so many causes
of offence to a people regretting former princes so much more
suited to their temper. They missed the pageant that had con-
tinually entertained them at Whitehall, the money that had been
squandered by the Court in a manner so pleasing to the national
extravagance, the continual spectacle of the King in the obvious
exercise of gracious royalty, even the gay ladies whose histories
had diverted a generation. This humour provoked cynical smiles
from William and distressed comment from Mary. Sunderland
resolved to alter it ; he saw the truth ; he knew that nothing but
genius in the man every one combined to disparage could have
kept the nation together, and nothing but the greatest courage
and strength on the part of the woman they affected to dismiss
as a cipher could have maintained a government during the
Irish war.

Sunderland largely blamed the ministers. Halifax had failed,
Caermarthen (now Leeds) was failing, the others had never
been really trusted by the King, who relied mainly on secret
advisers, such as Carstairs, Temple, his Dutch friends, and lately
Sunderland himself.

My lord knew that he could do better than any of these ; he
had the great advantage of understanding the King ; he even
believed that he could make him again as beloved in England as
he had been in '88.

William was no boor, but of noble blood thrice refined ; his
passionate nature and the constant control he had put it under
made him break out fiercely sometimes against the foolish and
the vexatious ; he never flattered, and he took no trouble to please
women; natural modesty and the languor of ill-health made him
refuse to concede to the national love of display ; but he was
beloved abroad, and Sunderland believed he could be beloved
in England. My lord resolved to persuade him to go to New-
market this year ; he flattered himself that he had a considerable
influence over William.

He became impatient for the King to return; he went to
the window and looked at the surging crowd beyond the court-
yard waiting for a sight of the Royal coach. It was not likely to

FEAR 227

be greeted very warmly, for the King was, a second time, going
to veto the Triennial Bill, a great popular measure which, from
the first, he had set his face against.

Sunderland upheld him ; to consent to the Bill would be an
enormous concession to the people, and my lord had no love for
the democracy, but, like William, had a high ideal of the rights
of the Crown. He took pleasure now in thinking of the King's
firm stand and the disappointment of this crowd when the news
of the vetoed Bill was flashed from mouth to mouth.

As he watched, standing within the silver-corded curtains, a
party of halberdiers suddenly scattered the people to right and
left, a company of soldiers drove up, and then the Royal coach
came, unusually fast, swinging on its leathers.

A deep hum rose from the crowd ; some broke into cheering,
hats were thrown up, and handkerchiefs waved. Sunderland had
never seen the King receive such a cordial reception.

He withdrew from the window, surprised, a little puzzled.

The satisfied murmur of the crowd continued.

" Why — is it possible " cried my lord.

He hastened to seek out the King.

William was in his dressing-room, disrobing. M. Zuylestein
was with him, and several other nobles.

Gold-embroidered purple, scarlet and ermine, the collar and
star of the George lay tossed on one of the gilt walnut chairs ;
the King, in silk shirt and white satin breeches, sat by a marquetry
dressing-table with a letter in his hand.

Sunderland entered as one sure of his welcome. William
had promised him countenance if he would come to Court.

" Your Majesty " he began.

The King looked at him blankly ; his face, between the dark
curls, was of a startling whiteness.

"Ah, sir," said Sunderland, "do I break in upon Your
Majesty ? "

" No," answered William vaguely.

My lord looked round the other nobles; they seemed
strangely silent.

11 Sir, how went it in Parliament ? " he asked, approaching the
King.

William made a heavy effort to answer.

228 GOD AND THE KING

" I — well enough — they " His voice trailed off.

Sunderland stood utterly amazed. Was this man going to fail ?

" Sir, the Triennial Bill?" he questioned half fearfully.

The King rose ; he seemed utterly unnerved ; he whom my
lord had ever considered beyond the touch of weakness.

" I passed it," he said faintly.

The colour flashed into Sunderland's face.

"You did!" he cried. "You made that great concession.
By God, if any but Your Majesty had made that statement I
should have disbelieved them "

The King did not seem to hear him ; he called distractedly
for his coat, and walked up and down the splendid little chamber
with his head bent.

Sunderland, sick at heart, drew M. de Zuylestein aside.

" What is the matter with the King ? " he whispered. " I
should not have known him "

" He hath been all day like a man in a confusion," answered
the Master of the Robes.

"And to give way," muttered Sunderland. "To concede
like any weakling ! "

William mechanically took from one of the lords his coat,
sword, and hat, and stood still a moment before the chair on
which his orders glittered on his robes, like frozen coloured
water gleaming in the winter sunlight.

" Is the coach ready ? " he asked abruptly.

"Your Majesty," reminded M. de Zuylestein, "is to dine in
public here to-day "

"No," said the King, "I will go at once to Kensington
House — hasten the coach "

" But there are a number of people already gathered — it will
cause grievous offence "

The King stared at him with wild dark eyes.

" My God, I will not stay an instant."

M. de Zuylestein bowed.

At this moment Lord Portland entered ; they saw him with
profound relief, believing that, if any could, he would fathom
and combat the King's humour.

At sight of him William flushed with animation. Portland
crossed to him at once ; he seemed himself troubled in his manner.

FEAR 229

The King caught his hand and pressed it inside his open
satin waistcoat, over his heart.

" Do you feel that ? " he asked. " Have you ever known it
beat so ? — that is fear, William, fear "

He spoke in his own language, and with an extraordinary
energy and passion.

" The letter," asked Portland tenderly, " that was handed
you as we started "

" From Sir Thomas Millington," said the King ; he put it
into his friend's hands and sank on to the chair beside the
dressing-table; he seemed utterly unconscious of the watchful
eyes upon him, of the presence, indeed, of any but Portland.

That lord read the letter of Sir Thomas (he was the King's
physician) with, it seemed, some relief.

" Why, he merely saith the Queen is not well."

William answered hoarsely —

" Lady Temple came to Whitehall this morning when you
were abroad . . . you know she hath never had the smallpox."
His voice broke ; he stared out of the window at the winter sky.

"God in heaven!" exclaimed Portland. "You do not
think of thatl"

"Lady Temple," muttered the King, "said — she had sent
from Kensington — every one, even to the maid-servants — who —
had not had the smallpox "

" That is but her own sweet kindness," cried Portland — " she
cannot know "

" I am afraid, afraid," answered the King. " My father, my
mother, my uncle ... all dead of that . . ."

He sprang up and turned to the door. Sunderland was in
his way, and stayed him gently.

" Sir — I entreat you do not disappoint the people — stay in
Whitehall to dine "

William looked at him fiercely.

" Do you not hear that the Queen is sick?"

Sunderland's face was cold ; he was disappointed in the King.

"What of this Bill for the Calling of Parliaments?" he said.
" I would like to hear some good reason for that concession on
the part of Your Majesty."

William made no answer ; he put out his hand and motioned

230 GOD AND THE KING

my lord out of his way. Sunderland stepped aside and the
King left the room. They heard his high heels going quickly
down the corridors.

Portland turned to M. de Zuylestein.

"Why, he hath known two days that the Queen was not
well."

"It was Lady Temple," answered the Master of the Robes.
" She told him Her Majesty was worse than she would admit."

" But the doctors "

" You know the King hath never had any trust in doctors —
and certainly it giveth an ill-colour that she hath sent away all
that are like to be infected."

" Meanwhile the Bill is passed," said Sunderland. " And I
have misreckoned on the King."

He took his leave haughtily of the Dutch nobles, and they
went after the King. An excited and disturbed crowd filled the
galleries and the banqueting hall where the dishes were already
on the table and the lords ready to serve.

The King had already left Whitehall in the Duke of Leeds'
coach, with no other company but that nobleman.

So completely deceived were the spectators who lined the way
from the Palace to the post office in Charing Cross to see the
great people drive away from Parliament that they, recognizing
the arms and liveries of Leeds (now unpopular by reason of the
East India scandals), hooted lustily, with no conception that the
King was beside my lord.

Nor did either King or minister care one whit whether the
crowd hooted or cheered. Leeds was on the verge of ruin, and
knew it, yet thought little about that ; he had a peculiar regard
for the Queen, a peculiar loyalty towards the King ; his thoughts,
like his master's, were with that lady whose life meant so much
to England.

In half an hour they were at Kensington House ; in a few
minutes more the King, the Duke's mantle over his white satins
and the garter still round his knee, was by Mary's side in the
long Queen's gallery.

She was seated close to the fire with Basilea de Marsac and
Madame de Nienhuys — very languidly seated, with her hands in
her lap and a blue scarf about her shoulders.

FEAR 231

Her extravagant joy at the King's coming was piteous to see.

" So soon ! " she cried, and her whole face changed. " I
thought it could not be till this evening . . . but were they not
expecting you to dine at Whitehall ? "

" No matter for that," he answered breathlessly. " You — you
are no worse ? "

"Oh, I am well again," smiled Mary; "but you will make
yourself unpopular if you disappoint the people — yet I am glad
you came — I thought I must see you — that is why I came from
Hampton yesterday, forgive me — but even the sound of the
Tower guns as you went to Parliament was company "

She paused, and seemed rather exhausted by the effort of
speaking. William noticed with unutterable anxiety that the hand
he held was burning hot and that she shivered continuously, yet she
was so joyous, smiling, and lovely he could not trust his own fears.

The two ladies had withdrawn to the other end of the gallery.
The King took the stool beside Mary.

" Did you pass the Parliament Bill ? " she asked.

"Yes," he said, never taking his eyes from her face and
speaking as if it was a matter of no moment.

" Ah, why ? " she asked, startled.

" I did not care ; what doth it matter ? Do not talk of busi-
ness, Marie."

"No," she said softly; "let us forget great affairs for once.
I am so weary, dear."

"But you are better?" He could scarcely control his voice.

She smiled brightly.

" Oh yes ; I was out driving this morning, and afterwards
talking to Dr. Burnet, and you know that taketh some energy —
I think to have my ball just the same next Saturday. I have
remedied myself and not troubled the doctors."

He wished to ask her why she had given the orders about
her household that had so shaken him, but could not bring the
words to his lips.

Mary coughed a little, and sat up.

" I wanted to ask you something," she said. " I am always
begging — am I not?"

He pressed the hand he held between his so fiercely that his
heavy rings hurt her, but she continued smiling.

232 GOD AND THE KING

"About Greenwich Palace," she added rather faintly. "I
want it for a hospital "

" I know, I know," he answered remorsefully. " You have
spoken of it before. It hath always been the cursed money,
but you shall have it if I have to pawn my furniture."

" There are so many old seamen about," murmured Mary —
" poor and wounded — and many of them were at La Hogue and
helped save us all. I used to see them when I took my airing in
Hyde Park, begging — one could not forbear tears. And the
hospitals are full. But Greenwich "

" It shall be," said William. " Give that no more thought.
Wren shall draw plans. It shall be as you wish, only get well
again, and that shall be my thankoffering. "

Looking and smiling at him she sat silent while the firelight
flooded her figure with gorgeous light ; in that moment's stillness
both of them thought of love as a terrible thing.

Mary suddenly closed her eyes.

" Your mother," she said softly, " do you remember her ? "

He answered under his breath —

"Yes. Your name, my dear, your family, should I not
remember her ? "

" When she died she was no older than I am — I often think
how strangely near her grave is. I think that Chapel in West-
minster a sad spot. But if we live with our thoughts on Death
how can we be afraid ? God would not let one be afraid."

" Why do you speak of death ? " asked the King, in a tremb-
ling voice. " You frighten me "

" Ah no," whispered Mary. " Death is not fearful. I have
been idle to-day, and thought of many strange things. I recalled
a portrait of your mother I found in a desk of yours when I first
came to Holland — a limning in little with white violets on the
back, and these words, 'J'aime un seul.' That was a pretty
thought of hers."

She moved her head restlessly on the red cushions and lifted
her heavy lids.

" I would we were at The Hague again," she said wistfully.

" You shall go," he replied impetuously. " When the spring
cometh we will go together to The Hague, and be free of all of
it »

FEAR 233

" There is the war."

" Let Waldeck take the command this campaign — I will stay
with you. We have had so little time together all these years."

Mary gazed tenderly into his ardent face.

" The spring seemeth so far off. Hold my hand. I feel as
if the world might pass from beneath us if we could sit thus and
I not notice. You will be with me this Christmas-tide ? "

" I shall not leave you," he said hoarsely. " I will nurse you
till you are well again. But you are not ill ? " he added piteously.

" No — tired a little." She sat up and put her hands on his
shoulders. " You do not regret the day they married you to
your poor little cousin ? " The soft brown eyes were full of
yearning. " She was such a foolish child, so ignorant "

He could not speak, but made a movement of his hands to
hers as if to stop her.

"Let me speak," said Mary sweetly. "I have thought so
much about it lately. We learnt everything so late — our mis-
takes last of all, I think, and I have made many mistakes. Per-
haps another woman would have helped you more. But I have
done my best — I wanted to say that — I have always done my best."

He managed to answer, but almost incoherently.

" You shame me — utterly shame me — you — know what you
have been to me "

Mary dropped her hands ; the tears gathered in her eyes.

"And I am childless," she faltered.

He sprang up as if he wrenched himself free from torture.

" Do not leave me," entreated Mary feebly. " I think I am
not very well, after all, and you promised to stay — forgive me —
but indeed I think of it and your great kindness."

He turned about and leant over her chair. Mary clung to
him with hot hands.

"No one could have loved you more," she said, in great
agitation — " too much, for my own peace "

Her fever-flushed face drooped against the lace on his bosom ;
he put his arm round her, and she gave a great sigh ; the tears
were on her lashes and running slowly down her face ; he kissed
her loose hair and the hand on his shoulder.

" God," he said, in an unsteady whisper, answering his own
desperate fears, " could not be so cruel."

CHAPTER IX
CHRISTMAS EVE

TV^ENSINGTON HOUSE was hushed and dark; in only
I.V. one room did a light burn, and that was where the Queen
of England sat alone in her cabinet with the door locked and
two tapers burning on her desk.

It was long past midnight on Christmas Eve, and she supposed
in bed ; the stillness was intense ; the ticking of the little brass
clock sounded loud and steady — a solitary noise.

Mary sat at the desk with her papers spread before her ; she
had burnt many of them in the candle-flame, and a little pile of
ashes lay on the cold hearth.

It was four days since she had first sickened, and the doctors
said this and that, disagreeing with each other, and constantly
changing their opinion ; but Mary had never been deceived ; she
had cheated herself, she had cheated the King, into a belief that
she was lately better, but from the moment in her bedchamber
at Hampton Court when the thought of her danger had first
flashed on her, she had had an absolute premonition that this
was the end. All her life had been coloured by the sense she
would not live past youth. The first shock over, she did not grieve
for herself, but terribly, more terribly than she had conceived she
could, for the King.

At first a kind of wild joy had possessed her that she would
go first ; but the agony of leaving him alone was almost as awful
as the agony of being left.

Because she could not endure to face his anguish she had so
far concealed from him both her certainty of her own approaching
end and her own belief as to her malady. Dr. Radcliffe alone
among the physicians had said smallpox, and been laughed at
for his opinion, but the Queen knew that he was right

CHRISTMAS EVE 235

" Malignant black smallpox," he had said, and she knew he was
right in that also.

Few recovered from this plague ; few lived beyond the week.

Alone in the little cabinet, consecrated by so many prayers,
meditations, and tears, the young Queen faced her fate.

" I am going to die," she said to herself. " I am going to
die in a few days."

She sat back in her chair and caught her breath. The stillness
seemed to ache in her ears. So little done, so much unfinished,
so many storms, troubles, attempts, poor desperate endeavours
and now — the end.

She recalled that when the King had been last on the Con-
tinent she had been ill of a sore throat, and been so melancholy
on account of the dismal state of public affairs, the ingratitude
and malice of the people, that she had wished to die, but checked
that thought, believing that she could still be of service to her
husband. And now it was no wish or idle fancy, but the very
thing itself.

And she must leave him.

Her deep piety made her think the agony she endured at that
thought a punishment for having so deeply loved a human
creature. She tried to fix her mind on God, but earthly affection
was stronger. The image of heaven became dim beside the image
of him to whom her whole heart had been given; the very
tenderness that had been provoked in him by her illness made
it harder.

At last she rose and went over to a little gilt escritoire in the
corner ; there were locked away all the letters she had ever had
from the King, some from her father, a Prayer Book of her
mother's before her conversion, some of her own meditations
and prayers, her diary, and various little trifles with poignant
associations.

With the keys in her hand she hesitated, but courage failed
her to open any of the drawers ; she returned to the large bureau
and took up a sheet of paper.

She felt ill and cold ; her limbs were heavy, her eyes ached,
and her head was full of pain. She made a strong effort of will
to take up the quill and write ; at first the pen shook so there
were mere ink-marks on the paper.

236 GOD AND THE KING

What she wrote were a few last requests to the King : that
her jewels and clothes might be given to her sister Anne, that
her servants might be looked after, that he would remember his
promise with regard to the hospital at Greenwich, and that if
Leeds was disgraced the King would deal mildly with him — " for
he hath ever been a good servant to us."

She did not trust herself to add words of affection, but wrote
beneath, " The Lord have thee in His keeping," folded it up with
the ink scarce dry, and rose to unlock the top drawer of the
escritoire and place the paper within.

That done she relocked it and placed the key in her bosom.

All her other papers and letters she had destroyed ; her
private affairs were in order ; she had not a debt nor an obligation
in the world. There was nothing more to do.

She put her hands before her eyes and endeavoured to settle
her thoughts, to dismiss earthly matters and think only of God,
but she could not put the King out of her heart. Her thoughts
ran past her own death, and saw him lonely amidst his difficulties,
without her aid to smooth over little frictions, without her
company in his infrequent leisure, without her sympathy in his
disappointments ; in a thousand little ways he scarcely knew of
she had been able to help him, and now there would be no one —
no one to watch and notice and understand as she had done ;
she could not trust even Portland to do what she had done.

" God forgive me for this weakness," she murmured, in great
distress. " God strengthen and make it easy for us both."

She rose and went to the window ; she could see the black
sky pierced here and there by a few stars as the clouds parted —
nothing else.

On an instant the deep silence was rent by a clamour of
sweet sound ; the sharp strong pealing of church bells rang out
over the sleeping city.

Mary knew that it was the village church of Kensington
practising for Christmas ; she sank into the window-seat and
fixed her eyes on those few distant pale cold stars.

She could not steady her thoughts. Old memorieSj pictures
of dead days, arose and disturbed her. She saw the sunlight
on the red front of the house at Twickenham and the little
roses growing over the brick, herself as a child playing in the

CHRISTMAS EVE 237

garden, and the figure of her father standing by the sundial
looking at her, as he had stood once on one of his rare visits —
very handsome and tall and grave with long tasselled gloves
in his hand, she saw the hayfields beyond St. James's and the
summer tanned labourers working there and a little girl in a
blue gown asleep on a gathered sheaf and Lady Villiers pointing
out the last swallow and how low it flew — so low that the light
of the setting sun was over its back and it was like a thing of
gold above the rough stubble — she saw pictures of The Hague —
that beautiful town, and her own dear house, and the wood . . .

She remembered her presentiment, before William left for
England, that they were looking at the wood together for the
last time.

All over now, mere memory, and memory itself soon to
end ; she would never see the flowers again either in England
or Holland ; she had looked her last on blue sky and summer
sun ; she would never more go down to Chester to welcome the
King home from the war ; she would never again cut the sweet
briar roses to place in the blue bowls at Hampton Court.

It frightened her that she thought so of these earthly things,
that she could not detach her mind from the world. She
endeavoured to fix her attention on the bells, and they seemed
to shake into the words of an ancient hymn she had known
as a child —

"O Lord, let Thou my spirit rise
From out this Press of turning Strife.
Let me look into Thy awful eyes
And draw from Thee Immortal Life."

The bells seemed to change into one of the endless little
Dutch carillons that she heard so often in her dreams; she
put her hands before her face —

"Take, dear Lord, the best of me,
And let it, as an Essence pressed
Like unto Like, win Immortality
Absorbed in Thy unchanging rest."

The bells paused and shuddered as if a rude hand had
checked them ; the melody hesitated, then changed rhythm

238 GOD AND THE KING

a single bell struck out from the rest in clear ringing, then
stopped.

For a little space the air was full of echoes, then a mournful
stillness fell. The Queen remained in the window-seat with
her hands before her eyes.

When she raised her head one of the candles had guttered
out and the other was near its end.

She had lost the sense of time, almost of place; it would
have given her no surprise to find she was sitting in the garden
at The Hague or going down the waterways of Holland in
her barge; she did not notice the darkness so ill-dispersed
by that one flame burning tall, ragged, and blue in the great
silver stick; she began to say over her prayers in a kind of
exaltation ; she went on her knees and pressed her face against
the smooth wood of the window-frame; she was murmuring
to herself under her breath as if she tried to lull her own
soul to sleep; she got up at last, not knowing what she did,
and unlatched the window.

She looked out on a ghastly dawn, pallid above the leafless
trees, against which a few flakes of snow fell heavily. The
Queen stared at this picture. The cold wind entered the chamber
and a snowflake lightly drifted in and changed to a crystal
drop on the window-seat.

She latched the window again and turned into the room ;
the last candle had been out hours; the wax was hard round
the frozen wick ; a whole night had passed with the drawing of
a breath, and this was Christmas morning.

Above the chimney-piece was a mirror in a gold and
ebony frame; the Queen stepped up to it and looked at herself;
she beheld a woman without colour ; her gown was black and
her face and throat indistinguishable from her crumpled lace
collar ; her hair was dark and without a glint in the dead light ;
the pearls in her ears were ghostly pale ; she thought her features
were very changed, being hollowed and sunk.

"They cover the faces of the dead," she thought curiously;
"they will soon cover mine." She put her hand delicately
under her chin. " Poor face, that will never laugh or blush —
or weep again ! "

CHAPTER X
THE QUEEN

DR. BURNET was returning from his diocese of Sarum to
Kensington Palace, where he had been called by the
grave reports of the Queen's sickness.

On Christmas Day she had been something better, but
towards the evening notably worse ; on Wednesday prayers were
offered in all the churches, and the new primate, Dr. Tenison,
was summoned to join the other prelates in attendance at
Kensington.

The Bishop of Sarum was joined in London by M. Zuylestein,
for whom he had a peculiar friendship, and who came to
urge haste.

The Master of the Robes hoped that the Bishop's presence
might have some effect upon the astonishing and immoderate
agitation of the King; he confessed he had been glad to
escape from the atmosphere of anxiety and grief at Kensington.

Soldier and priest made a melancholy journey in M.
Zuylestein's coach. The Capital was very silent and awed. There
could be no doubt now that the Queen was beloved.

"If she goes," said M. Zuylestein bluntly, "he can never
hold the throne. His very title to it would be questioned.
Without her where are we all ? "

Dr. Burnet answered unsteadily; he was deeply attached
to Mary.

" Do not speak like that, sir. She must live — even if it be
smallpox, is she not young and strong? Did not the King
recover ? "

"He had it but slightly," answered M. Zuylestein. "He
was back at the army in twenty days. They say it was his own
resolution not to die and the services of M. Portland that

240 GOD AND THE KING

saved him, but I do not think this lady hath any such will
to live."

"God bless us," cried the Bishop, "who would have
thought a man of the King's feeble constitution would have
survived the Queen ! " He shook his head sorrowfully. " She
was our principal hope, our support — a prince of an extraordinary
goodness."

"If she dieth she hath the better part," answered the
Dutchman. "I know not how the King will well bear it —
he hath hardly slept since her illness — for fear of his cough
disturbing her he will not lie in her chamber, but hath his
camp-bed in the anteroom — yet he is never on it — he hath
himself nursed her — day and night with such devotion and care
as moveth the heart." He paused, and added, with great emotion,
"Had you seen him as I have, in all manner of dangers and
fatigues and troubles, always master of himself, and of such
an heroical courage that he inflamed those about him, you
would find it, sir, terrible to see him as he is now."

"When I last saw him he was struck beyond expression,"
answered Dr. Burnet. " But I never thought his temper would
bear an open display of emotion."

"You know him as well as any Englishman — yet you do
not know him," said M. Zuylestein.

The pompous self-love of the Bishop was rather hit at this,
but he let it pass (as he would not have done at any other time),
and neither spoke again before they reached Kensington House.

They found the household in much disorder — the courtyard
filled with carriages, the corridors with messengers waiting for
the news. M. Zuylestein told his companion that the Princess
Anne (in open disgrace on account of her championship of my
Lord Marlborough, who had been discovered in flagrant treachery)
had sent a humble loving message, and that the King had replied
warmly, but requested her not to come till there was a turn for
the better.

Dr. Burnet thought this answer of the King looked as if the
doctors held out hope ; he shouldered his way through the crowd
to the Queen's private apartments, and rather breathless and
without ceremony he and M. Zuylestein put aside the ushers and
entered the first antechamber of Mary's apartments.

THE QUEEN 241

It was empty save for a couple of curious, frightened servants ;
but the door into the next room was open, and the two new-
comers beheld an extraordinary scene.

A little group with their faces hidden stood before the
window ; near them at the table was a florid, coarse-featured man,
plainly dressed, and cast down before him a gentleman in a violet
coat — on his knees with his hands raised in a gesture of abandoned
entreaty.

The back of this gentleman was towards Dr. Burnet.

" Dear God ! " he muttered, seizing M. Zuylestein's arm, " is
it— the King?"

M. Zuylestein, utterly pale, made a gesture of assent, and
hastened forward. The man before whom the King knelt stepped
back in a kind of desperation, and cried —

" If Your Majesty were to offer me your three kingdoms I
could give you no other answer ! "

At this the King fell forward on his face, and he was lying so,
prone, when the Bishop and M. Zuylestein entered.

Dr. Radcliffe wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and
looked round half-defiantly.

"Gentlemen," he said hoarsely, "I take you to witness I
have done my duty. His Majesty asked the truth. It is small-
pox, and Her Majesty is sinking rapidly. I was not called in
until it was too late."

Portland had come from the window, and was raising the King.

" You have some courage, sir," he said grimly.

Dr. Radcliffe retorted in self-defence —

" I did not undertake this for pleasure, your lordship ; there
was no one else would dare tell His Majesty."

Portland got the King to his feet ; the others stood awkward
and still ; William looked round and saw Dr. Burnet.

" Did you hear?" he asked, under his breath — " did you hear ? "

He sank into the chair by the table. The Bishop approached
with some faltering words of comfort, but the King cut him short.

" They say there is no hope of the Queen ! " he broke out.
" No hope ! I was the most happy creature upon earth, and now
shall be the most miserable ! There was no fault in her, not
one — you know her as well as any, but you could not know her
as I did — there was a worth in her none could know but I ! "
16

242 GOD AND THE KING

With that he burst into a passion of tears, and hid his face on
the table in an abandonment of agony which amazed those about
him, who knew neither what to say nor do in face of this overthrow
of the master whom they had always regarded as one who would
preserve a decent control in the face of any sorrow, since he was
a soldier and a statesman, and had kept his countenance in many
a bitter crisis, and always shown a singular pride in controlling
his passions — so much so, as to be stately and cold even to those
he loved ; yet here he wept before the very staring servants and
gave no heed. Lord Portland thought there was something
womanish and unworthy in this desperate grief; he went up to
the King and spoke with a kind of heat.

" Will you give way thus ? Where is your trust in God ? "

He was speaking not to the King of England, but to William
of Nassau, at whose side he had faced so many years of danger,
his companion in arms, his truest friend.

"She will go to everlasting peace," he said, with energy.
"You, who have faced so much, can face the loss of her — for
her sake, for her eternal good."

If the King heard these words they did not touch him ; he
raised his head a little, and broke into incoherent lamentation in
a misery of tears.

Portland spoke to Dr. Radcliffe.

"How long," he asked, "will it be?"

"She may," answered the doctor, in a lowered voice, "live
another day, my lord, no more ; the smallpox are now so sunk
there is no hope of raising them."

"Should she not be warned of her danger?"

" That is as the King wishes."

" The King ! " echoed Portland, in a tone of despair. He turned
again to his master. " Sire," he said gently, " will you have the
Queen told ? "

William looked up ; the tears were streaming down his face
for any one to see ; he continually shuddered violently, and spoke
so hoarsely Portland could with difficulty catch the words.

" I'll not believe it yet — I cannot — these doctors — must save
her "

" Dr. Tenison," answered Portland, " is with her now — it were
best that he should tell her of her condition "

THE QUEEN 243

The King broke out into ejaculations of anguish.

" There was none like her in all the world — none ! No one
could know her great goodness. O God, my God, this is more
than I can bear ! "

Portland turned his eyes away, broken himself.

"I am amazed," whispered Dr. Burnet; "for surely I never
thought him capable of such emotion."

Dr. Radcliffe touched Portland on the arm.

"Look to His Majesty," he said. "I think this will prove
beyond his endurance — I will to the Queen."

He took his leave softly. The King lifted his head and looked
after him.

" He said there was no hope ! " he cried. " No hope ! "

" God is your hope," answered Portland strongly.

" Talk not of God, for this is death and damnation to me — if
she leaves me nothing matters on earth or in heaven — what have
I done — what have I done that the Devil is let loose on me ? "
He cast his eyes round wildly, and staggered to his feet. "She
was all I had — all — I should have died first — I might have died
happy — I have not lived so wickedly I should be punished thus —
but they mistake, these doctors — she cannot die — no, it is not
possible."

They were all silent. The scene was painful almost past
bearing. The King's agonies went beyond all bounds. None of
them, though they were all men who had known him most of his
life, had believed that his temper was capable of such passion.
Dr. Burnet's fluent self-assurance was checked — he stood dumb
and staring ; the Dutch nobles gazed in horror and dismay at
this spectacle of a proud man's utter overthrow. Portland
remained beside him, and the King supported himself by holding
heavily on to his arm.

" Doctors mistake, do they not ? " he cried, between the long
shudders that shook him. " How often have they not said — I
should die — but I lived."

" Alas," answered Portland unsteadily, " I would not have
you deceive yourself — Radcliffe was very certain. But you will
command yourself "

" I — I have no strength," gasped the King ; " my soul is broken
within me. O God ! " he sobbed, " save her or let me go ! "

244 GOD AND THE KING

He turned about and threw out his hand like a blind man
feeling his way, then fell back into Portland's arms.

" Fainted," said my lord laconically. With the help of M.
Zuylestein he laid him on the stiff couch between the windows.
One of the servants hurried for a doctor, and in the moment's
confusion my Lord Leeds entered unnoticed.

Portland, as he moved from the King's couch, was the first
to see him.

"Ah, my lord," he said sorrowfully, "what is to become of
us all?"

"The King," murmured Portland, much moved, " is incapable
of anything — do you take the direction of affairs."

"Nay, you, my lord," answered Leeds. "You are His
Majesty's nearer friend."

" And your Grace is English — it will be more politic should
you take this office — what of the Queen ? "

"I have just come from her antechamber — even the pages
and serving-maids are in tears — this is a heavy business." He
himself seemed like a man utterly overcome. " She is certainly
sinking — she is in private discourse now with the Archbishop."

" Doth she know ? "

Leeds shook his head.

" Dr. Tenison waiteth the King's commands to tell her — but
I think she hath an inner knowledge."

M. Auverquerque came from the group by the window and
whispered Portland that the King was conscious.

At this Leeds, ever warm-hearted and impulsive, went on
his knees beside the couch and pressed the King's cold hand
affectionately to his lips.

William sat up with his head drooping ; his back was to the
light, and his thick curls almost concealed his face ; he held his
handkerchief to his lips and shivered continually.

"The Queen," said Leeds, very low, "hath asked for Your
Majesty."

The King murmured something incoherent.

"And the Archbishop," continued Leeds, with a grave
gentleness, "thinketh she should be told of her danger."

" I would not have her deceived — in so important a matter,"
whispered the King — "tell him so." He leant forward and

THE QUEEN 245

took Leeds by the shoulders. " Is it not an awful thing that
she should die — she — to die — you ever loved her — God bless you
for that, my lord — she had a sad life " — his voice became very

indistinct — "she will not be sorry — but as for me "

His hands loosened on the Duke's shoulders, and with a little
moan he fell into another fainting fit, so long and deathlike that
they feared for his reason or his life ; it seemed, indeed, as if he
would scarcely survive her whose danger caused his despair.

CHAPTER XI
THE BITTER PARTING

THE Queen's bed stood out into the room, facing the long
windows which looked on to the winter twilight ; it was
hung with four curtains of gold and blue damask sewn with
many-coloured wreaths of flowers that Mary and her maids had
worked when seated under the alley of wych-elm at Hampton
Court.

The coverlet was of crimson satin embroidered with great
roses of England and fringed with bullion. The Queen lay so
still that the heavy folds were scarcely disturbed about her
limbs. The curtains round the head of the bed had been drawn
forward, and the pillows and the face of the Queen were in
shadow.

She wore a lace cap with long lappets fastened beneath her
chin and a little jacket of blue silk over her muslin nightgown.
She was not disfigured, it being the most deadly symptom of her
disease that there was no sign of it beyond the deep purple
marks that had told Dr. Radcliffe — black smallpox — from the
first, and the constant internal bleeding of her throat that had so
exhausted her ; that had stopped now, and she lay quite free from
pain quiet for several hours ; not sleeping ; sleep, she said, gave
her no ease.

To the right of the bed the King knelt with his face hidden
in the quilt. There were several prelates and doctors in the room,
and by the head of the bed Lady Temple, Madame Nienhuys,
Basilea de Marsac, several Dutch ladies-in-waiting, and Lady
Temple's daughter.

At a whispered word from Dr. Radcliffe, Tenison, the new
Archbishop of Canterbury, successor to the saintly Tillotson, so

beloved by the King and Queen, approached the bed.

346

THE BITTER PARTING 247

As his footfall broke the tense silence Mary lifted her languid
eyes ; he came round to her left, and stood, in a sorrowful
attitude, looking down on her.

" Be seated, my lord," she faltered.

But out of respect to her and the presence of the King he
remained standing.

Mary made a feeble motion with her right hand, which lay
outside the coverlet, and sweetly stammered her repeated
commands that he should sit.

Dr. Tenison obeyed, and with a heavy heart. Her gentle
patience made his duty the harder. Dr. Radcliffe had just told
him that since she now seemed tranquil and in full consciousness
he might tell her of her approaching end.

The Bishop, a good heavy man, set about his task with pain
and tenderness.

"Your Majesty will forgive me plain speaking, but I am
entrusted by the King "

She lay with her face towards him, and her brown eyes
narrowed. He hesitated, fearing to greatly agitate her, and sought
for a form of words in which to cast his speech.

" I am greatly grieved to see that Your Majesty is no better,"
he said. " Your consolation will come from heaven, not earth."

She instantly perceived his drift.

"You are come to tell me that I am dying?" she asked
faintly.

He was startled that she had so instantly understood, and
could not, for the moment, speak.

"I thank my God," continued the Queen, "that I have had
this in my thoughts from the first. And there is nothing to be
done. Search for a little escritoire in my cabinet and give it to
the King. That is the end of earthly matters."

She closed her eyes and gave a little sigh.

"Will it please Your Majesty receive the Sacrament?" asked
the Archbishop.

" Yes," she said at once. " Yes."

He left her, and she turned her head languidly and gazed
before her at the window.

Lady Temple came forward lovingly, and looked down at her
with sorrowful eyes.

248 GOD AND THE KING

"Before you light the candles," whispered Mary, "will you
draw the curtains a little that I may see the sky ? "

Lady Giffard crossed the floor delicately and pulled back
the heavy gold thread and scarlet damask from the December
twilight.

A pale glow of colourless light fell across the glittering bed,
the wan face of the Queen, and the motionless kneeling figure
of her husband.

She could see loose grey clouds, an indistinct trail of yellow fire
low behind the leafless trees which tossed slowly in a feeble wind.
She gave another little sigh and again closed her eyes. Lady
Giffard, weeping, drew the curtains. Basilea de Marsac and
Madame de Nienhuys lit the candles on the mantelshelf, on the
table between the windows, and the crystal lamp ornamented
with the rose, the shamrock, and thistle in silver that hung from
the centre of the ceiling.

The Queen lay still all this while ; she did not speak till Dr.
Tenison approached her bed again, and all the prelates in the
chamber went on their knees.

" I doubt if I can swallow the bread," she murmured
anxiously.

The bishops in the room took the Sacrament with her ; they
were all heavy with grief, and the Primate faltered in his ministra-
tions, but she was utterly calm ; she followed the holy office
clearly with no hesitation. Despite her fears, she swallowed the
bread without difficulty, and thanked Dr. Tenison sweetly when
he had done, and lay for awhile, praying it seemed. She was
so resigned that it seemed she rather desired to die than live.
Presently she whispered, " I would speak to the King."
They all withdrew from the bed to the far end of the room
and the antechamber. Mary put out a trembling hand and
touched the bent dark head that rested on her quilt.
"Ah, love ! " she said.

He raised his face, moving for the first time since she had
fallen asleep, two hours ago.

"They have told me," whispered Mary, "that I must say
farewell — I always knew — forgive me that I had not the courage
to tell you." She smiled. " I am so tired, and I have so much
to say."

THE BITTER PARTING 249

With her right hand she drew a small gold key from the
bosom of her gown and gave it him.

" The little escritoire," she explained. " I asked him to give
it you — only a few trifles — but you will understand."

He took it with a shudder, her left hand he held between
his tightly ; he did not speak ; his face was as white, as hallowed,
as shadowed by death, it seemed, as hers.

"I have not done much," she said; "but I have had such a
little time, and it was difficult — indeed difficult. God will know
I did my poor best. And I never failed in love, and I tried to
do His will, but I have done nothing, and I meant to do so
much "

The King forced his voice.

" You have been a creature we were none of us fit to touch,"
he muttered. " You — you — oh, Marie ! "

He hid his face upon her hand, and she felt his hot tears on
her fingers.

"Do not grieve," she whispered. "There is still so much
for you to do "

" No more," he answered passionately ; " that is over now — I
shall never do anything again — never "

Mary half raised herself on the pillows; a feverish colour
came into her cheeks.

" You are rebelling against God," she said, between agitated
breaths. " You must go on — your work is not finished ; but the
prospects are so splendid "

" What is that to me ? " he answered, in bitter despair. " I
am a poor weak creature — I can do nothing — it was always you,
your hope, your faith — I am no better than a thing of nought ; in
taking you God mocks me "

" No — no," cried Mary, with a desperate strength. " You are
going on — you will conquer — do not make it hard for me to
die "

She sank on to her pillows, coughing a little.

" I have prayed God not to let you despair — I have asked
Him to comfort you "

"There is no more comfort for me," he answered. "I want
you — nothing but you on earth or in heaven "

Mary turned her face towards him ; the dark auburn hair,

250 GOD AND THE KING

beneath the fine veiling of lace, hung over the edge of the
tumbled pillow and touched his hand.

"Oh, my husband," she said faintly; "I have loved you
with a passion that cannot end with death. You cannot — ever
be alone again — I shall be there "

Her voice sank and died ; she made an effort to lean towards
him. He caught her to his bosom and kissed her cold forehead
with lips as cold.

"Go on," she stammered, "do not give up — the goal is
nearly won "

She became slack in his arms ; he laid her back on the pillow,
and rose.

She was smiling up at him, but there was an awful change in
her face.

He put his hand before his eyes, and fell down beside her
bed, motionless, along the shining floor.

Mary clasped her hands on her bosom, and her head drooped
to one side ; she continually coughed, and her lids closed heavily.

Lady Temple had run forward as the King fell; Portland
and Leeds raised and carried him, easily enough, into the
antechamber.

Dr. Radcliffe gave the Queen a cordial ; she thanked him,
and seemed a little revived.

" Let me sit up," she whispered. Her ladies raised her against
the piled-up cushions. " The King " — she added — " the King ?
— my eyes are weak — I thought — he left me "

" Dear Lady," answered Dorothy Temple, commanding her
own tears, " he is in the next chamber "

She knew while she spoke that he had fallen into a succes-
sion of fits so terrible that not one doctor there thought he
could live.

" Perhaps," gasped Mary, " it were better if we — were spared
— a final farewell — I could not well bear it "

She leant against Lady Temple's shoulder, and her lips moved
in prayer. Her face was very troubled, and she continually sighed.

" Madame, are you at peace ? " asked Lady Temple.

" I am not sorry to go to God," she answered ; " but I am
weak about the King — I would I might have been spared a little
longer with him."

THE BITTER PARTING 251

Presently she fell asleep, peacefully it seemed, and still with
prayers on her lips.

Lady Temple crept from the bed where Lady Portland pulled
the curtains to shield the Queen from the light, and asked Dr.
Radcliffe how long it might be now?

He shook his head sadly.

"A few hours, my lady."

Dorothy Temple burst out into subdued grief.

"We have the greatest loss in this lady ! I have known her
since she was a child, and she had never a fault — this is a bitter
thing for all of us, and for England."

The doctor answered grimly —

" A more bitter thing even than you imagine, my lady. I do
not think the King will live."

She looked at him in utter terror, and at that moment Portland
came out of the antechamber.

" Will you go to His Majesty, doctor ? " he said, in a shaking
voice. " Millington doth not know what to do."

Radcliffe left them, and Lady Temple desperately seized hold
of Portland's arm.

"Oh, my lord," she whispered; "how is the King?"

" Sorely stricken," he answered. "Is this to be the end? —
that he should die for a woman ! "

Lady Portland came softly from the bed to her mother and
her husband.

" Doth it not seem cruel that the Queen should die ? " she
murmured. " They say there is no hope "

" The Queen ! " echoed Portland. " I think of the King-

" Can you not," urged Miss Temple anxiously, " rouse him
and bring him back to her ? When she wakes she will surely
ask for him "

Portland, with a little sigh of despair and weariness, went
into the antechamber.

It was well lit and full of people. The King was seated on
his camp-bed — a dishevelled, pitiful figure — lamenting to himself
with a violence and boundless passion that had the force and
incoherence of insanity.

The only one of the company who had the courage to ap-
proach him was a new-comer, my Lord Sunderland ; pale, quiet,

252 GOD AND THE KING

elegantly dressed, he stood between the King and the wall, and
gazed down on his master with an extraordinary expression of
resolution and consideration.

Portland went up to him, not without a sense of jealousy for
the King's dignity, that was so shattered before these foreigners
and a man like Sunderland.

" Sire," he said firmly. " Sire ! "

William did not even look up ; he was twisting his hands to-
gether and staring at the floor, breaking out into the bitter
protests of a mind deranged.

Sunderland looked sharply at Portland.

" What do you want of him, my lord ? " he asked.

" I would recall him to himself that he may take farewell of
the Queen," answered Portland sternly. " But he, it seemeth, is
no longer William of Nassau."

Sunderland made no answer to this ; he laid his hand lightly
on the King's shoulder.

" Your Highness ! " he said.

The ancient title struck some chord of memory. The King
raised his head ; Sunderland was certainly startled at his face.

" Who spoke to me ? " asked William thickly.

"The Prince of Orange," answered the Earl, "cannot fail
before anything — the King of England must not "

"Fail? "muttered the King. "Fail? Have I failed? They
put too much upon me. Did they tell you of the Queen ? My
enemies may be satisfied now, for I shall never lift my head
again "

"The Queen," said Sunderland, "will not depart in peace
unless she leaveth you calm. Sire, for her sake will you not recall
your ancient courage ? "

The King shook his head in a faint, exhausted fashion.

" You would not have thought that she would die so young,"
he murmured, " would you — she was gay, too — there was to
have been a ball to-night — and she cannot live till morning "

Lady Temple came from the Queen's room and whispered
something to Lord Portland, who instantly addressed the King.

"Sire, the Queen is awake."

William rose ; his cravat and waistcoat were undone over
his shirt, his eyes bloodshot and dim, his hair dishevelled and

THE BITTER PARTING 253

damp on his forehead ; he seemed to be making a tremendous
effort for control ; he noticed his disordered clothes.

"I would not frighten her" — it was Sundeiland and not
Portland to whom he spoke. The Dutchman drew back a pace.
It was ironical that at such a moment the King should turn to
such a man ; but William had first roused at Sunderland's address,
and seemed to look to him for guidance as he had looked,
almost unconsciously, to him for support fifteen years ago, in
the bitter days before his marriage.

The proud, stern, lonely, and scorned young Prince had then
opened his heart to the dishonest, worldly, and cynical minister,
and the bond of sympathy that must have been between them
then showed now, when the King, fainting with mental agony,
clung blindly to Sunderland's unmoved, gentle strength.

Portland marked it then and marked it now ; he felt his own
love useless in the face of my lord's charm. William had not
even noticed his presence. He left him in the arms of Sunder-
land and returned to the Queen's chamber.

Dr. Tenison had been reading the Scriptures ta her, and
stood now by her bed with the Bible in his hand.

Lady Temple and her daughter were behind him. The
younger woman was crying sadly.

Portland went up to the other side of the Queen's bed.

Mary raised her deep brown eyes and looked at him
earnestly.

" My lord," she whispered — he bent over her and she caught
his stiff" cuff with feverish fingers — " do not let the King despair
... do not let him give up ... I shall have indeed lived in
vain if he gives up ... so near too . . ." She paused to gather
strength, and he was too moved to answer. " At first I was so
afraid of you," she added wistfully, " so fearful of intruding on
you and him— you were his friend before ever I came, and will
be when I am gone — but of late you have tolerated me — only a
woman, but I have not hindered his destiny — I let nothing stand
in the way of his service — indeed, if I have ever vexed you,
forgive me "

"Madame," responded Portland tenderly, "you have been
the great comfort of all of us, and we shall be utterly undone
without you,"

254 GOD AND THE KING

She shook her head on the tumbled pillow.

" I was only a foreigner — a stranger ; you were ever extra-
ordinarily kind to me — do not let the King stop — for this."

She fell on to silence, being greatly weakened by this effort
of speech, and Portland withdrew to the end of the bed to allow
Dr. Radcliffe to approach.

The Queen's words had roused curious memories in the mind
of William Bentinck. It did not seem so many years ago since
the fair, thoughtless, timid English girl had come, as she said,
a foreigner — a stranger — to The Hague, unwanted, mistrusted,
despised for her youth and her kinsman's treachery, regarded by
her husband as an interruption — a vexation — the mere burden of a
marriage of convenience that had been a political failure ; and
now she had grown to be the support of all his designs, and he
was brought to a madness of despair because she lay dying, and
those same aims and endeavours which her coming had intruded
upon, to his anger, were now nothing to him if she should no
longer be there to share them.

It was now past midnight. The Queen, having swallowed Dr.
Radcliffe's cordial, spoke again, and took farewell of her ladies.

" This was to have been our dance to-night," she murmured.
" I am sorry to have spoilt your pleasure "

" There will never be any more pleasure for me," answered
Dorothy Temple, who loved her exceedingly, " until I meet Your
Majesty in heaven "

Mary was silent, lying very still. There was a little stir in the
chamber as the King entered, followed by Lord Sunderland, who
kept his eyes on him keenly.

The King went straight to his wife's side, and lifted the
glittering curtain up.

The silence was heavy as these two looked at each other.

"Tell me," he said, "what to do — what you would have me
do "

The Queen tried to answer; but speech was beyond her
power ; and when she found that she could no more speak to
him, for the might of death on her tongue, two tears rolled down
her hollow cheeks, and, by the size of them, it was seen that she
was dying indeed, for they were large as the grey pearls in her
ears.

THE BITTER PARTING 255

" Give me one word," said the King, and he bent low over
her. She made a second attempt, but in vain. A long shudder
shook her, blood came to her lips, and the tears on her face
rolled off on to the pillow.

" She cannot speak ! " exclaimed the King ; he fell along the
bed and laid his face against her hand. Sunderland touched
him. He gave a sighing sob like a woman, and fainted.

My Lord Leeds helped lift and carry him to the back of the
chamber ; the others remained about the Queen, who was sinking
so rapidly that they feared she would go before the King recovered
his senses.

She put up her hands in the attitude of praying, then
dropped them and turned her head about on the pillow as
if she looked for the King ; not seeing him, she moaned and
fell into a little swoon, breathing heavily.

The watchers held painful vigil thus for near an hour, when
she opened her eyes suddenly and began to speak, in a distinct
though low voice; but the words she used showed that her
thoughts began to break.

"We have such a short time," she said, "what can any of
us do ? — I hope this will show you cannot expose yourself with
impunity — I shall give God thanks as long as I live for having
preserved you — think of me a little and be more careful — Lord
Nottingham saw my tears, I could not restrain — my father, my
father, there is such a great light here, like the sun at Twicken-
ham, no, The Hague — a letter at last — he loves, after all "

She moved and half sat up; the lace had fallen from her
head, and her hair hung in a dark mass over her shoulders;
an extraordinary look of ecstasy overspread her wan face.

11 Give me the child," she whispered, and held out her arms ;
then she coughed a little and dropped back.

A slight convulsion shook her ; her breath clove her lips
apart, and her lids fluttered over her eyes.

The clergymen were on their knees reading the prayer for
the dying. As they finished, Dr. Radcliffe put out the candle,
on the table by the bed, that shone over the Queen's face.

" It is over," he said ; " Her Majesty is dead."

The Palace clock struck the four quarters, and then the
hour of one.

256 GOD AND THE KING

The King opened his eyes and looked about him on the
hushed kneeling figures. Portland endeavoured to restrain
him, but he rose from the couch and moved slowly and
languidly towards the bed.

No one dared speak or move.

When he saw the still, disordered coverlet, the shadowed
face, the white hand on which the wedding-ring glowed
ghastly bright, he put his hand to his breast, and stood for
a full minute so, gazing at her; then his senses reeled back
to oblivion and again he fainted, falling at the feet of the
Archbishop, as that clergyman rose from his knees.

As he lay along the floor they marked how slight and frail
he was, and, when they lifted him, how light his weight, and
how reluctantly and slowly the heart that had once beaten so
high now stirred in his bosom.

PART III
THE KING

"Man is God's masterpiece."

FRANCIS QUARLKS

CHAPTER I
VITA SINE AMORE MORS EST

HENRY SIDNEY, Lord Romney, and the Earl of Port-
land were walking up and down the cloisters of
Westminster Abbey. It was the end of April — a bitter spring
following a severe winter; constant clouds blotted out the
sun, and sudden falls of snow had left the square of grass in
the centre of the cloisters wet and white.

The Earl, muffled to the chin in a red mantle, and carrying
a great muff of brown fur, was talking earnestly to Lord Romney,
who, though a feather-head and useless in politics, was more
loved by the King than any Englishman, and of unimpeachable
loyalty to the throne.

" This," said Portland, with energy, " is death or madness —
nay, worse than either, for he is but a figure of himself that
deceiveth us into thinking we have a King."

"God knoweth," returned Romney, who looked old and
worn, sad and dejected, " never have we so needed his wisdom
and his courage. Whom can we trust since the death of Her
Majesty? Not even my Lord Nottingham."

"Sunderland," said the Earl, "is creeping back to favour —
the knave of two reigns, who would get a third King in his
clutches — and the Lord Keeper is very active in the House.
Now I have done what I can to transact necessary business
since the Queen's death — but I cannot do much, for the
malice against foreigners is incredible "

"No one but the King can do anything!" broke out
Romney.

"I at least can do no more," admitted Portland. "And
certainly my heart misgiveth me that this is going to be the
end — in miserable failure."

'59

260 GOD AND THE KING

" Why — not failure," protested the Englishman.

Portland paused by the clustered pillars which divided the
open windows; a few ghastly flakes of snow were falling from
a disturbed sky against the worn, crumbling, and grey masonry.

" Miserable failure," repeated the Earl ; his fine fair face was
pale and stern in the colourless shadows of the heavy arches.
"Parliament needeth a leader, the Republic needeth her
magistrate, the allies their commander — there is very much to
do — with every day, more — and the man who should do it
is as useless as a sick girl."

"I think," said Romney, with some gentleness, "that his
heart is broken."

"A man," flashed Portland, "hath no right to a broken
heart. Good |God, could we not all discover broken hearts
if we took time to probe them ? I know the Queen's worth,
what she was to him, and all of us — but is she served by this
weakness of grief? He would best commemorate her by
making no pause in his task."

" That is a hard doctrine," answered the Ertglishman half sadly.

" It is a hard fate to be a great man, my lord — the destinies
of nations are not made easily nor cheaply. When the King
began his task he was prepared for the price — he should not
now shirk the paying of it "

"It is higher than he thought would be exacted, my lord."

Portland answered sternly —

"You surely do not understand. What was she, after all,
but an incident? He had been ten years at his work before
she came."

The snow fell suddenly, and, caught and whirled by a
powerful wind, filled the air with a thick whiteness like
spreading smoke; it blew against the two gentlemen, and in
a second covered their mantles with glittering crystals.

Romney stepped back and shook it from him.

" Shall we not go into the church," he said, with a shiver,
"and persuade the King return?"

" It doth not matter if he be at her grave or in his cabinet,"
answered Portland gloomily, "since his temper is the same
wherever he be."

Romney turned towards the low door that led into the Abbey.

VITA SINE AMORE MORS EST 261

" Did you mark," he said irrelevantly, " that the robin was
still on her gravestone ? "

"Yes," replied Portland; "it hath been singing there since
she was buried."

They entered the large, mysterious church. The snowstorm
had so obscured the light from the tall, high windows that
the columns, roof, and tombs were alike enveloped in a deep
shade; it was very cold and the air hung misty and heavy.

Above the altar, to their right, swung a red burning lamp that
gave no light, but showed as a sudden gleam of crimson.

On the altar itself burnt four tall candles that glowed on
the polished gold sacred vessels and faintly showed the sweep of
marble and the violet-hued carpet beyond the brass rails which
divided the altar from the steps.

There was only one person visible in this large, cold, dark
church, and that was a man in the front pew, entirely in black,
who neither sat nor knelt, but drooped languidly against the
wooden rest in fronf of him, with his face hidden in his right hand.

Portland and Romney took off their hats and approached
the altar; they had nearly reached it before they noticed the
King, whom they had left at his wife's grave.

Their footsteps were very noticeable in the sombre stillness.
The King looked up and rose, holding heavily to the arm of
the pew.

Romney hesitated, but Portland stepped up to William.

" We had best return, sire."

The King was silent, his eyes fixed on the altar and the
fluttering gold light that dwelt there — a radiance in the gloom.

Portland touched his arm and he moved then, with no sign
of animation, towards the Abbey door ; his two friends followed
shivering in the great spaces of the church that were more
bitterly cold than the outer air.

The King's eyes turned to the shadowed dark aisles which
led to the chapel of the seventh Henry and the spot where the
Queen, a few months ago young, and beautiful, and gay, now lay
among her royal kinsmen, dust with dust.

The King opened the heavy door and stepped out into the
bitter light of the snowstorm which hid sky and houses, whitened
the coach waiting and the liveries of the impatient footmen who

262 GOD AND THE KING

walked about in the endeavour to keep warm. The King himself
was in an instant covered from head to foot ; he gave a lifeless
shudder as one so sick with the world that sun and snow were
alike to him.

He entered the coach and the two lords followed him ; there
was no word spoken ; his friends had lost heart in the fruitless
endeavour of comfort ; he had scarcely spoken since the Queen's
death, scarcely raised his eyes ; for six weeks he had remained
in his chamber, and now he came abroad it was to no purpose,
for he took no interest in anything in life.

He gave himself much to religious observances, and was
often closeted with the Archbishop ; he uttered no word of com-
plaint, never even had mentioned his wife's name, which was the
more remarkable after the first frantic passion of his grief; he
would attend to no business and see no one ; he replied to the
addresses of the Houses only by a few incoherent words ; his
answers as they appeared in the Gazette were written by Portland.

He fainted often, and his spirits sunk so low that the doctors
feared he would die of mere apathy, for all their devices were
useless to rouse him to any desire to live.

Portland could do nothing. M. Heinsius, Grand Pensionary
of Holland, wrote in vain from The Hague ; that long, intimate,
and important correspondence was broken by the King for the
first time since his accession ; the allies clamoured in vain for him
whose guidance alone kept the coalition together ; factions raged
in parliament with no authority to check them ; the Jacobites
raised their heads again, and, the moment the breath was out
of the Queen, began their plots for a French invasion and the
assassination of the one frail life that stood for the forces of
Protestantism ; this was generally known, though not proved,
but the King cared for none of it.

The home government, since the retirement of Leeds after
the East India scandal, was in many hands, mostly incompetent ;
foreign affairs fared worse, for these the King had always kept
almost entirely in his own control, and had scarcely even
partially trusted any of his English ministers on these matters,
that, as he was well aware, neither their knowledge nor their
characters fitted them to deal with. Portland held many of the
clues to the King's immense and intricate international policy,

VITA SINE AMORE MORS EST 263

and he had done what he could with matters that would not
wait, but he could not do everything, nor do anything for long,
and what he could not do was left undone.

As the Royal coach swung into Whitehall courtyard the sudden
snowstorm had ceased and a pale, cold ray of sun pierced the
disturbed clouds.

The King had lately taken a kind of horror to his villa at
Kensington, and resided at Whitehall, though he had always
detested this palace, and the foul air of London was perilous to
his health.

There was, however, no pretence even of a Court. The ladies,
with their music, their sewing, their cards and tea drinking, had
vanished ; the Princess Anne, nominally reconciled to the King,
lived at St. James's, and no woman came to Court now ; the great
galleries, chambers, and corridors were empty save for a few
Dutch sentries and ushers and an occasional great lord or foreign
envoy waiting to ask my Lord Portland when His Majesty would
be fit to do business.

Without a word or a look to any the King passed through
the antechamber to his private apartments. Portland stopped
to speak to Lord Sunderland, who was talking to the Lord
Keeper, Sir John Somers, the Whig lawyer, as industrious,
as honest, and as charming as any man in England, and an
extraordinary contrast to Sunderland in character. The two
were, however, for a moment in league, and had together
brought about that reconciliation of the King and the Princess
Anne that set the throne on a firmer basis, though neither had
as yet dared to bring forward my Lord Marlborough.

Romney, who disliked the everyday virtues of the middle-
class Lord Keeper, would have preferred to follow the King, but
William gave him no invitation, but entered his apartments and
closed the door, so he had to join the little group of three.

Their talk was for a while of general matters — of the heats in
parliament and the prospects of the campaign of the allies under
Waldeck and Vaudemont ; each was silent about the matter
uppermost in his mind — the recovery of the King. Portland,
the lifelong friend, upright, noble, stern ; Romney, gay, impul-
sive, shallow, but loyal and honest ; Somers, worthy, tireless, a
Whig, and of the people ; Sunderland, aristocrat and twice told a

264 GOD AND THE KING

traitor, shameless, secretive, and fascinating, by far the finest
statesman of the four — all these had one object in common, to
rouse the man on whom depended the whole machinery of the
English government and the whole fate of the huge coalition
against France, which had taken twenty years to form.

Sunderland, heartily disliked by the other three, yet master of
all of them, suddenly, with delicate precision, came to the heart
of the matter.

" Unless all Europe is to slip back into the hands of France,"
he said, " the King must take up his duties."

"This temper of his is making him most unpopular,"
remarked Somers, who, honestly grateful to his master, had
always endeavoured to turn people and parliament to an affection
for the King. "Though the Queen was greatly beloved they
resent this long mourning."

"She held the King and country together," answered
Sunderland. " Her English birth, her tactful, pretty ways did
His Majesty more service here than a deal of statecraft — the
Jacks know that ; the country is swarming with them, and unless
it is all to end in disaster — the King must act his old part."

Portland flushed.

" You say so, my lord, but who is to rouse a man utterly
prostrate ? Nothing availeth to draw him from his sloth."

"He is neither dead nor mad," said Sunderland calmly.
" And grief is a thing that may be mastered. He should go to
Flanders in May and take command of the allies."

" It is impossible ! " broke out Sidney. " Did you mark him
but now ? He hardly lifts his eyes from the floor, and I have
not heard him speak one word these ten days."

Sunderland answered quietly —

" A man who hath done what he hath cannot utterly sink
into apathy — there is a spirit in him which must respond, if it
be but rightly called upon."

" Will you essay to rouse His Majesty ? " asked Portland
haughtily.

Sunderland's long eyes narrowed.

" I am bold to try where your lordship hath failed," he said,
with a deference that was like insolence ; " but it is a question of
great matters, and I will make the trial."

VITA SINE AMORE MORS EST 265

" You will make it in vain, my lord," answered Romney. " The
King is beyond even your arts."

Sunderland delicately lifted his shoulders.

" We can but see." He looked rather cynically round the
other three men. " If the King is out of the reach of reason it is
as well we should know it, my lords."

Portland did not reply. He bitterly resented that this man,
whom he scorned and despised, should gain this intimacy with
the King's weakness; but he led the way to William's apart-
ments. He had practically control of affairs since the King's
collapse, and no one questioned his coming or going.

They found William in his cabinet that overlooked the privy
gardens, at the bottom of which the river rolled black and dismal
in contrast to the glitter of the snow on the paths and flower-
beds.

The King sat by the window, gazing out on this prospect, his
head sunk on his breast and his left arm along the sill of the
window. The crimson cut crystal bracelet round his wrist was
the only light or colour on his person, for he wore no sword, and
his heavy black clothes were unbraided and plain ; the consider-
able change in his appearance was largely heightened by this
complete mourning, for he had seldom before worn black, having,
indeed, a curious distaste to it. He had been born in a room
hung with funeral trappings and lit only with candles, and for
the first months of his life never left this black chamber, which
had caused, perhaps, a certain revulsion in him to the sables of
mourning, which he had worn only once before, when, a pale
child of ten, he had been dressed in black for his young mother,
that other Mary Stewart whose coffin lay in Westminster within
a few feet of that of his wife.

He did not seem to notice that any had entered upon his
privacy. Portland glanced back at Romney and the Lord Keeper
with a look that seemed to convey that he felt hopeless of my
Lord Sunderland doing what he had boasted ; but that lord
went forward with his usual quiet carriage.

A large fire filled the room with cheerful light that glowed
on the polished Dutch pottery and rich Dutch pictures on the
mantelshelf and walls. On a marquetry bureau, with glittering
brass fuchsia-shaped handles, was a pile of unopened letters, and

266 GOD AND THE KING

amid them a blue-glazed earthenware dragon that used to stand
in the Queen's withdrawing-room at Hampton Court.

Sunderland paused, looking at the King. The three other
men remained inside the door, watching with painful attention.

" Sire," said the Earl, " there is news from France. M. de
Luxembourg, who was your greatest enemy, is dead."

The King did not move.

"It is a great loss to King Louis," added Sunderland.
"They say M. de Villeroy is to have the command."

William slowly turned his head and looked at the speaker, but
without interest or animation, almost, it seemed, without recogniti on.

Sunderland came nearer. A book was lying on the window-
seat, he glanced at it — it was Dr. Tenison's sermon on the text,
"I have sworn and am steadfastly purposed to keep thy
righteous judgments," which had been preached after the Queen's
death, and printed by the King's command.

Sunderland spoke again.

"The Whigs have ousted my Lord Leeds and his friend
Trevor — and continue to press heavily upon him."

Again it was doubtful if the King heard ; he fixed his large
mournful eyes steadily upon the Earl, and made no sign nor answer.

Sunderland, finding neither of these matters touched the King,
drew from the bosom of his grey satin waistcoat a roll of papers.

"Mr. Wren showed me these this morning," he said, "and
doubted if he dared bring them to Your Majesty. They are
those plans for the turning of Greenwich Palace into a hospital
that Her Majesty had ever at heart."

The three men watching caught their breath at the delicate
bluntness of my lord. This time there could be no doubt that
the King had heard ; he made some incoherent answer and held
out his hand for the plans, which he unrolled and gazed at.

"It should be a noble monument," said the Earl softly,
" to Her Majesty and those who fell at La Hogue fight. Mr.
Wren would have an inscription along the river frontage saying
she built it, and a statue of her — looking along the Thames
to London."

The King answered in a low voice —

" Let it be put in hand at once."

"Will Your Majesty see Mr. Wren?"

VITA SINE AMORE MORS EST 267

William lifted his eyes from the drawings.

"No — let him get to work," he murmured; then, after a
second, "Do you not think it will be a worthy monument?"

" So fine that I can but think of one more worthy," answered
Sunderland.

A languid colour touched the King's hollow cheek.

"What is that?"

"The completion of Your Majesty's life-work."

There was silence. The King paled again and looked out of
the window.

" I cannot talk of business," he said hoarsely, after a while.

" I speak of the Queen — her wishes," answered Sunderland.
"She greatly desired the building of Greenwich Hospital, but
she still more desired the preservation of this realm — and of the
Republic."

At this last word the King gave a little shiver.

"The Republic," repeated Sunderland, "needeth Your
Majesty."

William looked round again — his face was troubled.

" You speak to a dead man," he said, in a hurried whisper.
" I have finished."

"If that be so," replied the Earl, "we and the United
Provinces are lost, and King Louis will triumph after all, yea,
after all the toil, and loss, and patience, and endeavour, France
will triumph over Europe. Your Majesty had better not have
flung the gauntlet in '72 — better to have bowed to France then
than submit now."

The King seemed disturbed ; he laid the plans of Greenwich
down and moved his hands restlessly.

" I am not fit for — anything," he muttered. " I am not
capable of military command — there are others — I have been at
this work twenty years — let some other take it up "

"There is no other," said Sunderland. "This is Your
Majesty's task, and no one else can undertake it."

The King looked round in a desperate fashion ; he saw the
three men at the other end of the room.

" Why do you come baiting me ? " he asked. " I tell you there
is nothing more in me " — he laid his hand on his heart — " all is
dead — here."

268 GOD AND THE KING

A sudden violent cough shook him ; he gasped with pain.

" In a few months I shall be with her," he added, and his
voice was so weak and shaken that Sunderland could scarcely
catch the words.

"Doth not Your Majesty believe in predestination?"

William was silent.

" Doth not Your Majesty believe that God hath some further
use for you ? "

The King answered simply and with infinite sadness —

" I think He hath had from me all the work I am capable
of."

11 No," said Sunderland. " Your greatest tasks, your greatest
victories lie before you. William of Nassau will not die while
the battle rageth. God, who put you in the vanguard of the
world, will not let you fall out with the deserters."

The King drew a sharp breath ; he seemed considerably
moved and agitated ; his dark eyes turned to Sunderland.

" What is it to you whether I fail or no ? " he asked wildly.

The Earl smiled.

" I stand for England, sire. Besides that, I always believed
in you, and you are the only man in Europe worth serving."

William flushed.

" You speak very boldly."

" I spoke boldly to Your Majesty in '77. I said to you then,
you are the Prince for England — your moment will come. The
little things, sir, often clog, and hamper, and bewilder, but in the
end the big things win — as Your Majesty will win, though
through wearisome ways. Sir, kingdoms are large stakes. Sir, to
be a champion of a creed is a great responsibility, and he who
taketh it up must forgo the grief of common men, for surely his
tears are demanded as well as his blood."

William sat motionless, with his hand to his side.

" You think I can take it all up again ? " he asked, in his
hoarse, strained voice. " My God ! I think it is too late."

Sunderland turned and whispered something to Somers, who
left the room ; to the King he said —

" I entreat Your Majesty see a young officer new come from
Flanders."

CHAPTER II
THE KING IS NEEDED

£* UNDERLAND remained by the silent King, on whom he
O kept his clear, strong glance ; Portland and the beautiful
Romney went into the antechamber, where they could speak
freely.

" What charlatan's trick is this ? " said the Earl, in a low,
angry voice. " Who is this officer from Flanders ? It is strange
to hear my Lord Sunderland mouth these godly sentiments — he,
a man merely fighting for a place "

"Yet he spoke," admitted Romney, "and we were silent.
And he roused the King. If it be mere self-interest it had the
effect of sincerity."

Portland made no answer ; he knew that he could not have
spoken to William with the quiet tact and insinuating boldness
that Sunderland had, but he knew also that he had served and
loved the King in a way Sunderland could probably not even
understand, and his heart swelled at what he considered calculated
tricks to goad the King into filling a position where he might be
useful to my lord ; in this Portland's rigid honesty was unfair to
Sunderland, who, though he was knavish sometimes in his means,
was seldom knavish in his ends, and perhaps strove for as high
an ideal as William Bentinck, though by different ways.

Lord Romney spoke again.

" After all, what doth it matter — if the King could be drawn
out of his sloth ? "

Portland's fair face was still dark and sombre; he rather
despised the Englishman ; he rather regretted the day when he
had come to England to take up these perilous honours among
a people who detested him. Romney glanced at him, gave a

little shrug, and returned to the King's room; his love for

369

270 GOD AND THE KING

William was of a different quality, his code was easier ; he was
thankful that the King should, under any circumstances, recover
his balance, and he, Henry Sidney, could see no great dishonour
in the public actions of my Lord Sunderland, and regarded him
from no such stern standpoint as did William Bentinck.

He found the King had moved and now sat beside the
bureau piled with the untouched correspondence. Sunderland
was still at the window looking out at the inky line of the river
between the white banks and the slow progress of a barge with
dull yellow sails that struggled with a sluggish wind past White-
hall stairs.

Romney went over to him.

" You have done much, my lord," he whispered warmly ;
" we must all be grateful."

Sunderland turned his faded, powdered face from the window.

" He will finish the campaign yet, I think," he answered.

The Lord Keeper and Lord Portland re-entered the room,
and with them was a third gentleman, who went at once to Lord
Sunderland, like one waiting for directions ; that nobleman took
him gently by the arm and drew him towards the King, who had
not yet looked up.

"Sire," he said, "Your Majesty knoweth M. van Keppel,
who hath been some years in your service."

The King raised his eyes and saw the splendid figure of a
young Dutch officer standing before him with great humility and
respect.

"Yes, I remember you, Mynheer," he murmured, with a
faint animation, and speaking his own language.

Sunderland stepped back and the young soldier went on one
knee.

" Are you come from Flanders ? " asked William.

"Yes, sire."

" From my Cousin Vaudemont's force ? "

" Yes, sire."

" What is your business with us ? " asked the King faintly.

Joost van Keppel rose.

" My business is more than I dare broach," he said humbly.

The King looked at him kindly.

" I shall not be angry." He exerted himself to graciousness,

THE KING IS NEEDED 271

and his glance seemed to rest with a wistful kind of pleasure on
the youth.

Certainly Joost van Keppel had an appearance well calcu-
lated to win the hearts of those who looked upon him, for a
mingled sweetness and ardour made a kind of radiance in his
face, as if he gave forth the light of hope and courage. He was
tall and robust, of a bright fairness, with dark brown eyes of an
extraordinary power and gentleness, a smiling, strong mouth, and
a fine carriage of nobility in his port ; his rich-coloured brown
hair hung in full curls over his gay and vivid uniform; there
was a great quantity of gold on his sword belt and in his shoulder
knots; in the firelight he glittered from head to foot with a
changing light of gold ; but despite his youthful strength and
the magnificence of his appointments the prevailing impression
of his person was that of a gentle, soft, and winning sweetness
that sat very graciously on the unconscious demeanour of a
noble soldier.

" Were you not a page to us ? " asked the King.

" Yes, Your Majesty. I was with those who had the honour
to come to England with Your Majesty," answered M. van Keppel.
"Your Majesty showed me great kindness in promoting me."

He had a gentle and charming address, an eager air of
deference wholly pleasing.

" I had forgotten," said the King. " So you have come from
Flanders?"

He gave a little sigh.

" Oh, sire ! " cried Joost van Keppel, " I am come to tell
Your Majesty that we need you ! "

The King sat up and looked at Portland and the Englishmen.

"Ah !" he said, in an angry, broken voice. "What device is
this you put upon me ? No use, my lords, no use ; this back will
bear no more burdens."

" Absolve me," cried Portland. " I know nothing of this "

" A trick," continued the King — " a trick to spur me. What
are you, Mynheer, to come and tell me of my duty ? "

M. van Keppel threw himself again on his knees.

" The King is needed," he repeated, with great passion. " I
love Your Majesty enough to dare tell you so. Sire, the Republic
crieth out to Your Majesty ! "

272 GOD AND THE KING

" Who told you to speak thus ? " asked William bitterly.

" M. Heinsius," answered the young soldier instantly.

At that name the King changed countenance.

" M. Heinsius," he muttered ; then he fixed M. van Keppel
with a keen look and added — "Why did he choose you?"

" Because Your Majesty used to have some kindness for me,"
was the reply, given with a frank modesty ; " because no man
living could revere Your Majesty more than I do."

"I am not used to be so courted," said William sternly.
" You have too ready a tongue. M. Heinsius may find another
messenger."

He rose and would have turned away, but the young man,
still on his knees, caught the King's stiff silk coat skirts.

"Will the Prince of Orange ever refuse to listen to the appeal
of the United Provinces ? " he asked, with singular sweetness and
force.

William looked down at him, hesitated, then said faintly —

"Rise, Mynheer. I am not your King. As for the
Republic" — he sank into the great wand-bottomed chair
again and said abruptly — " how think they the campaign will
go?"

M. van Keppel got to his feet and stood his full splendid
height.

" M. de Vaudemont saith, sire, that if Your Majesty would
come to lead us there is no question that the allies might do
more than they have ever done." He paused a moment, then
continued, " M. de Boufflers is guarding the banks of the Sambre ;
a great army is collected from the Lys to the Scheldt. M. de
Villeroy, they say, is to fix his headquarters at Tournay ; but the
allies are ready to take the field — operations could begin next
month. M. de Vaudemont and M. Heinsius have written so to
Your Majesty."

William glanced at the pile of unopened correspondence ; he
flushed and looked again at M. van Keppel.

"Sire," said the young soldier proudly, "there is Fleurus,
Steinkirk, and Landen to avenge. I rode past Namur a week
ago and saw the Bourbon lilies flying above the keep."

" Namur ! " repeated William, and his eyes widened.

The loss of Namur had been the worst disaster of all the

THE KING IS NEEDED 273

disasters of the war. William had perhaps never known such
humiliation as when the great fortress fell before his eyes.

" M. de Vauban," continued Joost van Keppel, " hath added
to the fortifications of M. Kohorn and declared the town im-
pregnable; they have fixed a vaunting notice over the gate
defying us to retake it — but, sire, it could be done."

" There spoke a soldier ! " flashed the King. " That spirit in
my men wrested back the three Provinces in '74."

"That spirit is alive still, sire — they who drove back the
French then could take Namur now."

William looked at Sunderland.

"Would your English be pleased," he asked, "if we took
Namur?"

" There is nothing would so delight the people as a great
victory in the Low Countries," answered that nobleman.

" So they defy us," said the King. " And Namur is even more
important than it was; it must be the strongest fortress in
Europe. Certainly it is a prize worth while."

M. van Keppel spoke again.

" M. de Maine is to be sent with M. de Villeroy."

"So they send M. de Maine to fight us, do they?" ex-
claimed the King. "We should be the equal of M. de
Maine."

He looked kindly and steadily at M. van Keppel.

" My child," he said, " you are a good patriot, and that is the
best thing in the world to be. We must give you a regiment.
We hope to see you in Flanders."

He smiled, and the young soldier, who had been taught all
his life to regard him as the first of living men, bowed, over-
whelmed, with tears of pleasure in his eyes.

William gave him his hand and Joost van Keppel kissed
it reverently, then, at a delicate sign from Sunderland, retired,
followed by the Lord Keeper.

The King sat very quiet, looking into the fire. Portland
came and stood behind his chair.

" Will you go out to the war ? " he asked.

" Yes," said William simply

Sunderland darted a sideway look at Portland, who flushed.

" I am indeed glad of that," he said sternly.
18

274 GOD AND THE KING

"That is a gallant youngster," said the King. "I ever liked
him. I will keep him about me ; he is a pleasant creature."

" He is," replied Portland ; " a rakehelly good-for-nought, as
every one knows."

William smiled faintly ; he was the most tolerant of men, and
had no interest in those faults that did not cross his designs.

"I have loved rakes before," he said, and looked at my
Lord Romney.

The two Englishmen laughed a little, but Portland answered,
with some anger —

" He is a young prodigal with more debts than wits ; you
should not have given him your hand."

The King did not resent his friend's brusque address, he
answered quietly, in his weak voice —

" It would give me pleasure to pay some of those debts."

Sunderland softly put in a remark.

"M. van Keppel is the most obliging, sweet-tempered
gentleman in the world, and one most devoted to Your Majesty."

" And a great friend of your lordship," said Portland, with a
cold haughtiness. He perceived, as he thought, a design on the
part of Sunderland and Somers, with perhaps Marlborough
behind them, to put up a rival to share with him the King's
affections, which had been wholly his for near their joint lives,
and he could not contain his scorn and resentment, nor was he
assuaged by the obvious unconsciousness of the King.

Romney made some attempt to shift the subject ; he came
forward in the easy gracious way habitual to him.

" Your Majesty will be soon for Flanders, then ? " he asked.
" It is a noble resolution."

William rose.

" I think it is my duty," he answered. He took up the plans ot
Greenwich Palace from the window-sill. " I think it is all there
is for me to do. I thank you, my lords," he added, with dignity,
"for having so long borne with me."

He gave a little bow and left them to enter the inner room.

As the door closed on him Sunderland smiled at the other
two.

"Have I not succeeded?" he demanded. "He is roused,
he will go out to the war, I even think that he will take Namur."

THE KING IS NEEDED 275

"You are very clever, my lord," admitted Romney, "and
surely you have done the King a great service."

Portland broke in hotly —

" You pulled the strings of your puppet very skilfully ; you
know how to deal with the weaknesses of men, but those who
are the King his friends do not love to see him practised on for
party purposes."

" I stand for more than party purposes," answered Sunderland,
with sudden haughtiness. " My cause is the King his cause —
that is sufficient — and for the rest, my deeds are not answ.erable
at the tribunal of your virtues, my lord."

Portland came a step nearer to him.

" You scarce believe in God — you are little better than an
atheist — yet all these terms are glib upon your tongue, and your
tool, a shallow popinjay, can prate very nicely of sacred things.
You are not sincere — you care for nothing — for no one."

Romney made a little movement as if he would have stepped
between the two earls, but Sunderland answered unmoved —

"I have my policy too much at heart to jeopardize it by
expounding it myself. I fear that my principles would suffer
by my lack of eloquence."

" Your principles ! " cried Portland. " Your policy — what
is it?"

" Too precious a thing for me to risk on a turn of the tongue,
I repeat, my lord. I speak in actions. Watch them and know
my answer."

CHAPTER III
ATTAINMENT

IT was the commencement of the campaign of 1695; as >'et
nothing had been done either side. The men at Versailles
who managed the war had concentrated their forces in Flanders,
and there the allies had gathered to meet them ; the Elector of
Bavaria and other princes of the Empire were encamped with
the Germans guarding Brussels ; the Brandenburghers and Spanish
lay at Huy ; the Dutch and British under the command of the
King of England, at Ghent.

The French waited. Villeroy was not Luxembourg ; he had
no genius for command, and he was hampered by the presence
of the Due de Maine, his pupil and his superior, who showed no
aptitude for war, not even common courage. Boufflers watched
the King of England, the meaning of whose marches he could
not fathom ; his oblique moves might cover a design on either
Ypres or Dunkirk; for a month they continued, and neither
Villeroy nor Boufflers suspected an attempt on Namur.

But on June 28th, the King, the Elector, and the Branden-
burghers advanced with a swift concerted movement straight on
Namur with such suddenness and rapidity that M. de Boufflers
had scarcely time to throw himself into the fortress before the
three divisions of the allied army closed round the walls of
the town.

The Prince de Vaudemont had been left in Flanders to
watch Villeroy. That general believed he could wipe out this
force and then drive the allies from Namur — he said as much
in his dispatches to Versailles ; but M. de Vaudemont effected
a masterly retreat into Ghent, and the easiness of the French
Court was disturbed, especially as it was whispered that an action

had been avoided owing to the poltroonery of M. de Maine.

276

ATTAINMENT 277

M. de Kohorn, the principal engineer of the allies, had set
his heart on the capture of the fortress that he had seen taken
by his great master and rival, M. de Vauban. The Frenchman
had since added considerably to the fortifications, and rendered
Namur the strongest fortress in the world, and M. de Kohorn
was spurred by professional pride into a desperate attempt to
make good his failure of three years ago.

A week after the trenches were opened the English foot
guards gained the outworks on the Brussels side ; on the seven-
teenth the first counterscarp of the town was captured ; on the
twentieth the Germans gained Vauban's line of fortifications cut
in the rock from the Sambre to the Meuse and the great sluice
or waterworks ; on the twenty-third the Dutch and English made
conquest of the second counterscarp, and the town capitulated,
Boufflers and the garrison retiring into the citadel, leaving
behind them about fifteen hundred wounded men to be cared
for by the allies.

On the 6th of August the allies, led by the King of England,
marched into Namur by the St. Nicolas Gate, and prepared for
the last and terrible assault on the garrison.

Villeroy, who had meantime taken the petty towns of
Dixmuyde and Deynse, endeavoured to induce the King to
raise the siege of Namur by menacing Brussels, which he shelled
and greatly damaged; but in vain, for William was not to be
lured into relinquishing his prey, and Villeroy, after two days,
marched on to Enghien, and, having collected the greater number
of the French troops in the Netherlands, amounting in all to
over eighty thousand men, advanced to the relief of Namur.

But the Prince de Vaudemont having now joined the allied
forces it was considered that they were strong enough to face
Villeroy, and at the same time continue the siege of the castle
and hold the town.

On the fifteenth the French host fired a salute of ninety guns
as a haughty promise of relief to Boufflers ; from then to the
nineteenth the two mighty armies faced each other, neither
making any movement. Europe held its breath, Paris and
London, The Hague and Vienna, Brussels, still half prostrate
from French fires, Rome and Madrid waited in almost unbear-
able suspense for the result of the promised and, it seemed,

278 GOD AND THE KING

inevitable combat between the two finest and largest armies
that had ever met on European soil.

Boufflers burnt fire signals every night on his watch-towers,
which urged haste to Villeroy, who still lay beyond the mighty
ring of the confederate army who incessantly stormed the citadel.

On the nineteenth the King rose at dawn, got his forces
under arms, and rode from post to post surveying his troops
and watching the enemy; he was in the saddle from four in
the morning till nightfall, and tired out three horses. When he
returned to his tent that had been pitched in the encampment
on the west of the town near the Abbey of Salsines, there was
no portion of his vast army that he had not personally inspected.

He dined alone; the Elector of Bavaria and the other
German princes being in immediate command of the troops
that were actually storming Namur.

He expected that Villeroy would attack him as soon as it was
light, and his preparations were complete.

He had an interview with M. Dyckfelt, who was with the
army as representative of the States General, and was then alone,
it being about ten of the clock and a hot summer night.

All the light in the tent came from a silver lamp suspended
from the cross-poles, which gave an uncertain and wavering
illumination. The King sat in the shadows ; on the little table
beside him was his sword, his pistols, and a map of Namur.

He was thinking of twenty-three years ago when, in his early
youth, he had first led an army against France ; his entire force
then had numbered little more than the servants, footmen, and
attendants in his retinue now. All Europe had been against him,
half his country in the hands of the enemy, the home government
in the control of the opposing factions. The man of forty-four
looked back at the achievements of the youth of twenty-one with
an extraordinary sense — almost of wonder.

He recalled with painful vividness how Buckingham and
Arlington had come to offer him the shameful terms of France
and England, their scorn at his rejection of the bitter bargain,
and how even William Bentinck, gay and thoughtless then, had
despaired. Hopeless, indeed, it had seemed ; there had not been
one to believe in him ; but he had never doubted his own destiny.

And now he was justified in what he had undertaken, at

ATTAINMENT 279

least that, whatever sorrows, humiliations, and disappointments
had darkened his way the outward semblance was of great and
steady success.

The Prince, who had been little better than a State prisoner
and a pawn in the politics of Europe, heir to a ruined family and
leader of a despairing nation, was now a King, directing half
Europe, with one of the mightiest armies the world had seen
behind him. Of the monarchs who had offered to silence his
despised defiance with dishonourable terms one was now dead,
and he held his kingdoms ; and the other, who then had threatened
to overrun the world, was now with difficulty holding his own
against a coalition that included all the principal countries of
Europe.

Not without concession, infinite patience, endless trouble, and
long waiting had William got these allies together. For the support
and the millions of England he was paying a price none but
himself could gauge the bitterness of. To Scandinavia he had had
to sacrifice some of his cherished maritime privileges ; Spain, the
most provoking of the confederates, had been kept by much
expenditure of art and money ; the German princes had been held
together by a title, a garter, a subsidy, an honour, a promise of a
prospective dignity. Now, before the walls of Namur, the man
whose genius and indomitable courage had, during twenty years,
toiled towards this end, might feel that he was beginning to taste
his reward.

He was facing France, equal to equal ; he was feared and
respected throughout the world. The Protestant faith, threatened
with extinction by Louis, he had placed on a basis from which,
as long as any faith lasted, it could never be displaced. His
country was free, and prosperous, and foremost among nations
again ; the power of France was already too crippled for there to
be longer any fear of her upsetting the balance of power.

The English fleet, useless since Elizabeth, again was mis-
tress of the seas. Russell passed unmolested between Spain and
Italy, defied the remnant of the French fleet imprisoned in
Toulon port, and dared the whole of the Mediterranean seaboard.
Berkeley passed unmolested along the French coast, burnt
Granville, shelled Calais and Dunkirk, and kept the English flag
high and undisputed above the Channel,

280 GOD AND THE KING

The man who had been the boy who had once passionately
resolved to do these things found the realization of them different
indeed from those bright imaginings. Attainment of fame, honour,
power, success, could not give more than a faint remembrance of
the throb of exultation the youthful Prince had felt when he,
penniless, unsupported, hampered in every possible way, had first
flung his challenge to overwhelming odds. Then there had been
everything to do ; but ardent courage and unspoilt faith had
gilded difficulties, and the heroic pride of youth had smiled at
obstacles ; now the loss of a love the boy had never dreamt of
had made all things else appear small to the man.

Twenty years of toil, of acquaintance with treachery, deceit,
smallness, weakness, twenty years of misunderstood endeavour,
of constant strain, of constant fatigue had done their work. The
fine spirit did not shrink from its task, but never again could it
recapture the early glow of hope, the early ecstasy of labour, the
early pride of achievement.

What was his achievement, after all. He might well think
that the God he had served so patiently had mocked him. He
had loved but to lose his love ; he had bartered his personal ease,
almost his liberty, almost his pride for bitter honours held in
exile ; his health was utterly worn out, his days were a continual
weariness and pain ; he was again as lonely as he had been when
he was the prisoner of the States ; he had no heir, and the main
branch of his family died with him ; if he could not finish him-
self his task he must entrust it to strangers to complete. Surely
all was utter vanity and vexation. The cold consolations of a
sombre faith only supported him. He clung to those beliefs in
which Mary had died, and faced the few years that at best
remained to him with the same high courage with which she
had met her fate.

He rose presently, in the perfect stillness, and went to the
entrance of his tent, lifted the flap, and looked out.

The French red flares on the towers of Namur were visible
across the great plain of the Sambre and Meuse ; the starlight
showed the huge encampment stretching out of sight under the
clear sky; near by a sentry paced with his musket over his
shoulder ; it was very hot and not a blade of grass stirred in the
absolute arrested stillness,.

ATTAINMENT 281

Presently a surgeon passed through the tents carrying a
lantern and followed by a servant leading a mule laden with his
chest. The light flickered awhile amid the canvas then dis-
appeared ; a dog barked and a man whistled to it ; the silence
fell again as intense as before.

The King went back and flung himself on his couch ; he
could not come near sleep, but lay watching the long, pale beams
of light the lamp cast over the worn grass that formed the floor
of the hastily constructed tent.

His mind kept dwelling on his first campaign, his miserable
army, his own ignorance of all but book tactics, his lack of
money, of authority — yet that had been the first spark of that
fire that now lit Europe. He had formed and trained his own
armies — Dutch, Brandenburghers, Swedes, Germans, and lately the
English — until they were equal to those consummate French
troops who had laughed at him in '72 ; but they fought with no
more devotion and courage than the handful of Hollanders who
had rallied round him then, now incorporated into the famous
Dutch Guards, the most beloved of all his beloved army.

He thought of these Guards marching against Villeroy now,
feared and honoured, and his heart fluttered faintly with a fleet-
ing pleasure that they should ever face the French on these terms.

He closed his eyes and instantly there spread before him a
vision of the great banqueting hall at Whitehall hung with black,
and the banners and armours of his family, while in the centre
was a mighty catafalque of black velvet which bore an open
coffin, at the foot of which lay a royal crown and sceptre. She
who rested there was covered to the chin in gold stuff, and round
her head was twisted her dark, curling, auburn hair.

The King sprang up and walked up and down the uneven
ground ; he drew from under his shirt and cravat a long, black
ribbon, to which was attached a gold wedding-ring and a long
lock of that same rich hair that he had seen in his vision.

He paused under the lamp and gazed at it ; in that moment
he prayed, with as much passion as any poor wretch ever prayed
for hope of life, that he might find his death in to-morrow's battle.
He was still standing so, forgetful of time and place, when he
heard voices without, and hastily put the ribbon back over his
heart.

282 GOD AND THE KING

The flap was raised and the figure of a young officer showed
against the paling sky.

" Is it M. van Keppel ? " asked the King quietly.

" Yes, sire." The speaker .entered. He had been sent with
the King's commands to the Elector of Bavaria.

" M. de Bavaria understands everything ? " inquired William.

" He is quite ready, sire."

"So are we," said the King. " I should think M. de Villeroy
would make the attack in an hour or so — the dawn is breaking,
is it not ? "

"The sun was just rising, sire, above the river, as I rode
from the camp of His Highness."

" Yet the light is very faint here. Will you, Mynheer, light
the other lamp?" The King spoke gently, but he had quite
regained that command of himself which rendered his demeanour
so stately and impressive.

M. van Keppel obeyed and was then retiring, but William,
who was seated by the table, asked him to stay.

" I may have another message for you," he added.

The officer bowed.

William rang the little hand -bell near him and a valet
instantly appeared from the curtained inner portion of the tent.
The King lived very simply when at the camp. He now asked for
wine, and when it was brought made M. van Keppel drink with him,
which honour caused the young soldier to redden with pleasure.

" I hear," said William, " that the garrisons of Dixmuyde and
Deynse have been sent prisoners to France. That breaketh the
treaty we made for the exchange of captives — treachery and
insolence, it seemeth, are the only methods of France."

" Treachery and insolence will not for ever prevail," answered
Joost van Keppel, in his sweet, ardent voice. "The fortunes of
Your Majesty begin to overleap the arrogance of France."

"There will be a great battle to-day," remarked the King
quietly and irrelevantly.

The powerful summer dawn, strengthening with every moment,
penetrated the tent and mingled with the beams of the two lamps.
The King sat in the crossed lights ; his gentleman knelt before
him, fastening the great gilt spurs to his close riding-boots. He
looked at Joost van Keppel gravely and kindly ; his face, pale in

ATTAINMENT 283

its proper complexion, was tanned darkly by the Lowland sun ;
his eyes were extraordinarily bright and flashing, but languid
lidded and heavily shadowed beneath ; his large, mobile mouth
was set firmly ; his long, thick curls hung over his black coat,
across which showed the blue ribbon and star that he had not
removed since he had reviewed his forces yesterday.

" Mynheer," he said to M. van Keppel. " Lift the flap and
look out "

The young Dutchman obeyed and a full sunbeam struck
across the dim artificial light.

" A fine day," remarked William ; he was ever fond of sun
and warmth.

As M. van Keppel stood so, holding back the canvas and
gazing over the tents that spread across the plain of the Meuse,
a gentleman, armed on back and breast with a gold inlaid cuirass,
wrapped in a black silk mantle and carrying a hat covered with
white plumes, rode up, dismounted, and entered the King's tent
without a word of ceremony.

M. van Keppel bowed very respectfully ; it was the Earl of
Portland.

On seeing the King alone with the young officer his face
darkened ; he answered the King's greeting of unconscious
affection with stern brusqueness.

" There are letters from England — I met the messenger," he
said, and laid the packet on the table by the wine-glasses.

Joost van Keppel was quick to see the instant shock that
William quivered under, and to perceive the cause of it. When
last the King had been at the war not a post had arrived from
London without a letter from the Queen. The young man thought
Portland had acted with some harshness ; he came forward and
said impulsively —

" Letters from England, my lord, are not of such importance
that they cannot wait till after the battle."

This was to Portland incredible impertinence ; he stared at
the flushed, generous face with bitterly angry eyes ; but William
seemed relieved.

" Yes, let the news wait," he said, and rose.

" If this was known in London, what would they say ? " broke
out Portland.

284 GOD AND THE KING

" How can it be known in London when I have none here
but friends ? " answered the King.

" I thank Your Majesty for including me with M. van Keppel
as your friend," flashed Portland.

The King looked at him sharply, then from one man to
another.

" Mynheer van Keppel," he said, " you will return to M. de
Bavaria and tell him to be in readiness for a message from
us."

The officer bowed with great deference and sweetness to his
master and the Earl, and instantly retired.

" Will you not read those letters ? " asked Portland, in no way
appeased.

William gave him a glance between reproach and wonder,
broke the seals, and looked over the letters.

" Nothing," he said, when he laid them down, " save that some
sugar ships from Barbadoes have been taken by the French, that
there is great uneasiness on the Stock Exchange."

"Nothing of M. de Leeds?" asked Portland.

" No," said the King ; he was standing up and his gentleman
buckled him into his light cuirass; "but I will not have him
touched — he is punished enough." He added, with some con-
tempt, " Is Leeds so much worse than the herd that he should
be hunted from it?"

" A corrupt man," answered Portland gloomily ; " but you
were always tender with him."

William was silent. His obligation to Leeds consisted entirely
of that nobleman's devotion to the Queen; he thought that
Portland knew this and despised him for such sentiment in
politics. Neither spoke any more on the subject.

" M. Montague is a clever man," remarked the King, after a
little ; " another pensioner of my Lord Dorset. How goeth the
other, your secretary ? "

"Ah, Prior," replied the Earl, "well enough, but I think
him an atheist. His poetry is full of heathen gods, and when I
probed him on the subject he was not satisfactory in his answers,
but well enough."

" Put my Lord Sarum on to converting him," said William
drily ; " but I should not take much account of his poetry."

ATTAINMENT 285

The King's gentleman went into the back part of the tent
and Portland instantly addressed his master with great heat.

" Sir, I must tell you that it is a source of great wonder to
all that you should so encourage, favour, and caress a worthless
young rake like M. van Keppel — a mere hanger-on to court
favour; your dignity suffers by it "

The King interrupted.

" Are you jealous — you — of him ? " he asked mournfully.

" I have enough to make me jealous," was the hot answer,
" when I see the creature of such as my Lord Sunderland creep
into your affections."

The King answered in gentle, dignified tones, without a
touch of anger or resentment —

" You are indeed wrong. I like M. van Keppel for himself
— I find him sweet and intelligent, a willing servant — and I
have not too many. But you know, even while you speak, that
nothing could come between me and you."

" I think he hath come between us," said Portland sternly ;
"during the whole campaign he hath hardly left your side.
I believe you even consult him as to your actions — he ! — why,
the whole camp knoweth his reputation. I could tell some
tales "

The King broke in.

" I'll hear no scandals. You know that of me. If we are
to listen to tale-bearing there is not one of us safe. If I favoured
any man do you not think there would be tales against him?
But I did not think to find you leaning on gossip."

He still spoke with an utter calm ; but Portland took his
words heavily.

" If you choose to reprimand me " he began.

"Forgive me," said the King instantly. "I thought you
would understand. Indeed, forgive me. I would do anything
in the world not to vex you."

The return of the gentleman with William's gloves and cloak
cut short the conversation. The King fastened his sword-belt
over his shoulder and adjusted the weapon ; as he took up
his hat with the long black feathers a magnificent Branden-
burgher officer entered, followed by M. Dyckfelt

"Your Majesty," said the Dutchman quietly, " M. de Villeroy

286 GOD AND THE KING

hath retreated in the night — leaving M. de Boufflers to his
fate."

The Brandenburgher went on one knee and handed William
a dispatch from the commander of the scouts, who had seen
the last vanishing rearguard of the French.

The King showed no emotion of any kind.

"Count," he said to the officer, "you will go to M. de
Bavaria and request him to make an immediate assault on
Namur."

When the officer had withdrawn, with profound obeisance,
William turned to Portland.

"I will ask you to go to M. de Boufflers and demand a
surrender. Tell him that there is no further hope for him
from M. de Villeroy, and that if he wisheth to spare his garrison
he must capitulate to-day."

Portland bowed gravely and turned away. William looked
after him keenly, then took up his perspective glass, his gloves,
and his baton, and left the tent

CHAPTER IV
A MAN'S STRENGTH

MDE BOUFFLERS refused to surrender; he was a
. Marechal de France, he had still many thousand
men, including M. Megrigny, the engineer esteemed second
only to M. de Vauban, and the castle was deemed impregnable.

The assault was fixed for one in the afternoon. The King
of England, the Elector of Bavaria, the Landgrave of Hesse,
other German potentates and the officers of their staff gathered
on the rocky promontory immediately below the ramparts of
the citadel; before them rose the castle ringed with walls,
batteries, palisades, fosses, dykes, and traverses, and set back
two miles or more in elaborate ramparts and outworks.

The allies had formed a complete circumvallation round
the huge fortress, and had opened their trenches at the very
foot of the rock which M. de Vauban had fortified with such
deadly skill.

The day was extraordinarily hot and cloudless; the sun,
being now just overhead, blazed with equal light on the
ruined town, the lofty castle, on counterscarp, glacis, and half-
moon, on the trenches, the defences of wattled sticks lined
with sandbags, on the distant spreading encampment of the
allies, on the still more distant sparkle of the Meuse, which
glittered across the great plain and on the walls of the Abbey
of Salsines.

It shone, too, on a thousand flags, a thousand squads of men
moving with bayonets and matchlocks set to the attack, and
gleamed in the armour of the little group of gentlemen who
were directing the operations, and sometimes sent a long ray
of burning light from their perspective glasses as they turned
them on the castle or the approaching regiments of their own

troop as they defiled through the town.

287

288 GOD AND THE KING

It had been arranged that the assault was to be made in
four places at once, by the Dutch, Brandenburghers, Bavarians,
and English severally; the first three were tried and veteran
troops, the fourth, however, consisted of recruits who were
seeing their first campaign and had never been under fire
before; the best English troops had marched to encounter
Villeroy, and had not been summoned to the attack.

The King turned his glasses on the trenches where these
regiments waited; they were under the command of John
Cutts, as brave and gallant an officer as ever breathed.

William put down his glasses and looked up at the grim
citadel.

" This is a severe test for them," he remarked.

The Electoral Prince was taking a bet from the exultant
Kohorn that they would enter Namur by the 3131 of August.
William laughed.

" I am sorry that Your Highness should put money on our
failure," he said. " I hear that the betting in London is greatly
in our favour."

" This is a matter of dates, Your Majesty," answered M. de
Bavaria. " I say ' No ' only to August the 3ist."

"I am glad M. de Kohorn is so confident," said William
graciously to the great engineer.

M. de Hesse, who wore on his finger a watch in a great ring
of brilliants, remarked that the time was near ten minutes to
one ; M. de Bavaria bowed profoundly and galloped off to direct
his own men in person ; the King looked keenly round to see
that none of his servants were lurking in the line of fire.
Interference was almost as unendurable to him as cowardice;
more than once during the siege he had been exasperated into
horsewhipping some daring footmen or valet out of the trenches.
During the assault of July the zyth he had been con-
siderably vexed to see M. Godfrey, one of the directors
of the new Bank of England, among his officers, and had
severely reprimanded him for his presence in so dangerous
a position.

" But I run no more risk than you, sire," M. Godfrey had
protested.

The King's answer and the sequel were long remembered.

A MAN'S STRENGTH 289

"I, sir," he replied, "may safely trust to God, since I am
doing my duty in being here, while you "

The sentence remained unfinished, for a French cannon shot
laid M. Godfrey dead at the King's side. William had hoped
that this would prove a lesson to useless meddlers, but even
since he had been provoked by various people who had
business at the camp, and who strayed into the trenches to
get a view of real fighting, often with no conception of the
danger of the slow dropping bombs and bullets.

But this afternoon the King's eagle eyes were satisfied that
the works were clear of sightseers ; it had been fairly well spread
abroad that this assault would be, beyond experience, terrible, and
those whose duty did not take them to the front were well in the
rear.

M. de Hesse and the other Germans having galloped off to
their posts, the King remained alone with his staff, midway between
the ramparts that were to be attacked and the English trenches,
full in the cross-line of fire, and motionless and conspicuous as a
target on the little jutting shelf of rock ; his officers were a little
way behind, and his figure was completely outlined against the
blue gap of sun-filled air behind the rock slope.

He rode a huge grey Flemish horse, dark as basalt and as
smooth — very lightly trapped with red leather linked with silver
gilt — that he managed as well as a man can. He had always
been renowned for his consummate horsemanship, and this great
beast, that had taken two footmen to hold in before he mounted,
he held delicately with one hand on the reins with such a perfect
control, that the creature was utterly motionless on the narrow
ledge of slippery rock.

The hot air was full of different distant and subdued sounds —
the rattle of the guns, the clink of the matchlocks striking the
cobbles of the town below, the tramp of feet, the neighing of
horses, and, occasionally, the crowing of a cock on some farm
outside Namur.

The King sat with his reins loose, holding in his right
hand his baton that he rested against his hip. He was intently
watching the English trenches.

The clocks of the churches in Namur struck one ; instantly
a loud report and a jet of flame came from the trenches below ;

290 GOD AND THE KING

two barrels of gunpowder had been blown up as a sigqal for the
attack.

Before the smoke had cleared, all the minor sounds were
silenced by the steady beat of drums and kettledrums, and the
King perceived the Grenadiers marching from behind their de-
fences and earthworks steadily towards the ramparts of Namur —
these were the men of Cult's own regiment. They were immedi-
ately followed by the four new battalions. They came on steadily,
in good order, with their bright, unspoilt colours in their midst,
their colonels riding before them. The King could discern
the slender figure of John Cutts marching on foot before the
Grenadiers with his drawn sword in his hand.

There was no sign from the castle. The English leapt, man
after man, the last deep trench of their own earthworks, and
suddenly, at a word from their leader, whose voice came faintly
to the King's ears, broke into a run and dashed up the slope at
the foot of the rock, and full at the first wall of the French
fortifications.

Instantly the batteries of the garrison opened a terrible fire,
and a confused echo to their thunder told that the other three
divisions of the confederates were meeting a like reception.

The English kept on ; the little body of the Grenadiers, with
the four battalions supporting them and at the head of all John
Cutts, climbed the face of the rock with no sign of disorder.

The King wheeled his horse round to face them, and his
brilliant eyes never left their ranks.

The French commenced fire from the guns behind their first
palisade, which swept the ranks of the advancing English with
deadly effect

Almost every officer of the Grenadiers fell on the hot, bare
rock. The drums began to give a disconnected sound, the
colours wavered, but the men pressed on, with Cutts still running
before them and the recruits doggedly behind them.

The King sent one of his officers with orders for the English
batteries to open fire as soon as the breach had been made.

There was, in the space of a few seconds, hardly an officer
left among the English, the colonels, captains, and lieutenants,
who had dashed forward to encourage their men, were lying
scattered about the hill-side — patches of scarlet and steel — with

A MAN'S STRENGTH 291

their riderless horses running frantically back towards the
camp.

Still Cutts came on. The smoke was thick about him, but the
King could see him clearly as he came every moment nearer. The
Grenadiers had gained a firm footing on the ledge of rock beneath
the palisade, and were about to hurl themselves against it. The
cannonade was now supplemented by a storm of bullets. Cutts
gave a shout, raised his sword, and pitched to the ground, shot
through the head, while the thinned ranks of the Grenadiers rolled
backwards down the rocks.

The King uttered a passionate exclamation ; a bomb, cast
from the castle, burst near him, and his horse reared frantically
at the explosion. When he had quieted the animal and the
smoke had cleared, he saw two of the Grenadiers coming towards
him supporting John Cutts between them. As they reached a
deep, natural gully that cleft the rock, one fell and rolled down
the precipice ; the other caught his officer by the arm and swung
him across the chasm ; the King galloped up to them.

" Is my lord slain ? " he asked.

The wounded man lifted his brown eyes and laughed. Blood
blotched the left side of his face and ran through the bright
brown English locks.

" Why, no, sir," he answered.

" I am glad of that," said the King. " But your men are
being repulsed "

" God help me — not for long ! " cried my lord, and dashed
the blood out of his eyes, and with that movement fainted.

" Call up my surgeon," commanded William to one of his
officers. Lord Cutts was carried out of the firing line, and the
King again directed his attention to the English, who, leaderless,
were nevertheless dashing forward, though without order or
method, sheer against the French fire.

" It is too much for them," muttered William.

This wild charge was suddenly checked by a deep precipice
blown in the rock by underground powder magazines ; the raw
soldiers stood helpless, baffled. The air was of a continuous
redness ; the half-naked French gunners could be seen, running
in and out of their vaulted galleries and crouching, behind the
black shape of the guns; flying fragments of shell, masonry.

292 GOD AND THE KING

and rock fell among the leaderless English, who hesitated, gave
way, and retreated down the bloody slope they had gained, each
rank falling back on the other in confusion, while a shout of
triumph rose from the fiery ramparts of Namur.

The King urged his beautiful horse up the zigzag path. The
bullets flattened themselves on the rocks about him with a dull,
pattering sound; the horse laid back its ears and showed the
scarlet of its nostrils ; the King, with infinite skill and gentleness,
brought it to a higher ridge where he could better survey the
heights. The English, rolling back beneath him, looked up and
saw him through the smoke, the sun darting broken rays off the
star on his breast. He took off his hat covered with black plumes
and waved it to them to encourage them to come on. A ragged
cheer broke from them; they plunged forward again, but a
terrific fire swept them back with half their number fallen. At
this moment the King saw Lord Cutts, hatless and with a
bandaged head, running up towards the glacis.

William rode up to him. The red fire was about them as if
it had been the colour of the atmosphere.

"My lord," said the King, reining up his horse, "they
cannot do it."

A young man in a splendid uniform came riding through the
strong smelling smoke.

"Sire," he said, saluting, "the Bavarians are giving way —
their general hath fallen "

William spoke swiftly to the Englishman.

" Can you rally your men to the assistance of the Bavarians,
my lord ? 'Tis hopeless to attempt to make a breach here."

John Cutts smiled up at his master ; he had to shout to make
his voice heard through the rattle of the cannonade —

" 'Tis done, Your Majesty ! "

His gallant figure slipped, like a hound from the leash, into
the smoke, towards where the English Footguards were retreating,
and William, pointing with his baton to where he rode that his
officers might follow him, swept round the ramparts to where the
Bavarians wavered before the fire of the French. Regiment after
regiment had hurled in vain against the palisades, the ditches
and clefts were choked with corpses, and in every squad of men
a great lane was torn every time the French gunners fired their

A MAN'S STRENGTH 293

pieces, while the Dragoons stood on the glacis, sword in hand,
ready to cut down whoever should touch the palisade.

"They are very determined," remarked William calmly,
glancing up at the red-hot line of fire bursting from the French
batteries ; " but so am I."

As he spoke a bullet passed through his hair so close to his
cheek that he felt the warm whizz of it ; and another, almost
simultaneously, tore through the ends of his scarf.

"For God's sake, sire," cried the officer near him, "this is
certain death."

But the King took no heed of him ; his sparkling eyes were
fastened on the faltering ranks of Bavaria, who were being borne,
steadily but surely, down the slopes, leaving dead behind them,
their commander, and most of their officers.

At the very moment when it seemed that they had hopelessly
lost ground, John Cutts came running up with the colours of the
Grenadiers in one hand and his sword in the other, behind him
two hundred of the English recruits whom he had rallied from
the retreat.

The Bavarians, encouraged by this help, took heart and came
forward again and began climbing up the rock ; but Cutts and
his English dashed ahead of them right into the cannon fire,
forced their way through the palisade, and engaged in a hand to
hand fight with the gunners and Dragoons, who were driven back
from their defences and hurled over their own ramparts on to
the bayonets of the Bavarians below. In a few moments the
English had captured the battery, swung the guns round and
directed them at the Castle. With a shout the Bavarians dashed
through the breach in the wall and, climbing over corpses of men
and horses, poured into the enemy's lines.

The King watched them as they scaled ditches and trenches
and palisade, then made a detour round the fire-swept face of
the rock to the point the Dutch had been ordered to attack.
Splendid soldiers, splendidly commanded, they had already
gained the position and with very little loss ; the French gunners
lay in torn and mangled heaps behind their pieces, which the
Dutch were engaged in turning on the garrison.

William now gave orders that his batteries were to be brought
in play from every available position, both on the ramparts

294 GOD AND THE KING

gained and from every rock and out-work in the possession of
the allies. He himself rode through the broken wall and took up
his position inside the French palisades, where his horse could
scarcely find a footfall for the dead and dying. The air was so
full of powder smoke that the walls and turrets of the castle
appeared to hang as in a great fog with no visible foundations ;
the crack of musketry was incessant, and little threads of flame
ran across the dark heavy vapour; fragments of rock and wall
rolled continually down the slope — dislodged by bombs bursting
or the explosion of barrels of gunpowder. But this was as nothing
to the cannonade. When the combined batteries of the allies
opened on Namur, the oldest soldier could remember no such
fire — it was a bombardment such as had never been known in
war. The French gunners dropped one after another before they
could nut their fuses to their pieces, and were obliged to take
refuge in their underground galleries ; the roar was unceasing, and
the continual flames lit up the rocks, the chasms, the bastions
with as steady and awful a glare as if the world was on fire.

A body of Dragoons made a gallant sally out on to the glacis,
but were swept down to a man before they had advanced a
hundred yards. The Dutch, under cover "of the French palisades,
picked off with musket shot every Frenchman who appeared
within range, portions of the walls and curtains began to fall in,
the sacking and wattles, put up to catch the bullets, caught fire
and flared up through the smoke.

The King could scarcely see his own staff-officers for the
glare and harsh blinding vapour. His ears were filled with the
lamentations of the mangled and delirious wretches who lay
scattered about the glacis, and the sharp screams of the wounded,
riderless horses who galloped in their death agony across the
ramparts and hurled themselves from the precipices beneath.
The King caressed his own animal; the insensibility of his
profession had not overcome his love of horses. He never could
look with ease at the sufferings of these gallant creatures ; for the
rest, he was utterly unmoved. He turned his face towards the
fires that made many a veteran wince, and there was not the
slightest change in his composure save that he was more than
ordinarily cheerful, and showed, perhaps, more animation than he
had done since the death of his wife. Having satisfied himself

A MAN'S STRENGTH 295

that the Dutch had silenced all the French batteries at this
point, he rode to the demi-bastion where the Brandenburghers
fought the Dragoons in a terrible battle which was resulting in the
French being driven back on to the fire of their own guns.
Here he drew up his horse on the edge of a fosse that had a
cuvette in the middle of it with a covered way along it, from
which the French were still firing from platoons and muskets.

The King thrust his baton through the folds of his scarf and
laid his hand on the tasseled pistol in his holster ; he guided his
horse commonly and by choice with his left hand, for his right
arm had been shot through twice, at St. Neff and the Boyne, and
was less easily fatigued with the sword than the reins. He now
looked about him and perceived that his way to the Branden-
burghers was completely barred by some traverses to intercept
fire, besides, by the fosse from the gazons of which the soldiers
were firing, and, on the glacis which slopes before it, several
gunners were hauling a battery into place ; not far behind them
a fierce fire was being maintained from a projecting javelin.

The French, lurking in the cuvette, saw the King, and,
recognising him by his great star, proceeded to take deliberate
aim. He looked round for his staff, whom his impetuous
advance had completely out-distanced, then galloped his horse
right along the counter-scarp in full range of the enemy's fire.
A dozen muskets were aimed at him ; he seemed not to notice
them, but set his horse at a little fosse that crossed his path, and
leapt over the dead French and bloody gazons that filled it. The
ground on the other side was so cut, dissected, and strewn with
boulders and fragments of rock, that the quivering horse paused,
frightened by the shower of bullets, and, not perceiving a foothold,
the King slipped out of the saddle without leaving go of the
reins, ran along by the horse's head, guiding him through the
debris, and mounted again without touching the saddle, a well-
known feat of the riding school. He was now almost up to the
Brandenburghers, who raised a great shout as they saw him
galloping up through the smoke. He rode along the front of
their ranks and glanced up at the French crouching on their
earth-works waiting for the assault.

The King drew his sword.

"We must get nearer than this," he said to the officer in

296 GOD AND THE KING

command. He set spurs to his horse, and, wheeling round, charged
straight at the lines of France, the Brandenburghers after him
with an irresistible rush.

An officer of Dragoons rose up from his comrades and
struck up with his sword at the figure on the huge grey charger.
The King leant out of the saddle, parried the thrust with his
weapon. The Frenchman, hit by a bullet in the lungs, rolled
over with his face towards the citadel ; the last thing he saw on
earth was the King of England high on the distant heights ot
Namur with the column of Brandenburghers behind him and
before him, through the glare the tattered banner of the
Bourbons waving from the keep.

CHAPTER V
A LEADER OF NATIONS

WHEN the late evening fell it was obvious that nothing
could save Naraur, the allies had advanced a mile on
the outworks of the castle. M. de Boufflers sent to request a
two days' truce that he might bury the dead who filled fosse and
ditch. The King granted it. Before the time expired the Mare"chal
offered to surrender if he was not relieved in ten days. William
at once refused. His terms were instant surrender or instant
attack. M. de Boufflers capitulated, terms were speedily agreed
upon, the garrison was to go free, the citadel, stores, and arms to
be left in possession of the allies.

On the 6th September, under a blazing sun, a mare"chal de
France, for the first time since France had been a kingdom,
delivered up a powerful castle to the enemy. It was the first
obvious sign of that tide of fortune that had been steadily
setting against France since '88. It meant more even than the
conquest of the strongest fortress in the world — it meant that the
arms of Louis were no longer invincible.

The garrison, reduced to five thousand, less than half their
original number, marched out through the breach made by the
guns of the confederate army, which was drawn up in lines of
foot and horse that reached to the banks of the glittering Meuse.

The French came with full honours, with the beat of drums and
the ensigns erect, but their spirits were heavy with a bitter humili-
ation. Their reverse was as unexpected as it was tremendous.

M. de Boufflers and his staff came last of the garrison, the
Marechal decked with all the pomp of war, gold encrusted
cuirass, silk scarf, orders, a splendid white horse trapped in gilt
and crimson, and a blue saddle cloth semi with lilies.

He held his bare sword erect and his face was set sternly.

297

298 GOD AND THE KING

He was exceedingly troubled by the ceremony in which he was
about to take part. He would not, and could not, as a subject of
King Louis, acknowledge the Prince of Orange as King of
England, but it was difficult to treat a victorious general (and
certainly a King de facto) with less than respect and retain his
own dignity, especially as the astute Frenchman was perfectly
well aware that William was King of England and would never
be shaken from his throne now in favour of the old man who
was wearing Louis' patience thin with his complaints and
demands. Moreover Portland had insinuated that the allies
would take any slight to William very ill indeed ; so, between
mortification at his position, his duty to his master, his desire
to avoid the ridiculous and not offend the conventions of
martial courtesy, the Mare"chal was in a perturbed temper
indeed. But as he neared the spot where the allied sovereign
awaited him, even his dilemma was forgotten in his curiosity to
see the man who filled so tremendous a part in the world, who
for twenty years had withstood France, who had risen to absolute
power in his own country, who had gained two kingdoms by
diplomacy and a third by conquest, who was the soul of a huge
coalition and one of the greatest soldiers in Europe, the man
who was always spoken of in Paris with hatred and some fear,
as an upstart, a usurper, a heretic, one who had broken through
sacred family ties for the sake of personal ambition, and stirred
Europe into a turmoil to obtain a crown.

This feeling was shared by every officer behind him. They
were all eager to see the Prince whom they had learnt from
King James to regard as a pitiless, cold self-seeker, and from
Louis as a royal adventurer unscrupulous and impudent.

Not far from the castle the commanders of the allied forces
were drawn up, the German Princes, the representatives of Spain
and the Northern States and the United Provinces on horseback,
and near them, in a calash, or light open travelling coach, the
King of England.

M. de Boufflers reined up his horse a few paces away; a
handsome young gentleman with a very proud carriage, wearing
a scarlet cloak, was the foremost of the group. M. de Boufflers
knew him for Maximilien of Bavaria.

The garrison came on slowly past the four black coach

A LEADER OF NATIONS 299

horses held by footmen wearing the livery of England, until the
Marechal found himself face to face with the occupant of the coach
and the Elector who sat his horse immediately beside the door.

There was a pause of silence ; M. de Boufflers went pale
under the eyes, and looked with the irresistible attraction of
great curiosity at the man in the coach, who was surrounded by
these brilliant and immovable escorts of princely horsemen.

He had heard the person of this Prince often described, and
common report had drawn a picture of him familiar to the
minds of men, but he found the original totally different, though
there were the salient characteristics, the frail stature, the strongly
marked features, the brilliant eyes, so well known throughout
Europe.

But the swift and general impression he made was entirely
other to what the Frenchman had expected. He saw a gentleman
with an extraordinary air of stillness and repose, dressed richly
and rather heavily in black and gold, wearing the George and the
Ribbon of the Garter, but no other decoration, and a hat with
black feathers cocked back from his face ; he wore a long neck-
cloth of Flanders lace, the ends of which were drawn through
the buttonholes of his brocade waistcoat, after the English
fashion. He sat leaning a little towards M. de Bavaria, and held
in his right hand a cane with a gold top.

There was something in his expression, his bearing, wholly
unlocked for by M. de Boufflers, who could put no name to it,
but thought, in a confused way, that he had never seen a man
whose principal occupation was war appear less of a soldier.

The King, without moving, fixed his dark, flashing eyes on
the Frenchman, and smiled, almost imperceptibly.

M. de Boufflers performed the salute of the sword; he
lowered his weapon, not directly at the King, but it was too high
an honour for the Elector, an* William alone bent his head in
acknowledgment.

The silence was profound as the gleaming weapon was
returned to its sheath. M. de Boufflers drew his breath un-
steadily. He would go no further ; he spoke to the Prince to
avoid the royal terms of address.

" Your Highness, I must congratulate you upon your good
fortune though it is my own ill luck — but I must console myself

300 GOD AND THE KING

that I have held even Namur three months against such an army
and such generals."

The Elector uncovered and, turning to the King, repeated
with profound respect what the Mare"chal had said.

William touched his hat in a formal salute silently. M. de
Boufflers coloured with vexation. The deference of the Elector,
so much his own superior, made his own attitude, he thought,
appear ridiculous, but he haughtily maintained it.

"I surrender to Your Highness the keys of the Castle of
Namur," he said, and handed them with a bow to the Elector,
who at once presented them to the King.

"Sire," said M. de Bavaria, very lowly, "M. de Boufflers
has the honour to request me to present to Your Majesty the
keys of Namur."

William took them and again saluted.

"I, with Your Majesty's permission, will inform M. de
Boufflers that Your Majesty is satisfied that the terms of the
capitulation are fulfilled?"

" Yes, Highness," answered William gravely, but still (as M.
de Boufflers was supremely conscious), with that slight smile.

" His Majesty," said the Elector, " is pleased to compliment
you, .monsieur, upon your gallant defence of the citadel."

" I thank Your Highness," answered the Mare"chal, colouring
deeply. Neither he nor his officers could altogether conceal their
astonishment and vexation at seeing the proudest Princes of
Germany treat William of Orange with as great a deference as
his meanest courtiers used to their own master.

'• We need not detain you, monsieur," said the Electoral Prince.

M. de Boufflers bowed over his saddle and passed on, his
staff officers behind him, all riding at the salute as they passed
the allied Sovereigns.

When the last had gone, William, who had never taken his
eyes from the cavalcade, spoke to M. Dyckfelt who rode close to
the carriage.

" Mynheer," he said, " you will inform M. de Boufflers that
he is our prisoner until the garrisons of Dixmuyde and Deynse
are released."

M. Dyckfelt departed with a body of Dutch cavalry, and, as
the King drove off, he could hear the indignant exclamations of

A LEADER OF NATIONS 301

the French officers as the Mare"chal was asked to deliver up his
sword. The King drove to his tent across the town of Namur,
which was like a barracks and a battlefield for soldiers and
wounded. His bodyguard of princes raised a fine cloud of white
dust from the dry roads, the air was still foul with the smell of
powder and burning buildings, the sun burnt in the acrid
heavens with a sheer cloudless heat that seemed to draw all fresh-
ness and moisture out of the earth, even the two great rivers had
a hard, molten look in the glare as if they were lead, not water.

The commanders of the confederacy dined with the King ; the
tent was hot, but shaded from the intolerable glare by three poor
scorched chestnut trees that cast a meagre shadow over the canvas.

The Electoral Prince sat at the King's right, the Earl of
Portland at his left, and, for the first time, Joost van Keppel was
at the King's table, an honour that was not grudged by any of
the potentates, for the young soldier was exceedingly popular,
being amiable, generous, sweet tempered, and deferential, but
Portland marked it with a bitter heart.

William, seated in a vermeil armchair, wearing his hat, and
treated by the others as if they were no more than his subjects,
gave the toast — " The allied army " — in a whisper to the Elector,
who passed it round the table. It was drunk in silence, and the
long meal, served on gold and crystal, began.

The King spoke hardly at all, save to utter a few sentences
to Portland, who received them coldly, and the others were, out
of deference, silent, all being, indeed, too elated with their
recent great success (the greatest they had achieved during the
war), and too occupied in their own thoughts with what this
would mean to their several interests, to care for speech.

When the meal was nearly over, M. Dyckfelt came to say
that M. de Boufflers, after protesting violently, had delivered up
his sword and returned to Namur as a prisoner of the allies.

"We will send him to Huy until we receive the two gar-
risons," said William languidly, " though I doubt that we put
too high a price on M. de Boufflers."

" His Master," remarked M. de Vaudemont, " must redeem
him even at a higher rate."

" Ah, cousin," answered the King, " His Majesty will return
the men for pride's sake."

302 GOD AND THE KING

"And there is the English post in," said M. Dyckfelt, "all
in a reek from skirting Villeroy's forces."

" Why must you remind me of England ? " asked William.

Portland interposed quickly —

" Surely you will return almost immediately ? Is this not a
good juncture to call a parliament ? "

"This is not a good season to discuss politics." The King
administered his reproof in the gentlest manner, but Portland,
with a curt bow, instantly set down his glass, rose, and left the tent.

William flushed, and a kind of tremor ran through the
company. They thought that the King would not take this even
from Portland.

But, after a second, he turned to the Prince de Vaudemont.

"My cousin," he said quietly, "will you go after my lord
and persuade him that he is unreasonable ? "

The princes glanced at each other covertly as M. de Vaude-
mont obeyed. M. van Keppel coloured violently; he knew
perfectly well who Portland's wrath was directed against, but his
anger was not personal but for his master thus openly slighted.

The King sat silent, drinking slowly and looking down at the
damask cloth. In a few moments M. de Vaudemont returned alone.

It seemed almost incredible that Portland should refuse to
return when sent for by the King and by such a messenger;
William looked up.

" Sire," said M. de Vaudemont, " M. de Portland asks your
Majesty to excuse his attendance."

The King made no answer; he was outwardly composed,
but the Elector, glancing at his face, guessed that his triumph
was as nothing to him compared to the coldness of his friend.

M. de Hesse broke the silence.

" M. de Kohorn lost his bet after all ! " he remarked ; " until
this moment I had forgotten it."

" I am a hundred pistoles the richer," answered the Elector,
glad of the discussion, " and yet I thought to lose — it was the
victory of a few hours only."

William suddenly laughed.

" Gentlemen," he said, slightly raising his glass, " I give
you the loser of that wager and the man who took Namur —
Baron Menno Kohorn."

CHAPTER VI
THE KING'S AGENT

IN a fine dark room of a mansion in London, three men sat
in attitudes of bewildered trouble and despair, and a fourth,
standing by a table of highly polished walnut wood, looked at
them with a white, bitter face.

It was August of 1696, and exactly a year since the fall of
Namur had induced France to consent to open negotiations for
a peace. A Congress sat now at Ryswick, but with at present
little hope of immediate success. The King was again with the
troops in Flanders, and England was face to face with the
most momentous crisis in her history. There was, literally, not
enough money to carry on the Government.

When the King had returned from the last campaign, he had
supported Somers and Montague in the recoinage scheme, by
which the mutilated and clipped money of the realm was to be
reminted; the plan was so daring as to frighten most of the
King's advisers, but Montague, having secured a certain Isaac
Newton as master of the Mint, proceeded to put his plans into
execution with skill and address. He was also largely responsible
for the scheme of the Bank of England, which, after paying a
million and a half for its charter, had enjoyed the confidence of
the Government until Robert Harley and Foley revived Chamber-
layne's wild project of a Land Bank. The King, anxious for
money to commence the campaign and carry on the government
during his absence, had passed an Act before he prorogued Par-
liament, establishing the Land Bank, which was to advance him
two and a half millions at seven per cent.

The Tories declared that their scheme would soon ruin
the earlier bank; Charles Montague thought so too, though

he and most other thoughtful observers were certain that the

303

304 GOD AND THE KING

Land Bank was an unpractical conception, a mere delusion.
But the country was not with them ; the country gentlemen,
Whig and Tory, believed they saw an infallible way of obtaining
riches, the King wanted the money too much to inquire into
the means that produced it, and the Land Bank appeared to
flourish while the Bank of England tottered and showed every
sign of ultimate failure.

The Directors found it impossible to redeem the paper
money that they had put in circulation, and that malice or
necessity demanded the payment of. There was scarcely any
money to be had; the mint worked day and night to turn
out the new milled coin, but the moment it appeared it was
hoarded by the panic-stricken public. The paper money
fluctuated in value so as to be almost useless, stock jobbers
caused constant scares on the Exchange, credit was paralysed,
and the country was only held together by Montague's device
of exchequer bills bearing a small rate of interest.

The discovery of the assassination plot and the Jacobite
schemes of invasion had strengthened the King's position at
home and made him as popular as he had been in '88, but
it had resulted in the recall of the fleet from the Mediterranean,
the renewed supremacy of the French in those waters, and the
instant defection of the Duke of Savoy, thus causing the first
rift in the coalition that William's unwearied skill had maintained
against the arts of Louis for seven years.

He was now powerless to bribe or threaten. Early in the
war Kohorn and Athlone had burnt the huge stores that Louis
had built with vast expense at Givet, and France had staggered
under the blow, but William was helpless to take advantage
of it. The treachery of the Duke of Savoy, the state of the
English finances, the general exhaustion of the allies, caused
M. de Caillieres, the French representative at Ryswick, to
change his tone, go back from the pledge he had given that
William should be recognised by Louis, and propound arrogant
terms.

Meanwhile the letters from the King became desperate;
only his personal influence kept the army, which was literally
starving, together. He had pledged his private fortune and strained
his private credit in the United Provinces as far as he could.

THE KING'S AGENT 305

And the subscription list of the Land Bank at Exeter
'Change remained blank ; only a few hundreds had been added
to the five thousand contributed by the King as an example.

William even authorized the summoning of Parliament during
his absence ; but the ministers dare not risk this expedient. He
then sent Portland to London to represent to the Council of
Regency that something must be devised to raise money, or,
in his own words to Shrewsbury, "All is lost, and I must go
to the Indies."

It was Portland who now faced the three ministers in
Shrewsbury's rich withdrawing-room.

These three were the Lord Keeper, Godolphin, the one Tory
in the Council, and First Commissioner of the Treasury, and
Shrewsbury himself, now again Secretary of State, and as devoted
to the Government as if he had never, in an hour of weakness,
tampered with St. Germains ; he was, perhaps, of the seven
Lords Justices now governing England, the one most liked and
trusted by the King.

Portland's usual slowness of speech and manner had given
way to an animated vigour.

" The King must have money," he said, " at any cost —
from anywhere ; those were my last instructions, and, gentlemen,
there is more than even the army at stake ; it is the whole reputa-
tion, the whole credit, nay, the whole existence of England."

Even the lofty-minded Somers, whose courage had dared
the Recoinage Bill, was silenced ; his lined, haggard, and blood-
less face was frowning with anxiety.

Godolphin, even at this crisis contained and self-effacing,
though looking downcast and sombre, fixed his eyes on Portland
blankly.

Shrewsbury, emotional, overstrung, and harassed, broke into
speech, flushing painfully from red to white as he spoke, the
Colberteen lace on his bosom rising and falling with his unsteady
breath.

" We can only obtain forty thousand pounds from the Land
Bank subscriptions, and then under pressure and on hard terms,"
he cried.

All the company knew this, but my lord was apt to waste
words. Portland looked at him in some disgust.
20

306 GOD AND THE KING

" Forty pence would be as useful," he said dryly. " Come,
my lords, this Land Bank scheme has ended in failure ; but is
there no alternative to declaring England bankrupt?"

"By Heaven, I can see nothing else to do," returned
Shrewsbury ; " but, since anything is better than lying down
under misfortune, I have put some hopes on to these negotiations
with the Bank of England."

But it might be read from his tone that these hopes of
succour from that almost defunct institution were faint indeed.

Portland began walking up and down the room; he was
resolved, if it was within the bounds of possibility, to obtain
this money; he had spent many weary hours trying to screw
out of Harley and Foley even half the sum they had talked
of raising, and it had been so much waste time. The commission
had expired a week ago, the offices in Exeter 'Change were
closed, and Portland was no nearer the object of his journey.
There remained now only the Bank of England, which had only
been saved from bankruptcy by a call of twenty per cent, on
its shareholders, and Portland could see no bright prospects
from an institution, half ruined, whose directors were in an
ill humour against the Government, and barely able to hold
their own in the present crisis.

He stopped at last before Shrewsbury, and clasped the
back of the chair beside him; his fair face was set, his blue
eyes hard and bright. Perhaps he was the more resolute to do
the King this service since he was deeply offended with him
personally on account of Joost van Keppel's rise to favour,
and their long and deep friendship had reached a crisis that
could scarcely end in anything but a final severance of their
affection.

"I will not return to Flanders without the money," he
declared sombrely ; " it must be found ; if this Bank faileth
Parliament must be called."

Shrewsbury answered in desperate peevishness —

" I have done all I could — I have been almost on my knees
to the dictators — I am baited out of my life ! By God, I would
sooner be a hangman or a butcher than a statesman ! "

A silence of despair fell over the little company. Godolphin
wiped his lips, and looked out of the window at the sun-baked

THE KING'S AGENT 307

street; he was wondering, with a sick sense of personal failure,
what would happen to him if king, government, and country
crashed on ruin. Somers was equally silent, but his thoughts
were far different; he would have made any sacrifice in his
power to save the kingdom from disaster.

They were interrupted by an usher announcing, " Mr. Charles
Montague." A little movement of interest animated them all.
Portland turned wide, expectant eyes on the new-comer; his
plain common sense was quick to discern genius ; he had recog-
nized it of late in the Chancellor of the Exchequer, as he had
recognized it years ago in his master.

Mr. Montague advanced slowly, and seemed to enjoy the
stir his coming made; it was obvious that he considered the
brilliant success of his career entirely due to his own gifts —
an opinion his colleagues considered as unamiable as it was
correct.

He was a little man, and walked with a strutting air; his
clothes were of the utmost extravagance of fashion, and glistened
with gold and silver thread ; his peruke was curled and powdered
elaborately; and in the hat he held in his hand was a small
flashing mirror among the feathers — the last whim of the mode ;
but there was a pride and containment in his sharp features, a
power and purpose in his keen eyes, that overshadowed any
fopperies of dress.

He began speaking at once, and abruptly, but with much
grace in the delivery.

" My lords, I am just come from the directors of the Bank.
I have been closeted with them all day, and they have promised
me they will do what they can. I asked for two hundred
thousand pounds. I told them it was the very least there was
any use in offering to His Majesty. And I told them it must
be in gold or silver " — he waved his hand — " no paper, I said,
for Flanders."

He seated himself, with another flourishing gesture, on the
chair near Portland. Under all his affectations was noticeable a
deep pride and satisfaction ; the Bank on which everything now
depended was his scheme ; that of his rival, Harley, had ended in
dismal failure. He felt that his brilliant career would be more
brilliant still if his project saved the Government now.

308 GOD AND THE KING

" Two hundred thousand ! " said Shrewsbury forlornly. The
Land Bank had promised two and a half million, and the King's
last entreaty had been for eight hundred thousand ; but Portland
caught even at this.

"It would be something," he said; "it would cover His
Majesty's most pressing wants "

" It is all," answered Mr. Montague, " that I dare ask for — in
hard money — at such a time."

"We are fortunate if we obtain it," remarked Somers. "Is
it promised ? "

" No, Sir John," admitted the Chancellor ; " for they cannot
do it without another call of twenty per cent, on their subscribers,
and they may not decide that themselves, but must submit it to
the vote in a general court "

"Why," interrupted the Duke, "there must be six hundred
with a right to vote at such a meeting ! "

" About that number, I think, your Grace," said Mr. Montague.

" Why, good-bye then to our hopes of even this beggarly sum ! "
cried Shrewsbury. " Are six hundred likely to agree to lending
even sixpence to the Government ? "

" Beggarly sum ! " repeated Mr. Montague. " My Lord
Portland here can tell you what long debate and diplomacy it
took to secure even the promise of that amount "

"Yes, I know, Mr. Montague," answered the Earl grimly;
"and I think the sum worth any sacrifice. We must have it.
Could you have seen His Majesty, gentlemen, as I left him at
Attere, surrounded by straving troops on the verge of mutiny,
sending off agents to endeavour to raise a few thousands on
his word in Amsterdam, you would not consider two hundred
thousand paltry."

He spoke with a personal emotion that surprised the English-
men, who believed that his relations with the King were painfully
strained. They respected him for his loyalty, though none of them
had ever liked him, and Somers at least gave him a quiet look of
sympathy.

Shrewsbury broke out into half-hysterical petulance.

" WThy are we doing it all ? What use is there in any of it ?
We might as well give it up now as afterwards. I confess that I
have not the health or spirit to endure more of it"

THE KING'S AGENT 309

Mr. Montague smiled ; he knew perfectly well the motive
behind every action he undertook, and what was the object of
his labours. The younger son of a younger son, and ten years ago
a Poor Scholar at Cambridge, he was now one of the greatest men
in the Three Kingdoms, and able to confer benefits on the Crown.

"There is no living in the world on any other terms than
endurance," he remarked complacently, "and a financier, your
Grace, must learn to face a crisis."

" The good God knoweth I am not one," returned the Duke
gloomily.

" When is the general court to be held ? " asked Portland ;
his one thought to get the money from these men somehow,
and return with it to the desperate King.

"On the fifteenth," said the Chancellor, "and I have suffi-
cient faith in the patriotism of the shareholders to believe they
will stand by His Majesty."

Godolphin, who had been so silent hitherto that his presence
was scarcely noticed, spoke now from the window-seat.

" You have done us a great service, Mr. Montague. I think
we should all be very grateful."

This came gracefully from a member of that Tory party that
had supported Harley's bank. Mr. Montague bowed, very grati-
fied ; my lord had that soft way of conciliating possible enemies
with outspoken courtesy.

Portland made no such speeches ; he considered it only the
bare duty of the English to adequately support the King, whose
life, ever since his accession, had been one struggle to obtain
money from the English Parliament.

He took up his hat and saluted the company.

" I must endure with what patience I may till the fifteenth,"
he said, and left them gravely.

He went out into the sunny streets of London, and turned
towards the Mall. There was no coach waiting for him ; he was
frugal in his habits to a fault, and uninterested in any kind of
display. No one would have taken him for anything but a soldier
home from Flanders, tanned at the wars — an obvious foreigner
with a stiff military carriage.

The town was very empty. The state of anxiety, suspense, and
danger the country was passing through was not to be guessed at

310 GOD AND THE KING

from the well-kept houses, the few leisurely passers-by, and the
prosperous shops with their wares displayed behind neat diamond
panes.

Portland, passing the pillared facade of Northumberland
House and the bronze statue of Charles I on horseback, came
into the Mall, past the tennis-court and archery butts, where
several people were practising, to the pond covered with wild
fowl and overshaded with elm and chestnut that gave a thick
green colour to the water. To his right was a row of handsome
houses looking on to the avenue of trees in the Mall, and at
most of the windows people were seated ; for it was near the turn
of the afternoon, and a pleasant coolness began to temper the
heat of the day.

Portland looked at these people : fashionably dressed women,
with lap dogs or embroidery, drinking tea or talking ; easy-looking
men smoking or reading one of the new sheets which had flooded
the country since the lapse of the censorship of the press — all
comfortable, well-to-do, self-satisfied, and rather insolent in their
enjoyment of the sunshine, and the shadow of the trees, and their
own comfortable homes.

William Bentinck seated himself on a bench under one of
the great elms; he felt bitter towards these people — towards
England ; he came near to hating them even as they hated him ;
he had a swift impression that these lazy, prosperous citizens
were the real masters, and he, and his friends, and the King,
little better than slaves.

He looked at the women and recalled the poor Queen, who
had had scarce half an hour's ease since she had set foot on the
quay by the Tower ; who had toiled and kept a brave face and
a high heart, and done everything that duty demanded of her —
and for what reward ? — to be reviled, abused, slighted and, finally,
to die of one of the hideous diseases the great city engendered,
and be forgotten in the changeable factions that continued their
quarrels even before she was in her grave.

He looked at the men, and thought of the last letter from
the King he carried in his pocket ; he saw some of the lineS in
it as if the paper was spread before him — " I am in greater
distress for money than can well be imagined. I hope God will
help instead of abandoning me ; but indeed it is hard not to lose

THE KING'S AGENT 311

all courage." It seemed to Portland that Shrewsbury was right.
What was the use of any of it? — what goad kept them all at
their tasks? What was the aim of all this incredible labour,
endeavour, fatigue, courage, and patience ?

Did the King endure what he was enduring that these people
might make knots, and drink tea, and sun themselves on the
Mall in peace ?

Did he, William Bentinck, who was fond of gardening, and a
quiet life, and his own country, spend his life between war and
exile, conflict and distasteful company, that the boys in the
tennis-courts might play their games and laugh and shout as
much as they wished ?

If it were so, the objects seemed miserable compared to the
labour.

But there was something more behind it all ; Portland could
not put a name to it; he supposed that one day God would
explain.

CHAPTER VII
THE BANK OF ENGLAND

THE Lord Justices who formed the Council of Regency
were, with the exception of my Lord of Canterbury,
waiting, on this momentous i5th of August, in the long gallery
leading out of the Council Chamber in Whitehall.

Several other great men were there also; Sunderland,
Romney, Wharton, the Duke of Leeds — still, by the King's
clemency, nominally Lord President, though he had, since his
disgrace over the East India scandal, none of the honours or
powers of that position, and was indeed no more than a cipher
where he had once been all-powerful — Marlborough — who, since
the Queen's death, vigorously supported Government, while he
waited with serene patience for the death of William and the
accession of the Princess his mistress — Admiral Russell, and
Portland, all filled by that anxiety that so nearly touched every
one of them — would the Bank of England raise the money to carry
on the government until Parliament met on the King's return ?

There were two women present — Lady Sunderland, who was
talking to Lord Romney, and Elizabeth Villiers, now Lady
Orkney, conversing with much animation with Lord Sunderland.
Portland observed her with very strong dislike. Though she
was his first wife's sister he had never been in the least intimate
with her ; he could not forgive her the influence she had gained
and exerted over William, who had taken her advice and con-
sulted her opinion often enough when she had first come with Mary
to The Hague. The usual tale-bearing, back-biting, mischief-
making, and scandal had stopped this friendship, but not before
her wit and intelligence had proved of great service to the
Stadtholder, who, as Portland knew, had continued to employ
her in delicate negotiations, even after he became King; and

THE BANK OF ENGLAND 313

though she and William had scarcely seen each other for many
years, Portland believed that she still used an oblique influence
through Sunderland, with whom she had formed a close friend-
ship, which Portland considered very typical of Elizabeth Villiers.

He suspected her of being in some deep intrigue to supplant
him by Joost van Keppel, towards whom his feelings were now
near hatred. He knew that she had never liked him, and she was
quite well aware that he had again and again told the King it
was undignified to employ a woman in his affairs, and had even
opposed the title and estates given to her husband on her
marriage. Portland heard the tales this gave rise to if the King
did not ; Portland was vexed by the revival of old scandals if
Lady Villiers was not ; he loathed the woman and resented her
presence here to-day.

As he continued to stare at her across the splendid gallery, she
suddenly looked round at him, gave Sunderland a quick sentence,
and to Portland's equal surprise and vexation crossed over to him.

" It is a long time since we have met," she said, and gave
one of her straight smiles.

She was dressed in violet and silver, and wore a great Indian
scarf about her shoulders as if it were cold, instead of August.

"I have been too employed to wait on your ladyship,"
answered Portland.

She took no notice of that, but said abruptly —

" How did you leave the King? "

" As much at ease as a man in his position could be," said
the Earl grimly.

Lady Orkney did not look at Portland, but rather absently
down the room.

" He must be fairly weary of it all," she replied. " Do you
think," she added rather sharply, "he hath recovered from the
death of the Queen ? "

" No, madam, nor will he ever," said my lord sternly.

" How you dislike me ! " cried Lady Orkney softly. " And I
would have been a good friend to you if you would have let me
— believe me " — she looked at him full now — " I would never
do an ill turn to one of the King's friends."

" What is this, madam ? " he asked haughtily.

" Oh, you understand," she answered. " You know that M

314 GOD AND THE KING

van Keppel is a friend of mine, and you have tried to do him
ill offices — I tell you that you have no cause — Joost van Keppel
will harm nobody. Let him be."

Portland was silent in sheer disdain. Elizabeth Villiers fixed
him with her queer eyes ; her pronounced cast was very noticeable.

" You should not dislike me," she said, " because I sometimes
help the King — Joost van Keppel will help him too, even in such
follies as courtesy and an obliging temper — a sweet reverence
might mean much to a broken man — consider that, my lord."

He answered brusquely.

"I consider that Joost van Keppel is a worthless young
rake-hell, and that those who push him into His Majesty's favour
can have only mean motives."

" You certainly do not understand," she said quietly.

A sudden thought flashed to Portland.

" Was it you, my lady," he asked, " who put Sunderland to
bring van Keppel forward with his tale of Namur when the King
was sick ? "

" Have you only just guessed it ? " she answered.

" I might have known it was a woman's trick," he said
bitterly. " What made you think of such a device ? "

She smiled and made no answer.

" And why did you employ M. van Keppel ? " added Portland.

" Because," said Lady Orkney, " he was of the age the King's
son might have been."

Portland stared.

" A woman's trick, you see." She smiled. " Women think of
these things — do not consider me as a vulgar intriguer, even if
you cannot understand, and let M. van Keppel be — I think he
will console the King a little."

" I, at least, am above your devices and those of my Lord
Sunderland," he answered roughly.

Lady Orkney replied, still smiling, but with infinite sadness —

" Could you see into my heart you would know that I am not
so happy but that you might spare me."

She gave a little courtsey and left him. He watched her
return to the window and look out at the alleys and parterres of
the privy garden.

He had been a little confused, but in no way appeased by her

THE BANK OF ENGLAND 315

conversation. She had confessed that she and Sunderland were
behind van Keppel, towards whom his thoughts turned with added
dislike ; then he tried to banish consideration of all three of them,
and to fix his mind on the money he must obtain for the King.

Devonshire (the Lord Steward), Pembroke (Keeper of the
Privy Seal), and Dorset (the Lord Chamberlain), were talking
apart, and Portland joined them.

Pembroke informed him that Montague had gone down to
the General Meeting of the Bank of England and had promised
to return immediately with the news of the result of the Directors'
proposition to the Company.

" If these hopes vanish," said Devonshire gloomily, " what
are we to turn to next ? "

" A Parliament and taxes," answered Dorset concisely.

"Oh, my lord," cried Pembroke, "Mr. Locke will tell you
that is bad finance."

"Mr. Locke is a philosopher," remarked Dorset good-
humouredly.

"Good God, we get choked with 'em," remarked the magni
ficent Devonshire. " Now Montague hath brought Mr. Newton
into the Mint and Somers is always deep with Mr. Locke "

"And my Lord Portland," cried Dorset, with the irrepress-
ible levity of his class and nation, "deep with a poet for his
secretary."

"As for that same poet," said Portland gravely, "I tell you,
my lord, that he now goeth to Church, and will not write profane
verses on a Sabbath."

" A triumph indeed for the godliness of your lordship," said
Devonshire demurely.

" Is this poor Matt Prior ? " asked Dorset. " His verses on
the taking of Namur were very neat."

" I did not read them," answered Portland dryly. " I never
could endure poetry or play-acting — the King is plagued with
enough to paper London."

" I remember in The Hague," smiled Devonshire, " when
His Majesty was expecting a promise of money from Amsterdam
by every post, and I took in a letter which I thought was it — but
which proved to be a copy of verses on his safe crossing from
England, with a fresh heathen god in every line — His Majesty's

3i6 GOD AND THE KING

curses were powerful for a Christian Prince — and he declared it
had given him a distaste for the very sight of poetry."

Dorset laughed ; he remembered the occasion also as the
only one on which he had heard violent language from the
austere King. Portland was disgusted that they could amuse
themselves with these recollections during such anxious moments ;
it was only another proof, he thought, of the shallowness of the
English politicians. And even these anecdotes turned on the
King's lack of money ; it must be six years since Devonshire was
at The Hague, and William was still in the same straits. Portland
wondered if the time would ever come when he would be free of
these burdens, and doubted it.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer entered the gallery, and
instantly everybody formed a little group about him, including
the two ladies, to whom he gave a flourishing and gallant greeting.
" I must tell you," he said, in a voice and with a manner that
strove to be indifferent, yet with a face flushed with pride, "that
the money hath been subscribed to His Majesty."
Portland drew a great breath of relief.

" Promised," continued Montague, " in gold and silver, which
will be ready to be packed up and taken to Flanders to-morrow."
"How was this accomplished?" asked Devonshire. "I
hardly thought, this cruel year, they could do it."

"Thank God they have," murmured Shrewsbury ; " for if this
had failed I know not what we should have done."

" Your Grace," answered Mr. Montague, " when I lent my
support to this Bank I did not think it was likely to be a failure.
Yet I must confess that I had some misgivings to-day when I
entered the General Court — there was my Lord Mayor in the
chair, looking as gloomy as need be, and six hundred or more of
the company, all thrifty merchants. Sir John got up and read
the speech Composed by the Directors and sat down again in
none too easy a frame of mind, it seemed, and a great hum went
up from the subscribers, and you might see them turning to each
other and whispering, but making no kind of public response ;
then up sprang Sir John again, and implored them stand by the
King — at which one rose and said, 'We desire nothing more
than to oblige His Majesty, but it is a hard thing to ask for gold
these times, and our notes of hand should be good enough.'

THE BANK OF ENGLAND 317

'Nothing but gold is any use to His Majesty in Flanders,'
declared Sir John. ' I am asking you for this sacrifice for nothing
less than the preservation of the kingdoms, otherwise I could
not in conscience do it' At last, after some murmuring, it was put
to the vote, and all held up their hands for sending the money,
and Sir John came to me all in a tremble, and hoped I would
remember that the Bank had saved the Government — he said it
had been as anxious an hour as he was ever like to have in his
life. At hearing the resolution of the Bank, several gentlemen, who
had been waiting without, came in to buy shares, and several
thousand pounds' worth were subscribed before I left."

At the conclusion of this speech Mr. Montague looked round
his company with an air of conscious satisfaction. Portland had
gone to write this news off to the King, caring indeed for nothing
but the sheer fact that he could return to Attere immediately
with the money, but the others, including even the feeble, dis-
graced Leeds, had listened with eager interest.

" Well done," cried Lady Orkney. " Mr. Montague, you are a
miracle of wit — and I am going to follow the example of these
same gentlemen and purchase stock in this Bank of yours."

" So am I," declared Devonshire. " I will send my agent down
there to-night, sir, the service it hath done cannot be overestimated."

In a breath every Minister in the room had promised to show
the same instance of attachment to the institution that had saved
the Government, and when the energetic young Chancellor left
Whitehall the congratulations of the whole Council of Regency
were ringing in his ears.

He entered his smart coach and drove straight to the Mint,
where men were working day and night at the milled money which
he and his friend Mr. Newton were turning out at the rate of a
hundred and twenty thousand a week. Fifteen thousand was the
highest amount the former master of the Mint had declared it was
possible to produce in that time, but Mr. Newton had done the
incredible in reforming the Mint. It was to his apartments Charles
Montague went now, twirling his cane and fluttering his laces.

The Warden of His Majesty's Mint and Exchanges and Pro-
fessor of Mathematics at Cambridge was a gentleman a little past
middle life, of a very refined aristocratic appearance, with an air
of extraordinary calm and stillness.

318 GOD AND THE KING

He wore a murrey-coloured coat, a small grey peruke, and a
little brooch of rubies in a plain lace cravat. When Mr. Mon-
tague entered he was seated at a table covered with a multitude
of papers. He looked up instantly; his delicate features ex-
pressed a very winning composed dignity.

" I wished to speak to you about the new Mint at Chester,
Mr. Newton," said the Chancellor; his manner was totally
different from that he had used to the Ministers at Whitehall.

" Another Mint, yes, Mr. Montague," answered the Warden,
in the same grave tone. " Those at York and Norwich have
been very popular, but I fear we have not enough trained men
to spare yet — though I am having them taught as fast as may be."

"I want more than will suffice for Chester," said the
Chancellor briskly. " I thought of Bristol and Exeter as likely
stations."

He seated himself by the window and looked out on the
pleasant prospect of the sunny river and glistening roofs.

"The people take it very well," he added. "One could not
have hoped to pass through the crisis better ; there is a good
temper and a good sense shown very gratifying."

" Why, yes," said Mr. Newton ; " but one may always look
for both from the English."

A servant entered with a letter, which he glanced at and laid
down with a gentle little sound of displeasure.

" What is that ? " asked Mr. Montague.

" Oh, 'tis from Flamsteed ; he is ever dunning me to go
see his observatory at Greenwich — he cannot believe that there
is anything in the world more important than stars, nor that I do
not love to be teased with mathematical things when I am
about the King's business."

Mr. Montague glanced at the astronomer's sealed letter.

"Speaking of the King's business," he remarked, "the
Bank of England hath promised to advance the two hundred
thousand for the troops in Flanders."

Mr. Newton looked up quickly.

" Why, I am glad of that. Sir, this is a great thing — it will
greatly raise the credit of the Bank."

" I think," replied the young Chancellor, " without vanity,
that the Bank of England is an institution that will live."

CHAPTER VIII
THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP

TWO men were riding side by side through the forest of
Soignies ; before and behind them was a great army. It
was a May night, with the moon full overhead and casting long
shadows from the tall, dark, motionless trees. News had been
received at the camp the evening before that the French were
threatening Brussels, and the confederate army was marching to
save the Capital.

These two men who rode in the centre were alone, though
part of such an immense force; for the Dutch guards, who
marched before and behind them were several yards distant ;
they were both wrapped in long military cloaks. One, who was
the King-Stadtholder, the commander of the allies, was mounted
on a white horse ; the other, William Bentinck, Earl of Portland,
rode a great brown steed. The King was speaking very earnestly,
in a lowered voice suited to the hush of the warm night and the
solemnity of the long defiles they traversed.

" I must tell you of the dispatch I received from my Lord
Devonshire. I had scarcely received it before we broke camp,
or I had told you before. This John Fenwick, the Jacobite,
hath made a cunning confession, designed to put the Govern-
ment into a confusion. He accuseth Godolphin, Shrewsbury,
Marlborough, and Russell of being deep with St. Germains."

Portland made no answer.

" It was," continued the King, " no news to me, as you
know."

" What have you done ? " asked the Earl.

"I have done nothing yet. I shall write to Devonshire
ordering the trial of this Fenwick to proceed."

" And for these lords ? "

319

320 GOD AND THE KING

"I shall affect to disbelieve this evidence," answered William.
" And Shrewsbury, at least, I shall assure of my trust."

"And so traitors flourish !"

There was silence for awhile, only broken by the jingle of
the harness, the fall of the horses' feet, and the tramp of the
army before and behind. The faces of the two men were hidden
from each other ; they could only discern outline of horse and
figure as the moonlight fell between the elms and oaks.

The King spoke again.

" I have learnt to be tolerant of treason. These men serve
me — even Marlborough — instruments all of them! And
Shrewsbury I ever liked. I will not have him put out for
this."

" You will even let them remain in office ? "

" Surely," answered the King, " it would be beneath me to
stoop to vengeance? And what else would this be? Both
policy and kindness dictate to me this course."

Portland's voice came heavily out of the morning shadows.

"You are too lenient to every sort of fault. These men do
not even know you spare them — they think you are fooled.
Marlborough will laugh at you."

" What doth that matter if he serveth my turn ? He is a
villain, but a great man — he should be useful to England."

The King spoke in strained, weary accents, and with, it
seemed, but little interest.

" Besides," he added, " I do not believe half of what Fen-
wick saith."

Portland retorted sharply.

"You did not believe the assassination plot itself until I
produced Prendergrass, who had heard them discuss who was to
fire the bullet on Turnham Green."

The King answered simply —

" One becometh so well used to these attempts, I should
have been dead ten times if assassins could have done it. That
was not the way ordained."

" I hope," said Portland dryly, " that your clemency will be
rewarded. I, for one, could well wish to see these traitors come
to their punishment — yea, and such men as Sunderland "

William interrupted.

THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP 321

"I hope they will leave me Sunderland — I could ill do
without him. But I hear he is likely to be pressed hard in the
Commons."

"I cannot wonder," returned Portland, "but only at you
who continue to employ such a man."

The King did not answer at once. The moon was sinking
and taking on a yellow colour, the shadows were fainter and
blended one with another, the trunks, branches, and clustering
leaves of the great trees began to show dimly against a paling
sky; there was a deep stir of freshness in the still air, the
perfume of grass, bracken, and late violets. The steady, unbroken
tramp of the great army seemed to grow louder with the first
lifting of the night ; the men, in ranks of not more than four,
could be seen defiling through the yet dark forest.

The King spoke, looking ahead of him.

"Of late I can do nothing to please you," he said in a
whisper. " It is not pleasant to me to have this growing coldness."

" Your Majesty hath other friends," answered Portland bitterly.

"You are unreasonable," said the King, in the same sad,
broken voice. "I cannot withdraw my favour from M. van
Keppel — justice and dignity forbid it. You should under-
stand that, William. I also might have my complaints; it is
not easy for me to keep the peace between you and M. van
Keppel. Your constant quarrels make my household in a
perpetual tumult — and, I must say it, it is not M. van Keppel
who is generally the aggressor."

"His presence is an offence," declared Portland hotly; "a
creature of my Lord Sunderland, a flattering, smooth-tongued
boy — a dissolute rake who hath done nothing for your service ! "

The King turned his face towards his friend.

"It cuts me to the heart," he said, with great emotion, "that
you should dream — for one second — that he could make me
ever forget or undervalue all the services I owe to you.
Nothing could alter my affection for you ; it is my great grief
that you should not feel that as I do."

"You have changed," was all Portland said.

The King lifted his eyes to the sky showing between the
trees they rode past, his haggard face was faintly visible in
the increasing light.

21

322 GOD AND THE KING

"Yes, I have changed," he said slowly. "Perhaps even
you cannot guess how much. I could not convey to you
how utterly indifferent all the world is to me save only my
hope to a little more complete the task God put upon me.
Your friendship is all that is left to me. Nothing hath been
real since — she — died. I only act and think and go through
my days because I believe she would have wished it. I only
do this and that because I think — she would have done it.
I only keep on because she wished that, even at the last. I
only endure to live because I dare to hope she may be some-
where— waiting "

His voice sank so low as to be almost incoherent ; Portland
could scarcely catch the words. They came to a little hollow
beside the path that was filled with spring flowers opening to
the dawn, daisies and lilies and tufts of fresh green.

The King spoke again.

" For the rest, all is dead — here," he lightly touched his heart.
"You alone have the power to hurt me, and you should use
it tenderly."

Portland had meant to resign his position in the King's
household, so intolerable had it become to him, but now
restrained himself.

"I will serve you till death," he said, with his air of cold,
high breeding. "Your Majesty must believe that of me."

William gave a little sigh.

"What of this Congress at Ryswick?" added Portland, "and
your suggestion that I should see M. de Boufflers ? "

He thought that it would be something of a compromise
if he could still continue to serve the King yet get away from
the odious van Keppel.

"They will never do anything at Ryswick," answered the
King wearily. "They fill their time with ceremonies and
vexations, and this time a hundred years might find them still
arguing there. And I am resolute for peace now as all my life
I have been resolute for war. No need to explain my policy
to you. We shall never get better terms than France offereth
now, and they must not be lost through the intolerable
impertinences of Spain, who hath contributed nothing but
rigmaroles to the coalition from the first."

THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP 323

"I think," said Portland, "I could get some satisfaction
from M. de Boufflers."

The French Mare"chal had formed a friendship with Port-
land when he had been his prisoner at Huy, after the fall of
Namur, and it had recently occurred to William to use this
friendship to open negotiations between England and France,
regardless of the formal mummeries of the Congress, which
seemed to be likely to be as protracted as that held at
Mymwegen in '79.

It was William's object to discover if Louis was in earnest.
The listlessness of Spain, the ambition of the Emperor must
bow if once France, England, and Holland came to terms.
What he proposed was daring and unconstitutional. He had
not informed a single English politician of his plan, and
Portland, whom he thought to employ, was not even an English-
man, but William was never stopped by any fear of responsi-
bility. If he could accomplish an honourable peace (the very
best he could obtain he knew would be only a breathing space
for there was the tremendous question of the Spanish Succession
ahead), he cared nothing for the temper of the English parlia-
ment or the complaints of the allies, and in the United
Provinces he was practically absolute. He had before suggested
to Portland that he should write and open negotiations with
Boufflers, and had mentioned Hal, midway between Brussels
and Mons, as a likely place for an interview. He now, on
Portland's words, reverted to this and discussed the details
of the scheme that was to give peace to Europe in his weary,
low, and strained voice, broken by constant coughs.

The forest of Soignies began to break ; the trees became
thinner and were scattered to right and left like echelons of
soldiers, the whole heaven was clear of cloud, and the sun, just
rising above the plains of Brabant, filled the air with a steady
colour of pearl-blue.

A little wind touched the trees, then was silent ; the constant
noise of birds accompanied the tramp of the heavy infantry
and the distant, unequal rumble of the gun carriages and
baggage waggons.

The King loosened his cloak, cast it over his holster, and
looked back at the army following him through the wood.

324 GOD AND THE KING

" If we sign peace this year this will be my last campaign,
he remarked.

Portland looked at him quickly.

" The Spanish question — there will be war there — and before
long."

"But I have so few years to live," answered the King
simply ; " for with this peace my work would be done. No, I
think I shall never lead an army across the Netherlands again."

They rode clear of the trees now, and saw before them the
beautiful valley soft and veiled in the mists of morning.

The King fixed his eyes on the spot where Brussels lay. If
Villeroy had outmarched him and was bombarding the capital
as he had bombarded it last year, the allies had been check-
mated and there would be little hope for the prospects of peace.

Scouts were sent out to ascertain the movements of the enemy ;
no sign of their fires could be discerned. William thought that
his activity had saved Brussels and that there were no fears
from Villeroy. He pushed on, and, by ten in the morning, after
having ridden fifteen hours, reached the still unmolested ram-
parts of the capital from which the Spanish flag was yet flying.

He instantly took up his position before the walls and
proceeded to strongly entrench himself on the very spot from
which Villeroy had dropped his shells into Brussels near a year
ago when the allies were before Namur.

It appeared that he had saved the magnificent city by a few
hours; before midday the French came up, but, finding the
confederate army already so strongly fortified, fell back across
Brabant without firing a shot.

The King, as he rode about surveying the encampment, sent
for Portland.

The Earl came, and the two men looked at each other
steadily; the hasty earthworks, the rising canvas, the sights
and sounds of the camp were about them, overhead the blazing
blue faintly hazed with clouds of heat.

William held out his thin, bare right hand.

"Since I think you are resolute to leave me," he said, "I
would have you go to Hal to meet M. de Boufflers." He
added with great sweetness, " I put the fate of Europe in your
hands, and could put it in none more worthy."

CHAPTER IX
PEACE

THE Earl of Sunderland was again as great as he had been
when he held James Stewart infatuate in his power, and
as well hated throughout the country as then. The King had
long consulted him in private, and now he was recognized as
principal adviser to the Crown, and carried the gold key that
was the symbol of the office of Lord Chamberlain.

He had no rival. Halifax was dead ; Leeds a mere shadow ;
his intrigues had brought about the resignation of Godolphin,
who had been implicated in the disclosures of Sir John Fenwick ;
Shrewsbury, stricken with remorse at his own treachery and the
King's generosity, was but a figure in the background ; and the
other ministers, even such as Romney, who was William's per-
sonal friend, had little influence ; Portland's power was not what
it had been, and his rival, M. van Keppel, largely owed his
fortunes to Sunderland. The Lord Chamberlain was supreme
in this year 1697, the year of the peace framed by Portland and
Boufflers in the orchard at Huy and signed by the Congress at
the King's palace of Ryswick.

This peace was an honourable close to an honourable conflict.
Louis recognized William as King of England, and granted most
of the terms desired by the allies, not one of whom complained
that they had been forgotten or slighted by the King in the
framing of the articles. The delay of Spain and the Emperor to
sign, despite William's entreaties, had resulted in the fall of
Barcelona and Louis' consequent rise of terms, the principal
of which was the retention of Strassburg — a severe blow to
Austria. But, on the whole, the peace was favourable to the
coalition, and in England and Holland at least was received

with unbounded rejoicing. William's return from the Continent

335

326 GOD AND THE KING

was the signal for a display of loyalty as enthusiastic as that
which had greeted the exiled Charles in '66.

William, to whose diplomacy the peace was owing, as the
war had been owing to his indomitable energy, was at the very
zenith of his reputation at home and abroad. He avoided the
pageants, processions, triumphal arches, and general laudations,
both from a natural modesty and a cynical perception of their
hollowness, which was but too well justified, for the first act of
the Parliament was to inflict cruel mortification on him by
disbanding, at the instance of the Tory agitator, Robert Harley,
the army which had done such magnificent service. Sunderland's
utmost arts could only retain ten thousand men, including the
King's beloved Dutch Guards.

This action was, to William, the worst of policy, besides a
personal slight that he could not but feel that he had ill deserved.
The peace was to him but an armed truce before the inevitable
struggle for the Spanish possessions, and the part that he was to
play in that struggle was considerably weakened by the disbanding
of the troops which made England, save for her Navy, powerless
again in Europe.

The English Parliament, profoundly ignorant of continental
affairs, and not in the least understanding the spacious policy of
the King, thought only of the power a standing army put in the
hands of the Crown, and were not to be moved from their resolve.

William, driven back, as he had so often been, on his own
innate statesmanship, endeavoured to accomplish by wit what he
was now powerless to accomplish by arms, and secretly framed
with Louis the Partition Treaty, by which the vast dominions of
the imbecile and dying King of Spain were to be divided between
Louis' grandson Phillippe d'Anjou, and William's candidate, the
infant son of the Elector of Bavaria, who derived his claim
through his dead mother, Maria Anton ia.

The King had disdained to consult the English ministers until
he had completed this treaty, and then only curtly demanded the
necessary signatures ; from the nation it was a profound secret.

Sunderland disapproved of this daring policy of the King.
He thought that many of the domestic troubles of the reign
might have been avoided if William had been less resolute to
keep foreign affairs entirely in his own hands, but the King's

PEACE 327

well-founded distrust of the levity, treachery, and ignorance of
the English, and their personal malice towards him as a
foreigner, could not be moved by the most specious of Sunder-
land's arguments. William refused to put any faith in the
crowds who shouted after his coach, in the ringing and the
toasts, in the bales of loyal addresses that were laid daily at his feet.
He knew perfectly well that at bottom he was neither understood
nor liked, and that all this rejoicing was not for the King, but
because a peace, pleasing to English pride, had been signed;
because bank stock had risen from sixty to ninety, paper money
to par, the guinea from eighteen shillings to twenty-one ; because
the new milled coins were in every hand and an era of prosperity
was following the crisis of '96.

Sunderland watched all these things with some misgiving.
Under all his honours and greatness was a lurking uneasiness.
He began to lose his courage at being so hated ; hints of im-
peachment had risen in the House more than once ; he could
scarcely show his face abroad without a burst of popular fury.
In the opinion of the people he should not have been intrusted
with one of the highest offices under the Crown, but have been
starving in exile, or dead, long since in the Tower, like his colleague
under James — Lord Jefferies. The ministers, too, could ill dis-
guise their dislike of him. He had befriended the Whigs, and
they owed him a cold allegiance, but he had no real supporter
save the King, whose will alone kept him where he was ; and he
had more enemies than he could count, including Portland, who
hated him exceedingly.

When the King had created Joost van Keppel Earl of Albe-
marle, Portland had offered to resign his post and retire, and
only by the intercession of M. de Vaudemont and the passionate
entreaties of his one flatterer, the King, had he been induced to
stay another year, which was employed in the gorgeous embassy
to France from which he had just returned, to find Sunderland all-
powerful and Albemarle in full possession of the King's confidence.

Sunderland saw that his temper was strained to the utmost,
and that affairs in the King's household must soon reach a
crisis. Although he used Albemarle as a balance against a man
who hated him, Sunderland had no ill-will towards Portland, and
wished to spare the King the agony he knew he would feel on

328 GOD AND THE KING

the earl's retirement. He would have wished Shrewsbury to stay
too — the King liked the young duke — but here, as in Portland's
case, Sunderland felt matters had gone too far.

He was waiting now, in the King's gallery at Kensington, to
intercept and argue with Shrewsbury, whom he knew was about
to have an interview with William, and with the object, he
suspected, of insisting on his often refused resignation.

He came at last, after his time and slowly, with a languid
carriage and an unsteady step that expressed great wretchedness.
Sunderland moved out of the embrasure of the window ; Shrews-
bury paused; and the two noblemen, alike only in birth and
country, so totally different in character, intellect, and aim, yet
both in the same service, faced one another.

Shrewsbury looked ill, miserable, even slightly dishevelled,
his dark clothes were careless and plain, the beauty that had
once made him famous as " The King of Hearts " was scarcely
to be traced in his strained features, though he was not yet past
his first youth. In contrast, Sunderland, though worn and frail,
looked less than his years, and was habited very fashionably and
gorgeously in black tissue of gold with diamond buttons, his
peruke was frizzled and powdered, and he wore a bow of black
velvet beneath his chin; his handsome, delicate features wore
that expression of watchful, smiling repose which was so seldom
from his face that it had come to be one with it, like the faint
chiselling on an alabaster bust.

Shrewsbury showed some agitated emotion as the Lord
Chamberlain stepped before him.

" I am due with His Majesty," he said.

"I know," answered the earl; "and I think I guess your
business with the King."

Shrewsbury paled and said nothing ; a defiant look hardened
his eyes.

"You," continued the Lord Chamberlain, "are going, my
lord, to force your resignation on His Majesty."

" Well — if I am ? " Shrewsbury moistened his lips desperately.

" It is, your Grace, a most ill-advised thing to do."

" I have heard many people say that, my lord," answered the
young duke, "and I have allowed myself to be too long per-
suaded. I cannot and I will not stay at Court."

PEACE 329

Sunderland gazed at him steadily out of his long, clear eyes.

" You only give colour to the disclosures of Sir John Fenwick,
which every one disbelieved. And no one more strongly than
His Majesty."

"I bear the taint — the imputation," muttered Shrewsbury.
" I cannot and will not endure it. My position is insupportable."

" Marlborough and Russell are in the same position, and find
it easy enough to bear," said Sunderland quietly.

The Duke answered with some pride —

"I am not such as they. They act from their standards — I
from mine."

He thought, and might have added, that he was not such as
the man to whom he spoke. Sunderland was stained with
treacheries, disloyalties, corrupt practices, and shameless false-
dealing, the very least of which was more than the one lapse
that was wearing Shrewsbury to misery with remorse.

The Earl took another tone.

" Think of the King. You call yourself friend to him ; he is
as harassed now as he ever was before the war. He hath not
too many men to help him — the Tories grow in strength every
day. You have been of great service to His Majesty — the greatest
in '88. Will you forsake him now — when he needeth you most ? "

Shrewsbury put out a trembling hand.

" I have heard these arguments before. Lady Orkney hath
been soliciting me to change my resolution — for the same reason
that you bring forth. But I am a broken man ; I am ill ; I must
get to the country ; I cannot serve His Majesty "

So speaking, in rapid, disconnected sentences, he gave a wild
glance at the Earl's passive face, the fine lines of which had taken
on an almost imperceptible expression of contempt and disgust,
and passed on to the King's cabinet, which he entered abruptly.

The King was, as usual, at his desk, which was placed between
the tall windows which looked on to the beautiful park, now grey
and desolate under the afternoon sky of mid-November.

A great fire burnt on the hearth, and the glancing light from
it threw into relief the furnishing of the room, every article of
which bore evidence to the exile's wistful love of his own country.
On the mantelshelf were the tall yellow, white, and blue vases
from Delft ; the brass fire-irons were Dutch, as were the painted

330 GOD AND THE KING

tiles, the black, heavily polished chairs and tables ; the exquisite
paintings of peaches, carnations, grapes, and butterflies on the
wall ; and the elaborate china calendar above the King's desk.
William was always consistently loyal to the products of his own
land ; his full cravat, shirt, and wrist-ruffles were now, as generally,
of the fine Frisian lawn embroidery, and the buttons of his black
silk coat were of the wonderful filigree gold-work for which the
States were famous.

He looked up sharply as Shrewsbury entered, and seemed a
little disappointed, as if he had been expecting some one else;
but instantly commanded himself, and greeted the Duke
affectionately.

Shrewsbury looked at him wretchedly, crossed to the hearth
irresolutely, then burst out impetuously —

" Sire — I must resign — I can take your wage no longer "

The King's full bright eyes swept over him in a quick glance
of understanding.

" I have told you," he said, with a gentleness that had a note
of pity in it, "that I hold you innocent of those scandalous
slanders that villain Fenwick flung. I have assured you, my lord,
of my affection, of my need and wish for your service."

Shrewsbury bit his lower lip, and stared blindly into the scarlet
heart of the fire.

" My health will not permit me " he began.

" Ah, tush ! " interrupted the King, with a little smile.
" Your health is good enough."

Compared to his own, it was indeed. Shrewsbury could not,
for very shame, argue that plea.

"I think you have another reason, your Grace," added
William, kindly and a little sadly. " And I am an old enough
friend for you to confide in me "

Still the Duke could not speak, but trembled and looked into
the fire.

"You are a man of honour," said the King. "I did and
do trust you. I shall never forget the services you rendered me,
when such services were vital indeed ; I believe I do not lack
gratitude ; I should never — I could never — desert a friend."

He exerted himself to speak with courtesy and animation,
and there was real feeling behind his words ; gratitude was in-

PEACE 331

deed almost a fault with him. Cold as he appeared to outsiders,
nothing could turn him when he had once given his affection ;
he had often, at the expense of his own interests and popularity,
defended and upheld those who had once helped him.

Shrewsbury clasped the edge of the chimneypiece and tried
to speak, but made only some incoherent sound.

" Let me hear no more of resignation, my lord," said William.

The Duke turned and looked at him desperately, then
suddenly and utterly broke down.

" I am guilty, sire ! " he cried. " I betrayed you, and you
know it ! "

He fell into the chair beside him, and covered his white face
with his quivering hands.

"Your generosity is more than I can endure," he gasped.
" I have been a villain, and I have a bitter punishment ! "

The King rose and looked at his minister. A heavy silence
hung in the brilliantly firelit little chamber. The Duke was
sobbing wretchedly.

William went slightly pale.

"Fenwick spoke the truth," cried Shrewsbury; "I have
tampered with St. Germains "

The King crossed over to the young man, and laid his thin,
beautiful hand on the bowed shoulders.

"You are my friend," he said simply. "I trust you and
wish to keep you with me. Nothing else, my dear lord, is of any
matter."

Shrewsbury's answer came hoarsely.

" It is of great matter to me that I have lost my honour "

The King answered gently.

"While you say that, my lord Duke, you can have lost
nothing "

Shrewsbury would not speak or look up. William returned
to his seat at the desk, and began turning over the papers before
him. After a few minutes he said, with his eyes still on his letters —

" I have heard nothing — I know nothing — I trust you to
continue in my service, my dear lord "

The Duke sprang up and stood with his back to the fire.

"I cannot — I am not fit," he said desperately, yet with
resolution.

332 GOD AND THE KING

William flashed a glance over his shoulder.

" Will you not serve England, then ? " he cried, with a deep
note in his voice, and waited for the answer, gazing brilliantly
at the haggard young man.

"No — no," muttered Shrewsbury. "I am broken — I am
not fit "

There was a little silence. It was the King who spoke
first.

"I can say no more," he said quietly. "You have decided.
I trust that you will justify your resolution to yourself."

The Duke came heavily to the desk, laid the seals that were
the symbol of his office on the desk, and was turning silently
away, when the King held out his hand impulsively.

" My lord," he said, with much warmth and kindness, "even
if I should never see you again — I should never forget '88."

Shrewsbury seized the frail hand, kissed it with tears, and
went violently from the room.

William gave a little sigh, pushed back his chair, and put his
hand to his head, coughing.

He was not long alone. Sunderland entered the little cabinet
with his cautious light step and an expression that had slightly
lost its usual composure.

"The little Duke hath resigned," said the King laconically.

A rare ejaculation of impatience and contempt broke from
the Lord Chamberlain. " Every one falleth away ! " he ex-
claimed. " There goeth the last link with the Whigs ! "

William gave a short laugh.

" I suppose that you will be the next, my lord ? " he said
shrewdly.

The Earl went rather pale.

"I will hold office as long as I can, Your Majesty," he
answered. " But it is a hard thing to maintain my position in
the face of all England. But whether I am in office or no, I
shall, sir, always serve you."

The King lifted his dark eyes.

" I believe you will, my lord," he said simply ; " we are old
allies now. Well — we have not either of us much more to do —
the people have their peace, and we have our positions, and may
grow roses, and build villas, and wait for death."

CHAPTER X
THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP

THE Earl of Portland, newly returned from his gorgeous
embassy to France, sat in his apartments at Kensington
reading and re-reading a letter.

It was written in a large and flowing hand, unequal in parts,
as if the writer had been greatly agitated. The contents, which
the Earl had now almost by heart, were strange and sad.

" KENSINGTON, April 1699.

" Since I cannot dispute with you, I will say nothing to you
on the subject of your retirement; but I cannot refrain from
telling you of my extreme sorrow, which is far deeper than you
can ever imagine, and assures me that if you felt even the half
you would very quickly change your resolution — which may it
please the good God to inspire you to do for your own good
and my repose. At least I hope that you will not refuse to keep
the key of office, for I am content that it should not oblige you
to anything, and, besides, I entreat you to let me see you as
often as you can, which would be a great consolation to me in the
affliction which you have caused me, which cannot prevent me
from loving you ever tenderly."

It was written in French and signed with the letter 'G,'
which had always been affixed to this long, intimate correspond-
ence which had continued now for thirty-three years — since they
had been children — continued through war and peace, trouble,
disaster, illness, bereavement, disappointment without cloud or
shadow — and this was the end.

William Bentinck had resolved to resign the King's service.

This was the end — in miserable, trivial jealousy. The
friendship that had lasted so long, keen and pure, so devoted,

333

334 GOD AND THE KING

had strained and broken. Portland sat, with this sad appeal in
his hand, and knew that it was over.

He did not acknowledge that he was unreasonable ; he had
served William faithfully and devotedly, both as friend and ser-
vant, and he had been greatly rewarded; he was one of the
wealthiest subjects in Europe ; he had an English earldom, and
the Garter that foreign kings envied ; he was Gentleman of the
Bedchamber, Privy Councillor, Groom of the Stole, and Keeper
of the King's Gardens ; the King had supported him again and
again against the Commons, taken his advice, flattered him by
an open display of his friendship, entrusted him with the im-
portant embassy to France, enriched his son, and, when the
breach began to grow, spared nothing to heal it. Few kings could
have ever entreated a subject as William had entreated Bentinck.

But he would not dismiss Albemarle ; he listened to Sunder-
land ; and everything was nothing to Portland compared to the
fact that he should have to share the King's confidence with this
young, untried, light-hearted young man.

When he returned from Paris he had found Albemarle in
possession of rooms in the Palace that he considered belonged
to him in virtue of one of his offices, and the little incident had
confirmed his resolution of quitting the Court. He would be
second to no one, least of all to a man whom he considered as
the tool of a faction that he loathed and despised.

He was well aware that Albemarle was popular, and that he
was not; that he had few supporters in his point of view, and
that Albemarle had a great following gained by his universal
sweetness, good sense, and humility.

He was well aware, too, that the King had never more
needed his friendship than now; for the present session of
Parliament had inflicted one cruel humiliation on him, and was
about to inflict another.

The King's grants of lands in Ireland had been looked into
and revoked — even such as he had given to the noble Ginckel,
who had done such service, and Meinhard de Schomberg, son of
the soldier who had died for England on the banks of Boyne
Water.

William, who had disappointed his enemies by preserving a
serene composure when he had been forced to consent to the

THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP 335

disbanding of the troops, had scarcely been able to conceal his
mortification at this malice on the part of the Tories, and was
still further moved by the agitation rising in the Commons to
turn all foreign soldiers out of the kingdom, including the
famous Dutch Guards and the refugee French Huguenots whom
William had long had in his service.

But none of this shook William Bentinck's stern resolution to
leave the Court.

He folded the letter, put it into his pocket, glanced at the
brass bracket-clock in one corner of the room, and went, for the
last time, to accompany the King on his way to the Cabinet
meeting at Whitehall, which William had summoned with the
desperate intention of urging his ministers to try some expedient
with the Parliament to enable him to keep the Dutch Guards.

Portland descended heavily into the courtyard where the
coaches waited.

It was a sunny afternoon, and half the soft-coloured brick of
the Palace was in a tender light. Some pigeons were gathered
round the clock, which was on the point of striking four.

Monsieur Zuylestein was there, Sunderland, Devonshire, and
Monsieur Auverquerque. Portland kept apart from all of them,
and drew the point of his cane up and down the cobbles ; his
eyes were fixed on the door which led to the staircase to the
King's apartments.

As the clock struck the hour William appeared in this door-
way, and paused at the head of the steps and looked round the
courtyard with narrowed eyes.

He wore black and a star, his hollow cheeks were flushed —
unusual for him — and he was breathing with obvious difficulty.

He saw Portland, and his whole face changed ; he smiled,
and his eyes widened with an indescribable look.

Portland met that glance, and a quick pang gripped his
heart ; he remembered days of long ago, in camp and cabinet, a
frail young man facing the French outside Utrecht, speaking to
the Senate at The Hague, firing the people, encouraging a faint-
ing country, leading the mad charge at St. Neff, fainting over
his work during tedious days and nights. . . .

Portland made a step forward ; then he saw, behind the King,
the ardent, youthful face of my Lord Albemarle, and he fell back.

336 GOD AND THE KING

William slowly descended the steps. The lackeys opened
the coach door, and the gentlemen came round.

The King looked to Portland, who still stood apart.

"Will you accompany me, my lord?" he said gently.

The seat in his coach was an honour to which his brother-in-
law, Prince George, had aspired in vain. Of late Portland had
frequently refused it, and in terms so curt as to excite the horror
of those who heard. Now the King was making a last appeal —
his brilliant eyes, his moved voice were reminding William
Bentinck of his letter and of the long friendship of which the
' G ' that signed it was a symbol.

There fell the slightest pause ; then Portland answered with
a harshness that would have been discourteous to an equal —

" I pray you excuse me. I keep my own company to-day."

At this, which was little less than a public insult, the King
flushed a dark red, and those about him knew not where to look.

" My Lord Sunderland," commanded William, " you will
accompany us."

He entered the coach, the Lord Chamberlain followed, and
Portland, very white but unshaken, mounted his own vehicle.

The Royal coach started. Sunderland said not a word and
made not a movement, but sat erect, opposite the King, as they
drove out under the early budding trees.

William broke out into a sudden, deep passion.

"Is this the Prince of Orange" — he cried, striking his
breast — " who was something in Europe ? Is this he, the sport of
such as Harley, and insulted by those who loved him once ? "

" My lord must be out of his wits," replied Sunderland. " I
could have struck him."

"This is too much — this is indeed the end," said the King.
" He leaves the Court. By God, I was Nassau once, if I am
only King of England now ! "

"He must still love Your Majesty " urged the Lord

Chamberlain.

" Love ! " echoed William. " Doth love inspire such cruelty ? "
His speech was broken by a violent fit of coughing, which caused
the tears to run down his face. Sunderland looked at him in
weary despair, and wondered if he could survive his present
griefs.

THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP 337

"The Guards," gasped the King, leaning back in his
corner — " I must keep those Guards — and the French for whom

I promised to provide — Ginckle and Schomberg too " His

hoarse voice became incoherent, he pressed his handkerchief
to his lips and stared out at the groves of Kensington Park with
hunted eyes.

" We will do all we may, sire," replied Sunderland ; but he
felt not half the conviction he endeavoured to put into his
voice. The party in power now hated the King and hated the
Dutch ; they were not likely to be merciful in their triumph.

Sunderland could not understand this blind fury against the
foreigner. It might have been thought that two nations, both
manly and given to a plain religion, both engaged in trade and
eager for liberty, could have had much in common, especially
when only divided by a strip of narrow sea, and considering that
there was no rancour of ancient dispute between them. But at
the bottom of each was a fatal difference — a levity, an ex-
travagance, and a narrow arrogance in the English ; a prudence,
a seriousness, a reserve in the Dutch — that prevented any real
friendliness despite the specious complexion of a common cause,
and had been gradually fanned by jealousy and party spirit into
an obstinate temper, against which the arts of Sunderland were
of no avail.

" They must not go," repeated the King in great agitation ;
" if they do, I go with them — I have told Somers so. I am a
foreigner also." He paused; then added, with intense feeling,
" I have been too great to become the pensioner of a handful of
commoners, the butt of your Harleys and Jack Howes. ... I
will not take this humiliation."

"Your Majesty must think of the United Provinces," said
Sunderland. "If you were to resign the crown, what of the
English alliance?"

This simple question had more weight with William than
all the protestations of Lord Somers. He went very pale, and
half closed his eyes. In the inevitable, in the nearing contention
over the Spanish succession, the dear bought alliance of England
would be more necessary than ever to the Republic; but the
King's imperious pride, so long controlled, outweighed almost
his deep love of his country.

22

338 GOD AND THE KING

" Let Anne and Marlborough rule you," he said, in a low,
passionate voice. " A fool and a villain would maybe please you
better. If my soldiers go I cannot in honour stay."

" You must, sire," answered Sunderland. He looked out of
the coach window at the white, dusty sweep of Kensington High
Street, the cottages with the early flowers before them and the
orchard trees covered with their first green. " Your Majesty must
remain," repeated Sunderland heavily. " England needeth you."

William gave a cynical laugh.

" England hath had some work out of me — I have laboured
for my pay. I am not a young man now, and old for my years.
I should wish to die in Holland."

The Earl looked quickly at his master.

" Sire, you must not speak of death."

" I am a dying man," said the King quietly. " A few months
— no more, I think."

Sunderland could not gainsay him. In his own heart he felt
a curous chill of apathy, as if it was nearing the end ; the very
sunshine without, falling so placidly on thatch and flowering tree,
looked strangely remote. It seemed a long time to Robert
Spencer since he had been at leisure to notice the mysterious
light of spring. He laughed also, but with a softer note than
the King had used.

" Rest is good after labour," he said irrelevantly.

William was also looking out of the window at fields and
clouds.

"God alone knoweth if I am damned or saved, "he remarked
strongly ; " but I have done His will as it was revealed to me."

Sunderland glanced at the Calvinist, who in those words had
declared his religion. His own creeds were very different ; but both
men, now at the end, found themselves on much the same level.

Neither spoke again till they reached the courtyard of White-
hall, when the King remarked, with an air of disgust, on the fog
of smoke that overhung the city.

As he dismounted from the coach he paused and glanced
round the gentlemen ; for the first time in his life he ignored my
Lord Portland, but, with a delicacy that Sunderland was quick
to notice, he equally ignored Albemarle, and passed into the
palace leaning on the arm of Monsieur Zuylestein.

CHAPTER XI
THE KING'S HUMILIATION

EVERYTHING had been in vain. Harley pressed his
narrow triumph, and the King, after a bitter struggle,
consented to let the Dutch soldiers go and to retain the king-
ship, though he had drawn up a passionate farewell speech to
the ungrateful parliament, and shown it to Somers, Sunder-
land, and Marlborough, now the governor of the little Duke of
Gloucester, the heir to the throne.

It was my Lord Chamberlain, fast feeling himself falling
before the wolves of faction, who urged the King to sacrifice
even this to those great designs to which he had given his life —
it was Sunderland who put the needs of Republic before him as
he had after the Queen's death; and William had again re-
sponded, even out of the depths of agony.

But as the day approached for the departure of those Guards
who had been with him since he had first marched out of The
Hague against the French, whom he had led again and again in
battle, who kept watch every night while he slept, who were
devoted to him — not as the King of England, but as William of
Orange — as the time drew near for him to say farewell to his
friend de Ginckle and Monsieur de Schomberg, as he received
daily the petitions of the poor French who had fought for him
loyally, and to whom he had promised his protection, his spirit
gave way. He made the last sacrifice of his pride, and he who
had dealt haughtily with kings wrote a request in his own hand
humbly asking the Parliament, as a personal favour to himself, to
allow him to retain the Dutch Guards.

He sent the message down to the House by Lord Ranelagh,
his Master of the Horse j and now, in his little cabinet at

340 GOD AND THE KING

Kensington that had seen so many vigils of toil and sorrow,
awaited the answer of the Commons.

Before him lay the draft of the message he had sent —

"His Majesty is pleased to let the House know that the
necessary preparations are made for transporting the Guards
who came with him into England, unless, out of consideration
to him, the House is disposed to find some way of continuing
them longer in his service, which His Majesty would take very
kindly."

To this humility had William of Orange stooped ; beneath
this paper was another, half hidden by it — the farewell speech
he had drawn up. His own words flashed up at him in his own
impetuous handwriting : " Feeling that you have so little regard
to my advice, that you take no manner of care of your own
security, and that you expose yourselves to evident ruin by
divesting yourselves of the only means of defence, it would not
be just or reasonable that I should be witness of your ruin."

If he could but go down to the House and cast that at them
— leave England, and die peacefully in Holland !

But Sunderland was right ; he must endure even this for the
sake of the Republic — and surely, even such as Harley could
not refuse his personal appeal.

In his agitation and impatience he began pacing up and
down the narrow room. He was in wretched health ; night after
night he could not sleep for grief and mortification ; his head-
aches, his fainting-fits were frequent and terrible; even this
gentle walking to and fro soon exhausted him ; he sank into the
window-seat coughing and holding his side, where his heart was
beating with a dragging pain.

Soon inaction became intolerable ; he rose, nearly struck
the bell to summon M. Zuylestein or M. Auverquerque, hesitated,
did not, left the cabinet and his own apartments, and came out
into the sunny quiet galleries of the palace.

Deep in thought, he walked slowly, with bent head and his
hands clasped behind him under the full skirts of his brocade
coat, when a sudden sound of voices caused him to look up.

He was in the empty antechamber leading to the King's
gallery, the door of which was half open; it was from behind
it that the voices came ; one of them, very clear, serene, and

THE KING'S HUMILIATION 341

beautiful in tone, was speaking as the King paused ; the words
came very levelly and distinctly —

" He actually asked it as a favour, you say ? And of course
they will refuse. I should have thought that the little upstart
would have known by now that we ain't to be lorded by
foreigners."

The King stepped back with an instinctive shock, as if he
had put his foot on a sword. He knew the voice to be that of
the man whom he most despised and loathed — John Churchill,
my Lord of Maryborough. Though he was very well aware how
he was traduced, lampooned, slandered, and abused behind his
back, he had never heard himself referred to in these cool terms
of contempt; though he knew these things were said, he had
never actually figured what it would be to overhear them.

The blood rushed to his heart and lay there like a weight.
He was of a family that had given an Emperor to the West five
hundred years ago, and John Churchill was scarce of gentle
blood and had climbed on infamy. The King's right hand crossed
over to his sword hilt. The beautiful, insolent voice began
again. William instantly pushed open the door and entered the
long gallery.

At once silence fell. There were two men, Marlborough
and Torrington, near the first window, and a small, weary,
anxious-eyed and forlorn-looking child seated near them on a
purple stool, making paper boats.

Torrington went scarlet at sight of the King, but Marl-
borough swept a graceful bow, without the least change in his
composure. William looked at him steadily. He could have
sent him to the block — not once, but many times, yet he had
spared him even the humiliation of a pardon in affecting to
ignore his treasons. It was curious to him to look at this man
— young, splendid in towering strength and opulent beauty, rich,
prosperous, advancing from power to power, infamous, heartless,
conscienceless, the man who would be ruling England very shortly
now, and in whose hands would rest the completion or the ruin
of the task to which he, the King, had given his life.

Torrington, fearful lest William had overheard, made some
stumbling remark about their presence. The King seated him-
self on the window-seat and coughed.

342 GOD AND THE KING

" Ah yes, I forgot that I was to have a visit from His
Highness," he said. He looked languidly at the little Duke of
Gloucester, Anne's sole child and heir of England. " Come
here, sir," he added kindly, " and tell us of your studies."

The child came obediently and stood by the King's knee,
gazing at him with very large eyes that shone as if they had a light
behind them and were themselves of crystal. He was about ten,
remarkably thin and as pale as wax to his very lips, which were
compressed with a painful expression of control ; the blue veins
showed across his high temples, which were shaded by fine, light
auburn hair. He wore a very stiff and heavy suit of crimson and
gold, a miniature sword, and the garter under his knee. My
lord his governor eyed him with the same kind of interest as a
trader feels towards some object which, indifferent as it is to
himself, he yet hopes to get a good price for.

William took him gently by the shoulders and drew him
closer.

" What are they teaching you, eh ? " he asked.

The child answered in a precise, toneless voice —

" I am progressing very well, I thank Your Majesty. The
dead languages and mathematics, history, and the philosophy
and errors of the ancients, the creation of the world and the
feudal system ; the Gothic Constitution and the beneficiary law
are among my next subjects."

" Doth Your Highness remember all these grave matters ? "
asked the King, with a faint smile.

" I remember very well, sir, when I have not a headache."

" What gives you headache, Highness ? "

The little Duke answered gravely —

" If it were not blasphemy, Your Majesty, I should say that
it was acquiring religious knowledge and listening to sermons ;
but Dr. Burnet says that is a temptation of the devil to induce
me to give up my studies."

"Dr. Burnet is making a scholar of you," answered William ;
" but you are to be a king and a soldier — do not forget that."

A pale colour came into the grave little face.

" Oh, I want to be a soldier. I like the riding-school ; but
things you like are of the devil, Dr. Burnet saith." He looked
anxiously at the King, as if hoping for a contradiction.

THE KING'S HUMILIATION 343

"I think that is beyond Dr. Burnet to decide," replied
William. " And Your Highness must not let any one speak ill
of soldiers — there is nothing better for a man to be. As God
hath called you to be a king you will best serve Him by being
what you feel a king should be — before all, a brave soldier."

The child gave a short sigh.

"I fear it is a very difficult thing to be a king," he said
anxiously.

" Perhaps the most difficult thing in the world," answered
William. " But Your Highness will reign in happier times."

" Sometimes," continued the little Duke, frowning painfully,
" when my head aches and I cannot remember, and Dr. Burnet
is angry with me, and I feel so tired, I wish I did not have to
be a king — I wish " He paused.

" What ? " asked William ; he put his fine hand delicately
over the soft hair.

"That I was in heaven," said the child simply.

" Already ! " cried the King. He went very white ; he had
seen a sudden look of Mary in Mary's sister's child.

The Duke nodded.

" But it is wicked to want to go before God calls you," he
said, quoting, obviously, his worthy tutor; "and being tired is
a temptation of the devil."

"A strong one," answered the King shortly, and then was
silent ; it seemed terrible to him that this child should begin
where he left off, in utter fatigue and despondency. He put
his arm round the fragile little body.

" Highness," he said, " I will give you a troop of Horse,
and you shall drill them yourself, and you shall have some
hours off your studies for it, and I will come and give you
lessons in soldiering."

The little Duke's face flushed and changed in a marvellous
fashion; he caught the King's free hand and kissed it
passionately.

" But Dr. Burnet " he faltered instantly.

"God doth not only speak through Dr. Burnet," replied
William. "Men and horses are more than paper and ink for
all that I could ever see ; ay, and dogs and swords more than
Greek and Latin. The devil is as likely to be between the

344 GOD AND THE KING

pages of a book as out in the open, with the animals whom
you might love more than men, so faithful they are. My
lord ! " he called to Marlborough, who had withdrawn with
Torrington, and the magnificent Earl came instantly, with his
winning air of deference. "This child is too much closeted,"
said the King. "Look to it, my lord, that he is more on
horseback."

"Dr. .Burnet findeth him an apt pupil, sir," responded
Marlborough, with the serenity and courtesy of indifference.
" And Her Highness is very satisfied."

" But we are not," said William quietly. " It is our intention
to give His Highness a troop of Horse." Then he was silent,
for he recalled in a flash that his own beloved companions in
arms might be taken from him with no more regard than
Marlborough would show in taking wooden toys from this
child. Perhaps some such thought was in my lord's mind;
he smiled and let his fine eyes rest mildly on the King.

The little Duke clung to the voluminous ruffles on the King's
breast ; his face was scarlet with excitement, and had for the
moment lost its premature look of wisdom and anxiety.

"When you next go to Flanders may I come too?" he
whispered.

" Why, this is peace, Highness," smiled William.

" But there will be war again, will there not, sir ? "

" God forbid," answered the King solemnly, " for we have
utterly disarmed ourselves."

Seeing him so suddenly grave the Duke was silent, and the
old look of wonder and question came back into his eyes.

William turned to him again.

"But you will be a great soldier yet; remember me in
your first battle, Highness."

The child fondled the King's star, and William, with exquisite
tenderness, lifted his long smooth curls of auburn hair, and
passed them round his fingers.

" Stewart locks," he murmured, and his voice trembled with
the thought of what had been, what might have been, and what
could now never be ; and another ringlet of this hued hair that
lay hidden in his bosom seemed to turn into a dagger that
pierced into his heart

THE KING'S HUMILIATION 345

With a great effort he put the child from him and rose.

" Bring His Highness to see us soon, my lord," he said to
Marlborough; "and see he learns no lackey's tricks such as
the vulgar one of speaking scornfully of your masters in your
masters' houses, which faults, like the vile treasons of mean
men, are beneath us to punish; but we would not have the
child ape these manners."

Marlborough's serene face slightly flushed; he could not,
for all his self-command, answer; he bowed very low under
the King's straight gaze.

"You will not forget the soldiers, sir?" cried the little
Duke anxiously.

"On my honour, no," answered William. "Tell Her
Highness I shall soon wait on her."

He bent and kissed the smooth auburn head and then the
upturned, grateful, earnest little face.

My lord left with his charge, and Torrington was soon
after dismissed ; the King remained in the window-seat. After
awhile came my Lords Devonshire, Somers, and Dorset, straight
from Westminster, looking very gloomy about this business of
the breaking of the troops, and after them Lord Ranelagh,
back with his answer from the Commons.

The King came forward a step to meet him, and Ranelagh,
felt the blood leave his own face as he saw the look that sprang
into William's haggard eyes.

He stood silent, and the other lords glanced at each other
furtively.

The King put his hand to his heart.

" Why " — he looked round the distressed faces — " why — they
have not — refused ? "

Ranelagh dropped to one knee.

" Alas, sire," he began, " 'twas from the first hopeless. . . .
Harley hath such a hold "

William interrupted.

"The Commons have refused our request?"

Ranelagh dared not make words about it.

" Yes, sire," he answered, in a broken voice.

" Ah ! " exclaimed William. He turned away from all of
them, and walked up and down the long shining floor; after

346 GOD AND THE KING

a moment or so he paused beside Dorset, and said, in a very
curious tone —

"I must get beyond sea — to — to breathe a little."

None of them ventured to speak, and he moved to the
window again ; there on the seat was the little crumpled paper
boat William of Gloucester had been making out of a scrap
of his lesson paper.

The King saw it, and a sudden passion kindled in him ; he
cast his eyes wildly about him, and exclaimed, with the vehemence
of agony —

" Had / a son, by God, these Guards should not leave me ! "

CHAPTER XII
APATHY

MATTHEW PRIOR, secretary to the English Embassy
at The Hague, walked in the wonderful gardens at Loo,
where the King-Stadtholder lived in retreat.

It was early summer of the first year of the new century;
there was peace in Europe, prosperity in England and the
United Provinces; the work of William of Orange seemed
finished indeed; he had dismissed the Parliament that had
so insulted and humiliated him without a word, and as soon
as it was up had gone into retirement at Loo; he had lost,
it seemed, all interest in England, and even in the affairs of
Europe. When the death of the infant Electoral Prince had
reduced the first Partition Treaty to wastepaper, William had
framed another with the Archduke Charles as claimant; the
discovery of this had provoked great wrath in England.

Portland, Somers, and Montague had been threatened with
impeachment; M. Canales, the Spanish Ambassador, had
delivered an impertinent memorial to William, who was now
regarded as a powerless cipher in a Parliament-ruled country,
and the King had ordered him to be dismissed, and recalled
his ambassador from Madrid. As long as Louis kept to the
second Partition Treaty — and William could not doubt but
that he would keep so grave an undertaking — he cared nothing
for what they did in England; he left the government in the
hands of a feeble Tory ministry, of which the late Queen's
uncle, Lord Rochester, was the head, and, heedless of the
complaints and murmurs, remained in retirement at Guelders.

Matthew Prior thought this a sorry end for his hero. This
flinging of everything to chance, this cynical indifference, this
apathetic calm, seemed a poor conclusion for all that high hope,

347

348 GOD AND THE KING

that serene courage, that long, splendid, patient endeavour, that
continuous, glorious action.

He thought sorrowfully that it was now too late. The King
was no longer a power in Europe ; he had been crossed and
humbled before all the world, his army had been taken from him,
his private grants revoked, his public policy abused, his friends,
his ministers, attacked, that Spanish government that in the days
of his greatness had humbly offered him the Spanish Netherlands,
now dared to insult him ; and he was a dying man.

Matthew Prior sighed gloomily as he walked through the
formal grounds with their exact parterres, flower-beds, groves,
and alleys, their twin fountains and regular groups of trees.

The King had been at dinner when he arrived, and he was
waiting his audience with some sinking of the heart ; he had not
seen William since the peace was proclaimed, three years ago.

It was about three of the clock when he was sent for, and
conducted into the large dining-room where the King was still
at table.

The Palace, which was one of the most admired in Europe,
had been built by William with lavish magnificence on the site
of his favourite hunting-box. Mr. Prior, who had seen Versailles,
was impressed by the commodious nobility of the apartments
through which he passed.

The dining-room was large, lofty, and cool, though filled with
the reflected sunlight that shone in the thick trees that shaded
the terrace on to which the four tall windows opened. The
walls were hung with pictures of the Princes of the House of
Orange, wearing armour and holding the baton of authority ;
above the deep fireplace was a portrait of Queen Mary in red
and ermine, clasped with emeralds and pearls.

The whole room was full of the sense of afternoon sun, but
was in shade by reason of the trees without ; yet here and there
the gold light penetrated and lay in glowing patches on walls,
floor, and the white lace cloth that covered the long table that
occupied the centre of ihe chamber.

A number of gentlemen sat round this table on velvet-
covered stools ; the dishes had been removed ; the wineglasses
and bottles showed pleasantly on the white linen.

At the head of the table sat the King, in a low arm-chair ;

APATHY 349

beside him was a huge white boar-hound, who rested his long
head on his master's knee. William's right arm was round this
animal, whom he caressed with affectionate movements of his
fingers.

Mr. Prior glanced round the company ; he knew them all by
sight : there was M. Albemarle, seated nearest to the King,
Lord Athlone, my Lord Romney, my Lord Wharton, my Lord
Pembroke, M. Zuylestein, and M. Auverquerque ; they were all
laughing at something that featherbrain Lord Romney was
relating, and most of them were in hunting attire and leant
carelessly on the table.

Matthew Prior looked at the King with searching interest.

William was leaning back in a languid attitude, with his
black plumed hat pulled over his eyes ; he wore a full coat of
velvet brocade in a dark purple, with the huge embroidered
elbow-cuffs, now fashionable, and under-sleeves of gold tissue;
a great quantity of heavy lace fell over his scarlet waistcoat and
at his wrists ; the long, thick, dark curls of his peruke half con-
cealed the flash of his star.

This extravagant vesture increased the extreme delicacy of
his appearance ; he seemed sunk and fainting under the weight
of velvet, silk, and lace. His face was pale and hollow, his eyes
heavy-lidded and deeply shadowed beneath ; constant pain had
drawn his mobile mouth into an expression of endurance ; his
cleft chin, usually carried slightly raised, was sunk on his bosom.

Mr. Prior, as he came up to make his bow, noticed that His
Majesty's hands were so thin that the diamond ring that he wore
on the third finger of the hand that caressed the dog had slipped
round till the rose was towards the palm.

He looked at the young secretary without interest.

" From The Hague ? " he asked, and his voice was broken to
a whisper with his unceasing asthma.

Mr. Prior went on one knee and handed the letter with
which he had been charged. William motioned him to put it
on the table by the wineglasses.

" Nothing of importance, eh ? " he said.

" I think not, sire ; it was merely to ask instructions as to
how matters were to be arranged with Monsieur Heinsius with
regard to the Spanish questions "

350 GOD AND THE KING

" Let that wait," returned the King indifferently. He leant
forward and took up his wineglass. "How do you like our
house of Loo, Mr. Prior? "

" I think it worthy of Your Majesty."

"The gardens are at their finest," remarked William
languidly.

Mr. Prior rose and awaited commands ; but the King seemed
to quickly forget his presence, and the other gentlemen took no
notice of him at all ; most of them were far gone in wine, and
William was drinking heavily — a new thing, for he had ever
been the most moderate of men and intolerant of excess in
others.

The King turned his indifferent gaze on Romney and
Wharton, who were arguing together.

" Discussing a Republic for England, my lords ? " he asked.

" Something of the kind, sir," said Wharton.

" Well, I will disappoint you yet," answered William. " I
will bring King James's son over on you and give you another
Stewart king "

" Why, that is as Your Majesty pleaseth," replied Wharton
impudently.

" Or there is Tom of Pembroke," continued William ; " there
is a good block of wood out of which to chip a king ! "

Pembroke raised a heated face at this mention of his name.

" Sir," he cried, leaning down the table towards the King,
"my Lord Albemarle telleth me that I was insolent last
night."

" So you were — damned insolent," said the King, in his
quiet, tired, unmoved voice.

" I could not have been in my senses," said Pembroke, in a
slightly maudlin tone.

"Oh, silly," cried the King, "you were drunk as any
trooper; but I never mind what a man saith after his tenth
bottle."

Romney laughed.

"You'll get more wisdom out of Tom then than when he
is sober, sir ! "

" And even more folly out of you, Harry," said His Majesty
dryly.

APATHY 351

He filled his tall glass, and was raising it when he glanced at
Albemarle, who was looking at him steadily.

William laughed.

" Are you thinking of the doctors ? " he asked.

" Your Majesty will ever disregard their advice," replied the
young man, with emotion.

The King laughed again, not at all pleasantly or graciously.

" Do you think I would forego even the gratification this
affordeth " — he touched the bottle contemptuously — " for years
of life ? "

He drank the wine, using all the while his left hand, for his
right arm was round the boar-hound.

" Dr. Ratcliffe aspired to wit this morning," he said. " ' I
would not have you cough for your three kingdoms,' he
remarked. " ' Doctor,' I told him, ' 'tis the three kingdoms
killing me, not the cough.'" He looked round and saw Mr.
Prior still standing between the table and the green-gold light of
the window.

" Why, Mr. Prior, I play the indifferent host," he murmured.
" Join us — take your place "

Romney and Wharton good-humouredly made way for the
young poet, who drew another stool modestly to the table. He
was surprised at the easy air of familiarity that reigned ; the way
these men spoke to the King, and the way in which he accepted
it. The three older Dutchmen, Mr. Prior noticed, M. Zuylestein,
M. Auverquerque, and my Lord Athlone, were the gravest of the
company ; he fancied they were there only out of loyalty to the
King.

Albemarle began talking to Wharton; they entered into a
lively discussion of their separate racing-stables. The King leant
back against the crimson cushions of his chair and turned his
head so that he looked out of the window.

Mr. Prior gazed at him ; he seemed absorbed in thought.
Mr. Prior knew that it was the face of a dying man and a heart-
broken man ; there was not a line of hope, of peace, or pride in
that wan countenance ; only the serenity of grief, the apathy of
utter weariness — a man worn out, done for, awaiting scornfully
an inglorious end. And he had done great things ; he had been
a light to encourage half the world — a name to rally nations.

352 GOD AND THE KING

" He should have died outside Namur," thought Mr. Prior,
and felt the tears smarting against his lids.

He was not deceived by the boon companions, the drinking,
the careless talk. He knew that the King cared for none of it,
save as a means to hasten death ; indeed, the little poet wondered,
what had he to live for ? — the Queen had gone, then Portland, then
the army — his task was finished.

It might have been an hour or more that the King lay back
in his chair looking out on the slow-waving, full-leaved boughs,
through which the changing sunlight moved; while the noisy
talk of the others filled the shadowy spaces of the mellow,
lofty room.

Albemarle looked at him often and anxiously, but did not
speak.

At last William moved, rousing the sleeping dog.

" I will go into the garden," he said, " before the sun leaves
it. I would see those Turkey pears."

Joost van Keppel rose instantly. The King took his arm and
got up slowly, coughing with the effort of movement. Mr. Prior
was shocked to see that he could not stand alone, but must
support himself on Albemarle's young strength.

The others rose, save my Lord Pembroke, who had been
asleep this half-hour across the table. The King saw him — an
unpleasing spectacle of a stout gentleman with peruke awry and
a coarsely red face, breathing heavily through his open mouth,
with a wet stain of wine under his cheek and over his cravat.

Mr. Prior expected a burst of anger from the King; but,
instead, His Majesty, still holding on to my Lord Albemarle's
arm, broke into a long fit of laughter, in which the others joined
for no reason at all save their vacant humours.

The poet could not force even a smile. William's unusual
and immoderate amusement had a sad sound to him.

Romney and Wharton went to drag Pembroke to his feet, and
the King continued laughing.

He was still laughing when an usher and a courier entered
the room.

"From England, sire," said the latter, dropping to one
knee.

Albemarle sobered instantly. The King ceased laughing and

APATHY 353

let go my lord's arm, holding himself upright by aid of the table
edge.

"Well, what of England?" he muttered. "We have no
great interest in England."

" Grave news, Your Majesty," answered the exhausted courier,
who had ridden fast from The Hague.

The King took the dispatch and broke it open ; it was from
Lord Rochester, and contained a few lines written in haste :
" His Highness the Duke of Gloucester died suddenly last night
of a chill. He desired to be remembered to Your Majesty."

William's hands trembled ; the news was serious in so far as
it meant that the English succession was now absolutely unsettled.
But he was not thinking of that, but of the white, anxious child's
face framed in those auburn curls, and the gallant spirit looking
out of troubled eyes that had faced the miseries of royalty so
bravely.

"My Lord of Gloucester is dead," he said briefly, flinging
down the dispatch. " They might have spared their Greek and
Latin — poor sweet wretch ! " His voice shook a little. " I am
glad he had his troop of Horse." Then, during the little pause of
consternation that held them all mute, he spoke again : " And I
am glad he did not live to be a King."

CHAPTER XIII
FRANCE CHALLENGES

THE sentry on duty at the foot of the great staircase in
Hampton Court Palace was nearly asleep.

The palace had been silent for hours; ever since he had
relieved the soldier before him he had not heard a sound. It
was now nearly three o'clock and beginning to be dark on the
huge, gloomy stairway, for it was mid-November and a mist had
risen all day from the river.

The sentry yawned and then shivered. Wren's palace was
neither very cheerful nor very well warmed. The sentry pre-
ferred Whitehall, with the noises of the city without and the
coming and going of people to the public galleries.

His Majesty was in residence at Hampton Court, but that
made little difference. He lived so quietly and saw so few
people, that he might, the sentry thought, as well have stayed
at Loo. He only came, as was well known, to open Parliament,
and the moment it was up he would be off again to Holland —
a poor compliment to England; and now there was not the
excuse of the campaigns.

The sentry yawned again and stretched himself, after carefully
resting his musketoon against the dark wall ; then he looked up
the stairs, which were painted with great, scrambling, heathen
figures that swarmed up to the roof, where they were lost in the
fast gathering shadows. He then walked up and down to keep
himself warm, and began to wonder how much longer now before
he was changed; it was difficult to keep count of the time
because he had lost the last chiming of King Henry's great,
painted clock.

Presently the door at the head of the stairs opened, very
slowly, but with a distinct sound in the perfect silence.

354

FRANCE CHALLENGES 355

The sentry caught up his musketoon, thinking that this was
one of the officers from the guard-room, and peered cautiously
up the stairway.

It was, however, a gentleman in private clothes who was
slowly closing the door after him with, it seemed, some difficulty.

The sentry, who knew no one had gone up, wondered who it
could be. The stairs were so dark that he could distinguish no
more than a slight figure, hatless, and wearing a cloak.

There was a moment's pause and silence, then the new-
comer began to descend the wide, shadowed stairs, and the
sentry knew who it was — there was only one person who moved
about the palace with that slow and painful step, and that was
the King.

The man drew back, rigid, to his post. He wondered that the
King should be coming down the state staircase unattended and
on such an inclement day. As he stood, stiff at the salute, he
watched the frail figure crawling with dragging pauses through
the dusk.

The King had one hand on the heavy balustrade, and, by
grasping this, helped himself along. His head was bowed, and he
continually paused to cough or gasp for breath, his hesitating
and unequal steps began to rasp in the sentry's brain — he wished
some one else would come. It seemed an intolerable length of
time as the King made his difficult progress from step to step,
and the cloaked figure with the bent, hidden face and the one
white hand, so thin that every bone in it showed, moving slowly
down the baluster, affected the solitary watcher with a sense
almost of terror.

As the King approached this terror increased, as if some
ghostly or unearthly presence neared. The hall and stairway
rapidly darkened, and the King was but a shadow among
shadows when he at length reached the last step and stood
grasping the post with his left hand and holding his heart with
his right.

He stood there so long and so silently that the sentry's sense
of discomfort increased, and he felt a strong desire to turn and fly.

Presently the King moved, with difficult, faltering steps, across
the hall, and unlatched the door that gave on the courtyard.
As he did so, a full ray of ghastly light fell across the obscurity,

356 GOD AND THE KING

and the reason of the sudden darkness was explained, for a thin
cloud of snow could be seen against the grey masonry of the
palace.

The sentry, who knew that it was dangerous for the King to
go out save when the weather was very fair, was startled to see
him standing there with the chill wind stirring his cloak and the
bitter light of the snow on his face. He stepped forward in-
stinctively, but the King did not hear him.

After a few seconds William passed out, and, acting on an
irresistible impulse, the sentry followed him.

The King turned to the left under the covered arcade, and,
half resting himself on the inner wall, made weary progress, the
snow drifting in through the open arches as far as his feet. He
was continually so shaken with his cough that he had to pause,
and once the sentry caught a short ejaculation of pain.

They had made almost the circuit of the courtyard and had
come to another entrance to the palace, when a second sentry
crossed their path. William murmured something, passed him
without looking back ; the soldier stared after him, then caught
sight of the other following.

" What is this ? " he asked, in a quick whisper.

The sentry explained as best he could. Ought the King to go
out alone — to go out this weather at all ? — why, he could hardly
crawl, and his cough hurt one to hear.

The second sentry only knew that they were to stay at their
posts; he advised his companion to go back to his lest the
captain discovered. As for the King, it was known that he was
not good for long anyhow, and it was no business of theirs.

The other soldier was not so sure; he thought my Lord
Albemarle ought to know, at least. The King might easily be
murdered by the French or the Jacks, and then they would be
blamed.

But by now William had disappeared. The soldiers continued
arguing in subdued voices, when they were interrupted by the
approach of a slim gentleman in furs and velvet, who came with
an easy, graceful step along the arcade. Both the men knew
him ; he was the great Earl of Sunderland.

His quick eye noticed two soldiers in place of one, and that
they were talking. His suspicions, that never lay very deep,

FRANCE CHALLENGES 357

were instantly roused, he clapt his hand to his sword and
paused.

The man who had followed the King found courage to speak.

"My lord, I humbly ask the pardon of your lordship, but His
Majesty hath gone out unattended in this foul weather, and I was
bold enough to follow His Majesty, thinking of all the late
plots."

"Who are you?" demanded Sunderland.

" May it please your lordship, the sentry at the foot of the
state staircase."

My lord narrowed his eyes on the man.

" You were on guard once outside Whitehall on the day the
bishops were acquitted. I spoke to you — 'God and the King'
— you recall, fellow ? "

The soldier was silent with astonishment at the memory of
my lordj for himself, he recollected very well, but it was
marvellous that a great nobleman should remember such an
incident during so many years.

Sunderland gave him no time to speak.

"Where did His Majesty go?"

The soldier humbly pointed out the way, and my lord turned
on his heel and went rapidly across the dark, snowy courtyard.
He had reached the farther court, untouched by Mr. Wren
and still of the fashion of the great cardinal and Harry Tudor,
before he saw the King ahead of him, a solitary figure in the
grey afternoon.

My lord was instantly beside him.

" Sire, I must speak with you, and at once."

William looked round calmly.

" Come to the river — I had a mind to see the river."

Sunderland, standing uncovered, answered with energy and
decision —

" Sire, if you have no regard for your own health, consider
mine. This weather is death."

William took his arm.

" No, Robert, 'tis the fireside that is death to me — to sit and
doze like a sick woman in shawls ; but come into the great Hall,
where we may be undisturbed. Dr. Burnet is in my apartments
with a packet of sermons." He paused to cough, and then

358 GOD AND THE KING

added: "As for your news — you are going to offer me your
resignation."

"That," said Sunderland, "and something else."

" Important ? "

" Of the greatest importance."

They turned back across the courtyard, came to a dark arch-
way, and mounted a few steps to the left of it that led straight
into the great banqueting hall of Cardinal Wolsey, that, all dis-
mantled and unfurnished as it was, had the air of a vast, deserted
church. It was even colder than the outer air, and only an
obscure light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows.

But William liked the place for its very sombreness. He led
the way to the room beyond, that was hung with old arras and
suits of armour, and lit by an oriel window, brilliant, even now,
with coats and emblazonments.

A circular seat ran round this window, and in front of it was
a table.

Here the King and his minister seated themselves. William
leant back against the stained-glass, he was wrapped in his cloak
to the chin, and his face was quite colourless ; only his eyes fixed
Sunderland with a look clear, vivid, and penetrating as ever.

" So even you are leaving me ? " he said.

My lord laid his hat on the table and began to pull off his
gloves.

" As to that," he answered, " I am assured that there are a
hundred and sixty voices in the House for my impeachment.
My friends could not face that. And I am too old, sire, and too
tired to brave what I once would have braved."

William nodded.

" I would not ask it of you."

Sunderland detached the Lord Chamberlain's gold key from
his crimson waistcoat and placed it on the pale oak table.

" I shall be always at your service — just the same," he said ;
" but I shall never climb again." He smiled. " This is the sum
of it, sire — I have no title that I was not born to, I shall have an
impaired estate, a detested memory — but I have lived my life,
and I have no regrets — none."

" You take with you my deep thanks and gratitude," responded
William, with animation. " I could never have done what I have

FRANCE CHALLENGES 359

done but for you. You will remain my friend, if not my minister.
What is your other news ? "

"Of far greater importance, sire. Of terrible meaning to
Your Majesty."

William's eyes flashed. He leant forward.

"To do — with France?" he breathed.

"Yes, sire. The courier from Paris will be here to-night,
but the news is all abroad in London now."

The King's hollow cheek flushed

" Tell me," he commanded.

Sunderland hesitated ; it was not easy to tell a great states-
man that he had been duped, that his laborious schemes had
ended in humiliating failure. It was not easy to tell a dying man
that his life-work was all to do again.

"Well?" urged the King imperiously.

" Sire, when the King of Spain died and left his crown to
Philippe D'Anjou, Your Majesty was not disturbed ? "

" No — because of the Partition Treaties."

Sunderland looked away, and said in a low voice —

" King Louis hath flung over the Partition Treaties, accepted
the will, and published a memorial justifying his action."

On hearing that he had been so cheated, deceived, betrayed,
that, for the first time in his life, he had made a huge political
mistake, a blunder, in trusting France, and that France had been
all this time laughing at him, that he had been King Louis' dupe,
that he was despised and challenged by the court he had once
humbled, William gave a little gasp like a sob, and sat very
still.

" Louis," continued Sunderland, " defies you, the Republic,
and the Emperor, and thinks of nothing but seating his grandson
on the throne of Spain."

William sprang up with the energy of a strong man.

" My God ! " he cried, " I was a fool to trust France. I
should have known ! I should have known ! "

A colour was in his face, his eyes were brilliant, his breast
heaved.

" Their effrontery ! " he cried again ; " their shameful
effrontery ! I did not think even they would have broken a
solemn treaty made in the face of the whole world ! I must

360 GOD AND THE KING

confess I am a dupe," he added proudly, " but if faith and honour
are to be disregarded 'tis easy to cheat any man."

He sank back on the window-seat and pressed his hand to
his forehead.

"They think I am a cipher now — a King without an army —
a dying man, but I am he who met them single-handed once
and could again." His voice, broken and weak as it was, ex-
pressed an extraordinary enthusiasm and resolution. "France
shall pay for this. I will commit Europe to demand payment,
even if I do not live to see it given. Dear Lord ! doth Louis
think that while I draw a breath a Bourbon shall rule over Spain,
the Netherlands, Milan, Sicily — the Indies ? "

He rose and began to walk about ; his eyes had flashed no
brighter in his youth. He clasped his sword-hilt and half drew it
from the scabbard.

" The sword, the sword ! " he said, " no way but that. Did
I not ever say so ? The sword shall bring them to their knees yet ;
that is the only way to deal with France."

Sunderland sat silent. He was appalled at the thought of the
task before the King if he would resist the aggressions of Louis ;
for the English were in no humour for another war, and had been
from the first inclined to the King of Spain's will, not the
Partition Treaty — principally, perhaps, because William had
framed the latter.

My lord ventured to hint some of this.

" I know," answered William quietly. " The blindness here
is incredible — the ignorance, the malice, astonishing. It is the
utmost mortification to me that I cannot at once act with the
rigour I should, but I have performed some hard tasks before.
/ must bring England into this. And there is the Republic —
when did she fail ? She is with me always."

He came and sat by Sunderland again, rested his elbows on
the table and looked down at the floor, supporting his head on
his left hand.

He was face to face with, and had instantly and deliberately
undertaken, a task more difficult and tremendous than those he
had carried through in '72 and '88. It would be the greatest
action of his life — and he had perhaps a few months, at most a
few years, to live. There were as many odds against him as

FRANCE CHALLENGES 361

there had ever been ; so many, so continuous, had been his
humiliations and sorrows, that a few moments ago he had not
desired to live another day. Now he found himself called to the
supreme task of all his laborious career — a task which, if success-
ful, would crown his work with ultimate triumph, however
distant, and which, if it failed, would make his whole life useless
indeed.

He looked at his wasted hand lying on the table. Every
breath was a pain to him. He had scarcely the strength to sit
upright. He had to be lifted on to his horse, or into his coach.
The doctors gave him dates beyond which he could not live ; but
his spirit was unchanged since the day that it had inspired him
to wrest his country from the conqueror, and it rose now to such
a strength of enthusiasm that it actually laughed at the weakness
of the poor body that held it ...

William of Orange looked up smiling.

" I shall succeed," he said. " I shall succeed."

THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD

AGAIN the trees were yellowing in the splendid park at Loo ;
again the autumn sun fell tenderly over the Palace and
the stiff beds of late roses.

William of England and Monsieur Heinsius were standing by
the sundial, which was the centre of formal walks and exact
parterres.

They were discussing the progress of that endeavour the King
had set himself nearly a year ago, when he learnt of Louis's
breaking of the Partition Treaty — a year of toil, of patience, of
skill, of tact, of sacrifice on the part of William ; and it had met
with success. Even the English Parliament had not been able
to resist his exquisite management. Meanwhile he was quietly
forming the Grand Alliance and feeling his way to hurl the
inevitable challenge at France.

He was leaning now on a thick polished malacca cane, with
a gold and ivory handle, from which swung two heavy crimson
tassels, and listening to the Grand Pensionary of Holland, who
had been in everything the perfect friend, the perfect servant.

"We can do no more," M. Heinsius was saying; "the States
are in readiness. We must wait for England."

"I have been doing that," answered William, "all my life."
And he sighed a little, though not with discouragement. There
had of late been every sign that the temper of the English was
changing. They began to murmur at the Parliament and its
constant thwarting of the King. Louis had been, as usual,
insolent in his triumph, and British pride began to rise at
French insults. William had waited with infinite patience,
worked with infinite skill. He still waited and still worked,

but with a sure hope of success. Louis, in the infatuation of

362

THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD 363

his success, might easily commit some arrogant action that
would inflame the people of England beyond the control of any
faction-ridden Commons.

William took out his crystal and gold filigree watch and set
it by the sundial. The sky, the trees, the walks and groves,
the stately lines of the Palace, were all radiant in an amber-
coloured light. The breeze was warm as mid-summer, and
lifted the leaves with a pleasant sound. The King raised his
eyes to the peaceful autumn beauty, and there was a look in
them that was never absent when he was in his own country —
an unconscious expression of the deep passion he felt for his
own land, for the very air of it, the very grass and trees and
clouds.

Presently he and M. Heinsius went into the house. Some
German princes were to dine with the King. All his Dutch
friends were there also (save only Portland), and it seemed like
the old days again when the Stadtholder would escape for a few
days' hunt to Guelders — when he was young and everything was
yet to do.

Albemarle, lately invested with the garter, and radiant under
his splendours and in the satisfaction of great abilities finding
scope, had newly come from London, and during the meal
William questioned him on the state of parties there. His
answers were satisfactory : the men of Kent had lately sent a
stern memorial to the Parliament, requesting them to give up
their internal quarrels and aid the King in helping his allies in a
fitting manner to resist French dominion in Europe.

The King spoke affectionately and gratefully to Albemarle ;
then leant back in his chair, and was, after his habit, -silent.

His reserve had grown on him more and more of late ; he
scarcely spoke at all save to his intimates, and saw only those
when he was obliged.

Towards the end of the long dinner he roused himself, and,
leaning towards M. Heinsius, who sat on his right, said a curious
thing.

"Do you think Monsieur de Witt would be proud ot his
pupil now ? " he asked.

M. Heinsius could find no answer.

" He was about the age I am now when he met his end,"

364 GOD AND THE KING

continued William, in a quiet tone. " After all, he had a happier
life than I have had . . . Monsieur de Witt ! How long ago it
seemeth ! "

He filled his glass, and lifted it as if he drank a silent toast.
He looked down the rich table and the splendid guests and
up at the portrait of his wife above the dark chimney-piece.

A full ray of dusky sunlight struck across the canvas and
gave the painted face something of the glow and bloom of life.
The large brown eyes seemed to sparkle, the red lips to move,
the white breast to heave. The King was still looking straight
at this picture when a messenger entered.

At a glance William saw that his dispatches were from
England and France. He set the wine down, and broke open
that from London.

M. Heinsius, intently watching him, saw his countenance
change, a violent flush rise to his cheek, and his hands tremble.

He pulled his hat over his eyes to cover his emotion, and
nervously tore open the French dispatch. M. Heinsius saw that
this was in the hand of my Lord Manchester, English Ambassador
in Paris.

When the King had read it he was composed again, but even
paler than usual. He folded both the letters up and placed
them in the huge flap pocket of his coat; then he cast his
dimmed but still eagle eye round the table.

" Gentlemen," he said, in a firm voice, " His late Majesty
King James is dead at St. Germains."

He pushed back his chair a little and drew a quick breath.

" And King Louis hath shamelessly outraged us by proclaim-
ing his son, the pretended Prince of Wales, the King of Great
Britain."

For a moment the company could not grasp the import of
this news : it was too monstrous.

"His Christian Majesty hath been foolish before," added
William, with grim meaning; "never, I think, so foolish as this."

"By God!" cried M. Heinsius, "there will be no further
difficulty with England now ! "

The silence broke into murmurs and exclamations. The
King took no notice of them ; he was thinking of the meaning
of this in Europe. Louis had now broken the Treaty of Ryswyck

THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD 365

as he had the Partition Treaties. The result would be instant
and inevitable war. Even the peace party in the English
Commons could not hang back now . . .

He turned suddenly to Albemarle.

" Send at once to London that M. Poussin is to leave as
quickly as M. Barillon did in '88." He laughed shortly. " This
will be the second time I have turned a French Ambassador out
of London ! And Manchester shall be recalled at once." He
rose. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the eager Dutch and
Germans, "this meaneth our third war with France; and this
time I think it will be conclusive, and we, not France, be left
the vanguard of the world."

CHAPTER XV
THE EVE OF WAR

SERVICE was being held in the Royal Chapel at Hampton
Court.

There were not many people there: only the King, the
officers of his household, and one or two others, including Mr.
Prior, new come from The Hague.

William knelt alone in his pew while his chaplain delivered
the final and beautiful prayers of the Anglican service ; he was
not listening to or repeating these prayers.

The old austerity of his stern religion had become softened
with his vaster knowledge and experiences, nor could his firm
conception of a wide tolerance maintain the narrow prejudices
of sectarian belief; but the old teaching of the faith that had
supported his youth and manhood through so much was still
strong in him. It suited his nature and his circumstance ; it was
the creed of his beloved country, and had ever been under the
especial protection of his family. The heart of the King was
still as Calvinist as it had been when he learnt his grim theology
from Pastor Trigland. Though he knelt in English churches
and listened to Anglican services, it pleased him to close his
eyes and imagine himself back in the bare whitewashed Groote
Kerk, an eager grave boy, a silent anxious man, seated in the
stiff pew watching the sunlight fall athwart the massive, tall
pillars, and drawing stern comfort and noble inspiration from the
pastor's thunderous declamation of the theology of Geneva.

This morning the picture came before him with a peculiar
and painful vividness. He put his hand over his eyes and
thought that he could hear the little stir of Mary's gown beside
him, and that if he put out his hand he would touch hers, warm
on her Prayer Book . . .

THE EVE OF WAR 367

Long after the prayers had ceased he continued kneeling,
and when he at last rose there was a curious expression on his
face.

When he left the Chapel his words were to know if Albemarle
had yet arrived.

No, he was told, but my lord might be expected any hour, as
the packet from Holland had got in last night.

The King had constantly shown a wistful impatience for the
return of Albemarle, when he had parted from him with great
pain; but my lord was the only person who knew his exact
wishes in the matter of the disposal of the troops in the United
Provinces and whom he could entrust with his minute instructions
to M. Heinsius.

He now calculated that my lord, even riding all night, could
scarcely be there before midday, and he ordered out his horse
and said he would ride in the park awhile. It was a day in
February, and mild and fine. Of late, too, he had been un-
expectedly better in health, and had even hunted and spent
hours on horseback.

As the little company left the Chapel, Mr. Prior fell behind
to speak with Lord Buckhurst, son of my Lord Dorset, Mr.
Prior's former patron.

"Everything is done, is it not?" he asked eagerly.

" Everything," said my young lord, with enthusiasm. " We —
and the allies — will take the field this spring. God bless His
Majesty ! "

"Ay, he did it. I would I could have heard his speech
to Parliament. They say, sir, it hath roused Europe like the
trumpet-call to charge "

" Europe, Mr. Prior, and the Commons of England. I think
no nobler words were ever heard in Westminster — he raised them
all above themselves — you have read the -speech? It is in a
dozen different tongues already. England might hold the balance
of Europe, he said, if she would exert her ancient vigour and
forget her unhappy internal animosities; — and she will, Mr.
Prior, she will — thanks to His Majesty."

My Lord Buckhurst was only voicing the general sentiment
of enthusiasm and loyalty that William had at last succeeded in
rousing.

368 GOD AND THE KING

" Will the King take the campaign this year ? " asked Matthew
Prior, as they strolled out into the magnificent gardens.

" I do not think so — it is to be my Lord Maryborough.'*

"A man who was ever detested by the King."

" His Majesty saith he is the greatest general and statesman.
Next year he might go himself — there seemeth hope that he
might be recovered then."

They passed the yew hedges and fountains, the famous
patterned flower-beds, and came out by King Charles's Long
Canal, with the resplendent avenue of trees rising up lofty
against the pale spring sky and fading into a fair, hazy distance.
Coming now into the park where the fresh grass was pushing up
through the dead damp leaves of last autumn, and the little
gioups of slender deer moved delicately through the open
sloping glades, they perceived the King riding with two grooms,
and holding his hat in his hand to catch the full strength of the
faimt sun on his face.

He drew up his horse as he saw the two gentlemen, and
spoke to them kindly, telling them of the new fine entrance-
gates he proposed to make from the Palace grounds to Bushey
Park.

He looked more animated and cheerful than he had done for a
long while. He was mounted on a splendid young sorrel horse,
that he managed with all his old skill.

"A new fellow," he remarked. "The grooms warned me he
was spirited, but I could scarcely be afraid of a horse — eh?"
He faintly smiled and patted the great creature's glossy neck
with his thin, white, ungloved hand.

My Lord Buckhurst looked at the frail figure of the King and
the great power of the animal, and indeed wondered that he
could manage him. He secretly agreed with the grooms that
William was perhaps relying too much on his exquisite horseman-
ship in mounting such an untried brute.

" I hope," said William, " that I shall find my Lord Albemarle
when I return."

He touched up the horse and galloped away out of sight
down the long avenue, the grooms after him.

Lord Buckhurst and Mr. Prior lingered a little in the pleasant
dim gun and shade, talking over this great prospect opening out

THE EVE OF WAR 369

over Europe, and the part the nations of the world would play in
the coming struggle — which could not fail to establish for ever
the Protestant faith and the liberty of peoples.

Presently the sun clouded over, and they were for returning
to the Palace, when the distant sound of hoofs on the grass
caused them to look round, thinking this might be the King
returning.

What they saw was a riderless horse — a monstrous sorrel
horse — galloping across the glade, with the stirrups flying loose.

" The King — his horse ! " exclaimed Mr. Prior breathlessly.
Lord Buckhurst said nothing ; he turned and ran swiftly towards
where the animal had come from. Cumbered as he was with
sword, full extravagant vesture, and a wide-bottomed peruke,
youth brought him easily over the ground, and in a few minutes
he came to the spot he made for — a little clearing beyond the
great trees of the avenue, with Mr. Prior breathless at his heels.

They saw there what they had been dreading to see : the
King lying on the ground, and the two frightened grooms coming
up, one dismounted and in an embarrassment to know what to
do with his horse, the other giving doleful exclamations and
cries for help.

William had raised himself on one elbow, and was holding a
handkerchief to his mouth.

Buckhurst and Prior rushed up to him.

" Are you hurt, sire ? " cried my lord.

The King removed the handkerchief from his lips ; it was
scarlet with blood.

" No," he answered. " The brute threw me over that mole-
hill— the first time, my lord, I have been thrown "

He put his hand to the shoulder on which he had fallen.

"Something broken, I think," he said, in a fainter voice.
"They were right — I overestimated my skill — I have not the
seat — I — once — had."

My lord endeavoured to raise him, tenderly enough ; but at
the attempt to move the King's face went of an ashy colour, and
he fainted with pain.

"This is the end," murmured my lord. "Take him up,
Mr. Prior — dear God, I think this is the end."

With the aid of the two servants, who had now left their
24

3/0 GOD AND THE KING

horses, they carried him back, by easy degrees, into the Palace,
and his own apartments.

Before the doctor could be called he came to his senses and
asked for Albemarle, On being told he had arrived, he bid him
rest a little before he delivered his news, and, having sent the
message, called M. Zuylestein to bring him his yet unfinished
letter to M. Heinsius.

When it was brought, and quill and ink, he sat up in his
great chair with arms, and added painfully these words : " God
be praised, all difficulties are overcome," and his name.

He bid them, in a broken whisper, send off this letter im-
mediately, and fell back again in his chair, very white and
frowning.

The alarmed gentlemen were for his seeing the doctor im-
mediately, but he desired to give Albemarle his audience first.

My lord came on the instant, spurred and dusty, and all in a
reek from travel.

He entered, with a breathless air of dread, the throne-room,
where they had brought the King.

William was seated in a great low chair of red velvet, in front
of the blue dai's and throne, which bore in silver the Royal arms
and the motto of Nassau : " Je Maintaindrai." He still wore
his buff hunting-coat with the gold galloon on the wide skirt and
the tight doeskin boots with the gilt spurs ; his waistcoat was
open on his laced shirt, and he held his right hand over his heart.

Lord Albemarle fell on his knees and passionately kissed the
King's free hand.

William looked down at him affectionately, and said, between
quick little gasps —

" How go matters in Holland ? "

" Well, sire, well — everything is in readiness. The States are
willing to everything that Your Majesty wisheth ; all the prepara-
tions are complete for an early campaign — but you, Your
Majesty "

" Tell me of Holland," interrupted William faintly.

Albemarle looked round the company, and hesitated ; but at
a sign from M. Zuylestein obeyed the King, and spoke of the
affairs of the Republic, and of their response to the King's call to
arms.

THE EVE OF WAR 371

William of Orange listened to these words, that told him his
lifework was at last accomplished, with such calm that it seemed
indifference, or as if he was giving no attention to the matter of
the discourse ; he never changed his attitude or raised his down-
cast eyes. It seemed as if even this could not rouse him now.

When Albemarle paused at last and waited, half fearfully,
William spoke, but so faintly that my lord, kneeling close as he
was, could hardly catch the words.

" I have often wished to die," he murmured ; " but now I
might wish to live and see this prospect fulfilled; but I draw
near my end — the end — the end "

He said the word three times with so many little sighs, and
then fainted, dropping his hand from his heart.

CHAPTER XVI
GOD AND THE KING

MONSIEUR HEINSIUS sat in the little room at the
Binnenhof, which had belonged to the Grand Pension-
naries of Holland ever since the Republic had been formed.
The furniture and the tall clock in the corner were unchanged
since the time of the great John de Witt ; the window looked on
the Vyverberg, where the swans were floating on the grey, shining,
and placid water. It was a day in late March, the year 1702,
and the clock of the Groote Kerk had just struck four.

There was a pause in M. Heinsius's strenuous work ; for the
moment he had nothing to do, and he was very glad of the rare
leisure. He had not been in good health for some time, and
to-day felt feverish and heavy in his limbs ; he winced at the
effort of giving instructions to his secretaries, putting up his
papers, and going home, so remained, half dozing in his chair,
looking at the peaceful surface of the lake, and the still bare
trees, and neat brick houses beyond.

Before him, on his old black polished bureau, lay the last
letter from the King-Stadtholder, which had given him great
pleasure, for alarming reports had been current in The Hague as
to the health of His Majesty since his accident at Hampton
Court ; but in this he said not one word of his illness. The last
words were — "I am infinitely concerned to learn that your
health is not yet quite established. May God be pleased to
grant you a speedy recovery. I am unalterably your good friend,
William."

True, the letter was dated the zoth of February, and
had been delayed in the coming, and M. Heinsius knew that
there might be other news in the packets that were held up in

37'

GOD AND THE KING 373

the North Sea by the spring storms ; but he believed that the
King would not so have written had he been in any danger.

Then an extraordinary thing happened to M. Heinsius. He
was leaning back in his chair, weary and exhausted, his head
aching with a little fever, and a kind of lassitude on his senses,
when something caused him to move his head sharply and look
through the open door into the next chamber, where two of his
secretaries usually worked.

They were, however, now absent in the Assembly, and
M. Heinsius believed himself alone in the two rooms ; he was
therefore surprised to see a young man standing in this outer
chamber looking out at the Vyverberg and The Hague with an
arrested air of intense interest.

M. Heinsius moved round in his chair, but felt no desire to
speak. Both the rooms were full of early sunshine and absolutely
silent. M. Heinsius observed the stranger with a sensation of
vague wonder.

He was very young — little more than a boy — but of a very
grave, still carriage ; he wore a violet coat, a black sash, a plain
sword, and a cravat of Frisian needlework ; his clothes were of
the fashion of thirty years ago — of the time of John de Witt.

He was very slender and slight ; his hair, which was long,
thick, and heavily curling, of a deep chestnut colour, fell either
side a thin hawk face that M. Heinsius could only imperfectly
see ; he wore one jewel, and that was the collar of the Garter.

M. Heinsius neither spoke nor moved. Presently the youth
turned and came towards the Grand Pensionary's cabinet, walking
stiffly, and holding his hat under his arm. M. Heinsius noticed
the old-fashioned rosettes on his square-toed shoes.

He came steadily through the sunlight, his glance cast
thoughtfully down, and advanced to the desk before which
M. Heinsius sat ; he moved between the Grand Pensionary and
the window, and, leaning forward, put his right hand, which was
ringless and beautiful, on the letter of William of Orange.

Then he lifted a pair of eyes of singular power and of a
marvellous brilliancy, and flashed a smile at M. Heinsius.

" It is finished," he said, pressing his palm on the letter.
"But you will know what to do."

Then he turned and looked out of the window with wistful

374 GOD AND THE KING

passion, as of one leaving something he loves, and sighed a
little. After a moment he moved away, reluctantly it seemed,
and went as he had come, slowly and gravely into the outer
chamber, with the sunshine all about him.

M. Heinsius rose now, and turned to follow him ; when he
reached the door of the anteroom he found it empty. . . .

The Grand Pensionary returned to his seat and hid his face
in his hands, telling himself that he had the fever ; he tried to
think and argue with himself, but it was a useless effort, and he
fell presently into a little sleep — or swoon — from which he only
roused when he felt a touch on his shoulder, and started up to
find the room dark and his secretary standing with a candle and
a packet in his hand.

" From England ? " murmured M. Heinsius.

"Yes, Mynheer."

The Grand Pensionary took the letter eagerly, hoping to see
the writing of the King ; but it was addressed in the hand of my
Lord Albemarle.

" I have been exhausted unto sleep," he said. " Light me
the candles — I will read this and go home."

The candles, in their pale brass sticks, lit up the dark,
simple room, the black shining desk, the pale worn face of
M. Heinsius, as he opened the letter from England.

It was dated at Kensington House, and this was what the
Grand Pensionary read : —

" I have to offer you the saddest and most unwelcome news
in the world, which indeed I am not yet able to write plainly.

" My beloved master died yesterday between seven and eight
of the evening, which is a loss that we and indeed all Europe
cannot be too sensible of.

" He died with the greatest courage and serenity, speaking
not at all during his last days, save to thank us graciously for our
services. He had no words even for the priests who came about
him, which may cause some scandal here.

" I believe his thoughts to have been always on the Republic,
from some short ejaculations he made, even while the prayers
for the dying were being read. I think that even at the very
last his sole concern was the United Provinces.

"He asked for my lord of Portland, who came; but His
Majesty was past speech, yet he took my lord's hand very

GOD AND THE KING 375

tenderly, and carried it up to his heart, which was then at the last
beat, and died in that attitude, after but a short struggle with his
breath.

" They found a locket of the late Queen's hair fastened by a
black ribbon to his sword-arm.

"As he was spared nothing during his life, neither was he at
his death ; for the doctors say now that he must have been in
great and perpetual agony, for his broken collar-bone had pierced
his lungs — yet not a single murmur escaped him. His courage
was of the most resplendent any man may have — for it was tried
in every way.

" I cannot write a fuller account, for I am struck beyond
expression by this event. You will, of course, hear of it from
others.

"There is very little grief here. They talk of a statue —
but when shall we see it raised? They are busy praising Queen
Anne, who is the silliest creature I know — a strange people, these
English ; I am out of humour with them, and you will see me at
The Hague very soon.

" I must tell you that the Earl of Sunderland died in retire-
ment at Althorp a few weeks since, despised and neglected by
all. But the King remained his friend to the end, and even con-
sulted with him secretly, and he had the faithful attendance of
my lady, who is as good a woman as any I ever met, and, God
knows, a lonely one now.

" People here, I think, cannot realize what His Majesty did,
nor the task he put through when he was in a manner dying, nor
their own ingratitude. But you and I know, and England will
come to enjoy the fruits of his work in the years that are coming
— and in Holland he can never be forgotten, for he was the
greatest of the family of the noblest and most patriotic princes
whom the world hath ever seen, and while we are a people we
shall revere his name.

" There is much to tell you ; but I cannot write of business
now, and think to see you soon. — Mynheer the Grand Pen-
sionary, your affectionate friend, ALBEMARLE."

M. Heinsius put down the letter; he felt scarcely sad; a
glorious enthusiasm stirred his heart ; the room seemed all too
confined for his mood ; he went to the window, pushed it open,
and looked out at the dark water and the dark houses beyond,
where the lights were beginning to show in the windows.

Now there was no doubting the identity of the young man of
his vision, nor what the words meant —

376 GOD AND THE KING

" It is finished, but you know what to do."

The Grand Pensionary knew ; he held in his hands all the
clues to the vast policies of his late master ; he could guide the
Republic though the coming great events of war as the King
would have wished.

The peaceful evening fell to complete darkness ; still Antoon
Heinsius stood looking over The Hague. The King hath gone
to give his account to God, he thought, and God will say — Not
in vain did I make you my captain — not in vain.

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