CHAPTER VITHE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERTWhen 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 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 feeling of incongruity in this being 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."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 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 gentlemen 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?""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 contempt, "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."Arthur Herbert looked at him again with that half admiration, 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 something 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's, 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 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 that 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.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 there 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 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 VIITHE SILENT WOODMary 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," she asked.He broke out at that."These foreigners! That black-avised stalwart thinketh of nothing but his own interest. He cometh here, in his feeble disguise, 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; 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."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 inevitable 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 professedly 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."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, but 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 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."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."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 indispensable 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—"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 VIIITHE POLICY OF THE PRINCEGaspard 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.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.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."Dyckfelt gave a movement of irrepressible excitement."Do they not recognise the difficulties of Your Highness?"William looked again at the letter."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.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.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 Nantes was revoked," said M. Dyckfelt. "And being so staunch a Protestant, 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?""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.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."Dyckfelt spoke now."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 of a man who owed his very title to an infamous wife to the court of the saintly Pontiff was one of those almost incredible blunders it is difficult to believe even of a stupid man."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.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 attending Mass, and every officer removed to give place to an Irish Papist, is for me; every courtier who thinketh the King insecure 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 indifferent 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 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 breathlessness 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,if—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 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 countenance the Declaration of Indulgence, even when accompanied 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 allowance, 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 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 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 feeling of incongruity in this being 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.
"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 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 gentlemen 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?"
"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 contempt, "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."
Arthur Herbert looked at him again with that half admiration, 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 something 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's, 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 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 that 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.
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 there 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 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," she asked.
He broke out at that.
"These foreigners! That black-avised stalwart thinketh of nothing but his own interest. He cometh here, in his feeble disguise, 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; 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.
"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 inevitable 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 professedly 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."
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, but 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 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."
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.
"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 indispensable 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—
"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 VIII
THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE
Gaspard 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.
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.
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."
Dyckfelt gave a movement of irrepressible excitement.
"Do they not recognise the difficulties of Your Highness?"
William looked again at the letter.
"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.
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.
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 Nantes was revoked," said M. Dyckfelt. "And being so staunch a Protestant, 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?"
"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.
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."
Dyckfelt spoke now.
"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 of a man who owed his very title to an infamous wife to the court of the saintly Pontiff was one of those almost incredible blunders it is difficult to believe even of a stupid man.
"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.
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 attending Mass, and every officer removed to give place to an Irish Papist, is for me; every courtier who thinketh the King insecure 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 indifferent 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 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 breathlessness 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,if—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 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 countenance the Declaration of Indulgence, even when accompanied 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 allowance, 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.