The day arrived when the Duke of York was to find himself free to apply without stint his theories of government. The king seemed weary and languishing. His humor, habitually cheerful in exile and in the midst of the crudest misfortunes, had for a short time past become gloomy. On the 2nd of February, 1685, at the moment of his rising from bed, the courtiers around him were struck by his altered looks. His utterance was embarrassed; his intelligence seemed clouded. A doctor who happened to be at hand to assist the king in his chemical experiments bled him without delay. Charles recovered his senses. A second attack soon put an end to all hope of cure. The Duke of York had already taken possession of the government. He gave his orders in all directions. It was the king's favorite, the Duchess of Portsmouth, who, in the heart of this depraved court, took care of the soul of the expiring monarch. She apprised Barillon, who hastened to inform the Duke of York. "It is true," cried James, "my brother is a Catholic at heart; he will assuredly declare it, and fulfill the rites of his religion; there is not a moment to lose." Some difficulty was experienced in procuring a priest. The Anglican bishops had not delayed so long to press the king to be mindful of his spiritual welfare. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Sancroft, and the Bishop of Bath, the pious Ken, had addressed Charles in the firmest language. "It is time to speak, Sire, for you are about to appear before a Judge who is no respecter of persons." The king made no reply. {393} The Duke of York at last succeeded in finding a priest; it was a poor Benedictine monk, named Huddleston, who had saved the king immediately after the battle of Worcester. Charles had a grateful remembrance of this circumstance. Huddleston had been excepted by name from all the proceedings against the Catholics. James himself introduced him into his brother's chamber. All present were desired to retire with the exception of the Frenchman, Louis de Duras, Earl of Feversham, and of the Earl of Bath. They could count on the fidelity of each other. "Sire," said the duke, "this holy man once saved your life; he comes to-day to save your soul." "He is welcome," said the king in a feeble voice. The poor monk had never fulfilled the holy offices. He had just taken instructions hurriedly from a Portuguese ecclesiastic in the suite of the Count de Castelmelhor. When the pious ceremonies were completed, all the natural children of the king were admitted to his presence. Monmouth alone was absent. He had sought his safety in exile; the king did not mention his name. The queen was in too much trouble and suffering to appear at the bedside of the dying monarch. She sent her excuses by Halifax, asking pardon of the king. "Poor woman," murmured Charles, "I ask hers with all my heart!"