"I did not know till yesterday," said Mary, "that there was such a difference between the laws of England and the laws of God. But I now promise you that you shall always bear rule, and, in return, I ask only this: that, as I shall observe the precept which enjoins wives to obey their husbands, you will that which enjoins husbands to love their wives." Henceforth there was perfect accord between the Prince of Orange and his wife, and no attempts of King James were able to gain him to his views. "You ask me," said William, "to countenance an attack on my own religion. I cannot, with a safe conscience, do it, and I will not; no, not for the crown of England, nor for the empire of the world." "My nephew's duty," said the king, "is to strengthen my hands. But he has always taken a pleasure in crossing me." Dykvelt, the envoy of William at London, respectfully protested: "You cannot reasonably expect the aid of a Protestant prince against the Protestant religion." While defending his master, the astute Hollander silently and skillfully pursued the work for which he had been sent to England. {444} Since the fall of Monmouth the diverse elements of opposition had noiselessly gravitated towards the Prince of Orange, a leader absent and circumspect, prudent an sagacious, well calculated to maintain a certain accord between the antagonistic forces which were preparing for resistance in England. In his great project, for a league of all the European powers against the unbridled ambition of Louis XIV., England held a prominent place. Firmly resolved to oppose any undertaking against the power of his father-in-law, he nevertheless possessed a mind too powerful and too sagacious not to discern the clouds which were gathering over the head of the imprudent and obstinate monarch who was walking blindly to his destruction. Already, upon the return of Dykvelt, in 1687, the ambassador brought confidential letters from all the chiefs of the opposition--Halifax, Danby, and even Lord Churchill, all powerful with Princess Anne, on account of the singular and romantic friendship that the second daughter of the king manifested towards his wife, Sarah Jennings, who was as ambitious and adroit as himself. "The princess has commanded me," wrote the future Duke of Marlborough, "to assure her illustrious relatives that she is fully resolved, by God's help, rather to lose her life than to be guilty of apostasy. As for me, though I cannot pretend to have lived the life of a saint, still I shall be found ready, on occasion, to die the death of a martyr."