"You fear to lose me, my lord, before I have served your turn!" was struck out of the King; then he amended his contempt, for he was ever fond of Shrewsbury. "It is the only thing to do—if the reduction of Ireland is necessary before the Continental Campaign—I must go." He looked sharply round. "Gentlemen, do you take these terms—will you unite to help me to them?" "We have no choice," said Lord Godolphin, and he tore the draft of the King’s speech across. CHAPTER III THE BEST OF LIFE It was early May; the King was walking in his park at Kensington, with his friend, William Bentinck, Earl of Portland. It was the eve of his departure for Ireland; he had yesterday prorogued Parliament, and laughed a little as he related the discomfiture of the Whigs at his speech. "I shall be glad to be under canvas again," he added. "For myself it will be a holiday, but I pity the poor Queen." He repeated with great tenderness—"the poor Queen!" "How doth she take your going?" asked the Earl. "Ah, heavily—what have I brought her but affliction?—sometimes I think of that——" He spoke sadly, and pressed Bentinck’s hand. "Be good to the Queen," he said wistfully. "As you love me, William, help the Queen when I am not here.... I think women have the harder part." "I have great faith in her courage and wisdom, sir," said the Earl. "There is no woman like her," answered the King, under his breath. He added aloud, with a flashing smile, "As there is no friend in the world like you!" "Ah, sir," cried Portland, much moved, "you ever flattered me." He was not so reserved as the King nor yet so demonstrative. William could express by word and letter, strong passion, but this was not possible to William Bentinck. Devotion to his master was the motive power of his life, but he could not say so. The King again pressed his hand affectionately. They were walking under limes, and hawthorns white with blossom. The sky shone cloudy blue, and the pale English sunshine was over the young grass. William looked round him with the sick eyes of exile; thoughts of Holland tugged so sharply at his heart that he gave a little suppressed sound of pain. "What of this Crone and Fuller plot?" asked Portland suddenly. "I am sorry to leave that on the Queen her hands," said William quietly; "but I do not think it serious." "Some great men are implicated?" "I do not doubt it." Portland hesitated a moment, then said— "Nottingham’s spies intercepted letters to St. Germains, he saith—who were they from?" "People of no station," answered the King. "Nottingham is over zealous." "And you, sir, are over easy." William smiled at him, and seated himself on a wooden bench under one of the limes. "That is an old complaint between us, is it not?" he said kindly. "Dear lord, let it be——"