He found the Queen and Lady Nottingham seated in front of a great bush of box clipped into the shape of a peacock. Between them was a length of yellow silk that they were sewing with blue beads in little crosses and stars. At the King’s approach Lady Nottingham rose and retired with a courtsey. Mary looked after her kindly. "She is a sweet lady—I like her vastly," she said. "You find most ladies sweet, do you not?" answered the King; he seated himself beside her on the bench, and took up the end of silk Lady Nottingham had laid down. "I have spoilt your work. But I wished to tell you something, Marie." Mary glanced at him anxiously; she was slightly pale, and wore a black scarf wrapped round her head and shoulders; her petticoat was striped red and frilled at the foot, her over-gown dark blue and spread round her in circling folds of glittering silk. For all the sombre heaviness of this stately dressing she looked very young—sad, also, for all the desperate gaiety to which she was continually nerved. The King looked about him to see that they were not overheard, then said, in a low voice— "I have accepted my Lord Shrewsbury his resignation." Mary waited, catching her breath. "He," continued William, "hath tampered with His late Majesty." The Queen gave a little sound of distress, and dropped her sewing. "Shrewsbury!" she whispered. "I have sure proof of it," said the King. "I am sorry for him," he added simply; "and for myself, it something moved me, for I ever liked my lord." Mary flushed and clenched her hands on her lap. "How base every one is," she cried, and the angry tears glittered in her eyes. "There is not much honour in England, Marie. Have a care of all of them—particularly of that knave"—he spoke with strong force—"that villain, my Lord Marlborough——" "Need he be of the Council?" she asked eagerly. "Child, he is the best soldier in England, and if I was to leave you a Council of honest men they could not be of this nation—trust none of them." "God help me," said the Queen. "I know not how I shall support myself when you are not here—but how weak I am to talk thus—my part is little compared to yours." She smiled with a pitiful brightness, and the King, looking at her, flushed as if he had been hurt and suppressed the pain. "Talk no more of this," he said quickly—"in this little time we have together——" Mary laid her hand on his. "How pale the sunshine is—not thick and golden like The Hague—the flowers seem so different too; is not that a silly fancy?" She smiled again, and her voice quivered. "You are not happy here, Marie." She answered hastily. "Happy wherever I have your dear company—but I confess I am a coward without you—but God is greater than our hopes, our fears, our desires; He knoweth best."