She paused; the effort of speaking had brought the colour into her face, her eyes sparkled, and the western sunlight trembled in her auburn hair. They waited silently, watching her with curiosity and some judgment. She was principally conscious of the malignant smiling eyes of my Lord Marlborough. "This is our decision," she continued, with unfaltering voice—"that Admiral Russell and my Lord Monmouth go down to the coast, and there join the fleet, and give our commands to Lord Torrington that, for the honour of England, he fight the French, whom he must now outnumber since his juncture with the Dutch. My lords, the council is over." It was the first time that she had given her commands to her advisers, almost the first time she had announced her opinion on their discussions; but she left them no chance to doubt that she meant what she said; she had the manner of Kings. "Let these disloyal subjects," she added, pointing to Lord Nottingham’s list, "be at once lodged in the Tower." She rose, gave her hand to Lord Caermarthen, and descended from her high chair with a soft heavy sound of silks. "England is Your Majesty’s debtor," said Lord Devonshire, bowing low. She answered with her sweet stateliness. "I do what a woman can, my lord." "Your Majesty doth what few women would," said Caermarthen warmly; he had for her a real and deep devotion. She turned as if she would have rebuked his compliment, but checked herself at sight of his worn and ghastly face, livid with fatigue and anxiety. "I am like your lordship," she answered kindly, "I am fond of my country." He coloured with pleasure, and bent over her fine hand. "Now I must go wait for letters." She smiled and left them with her usual little formal salutation. Devonshire looked round at the other councillors. "There is more courage in that lady than in most of us," he said gently. "I did mark the tears lying in her eyes even while she smiled." "She will need her courage," answered Caermarthen briefly; "for seldom hath the country been in the pass it is now." Mary had gone no farther than the antechamber with the French tapestries and crystal candelabra when she was met by the news that the Duke of Shrewsbury required an immediate audience. Her face hardened; she could not forgive Shrewsbury either his secret treachery or the vexation he had caused the King by his sudden resignation; she hesitated, then commanded his presence. When he entered she was standing before the great gilt mantelpiece, very cold and contained. "What is the reason of your coming, my lord?" she said. His gentle face was flecked with feverish colour in the cheeks, he drew his breath sharply, his riding-suit was dusty; indeed, he was spent with rapid riding. "Madam," he answered, "upon this news—that M. de Tourville rode at the Isle of Wight—I am come at once to London to offer Your Majesty my services—my sword——" "You, my lord!" exclaimed Mary.