"There is no more to say," she said coldly, and left him discomfited. No news came, but many rumours found their way into the crowded galleries at Whitehall, where the anxious courtiers waited and endeavoured to read the situation in the Queen’s face and manner. She baffled them all, both at her supper-table and afterwards, when she sat down to basset as usual in that splendid hall where King Charles had held his festivals. She was gay and gracious and unconcerned—some even thought her unfeeling. She appeared to notice nothing; but her eyes and ears were quick for it all—the whispers, the looks, the ill-concealed fears and hopes. She was, she knew, absolutely alone; not one of the throng about her could she confide in, and very few could she trust. She suspected that many of them were but waiting for a slackening of her courage to call all lost and hasten to make their peace with James; ill news from the Fleet or from Ireland might mean instant rebellion, she was well aware. Meanwhile she played basset and made no mistake in her moves. When it was near ten of the clock Lord Nottingham entered the room. The Queen’s eyes at once distinguished him among the crowd. She continued dealing the cards. When he approached her she looked up with a steady smile. Her lips shaped the one word— "News?" He placed a dispatch on the card-table beside her fan and gloves. She saw at once that it was not from Ireland, and she drew a breath between relief and disappointment. Her glance went swiftly round the faces now undisguisedly watching her, and then she broke the seal. While she read her bosom heaved, and those nearest her saw the colour faintly stain her face. She folded up the letter and rose. The ace of spades fell from her lap to the shining floor. There was a pause of silence. Mary’s eyes were the eyes of a creature at bay. "This is evil news," she said, at length, to Lord Nottingham, and a proud little smile curved her lips. She had just read that Lord Torrington had been utterly defeated off Beachy Head by the French, who were landed at Tynemouth. "What will Your Majesty do?" he asked, under his breath. "The courier saith the enemy is in possession of the west——" She crushed up Lord Torrington’s letter in a passionate right hand; she saw that his defeat had been inglorious. The Dutch had been in the van all day and were near annihilated; the English, mere spectators, had drawn off to Plymouth almost untouched. "The French are landed," she said, "but we English will not let them far advance. I will call upon the city of London. Summon to me the Lord Mayor." CHAPTER VI GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!