She got to her feet, shivering but calm, and went back stealthily through the vast silent rooms, filled with the early sun, and so reached her bed; and, for the first time for weeks, fell placidly asleep. Next morning when she woke she was very silent; but, as her ladies thought, more at ease. She had hidden her letters under her pillow, and when she was dressed slipped them into her gown. As she left her apartments on the way to the chapel she was met by Lord Nottingham. The news from Ireland at last! "The King is safe, Madam," said my lord, in pity of her face. She stood speechless; those about her were little less moved. The silence hung heavy. "His late Majesty is also safe," added my lord delicately. She spoke then. "I—I thank you." She tore open her letters, but could not read them. "Oh, tell me, sir," she said hoarsely. "Madam, the King hath had a great victory at Boyne Water. Ireland is conquered." Even as he spoke the bells broke out from a thousand steeples and the guns of the Tower boomed triumph. "The news is just abroad," said Nottingham. Mary flushed into a glorious exaltation. "The _King_ hath redeemed us all!" she cried, with inexpressible pride. "The _King_ hath saved us!" "Not the King alone, Madam," answered my lord, with a flush on his shallow face—"listen to these——" From without came the sound of wild joyous murmurs from the crowd that had gathered to hear the news. As it sped from mouth to mouth a frenzy of relief and triumph shook the people. They burst into one shout that drowned the cannon and the bells— "Long live the Queen! God save and bless the Queen!" CHAPTER VII THE SHADOW Mr. Matthew Prior, Private Secretary to the Earl of Portland, was enjoying the winter sunshine in the gardens of Hampton Court Palace. It was the year 1694, and near Christmas. Many vast events had taken place since the young poet had been first introduced to the Court by my Lord Dorset—plots, counter-plots, change of ministers, of parliaments, the defeat of Landen and Steinkirk, the great victory at La Hogue, the loss of the Smyrna Fleet, four bloody campaigns, four winters of gloom, depression, and internal convulsion, and still, as by a kind of miracle, the two lonely princes ruling England maintained their station and kept their faces calmly to their enemies. Mr. Prior was a grateful soul; he adored the King and worshipped the Queen; he had berhymed both copiously, and was ever ready to use his sword or his wit in their behalf. The last of the King’s unending differences with the Parliament was on the matter of the Triennial Bill, and Mr. Prior had his tablets on his knee and his pencil in his hand. He was engaged in composing a pamphlet in defence of His Majesty’s action in firmly refusing to curtail the regal authority by passing an Act that permitted no parliament to sit longer than three years.