But it was cold, and the neat little secretary found his fingers too stiff to write. He returned his papers to his pocket, rose, and walked on briskly. Both palace and grounds were now very noble, being designed closely after the King’s house at Loo: trees, thirty-five years old, had been transplanted either side of a wide canal that had been cut opposite the Palace; beds were shaped, walks laid down, shrubs cut after the Dutch style; every endeavour had been used to make the place as much like Holland as possible. Even now, in mid-winter, topiary art had preserved monstrous box hedges and bushes in the shape of windmills, birds, and animals. The day was cloudy, but the sun streamed through in a fine gold light on the splendid front of the Palace, still unfinished but very imposing. Mr. Prior turned to the left, where was the privy garden directly beneath the royal apartments, and the covered walk where the Queen would sit in summer with her ladies, sewing and reading. There, too, was a small sunk Dutch garden, with a fountain in the centre and tiled paths, bare now of everything save a few evergreens, but in the spring a mass of blooms from Holland. Here walked two ladies and a gentleman, all muffled in furs, and talking together with some earnestness. Mr. Prior took off his hat; he recognized the Queen, his patron, the Earl of Portland, and Lady Temple. He was passing respectfully on when Mary called to him. He came up to her, and she paused to speak to him. "My lord tells me you are just returned from The Hague?" questioned Mary. "Yes, Madam." "I envy you," said the Queen wistfully; "it is, Mr. Prior, such a dream with me to see The Hague again." The ardent little poet thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. There was an almost unnatural lustre in her eyes, an almost unnatural brightness on her lip and cheek; the fresh wind had stirred the auburn hair from her brow, and the fitful sunlight touched it to sparkles of red gold. "The Hague liveth only in hopes of one day seeing Your Majesty," he answered. "You are most extraordinarily beloved there, Madam." "They were always very good to me," said Mary simply. "I still feel an exile here—but you must not breathe that, Mr. Prior," she added almost instantly. "Are you returning to Holland?" "Very soon, Madam." "Well," smiled Mary, "I hope that when next I see you it may be at my house in The Hague—for I have good hopes that I may be free to go there soon. Let me at least flatter myself so." She dismissed him kindly and continued her walk, keeping her gloved hand affectionately on Lady Temple’s arm. "What is this of the Duke of Leeds?" she asked Portland. "They say he is to be impeached in the new Parliament, Madam, for taking money from the East India Company." Mary frowned. "That is a hit at me," added Portland calmly.