"Is the coach ready?" he asked abruptly. "Your Majesty," reminded M. de Zulestein, "is to dine in public here to-day——" "No," said the King, "I will go at once to Kensington House—hasten the coach——" "But there are a number of people already gathered—it will cause grievous offence——" The King stared at him with wild dark eyes. "My God, I will not stay an instant." M. de Zulestein bowed. At this moment Lord Portland entered; they saw him with profound relief, believing that, if any could, he would fathom and combat the King’s humour. At sight of him William flushed with animation. Portland crossed to him at once; he seemed himself troubled in his manner. The King caught his hand and pressed it inside his open satin waistcoat, over his heart. "Do you feel that?" he asked. "Have you ever known it beat so?—that is fear, William, fear——" He spoke in his own language, and with an extraordinary energy and passion. "The letter," asked Portland tenderly, "that was handed you as we started——" "From Sir Thomas Millington," said the King; he put it into his friend’s hands and sank on to the chair beside the dressing-table; he seemed utterly unconscious of the watchful eyes upon him, of the presence, indeed, of any but Portland. That lord read the letter of Sir Thomas (he was the King’s physician) with, it seemed, some relief. "Why, he merely saith the Queen is not well." William answered hoarsely— "Lady Temple came to Whitehall this morning when you were abroad ... you know _she_ hath never had the smallpox." His voice broke; he stared out of the window at the winter sky. "God in Heaven!" exclaimed Portland. "You do not think of _that_?" "Lady Temple," muttered the King, "said—_she_ had sent from Kensington—every one, even to the maid-servants—who—had not had the smallpox——" "That is but her own sweet kindness," cried Portland—"she cannot know——" "I am afraid, afraid," answered the King. "My father, my mother, my uncle ... all dead of that..." He sprang up and turned to the door. Sunderland was in his way, and stayed him gently. "Sir—I entreat you do not disappoint the people—stay in Whitehall to dine——" William looked at him fiercely. "Do you not hear that the Queen is sick?" Sunderland’s face was cold; he was disappointed in the King. "What of this Bill for the Calling of Parliaments?" he said. "I would like to hear some good reason for that concession on the part of Your Majesty." William made no answer; he put out his hand and motioned my lord out of his way. Sunderland stepped aside and the King left the room. They heard his high heels going quickly down the corridors. Portland turned to M. de Zulestein. "Why, he hath known two days that the Queen was not well." "It was Lady Temple," answered the Master of the Robes. "She told him Her Majesty was worse than she would admit." "But the doctors——"