"Talk not of God, for this is death and damnation to me—if she leaves me nothing matters on earth or in heaven—what have I done—what have I done that the Devil is let loose on me?" He cast his eyes round wildly, and staggered to his feet. "She was all I had—all—I should have died first—I might have died happy—I have not lived so wickedly I should be punished thus—but they mistake, these doctors—she cannot die—no, it is not possible." They were all silent. The scene was painful almost past bearing. The King’s agonies went beyond all bounds. None of them, though they were all men who had known him most of his life, had believed that his temper was capable of such passion. Dr. Burnet’s fluent self-assurance was checked—he stood dumb and staring; the Dutch nobles gazed in horror and dismay at this spectacle of a proud man’s utter overthrow. Portland remained beside him, and the King supported himself by holding heavily on to his arm. "Doctors mistake, do they not?" he cried, between the long shudders that shook him. "How often have they not said—I should die—but I lived." "Alas," answered Portland unsteadily, "I would not have you deceive yourself—Radcliffe was very certain. But you will command yourself——" "I—I have no strength," gasped the King; "my soul is broken within me. O God!" he sobbed, "save her or let me go!" He turned about and threw out his hand like a blind man feeling his way, then fell back into Portland’s arms. "Fainted," said my lord laconically. With the help of M. Zulestein he laid him on the stiff couch between the windows. One of the servants hurried for a doctor, and in the moment’s confusion my Lord Leeds entered unnoticed. Portland, as he moved from the King’s couch, was the first to see him. "Ah, my lord," he said sorrowfully, "what is to become of us all?" "The King," murmured Portland, much moved, "is incapable of anything—do you take the direction of affairs." "Nay, you, my lord," answered Leeds. "You are His Majesty’s nearer friend." "And your Grace is English—it will be more politic should you take this office—what of the Queen?" "I have just come from her antechamber—even the pages and serving-maids are in tears—this is a heavy business." He himself seemed like a man utterly overcome. "She is certainly sinking—she is in private discourse now with the Archbishop." "Doth she know?" Leeds shook his head. "Dr. Tenison waiteth the King’s commands to tell her—but I think she hath an inner knowledge." M. Auverqueverque came from the group by the window and whispered Portland that the King was conscious. At this Leeds, ever warm-hearted and impulsive, went on his knees beside the couch and pressed the King’s cold hand affectionately to his lips. William sat up with his head drooping; his back was to the light, and his thick curls almost concealed his face; he held his handkerchief to his lips and shivered continually. "The Queen," said Leeds, very low, "hath asked for Your Majesty."