Portland marked it then and marked it now; he felt his own love useless in the face of my lord’s charm. William had not even noticed his presence. He left him in the arms of Sunderland and returned to the Queen’s chamber. Dr. Tenison had been reading the Scriptures to her, and stood now by her bed with the Bible in his hand. Lady Temple and her daughter were behind him. The younger woman was crying sadly. Portland went up to the other side of the Queen’s bed. Mary raised her deep brown eyes and looked at him earnestly. "My lord," she whispered—he bent over her and she caught his stiff cuff with feverish fingers—"do not let the King despair ... do not let him give up ... I shall have indeed lived in vain if he gives up ... so near too..." She paused to gather strength, and he was too moved to answer. "At first I was so afraid of you," she added wistfully, "so fearful of intruding on you and him—you were his friend before ever I came, and will be when I am gone—but of late you have tolerated me—only a woman, but I have not hindered his destiny—I let nothing stand in the way of his service—indeed, if I have ever vexed you, forgive me——" "Madam," responded Portland tenderly, "you have been the great comfort of all of us, and we shall be utterly undone without you." She shook her head on the tumbled pillow. "I was only a foreigner—a stranger; you were ever extraordinarily kind to me—do not let the King stop—for this." She fell on to silence, being greatly weakened by this effort of speech, and Portland withdrew to the end of the bed to allow Dr. Radcliffe to approach. The Queen’s words had roused curious memories in the mind of William Bentinck. It did not seem so many years ago since the fair, thoughtless, timid English girl had come, as she said, a foreigner—a stranger—to The Hague, unwanted, mistrusted, despised for her youth and her kinsman’s treachery, regarded by her husband as an interruption—a vexation—the mere burden of a marriage of convenience that had been a political failure; and now she had grown to be the support of all his designs, and he was brought to a madness of despair because she lay dying, and those same aims and endeavours which her coming had intruded upon, to his anger, were now nothing to him if she should no longer be there to share them. It was now past midnight. The Queen, having swallowed Dr. Radcliffe’s cordial, spoke again, and took farewell of her ladies. "This was to have been our dance to-night," she murmured. "I am sorry to have spoilt your pleasure——" "There will never be any more pleasure for me," answered Dorothy Temple, who loved her exceedingly, "until I meet Your Majesty in Heaven——" Mary was silent, lying very still. There was a little stir in the chamber as the King entered, followed by Lord Sunderland, who kept his eyes on him keenly. The King went straight to his wife’s side, and lifted the glittering curtain up. The silence was heavy as these two looked at each other.