"Think of the King. You call yourself friend to him; he is as harrassed now as he ever was before the war. He hath not too many men to help him—the Tories grow in strength every day. You have been of great service to His Majesty—the greatest in ’88. Will you forsake him now—when he needeth you most?" Shrewsbury put out a trembling hand. "I have heard these arguments before. Lady Orkney hath been soliciting me to change my resolution—for the same reason that you bring forth. But I am a broken man; I am ill; I must get to the country; I cannot serve His Majesty——" So speaking, in rapid, disconnected sentences, he gave a wild glance at the Earl’s passive face, the fine lines of which had taken on an almost imperceptible expression of contempt and disgust, and passed on to the King’s cabinet, which he entered abruptly. The King was, as usual, at his desk, which was placed between the tall windows which looked on to the beautiful park, now grey and desolate under the afternoon sky of mid-November. A great fire burnt on the hearth, and the glancing light from it threw into relief the furnishing of the room, every article of which bore evidence to the exile’s wistful love of his own country. On the mantelshelf were the tall yellow, white, and blue vases from Delft; the brass fire-irons were Dutch, as were the painted tiles, the black, heavily polished chairs and tables; the exquisite paintings of peaches, carnations, grapes, and butterflies on the wall; and the elaborate china calendar above the King’s desk. William was always consistently loyal to the products of his own land; his full cravat, shirt, and wrist-ruffles were now, as generally, of the fine Frisian lawn embroidery, and the buttons of his black silk coat were of the wonderful filigree gold-work for which the States were famous. He looked up sharply as Shrewsbury entered, and seemed a little disappointed, as if he had been expecting some one else; but instantly commanded himself, and greeted the Duke affectionately. Shrewsbury looked at him wretchedly, crossed to the hearth irresolutely, then burst out impetuously— "Sire—I must resign—I can take your wage no longer——" The King’s full bright eyes swept over him in a quick glance of understanding. "I have told you," he said, with a gentleness that had a note of pity in it, "that I hold you innocent of those scandalous slanders that villain Fenwick flung. I have assured you, my lord, of my affection, of my need and wish for your service." Shrewsbury bit his lower lip, and stared blindly into the scarlet heart of the fire. "My health will not permit me——" he began. "Ah, tush!" interrupted the King, with a little smile. "Your health is good enough." Compared to his own, it was indeed. Shrewsbury could not, for very shame, argue that plea. "I think you have another reason, your Grace," added William, kindly and a little sadly. "And I am an old enough friend for you to confide in me——"