"From England, sire," said the latter, dropping to one knee. Albemarle sobered instantly. The King ceased laughing and let go my lord’s arm, holding himself upright by aid of the table edge. "Well, what of England?" he muttered. "We have no great interest in England." "Grave news, Your Majesty," answered the exhausted courier, who had ridden fast from the Hague. The King took the dispatch and broke it open; it was from Lord Rochester, and contained a few lines written in haste: "His Highness the Duke of Gloucester died suddenly last night of a chill. He desired to be remembered to Your Majesty." William’s hands trembled; the news was serious in so far as it meant that the English succession was now absolutely unsettled. But he was not thinking of that, but of the white, anxious child’s face framed in those auburn curls, and the gallant spirit looking out of troubled eyes that had faced the miseries of royalty so bravely. "My Lord of Gloucester is dead," he said briefly, flinging down the dispatch. "They might have spared their Greek and Latin—poor sweet wretch!" His voice shook a little. "I am glad he had his troop of Horse." Then, during the little pause of consternation that held them all mute, he spoke again: "And I am glad he did not live to be a King." CHAPTER XIII FRANCE CHALLENGES The sentry on duty at the foot of the great staircase in Hampton Court Palace was nearly asleep. The palace had been silent for hours; ever since he had relieved the soldier before him he had not heard a sound. It was now nearly three o’clock and beginning to be dark on the huge, gloomy stairway, for it was mid-November and a mist had risen all day from the river. The sentry yawned and then shivered. Wren’s palace was neither very cheerful nor very well warmed. The sentry preferred Whitehall, with the noises of the city without and the coming and going of people to the public galleries. His Majesty was in residence at Hampton Court, but that made little difference. He lived so quietly and saw so few people, that he might, the sentry thought, as well have stayed at Loo. He only came, as was well known, to open Parliament, and the moment it was up he would be off again to Holland—a poor compliment to England; and now there was not the excuse of the campaigns. The sentry yawned again and stretched himself, after carefully resting his musketoon against the dark wall; then he looked up the stairs, which were painted with great, scrambling, heathen figures that swarmed up to the roof, where they were lost in the fast gathering shadows. He then walked up and down to keep himself warm, and began to wonder how much longer now before he was changed; it was difficult to keep count of the time because he had lost the last chiming of King Henry’s great, painted clock. Presently the door at the head of the stairs opened, very slowly, but with a distinct sound in the perfect silence.