The King turned to the left under the covered arcade, and, half resting himself on the inner wall, made weary progress, the snow drifting in through the open arches as far as his feet. He was continually so shaken with his cough that he had to pause, and once the sentry caught a short ejaculation of pain. They had made almost the circuit of the courtyard and had come to another entrance to the palace, when a second sentry crossed their path. William murmured something, passed him without looking back; the soldier stared after him, then caught sight of the other following. "What is this?" he asked, in a quick whisper. The sentry explained as best he could. Ought the King to go out alone—to go out this weather at all?—why, he could hardly crawl, and his cough hurt one to hear. The second sentry only knew that they were to stay at their posts; he advised his companion to go back to his lest the captain discovered. As for the King, it was known that he was not good for long anyhow, and it was no business of theirs. The other soldier was not so sure; he thought my Lord Albemarle ought to know, at least. The King might easily be murdered by the French or the Jacks, and then they would be blamed. But by now William had disappeared. The soldiers continued arguing in subdued voices, when they were interrupted by the approach of a slim gentleman in furs and velvet, who came with an easy, graceful step along the arcade. Both the men knew him; he was the great Earl of Sunderland. His quick eye noticed two soldiers in place of one, and that they were talking. His suspicions, that never lay very deep, were instantly roused, he clapt his hand to his sword and paused. The man who had followed the King found courage to speak. "My lord, I humbly ask the pardon of your lordship, but His Majesty hath gone out unattended in this foul weather, and I was bold enough to follow His Majesty, thinking of all the late plots." "Who are you?" demanded Sunderland. "May it please your lordship, the sentry at the foot of the state staircase." My lord narrowed his eyes on the man. "You were on guard once outside Whitehall on the day the bishops were acquitted. I spoke to you—’God and the King’—you recall, fellow?" The soldier was silent with astonishment at the memory of my lord; for himself, he recollected very well, but it was marvellous that a great nobleman should remember such an incident during so many years. Sunderland gave him no time to speak. "Where did His Majesty go?" The soldier humbly pointed out the way, and my lord turned on his heel and went rapidly across the dark, snowy courtyard. He had reached the farther court, untouched by Sir Christopher and still of the fashion of the great cardinal and Harry Tudor, before he saw the King ahead of him, a solitary figure in the grey afternoon. My lord was instantly beside him. "Sire, I must speak with you, and at once." William looked round calmly.