"I know," answered William quietly. "The blindness here is incredible—the ignorance, the malice, astonishing. It is the utmost mortification to me that I cannot at once act with the rigour I should, but I have performed some hard tasks before. _I must bring England into this_. And there is the Republic—when did she fail? She is with me always." He came and sat by Sunderland again, rested his elbows on the table and looked down at the floor, supporting his head on his left hand. He was face to face with, and had instantly and deliberately undertaken, a task more difficult and tremendous than those he had carried through in ’72 and ’88. It would be the greatest action of his life—and he had perhaps a few months, at most a few years, to live. There were as many odds against him as there had ever been; so many, so continuous, had been his humiliations and sorrows, that a few moments ago he had not desired to live another day. Now he found himself called to the supreme task of all his laborious career—a task which, if successful, would crown his work with ultimate triumph, however distant, and which, if it failed, would make his whole life useless indeed. He looked at his wasted hand lying on the table. Every breath was a pain to him. He had scarcely the strength to sit upright. He had to be lifted on to his horse, or into his coach. The doctors gave him dates beyond which he could not live; but his spirit was unchanged since the day that it had inspired him to wrest his country from the conqueror, and it rose now to such a strength of enthusiasm that it actually laughed at the weakness of the poor body that held it... William of Orange looked up smiling. "I shall succeed," he said. "I shall succeed." CHAPTER XIV THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD Again the trees were yellowing in the splendid park at Loo; again the autumn sun fell tenderly over the Palace and the stiff beds of late roses. William of England and Monsieur Heinsius were standing by the sundial, which was the centre of formal walks and exact parterres. They were discussing the progress of that endeavour the King had set himself nearly a year ago, when he learnt of Louis’s breaking of the Partition Treaty—a year of toil, of patience, of skill, of tact, of sacrifice on the part of William; and it had met with success. Even the English Parliament had not been able to resist his exquisite management. Meanwhile he was quietly forming the Grand Alliance and feeling his way to hurl the inevitable challenge at France. He was leaning now on a thick polished malacca cane, with a gold and ivory handle, from which swung two heavy crimson tassels, and listening to the Grand Pensionary of Holland, who had been in everything the perfect friend, the perfect servant. "We can do no more," M. Heinsius was saying; "the States are in readiness. We must wait for England."