The Stadtholder was sensitive to these malicious scandals. He rather avoided Miss Villiers, who, on her part, was utterly indifferent to report and, secure in the position the marriage of her sister to M. Bentinck gave her, troubled herself not in the least either about Mary’s gentle dislike or her own unpopularity in The Hague. She had great gifts—wit and courage and understanding, enthusiasm and self-control; she was very reserved, no one knew her well, not the Prince now, though once he had had her inspiring friendship, her brilliant advice, her ardent attention; she was still of service to him, but always through the medium of her sister and M. Bentinck. It was strange to both of them to come face to face like this in those woods in which, near ten years ago, they had walked together, and he had told her of his hopes and fears previous, and just after the Peace of Nymwegen. He smiled and she frowned; each wondered how much that friendship had been worth to the other; Miss Villiers thought that she had long been balanced with his wife in his affections; he, that she had never considered him as more than the embodiment of a policy that she admired—both were wrong. "Tell me," she said suddenly, "are you still in fears of the French?" "The greatest fears. Until I know how they are going to move I consider the whole plan in jeopardy. If they should march on the frontiers——" "God forbid!" she exclaimed fervently. "When will you know?" "I am utterly in the dark." "I shall not sleep until you have safely sailed," she said. "For what is to become of England if this faileth?" "It must not fail," he answered quietly. Miss Villiers looked at him strangely. "No," she remarked; "I do not think you will fail—in the end." She lowered her eyes, patted the strong arched neck of her horse, and added— "I have seen my Lord Shrewsbury and my Lord Manchester, and laboured to strengthen them in your cause." She smiled. "They are discontented already." "Does it matter?" asked William. "A vast deal. You must, sir, try to please the English more; they do not love you." "Then I cannot make them." She raised her eyes again. "Perhaps you do not quite understand us—the English—though you have known a many by now——" "I do not even understand you, Madam," he answered, "save that you have done great services to the cause I stand for, and for that," he added earnestly, "you must not think me ungrateful. Some day I may be able to share prosperity with my friends." He said the last sentence with a warmth yet a simplicity wholly charming. Miss Villiers paled and averted her eyes. "What use is my advice!" she exclaimed bitterly. "What use am I!" He looked in surprise at this sudden alteration in her even demeanour. "It hath been of use to us," he said gravely. "And what you say now is just, and I will remember it——" Miss Villiers suddenly laughed. "Yes; you must be very civil, sir, to the English, and—you must never trust them!"