"I do thank you," she answered, in a very low tone. "Will you not come into the house?" He followed her across the bare garden, and there was nothing said between them, each being deeply engaged with different thoughts on the same subject. As they neared the villa, one of the gentlemen of the Princess’s household came to meet them and acquainted Mary that a lady who besought her charity implored her for an immediate audience. The Princess was well used to these applications. Out of her meagre allowance she contrived to greatly assuage the sufferings of the distressed refugees at The Hague, and this liberality of hers being known, she received more petitions than she could at all comply with, which was a source of great distress to her gentle heart. "Alas!" she said; "I have already a great list of persons unsatisfied, and worthy cases, too; but it is more than I dare put before His Highness in this present juncture——" "This seemeth, Your Highness, a gentlewoman of the better sort, English, and most earnest for speech with you." "I can but see her," answered Mary quickly. "Only I trust she will not raise her hopes of what I can do for her. M. Auverqueverque, forgive me." With a little curtsy to that gentleman she entered the house. "Where is this gentlewoman?" In her withdrawing room, she was told, and there Mary proceeded, without ceremony, still wearing her cloak. The small but handsome room held a pleasant sense of comfort in contrast to the dead grey weather without. A great log fire cast a glittering light over the dark furniture, and in the full glow of it stood a tall lady wrapped in a crimson mantle that half disclosed an embroidered sacque, and wearing, twisted round her head and shoulders, a fine Eastern scarf embroidered in many colours; she was much older than Mary, and looked fatigued to illness; her large fair eyes were heavily shadowed and her mouth strained, but her appearance was one of great beauty. When the Princess entered she made a little deprecating, half-expectant movement forward, as if hoping for recognition; but she was utterly strange to Mary, who looked at her in some embarrassment, seeing at once that this was no ordinary supplicant. The strange lady gazed at her sadly. "Ten years have changed you to beauty and me to age, Highness," she said, in a voice of singular sweetness. "You have forgotten me. And I should scarcely have known Your Highness." "Indeed," answered Mary, a little bewildered, "I cannot recall you. But I do perceive that you are my countrywoman; perhaps I knew you at Whitehall?" "It was there we met, Madam,—and of late we have corresponded——" "Why, who are you, Madam?" The elder lady cast herself to her knees before the Princess, and answered with some wildness— "I am the unfortunate wife of my Lord Sunderland!" "My Lady Sunderland! Madam, you must not kneel. Oh, what hath passed in England to bring you here?"