Mary impetuously raised the Countess, who kissed her hands in a kind of frantic entreaty. "Where is the Earl?" cried Mary, with a flush of agitation. "He hath fled," whispered Lady Sunderland, "to Amsterdam, where he is in hiding. We have lost everything—everything; his life was in danger; there was no man in all the ministry hated like my lord——" The painful colour burnt in Mary’s cheek. "His Majesty discovered—the intrigues—with us?" she asked. "No—else it had been Tower Hill; but the Catholics undermined him—my lord could not hold his own—he was dismissed all his offices, and when the Prince his Declaration was spread abroad, there rose such a spirit in the nation that we were no longer safe, and while we could, we fled." Mary took a quick step across the room and laid her trembling hand on Lady Sunderland’s arm. "The King—knoweth?" she asked. "The last dispatch of M. D’Albeville told him, and he was struck silent with dismay." "Alas! alas!" was wrung from Mary, "that this should have had to be! It is my father, Madam, and I do a bitter thing against him——" She sank into the great walnut chair by the fire, and the ready tears overbrimmed and ran down her white cheeks. "Your Highness hath a patriotic public duty to perform," said Lady Sunderland. "And must not think of this——" "No," answered Mary unsteadily, "no;" she stretched out her hand and drew the other woman towards her; "but you—you have taken a strange part, my lady——" "My lord," said the Countess earnestly, "hath served His Highness to his own extreme peril, and now I am come to plead a pardon for him from you——" "But you yourself," urged Mary; "what have you felt towards these affairs?" She rose, still holding the fluttering hand of Lady Sunderland, and looked steadily into her eyes. "I have done as my lord directed," was the answer. "I have served him all my life. I shall serve him—always." Mary dropped her hand. The thought that stirred her was that she could not judge, since that same unquestioning devotion ruled her life too. "My lord his services," she said faintly, "are not such as the Prince can with honour reward." "Nor," answered my lady with some pride, "such as he can with honour ignore——" "He is apostate," said Mary; "that cannot be forgiven." "It can be pardoned." "What would you, Madam? The Earl is no subject of the Prince." "He is his supplicant—as I am; he might have gone to France, but he hath put himself at the mercy of His Highness." "The Prince is ever generous," answered Mary, "but what he can do here I know not." She drew away a little from the Countess, for in her thoughts were rising the remembrances of all the ignoble parts my lord had played, and the ill reports she had received of him and his wife from her sister, the Princess Anne. "You must see the Prince," she said, something coldly. Lady Sunderland was quick to notice this change of manner.