She was so absorbed in this ecstasy of pride and enthusiasm at the sight on which she gazed that she started considerably to hear a voice close beside her say— "Is it not a magnificent spectacle, Madam?" Mary turned quickly and saw a plainly dressed lady on a poor hired beast riding close up to her. Solitude was dear to the Princess, but to rebuke an advance was impossible to her nature. "Are you from The Hague?" she asked gently. "Yes, Madam, I came there yesterday." She was English, and obviously did not know Mary, who was moved by something pitifully eager and wistful in her worn thin face and stooping figure. "You are belike one of the English exiles?" she suggested kindly. The other opened out at once with a glow of gratitude at the interest. "My husband was an officer in the Staffordshire, Madam, and we had no money but his pay, so when he refused to abjure there was nothing for us but exile." Mary pointed to the fleet. "He—your husband—is there?" "Yes—the Prince gave him a pair of colours in one of the English regiments." "You should be proud," smiled Mary. She answered simply— "I am very proud. I pray God to bless the Prince day and night. Where should such as I be but for him? You, I see, Madam, are also English." "Yes." The stranger lady glanced at Mary’s gold-braided coat and splendid horse. "But not a refugee?" she questioned. "No—my home is at The Hague. I am married to a Dutchman." The other was looking out to sea again. "Can you tell me how the ships are disposed?" she asked. "What is your name, Madam?" "Dorothy Marston." "Well, Mrs. Marston, those in the foremost squadron, to the left"—Mary indicated them with her riding-stock—"have on board the English and Scotch, commanded by General Mackay—they sail under the red flag of Admiral Herbert." "Who is given the van out of compliment to the English," remarked Mrs. Marston, with sparkling eyes. Mary drew an excited breath. "Those scattered ships, under the white flag, are the Germans, the Prince his guards and Brandenburgers under Count Zolms, and these that bring up the van are the Dutch and the French Huguenots under the Count of Nassau—this squadron is under the orders of Admiral Evertgen." "And where, Madam, is the Prince?" "In the centre—you can see his flag with his arms—it is called the ’Brill.’" "Thank you, Madam—it is a noble sight, is it not?" Mary laughed softly; she was so secure in her own exaltation, that she felt a kind of pity for the rest of the world. "Your husband is aboard the fleet?" asked Mrs. Marston, with friendly curiosity. "Yes," said Mary quietly. "Well, there is heartache in it as well as pride for us, is not there, Madam?" Mary answered with sparkling animation, her eyes on the blue flag. "That is for afterwards." Mrs. Marston sighed. "I know—but one storm——" "Speak not of storms," answered Mary, "when we have all whom we love on board yonder ships——" "Not _all_."