Sir John stood silent. So the King had done what Delia Featherstonehaugh had asked him to do; the mercy he had refused had been granted by another; the Jacobites would go unscathed and yet he must bear the odium of having broken his word; in the mind of that girl he would get no credit for this; she would know from Jerome Caryl that he was not to be thanked, yet he would have gained nothing by his seeming perjury; the lords whose names were on that list would continue to flaunt with their heads high; his labor had gone for nothing. These thoughts rushed upon him and his blue eyes lit dangerously. “Sir, your Majesty is too careless,” he said. “This was a far-reaching conspiracy that with infinite trouble I fathomed—plot within plot—circle within circle.” “They can do nothing, Sir John, now they are discover’,” answered the King calmly. “They will take warning—if not, Mon Dieu! What good are they without France? And France—will she move till she get those papers I burn jus’ now?” “Berwick is in London,” cried Sir John. “I am not afraid of ’im,” replied William. As he thought of the vast shoal escaping the net he had been at such pains to lay for them, Sir John’s rage rose higher. “There are more in this than you imagine, sir,” he said hotly. “I know mos’ of them,” answered William with the same unmoved demeanor. “Every one about the Court I think excep’ Milor’ Somers, and Milor’ Nottingham—and per’aps pretty little Shrewsbury or Devonshire—but I say that I am tire’ sir, of this subject.” “They plot still,” persisted the Master of Stair, “and they plot assassination.” “Is it not al-way’ so?” “Your Majesty,” cried Sir John, “I say again you are too careless; for a certainty my Lord Marlborough is in this, and Marlborough is the army; Russell is in it, and Russell is the navy. I think Breadalbane has meddled, though darkly.” “All this is mos’ true, Sir John,” returned the King, “but it is al-so true that while I am at St. Jame’ and my uncle at St. Germains they will do nothing.” “I have said that they plot assassination, and now that you have destroyed all proof, all evidence, your Majesty’s life is not safe. How can you tell who is in this conspiracy; how judge of the loyalty of the men about you? Any one of them may be in Berwick’s pay to murder your Majesty!” William sat up and leaned across the table. “Sir John,” he said, “I am surprise’ that a man of your—_esprit_ bring me these child tale’—I do not think I shall be murder’, but I will take the risk of it—and now we will speak of Scotlan’.” His cold voice was a dismissal of the subject.