"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——"