"I," cried Halifax sincerely, "have tried to help Your Majesty——"
"And what is your reward?" asked William quickly. "Parliament is so pressing on you, my lord, that I shall have to forego your services—what is any honest man's reward in this country? As angry dogs ye rend each other. My God, will there never be an end to these dissensions?"
He crushed the rough draft of his speech up in his hand and flung it on the table.
"There is my answer to this question," he said, and made to rise again, but Shrewsbury came forward and cast himself on his knees before him.
"I entreat Your Majesty to consider—to reflect—to spare us, to spare this unhappy country——"
The King looked wildly but not unkindly into the fair, agitated young face.
"I cannot do what you want of me," he answered. "Everything I do displeaseth—I stand for toleration and ye will have no manner of toleration—hath not the Indemnity Bill become a Bill of Pains and Penalties? Is not Parliament busy looking up charges of twenty years ago against men of position? Is not the Church crying out against the Dissenters, and the Dissenters against the Papists?"
They were all silent; Shrewsbury on his knees by the King's chair.
"As to the civil government," continued William, "ye know perfectly well what corruption is there. For the last two reigns every honour in the gift of the Crown hath been put up to sale with women and priests for brokers—I can trust no one save, of course, yourselves, my lords," he added, with a faint sarcasm. "There is neither honesty nor industry nor credit in any department of the administration. I can do no more."
Lord Godolphin came forward from the window; he was known to be higher in favour with the King than any there, and the others waited with a silent, anxious curiosity for him to speak.