"God help me," said the Queen. "I know not how I shall support myself when you are not here—but how weak I am to talk thus—my part is little compared to yours."
She smiled with a pitiful brightness, and the King, looking at her, flushed as if he had been hurt and suppressed the pain.
"Talk no more of this," he said quickly—"in this little time we have together——"
Mary laid her hand on his.
"How pale the sunshine is—not thick and golden like The Hague—the flowers seem so different too; is not that a silly fancy?" She smiled again, and her voice quivered.
"You are not happy here, Marie."
She answered hastily.
"Happy wherever I have your dear company—but I confess I am a coward without you—but God is greater than our hopes, our fears, our desires; He knoweth best."
When her soft voice ceased the only sounds were those of water running in the lead basin of a fountain hidden somewhere behind the alleys of wych-elm, and the occasional distant blows of a hammer from the workman engaged on the scaffolding of Kensington House.
She spoke again at last, her white fingers tightening over his.