The King stared at him with wild dark eyes.
"My God, I will not stay an instant."
- de Zulestein bowed.
At this moment Lord Portland entered; they saw him with profound relief, believing that, if any could, he would fathom and combat the King's humour.
At sight of him William flushed with animation. Portland crossed to him at once; he seemed himself troubled in his manner.
The King caught his hand and pressed it inside his open satin waistcoat, over his heart.
"Do you feel that?" he asked. "Have you ever known it beat so?—that is fear, William, fear——"
He spoke in his own language, and with an extraordinary energy and passion.
"The letter," asked Portland tenderly, "that was handed you as we started——"
"From Sir Thomas Millington," said the King; he put it into his friend's hands and sank on to the chair beside the dressing-table; he seemed utterly unconscious of the watchful eyes upon him, of the presence, indeed, of any but Portland.