"There was none like her in all the world—none! No one could know her great goodness. O God, my God, this is more than I can bear!"
Portland turned his eyes away, broken himself.
"I am amazed," whispered Dr. Burnet; "for surely I never thought him capable of such emotion."
Dr. Radcliffe touched Portland on the arm.
"Look to His Majesty," he said. "I think this will prove beyond his endurance—I will to the Queen."
He took his leave softly. The King lifted his head and looked after him.
"He said there was no hope!" he cried. "No hope!"
"God is your hope," answered Portland strongly.
"Talk not of God, for this is death and damnation to me—if she leaves me nothing matters on earth or in heaven—what have I done—what have I done that the Devil is let loose on me?" He cast his eyes round wildly, and staggered to his feet. "She was all I had—all—I should have died first—I might have died happy—I have not lived so wickedly I should be punished thus—but they mistake, these doctors—she cannot die—no, it is not possible."
They were all silent. The scene was painful almost past bearing. The King's agonies went beyond all bounds. None of them, though they were all men who had known him most of his life, had believed that his temper was capable of such passion. Dr. Burnet's fluent self-assurance was checked—he stood dumb and staring; the Dutch nobles gazed in horror and dismay at this spectacle of a proud man's utter overthrow. Portland remained beside him, and the King supported himself by holding heavily on to his arm.