William rose; his cravat and waistcoat were undone over his shirt, his eyes bloodshot and dim, his hair dishevelled and damp on his forehead; he seemed to be making a tremendous effort for control; he noticed his disordered clothes.
"I would not frighten her"—it was Sunderland and not Portland to whom he spoke. The Dutchman drew back a pace. It was ironical that at such a moment the King should turn to such a man; but William had first roused at Sunderland's address, and seemed to look to him for guidance as he had looked, almost unconsciously, to him for support fifteen years ago, in the bitter days before his marriage.
The proud, stern, lonely, and scorned young Prince had then opened his heart to the dishonest, worldly, and cynical minister, and the bond of sympathy that must have been between them then showed now, when the King, fainting with mental agony, clung blindly to Sunderland's unmoved, gentle strength.
Portland marked it then and marked it now; he felt his own love useless in the face of my lord's charm. William had not even noticed his presence. He left him in the arms of Sunderland and returned to the Queen's chamber.
Dr. Tenison had been reading the Scriptures to her, and stood now by her bed with the Bible in his hand.
Lady Temple and her daughter were behind him. The younger woman was crying sadly.
Portland went up to the other side of the Queen's bed.
Mary raised her deep brown eyes and looked at him earnestly.
"My lord," she whispered—he bent over her and she caught his stiff cuff with feverish fingers—"do not let the King despair ... do not let him give up ... I shall have indeed lived in vain if he gives up ... so near too..." She paused to gather strength, and he was too moved to answer. "At first I was so afraid of you," she added wistfully, "so fearful of intruding on you and him—you were his friend before ever I came, and will be when I am gone—but of late you have tolerated me—only a woman, but I have not hindered his destiny—I let nothing stand in the way of his service—indeed, if I have ever vexed you, forgive me——"
"Madam," responded Portland tenderly, "you have been the great comfort of all of us, and we shall be utterly undone without you."