"Well, what of England?" he muttered. "We have no great interest in England."
"Grave news, Your Majesty," answered the exhausted courier, who had ridden fast from the Hague.
The King took the dispatch and broke it open; it was from Lord Rochester, and contained a few lines written in haste: "His Highness the Duke of Gloucester died suddenly last night of a chill. He desired to be remembered to Your Majesty."
William's hands trembled; the news was serious in so far as it meant that the English succession was now absolutely unsettled. But he was not thinking of that, but of the white, anxious child's face framed in those auburn curls, and the gallant spirit looking out of troubled eyes that had faced the miseries of royalty so bravely.
"My Lord of Gloucester is dead," he said briefly, flinging down the dispatch. "They might have spared their Greek and Latin—poor sweet wretch!" His voice shook a little. "I am glad he had his troop of Horse." Then, during the little pause of consternation that held them all mute, he spoke again: "And I am glad he did not live to be a King."
CHAPTER XIII
FRANCE CHALLENGES
The sentry on duty at the foot of the great staircase in Hampton Court Palace was nearly asleep.
The palace had been silent for hours; ever since he had relieved the soldier before him he had not heard a sound. It was now nearly three o'clock and beginning to be dark on the huge, gloomy stairway, for it was mid-November and a mist had risen all day from the river.
The sentry yawned and then shivered. Wren's palace was neither very cheerful nor very well warmed. The sentry preferred Whitehall, with the noises of the city without and the coming and going of people to the public galleries.