"Everything is done, is it not?" he asked eagerly.
"Everything," said my young lord, with enthusiasm. "We—and the allies—will take the field this spring. God bless His Majesty!"
"Ay, he did it. I would I could have heard his speech to Parliament. They say, sir, it hath roused Europe like the trumpet-call to charge——"
"Europe, Mr. Prior, and the Commons of England. I think no nobler words were ever heard in Westminster—he raised them all above themselves—you have read the speech? It is in a dozen different tongues already. England might hold the balance of Europe, he said, if she would exert her ancient vigour and forget her unhappy internal animosities;—and she will, Mr. Prior, she will—thanks to His Majesty."
My Lord Buckhurst was only voicing the general sentiment of enthusiasm and loyalty that William had at last succeeded in rousing.
"Will the King take the campaign this year?" asked Matthew Prior, as they strolled out into the magnificent gardens.
"I do not think so—it is to be my Lord Marlborough."
"A man who was ever detested by the King."
"His Majesty saith he is the greatest general and statesman. Next year he might go himself—there seemeth hope that he might be recovered then."
They passed the yew hedges and fountains, the famous patterned flower-beds, and came out by King Charles's Long Canal, with the resplendent avenue of trees rising up lofty against the pale spring sky and fading into a fair, hazy distance. Coming now into the park where the fresh grass was pushing up through the dead damp leaves of last autumn, and the little groups of slender deer moved delicately through the open sloping glades, they perceived the King riding with two grooms, and holding his hat in his hand to catch the full strength of the faint sun on his face.