William gazed round with absorbed and resolute eyes as his horse’s hoofs rang out on the klinkers in slackened beat.
There were few people abroad, and the Prince, being unattended and attired like an ordinary gentleman, escaped notice; this fact, and the novel sense of absolute freedom, served to dispel his ill-humour.
He had been solitary of soul all his life, and so used to loneliness that he did not give it a name. But he had always been surrounded by enemies, watched, spied upon, and forced to weigh every word and every look; this sheer liberty of solitude was pleasant as it was new.
He cleared the houses and the trees and came out on to the dunes, low sand hillocks grown with scant poplar shrubs.
Avoiding the village of Scheveningen, the Prince took the winding road that led direct to the sea.
After a while the shrubs ceased and there was no growing thing—only the low, rolling billows of dry white sand pierced with withered and broken reeds. William rode slowly along the diminishing road, and cresting a sandy ridge came in sight of the immense stretch of quiet grey sea breaking in a curling line of foam on the desolate shore.
To his right, only a few yards above high-tide mark, stood a small church with a blue-and-red tiled roof.
The steps were half buried in sand, and up to the very door the gaily painted fishing-boats were drawn.
Behind and beyond were the dunes, broken only by the few houses of Scheveningen to the left.
The Prince drew a deep breath of pleasure at the pure salt air, at the quiet dunes and the misty sea, whose waves broke regularly with a strong, falling sound.