His voice failed.
“Yes?”
“There is a book—a Prayer-book.”
“I will get it.”
“If Your Highness could read it—in English.”
William pressed his hand.
The wind struggled in the great barns outside, and the coarse yellow flame shuddered in the hot air from the high window.
In the kitchen could be seen M. Zuylestein asleep on the settle and M. Beverningh at the table sipping his boiled wine.
“There are some papers too,” whispered Mr. Bromley. “Love-letters—and bills; burn them, they are so foolish.”