“You are King Louis’ cousin, Highness, and King Charles’ nephew.”
“But I am neither Stewart nor Bourbon, my lord, but of my father’s House.”
The envoys were silent a while. They had bartered away their own honour so long ago that they had forgotten they had ever had any. They were clever at overcoming scruples, but a firm attitude of cold honesty bewildered them both; it roused, too, my lord Buckingham’s sneers. He let his glance run with a galling look of mockery over the young man who presumed to have a conscience.
“If you refuse these offers what other course have you open to you?” he asked. “In whom will you trust?”
William looked at him straightly—
“In God.”
“God!” echoed my lord, with a jesting accent of sarcasm.
The Prince flushed.
“He is not dead because ye have forgotten Him at Whitehall, my lord.”
“I perceive that Your Highness is a fanatic,” sneered Buckingham.