Buckingham was amazed at the Hague; the width of the roads, the height of the houses, the avenues of trees, the wealthy shops.…
This is a conquest worth the making.
So they dance to the dawn.
As it grows light, Monmouth leaves the castle.
He has his quarters at another château not far distant, and as he steps out on to the ramparts he lingers a little to watch the dawn.
My lord is twenty-five, and full of joyous life. He can take as much pleasure in watching the sun rise as in a brawl in Whitefriars. He can stick a man through and never think of it again, but he listens to a little bird singing in a lonely fashion and would not harm it for another dukedom.
He lingers, dallying with the cool loveliness of the moment. He sets his elbows on the battlements, and leans on the stone, where blush-roses trail as beautiful as himself, and he looks over the expanse of half-revealed country lying beneath him.
As the sun brightens it glimmers in a curious streak of silver, there on the horizon.
My lord is a little puzzled. Were it not that his reason tells him it is impossible he would think he saw water—saw the distant line of the sea.