"I do not know how to frame the thing in words," he began; "'tis about John Pym."
"Ah, John Pym!" exclaimed Charles. He went to the fire and broke one of the flaming logs with the toe of his boot.
"It is soberly said and credibly received," continued the Marquess, "that this knavish fellow who hath such a marvellous hold on the minds of his party is preparing an impeachment of——"
My lord paused, and the King turned sharply from the fire.
"What friend of mine doth he strike at now?" he asked, in a tone of bitter anger and shame.
"It is said——"
"Thyself?"
"Nay, sire—should I for that have troubled you? It is said he meditates impeaching Her Most Sacred Majesty."
"Oh, just God!" cried Charles, "shall I endure this another hour, another minute?" He struck his breast with his open hand, and the rush of blood to his face showed even through the glow of the fire. "Am I the King and cannot I protect my wife?"
"Among Pym's party the thing is denied," said the Marquess, with an instinctive desire to be fair even to people so hateful to him as were the Puritans, "but remembering how suddenly he struck before, and seeing how persistent the rumour was and how many held it credible, I thought it well to bring it before Your Majesty——"