“My dear,” she said, “I know how cruel this delay has seemed, but, believe me, ’twas for the best. Our appeal must be quite distinct from that of the three dukes, and it must be only from our hearts—as two desolate women.”
Betty forced herself to speak with composure.
“You know the king, madam,” she said, “and I do not—or, at least, only slightly and, alas, he has ever seemed cold to me and unapproachable.”
“You truly do not know him,” Lady Russell rejoined gently; “I do not think, dear Lady Clancarty, that a great man is ever heartless, and this man is great.”
Betty, who looked at the Dutch king with thoroughly English eyes, raised her brows expressively but said nothing.
“Yes,” continued, the older woman, looking thoughtfully out of the carriage window, “after awhile the English people will do him justice. What other man could have held the coalition of European powers together against France? or could have raised England from the degradation into which his uncles had plunged her to her present dignity?”
Lady Betty sighed wearily; her heart was in the Tower.
“I know that I have heard him called the arbiter of Europe,” she replied, “but he is so very Dutch, dear Lady Russell, and so stern and cold in his way.”
“Not cold,” said Lady Russell, “but merciful. His uncle James was cold—look at the pleading of Monmouth, ’twould have moved a heart of stone—and Charles was often cruel.”
“Alas! King William may turn as deaf an ear to me,” cried the young countess, with a quivering voice; “was ever fate more cruel? If he is beheaded I shall die!”