As they entered he turned and stood looking at them. His complexion was a clear, pale olive; his eagle nose and brilliant eyes immediately commanding attention, with something, too, in the cold majesty of his mien and the habitual sadness of his expression. His face, narrow at the chin, expanded widely at the brows, and his glance was singularly luminous. His eyes a clear hazel, with a depth to them like the clear brown of some mountain pool undisturbed by any ripple upon the surface, deep and transparent; his thin figure was inclined to stoop, and he had a racking cough, left behind by smallpox.
He greeted Lady Russell and the young countess with perfect courtesy, but his reserve remained as icy as ever, and like a cloak about him; warm-hearted Betty shivered, stricken silent.
“Sire, we come to you as humble suppliants,” Lady Russell said, “to pray you to graciously receive our petition. I need not tell your majesty that this is Lord Sunderland’s daughter, the unhappy wife of the Earl of Clancarty.”
“My Lords of Devonshire and Ormond have already told me,” the king said, coughing a little as he cast a thoughtful look at the young countess; “I am sorry,” he added, “that it is so.”
“Ah, sire, have mercy on us both,” murmured Lady Betty, finding her tongue at last; “to you belongs the glory of mercy. Spare him, your majesty, he came here only to see me—to see his wife.”
The king did not reply, but took the petition from Lady Russell and laid it on the table.
“Let me plead for her, sire,” said the widow gently, “I need not remind your majesty that I have suffered as she is suffering. I knelt to plead for life to King Charles, as she kneels now to King William, and I knelt in vain. They carried my husband—almost past his own home—to his death and I—ah, my king, I lived! That is the terror of it, and the cruelty; you cannot divine it,—’tis martyrdom!” the widow’s voice was shaken by the agony of recollection and for the moment she could say no more. “I pray you humbly, if I have ever served your majesty or deserved well at your hands, to consider our petition. We ask but life—all else we leave in your hands. Let us remind you, sire, that of all the qualities that most adorn your gracious character that of mercy has ever shone conspicuous, has won the hearts of your people—”
William held up his hand with a bitter smile.
“Say no more, madam,” he interrupted ironically; “’tis not often that I am reminded of my conquest of the hearts of the English people!”
Lady Betty threw herself on her knees before him.