CHAPTER XII

FRANCE MOVES AGAIN

It was mid-October; the Prince's preparations were complete, even to the putting of the horses on board, and yet there was silence from France. A terrible lull of suspense hushed the United Provinces, and of all the anxious hearts there was none so anxious as that of the man who had staked this great wager--the Stadtholder.

On this day, the nineteenth of the month, he returned from the camp at Nymwegen, where he had been reviewing the troops long since secretly raised and drilled by him, and now sanctioned by the States, entered The Hague privately, and rode to the Binnenhof, where he was closeted with M. Fagel, who gave him the last assurances that all opposition, even from the Republican or Loeventein party, was extinct.

When he left the Grand Pensionary and came out into the still corridors of the Binnenhof, he stood thoughtfully for a moment, at the head of the staircase, thinking of the various threads, all so different in texture, that he had almost succeeded in weaving into the completed pattern of his design.

His own country, the German princes, the Empire, Spain, Sweden, England, the Pope--all combined at last with one aim, to answer the aggressions of France.

For ten years, ever since the Peace of Nymwegen had been forced on him, he had been working through gloom, disappointment, discouragement, for this end. His answer to the revocation of the Nantz edict and the seizure of Orange had been the League of Augsburg, which was now bearing fruit, and all Europe was directed against France.

Toil, energy, courage, patience, and genius were telling. The young disinherited Prince, who had been treated as a mere pawn by Charles and Louis, the general of twenty-two with a miserable army, who had been offered humiliating terms by the French, insolently victorious, had slowly grown to be a power that both Bourbon and Stewart feared, and whose influence was predominant over the larger half of the Continent.

His rapid thoughts went back over the years to those black days of blood and despair when he had been put at the head of his country's fortunes and trusted with her sole hopes. Defeat--disappointment had often been his in his struggle to maintain the position of the States in Europe, but even to his own judgment, and he ranked his own achievements low, it seemed that success had waited on all his apparent failures, for his country was not only free but great, and he not only independent but powerful.

Slowly he began to descend the stairs, which were full of a misty sunlight. When he reached the first landing-place a man stepped from one of the tall doors, and, seeing the Prince, bowed and stood very respectfully waiting for him to pass.

William paused, came to a stop, and regarded this man with a close, keen scrutiny.

He stood so still that the object of his gaze lifted surprised eyes, and the two looked at each other.

The Prince stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, one hand resting on the polished newel post. He was in buff military attire and carried over his right arm a heavy dark cloak; he wore a black beaver that shaded his brow, but the rich light was full on his face, which expressed a strong emotion sternly contained.

Behind him a blue and green tapestry hung on the dark wall; it showed a sea fight with curious ships and curling waves, and banners rising through smoke; the sun showed every thread in it--every crease, and the latent gold in the heavy chestnut locks of the Prince.

"M. Heinsius," he said softly.

"Your Highness?"

The Prince did not change his position nor move his brilliant gaze.

"I think to leave the States very soon, as you know, Mynheer; you know also under what circumstances." He paused a second, then added: "I have your good wishes, Mynheer?"

Antoon Heinsius coloured from chin to brow. He had been of the Loeventein party and in favour of France, but his policy had changed lately to an adherence to the Stadtholder; he had not expected this to be remarked by William.

"Every true heart in Holland," he answered strongly, "must pray for the success of Your Highness."

William descended to the landing-place and laid his frail hand, half concealed in embroidered linen ruffles, on the sleeve of M. Heinsius.

"You are the kind of man I want. M. Fagel is old and in failing health--he needeth help," he said. "You are a patriot; you would, I think, do anything for the States."

The words were poor compared to the fire and energy in the Stadtholder's strained but steady voice, and the purpose in the gentle firm touch of his hand on the other man's arm.

M. Antoon Heinsius answered instantly, with a deepening of the colour in his fine handsome face--

"Your Highness doth me exceeding honour."

"I am never better pleased," said William, "than when I can make a man like you my friend."

"Your friend--your servant, Highness," murmured M. Heinsius. He was considerably moved by this kindness from one usually so stately and reserved, and one whom he had of late, as he understood his policy better, warmly admired.

"You know my aims, my plans of government," continued the Stadtholder; "you will know what to do in my absence,--by serving Holland you serve more than Holland."

M. Heinsius answered earnestly--

"Before God I will do my best."

"Your best is well worth having, Mynheer. I have noticed your career."

The two men, but a little time since in opposition, looked with complete understanding into each other's eyes. The Prince had won the fine loyalty of M. Heinsius as he won all whom he set himself to gain, as he won ultimately, indeed, all those who served him and came to know him intimately.

"The States have acted to the wishes of Your Highness?" asked M. Heinsius.

"The States have trusted me," answered the Prince. "Even the Loeventein faction are eager for me to depart on this expedition, in the hopes, maybe"--he smiled--"that I shall be slain or affronted. But I have anxieties."

He paused and looked at the water of the Vyverberg that lay glinting with autumn gold beneath the window.

"Mynheer," he added, "a country is a high stake--one's own country. Mynheer," he looked again into the face of the older man, "you have perhaps thought there was some wantonness in this my resolve, you have thought that I may have dared too much in offering to take beyond seas all the defences of the States."

"Never!" answered M. Heinsius firmly. "I understand and I applaud the policy of Your Highness."

"It is," said the Stadtholder, "on a sure bottom and to be justified. Yet, until I know what France doth, I am no better than a man on the rack."

"You think--even now?"

"Even now--if they were to fall on the frontier! Nought there but the Spaniards! But a little while will show us."

He paused again, then said, weighing his words, and with a strange mingling of simplicity and dignity.

"I am no King in this country, Mynheer, but the servant of the Republic, and you, who are a knowing man and one who hath the common welfare at heart, I would have hold me justified in this I do. I have been believed ambitious, but my ambition is one with the good of the States, and God knoweth that I do not take this tremendous risk from any such paltry motive, but because it is our chance, which if we do not take we are as good as lost."

"It is no flattery to say that I agree with Your Highness, who seeth farther and more clearly than most men."

"You will hear them," answered William, "talk of England, and what I do to gain England, and how much store I set by that country. Be not deceived; England is but a counter in the game I play, and, if I succeed, will be but one of many allies which we will lead against France. And always with me, Mynheer Heinsius, it is the Republic--always."

He spoke with intensity and emotion that were the more moving in contrast to his usual sternness.

"The deeds of Your Highness have proved your words," answered Antoon Heinsius in an unsteady voice.

The Stadtholder sighed.

"I will not disguise from you that my sufferings are terrible--my disquietude almost unbearable, for it is the Republic at stake," he said.

He gave his hand to M. Heinsius, who kissed it very lowly, and left the Binnenhof.

He had not so much as a footboy in attendance, and rode rapidly to the 'huis ten bosch' with little regard for the salutes and respectful homage of those he passed. His contemplated enterprise, the very daring of which, owing to his usual caution, was the more awe-inspiring, made him even more than ever an object of admiration and attention at The Hague.

Once within the bounds of his own woods he was enwrapped in the gracious loveliness of the trees--the quiet of the frost-bound earth, and had almost reached the house before he met anyone; then, round the turn of the long main avenue came a lady, very gracefully riding a white horse.

The Prince gave her a quick glance, touched his beaver, and was passing with no slacking of his pace, but she drew rein and said in a faint voice--

"Your Highness----" with a little gesture that seemed to entreat him to stay.

He turned his horse instantly.

"I am leaving The Hague, sir," she said, speaking English, which was obviously her native tongue. "I have the permission of Her Highness to go see my sister who is sadly worse."

She was young, very slender, and carried herself with a certain air of fire and pride, a certain poise of dignity and animation charming to behold; her features were ordinary, but vivacious and intelligent; there was a certain set or cast in her brown eyes not unattractive, and her hair, in a hundred gleaming hues of gold, red, and deep honey colour, hung in thick curls on to her riding coat, cut like a man's and thickly embroidered with gold.

"Madame Bentinck is worse?" repeated William in a quick distress.

"They did say so. I felt I should go."

"I am grieved a thousand times," he added, "and for M. Bentinck"--he spoke with real feeling, but with that touch of constraint (unlike his usual reserve) which marked her manner to him--"and for you, Madam."

Miss Villiers hesitated a second, then said abruptly--

"I did not think to meet you. I shall not see you again before you sail. Take my poor wishes with you."

"I have been so bold as to feel sure of them," he answered gravely. She was silent, but he did not ride on, but sat with slack reins looking at her, half in the thick autumn sunlight, half in the shade of the close tree trunks, for the sun was sinking.

They had not spoken to each other alone for years; but when she had first come to The Hague with his wife there had been a swift attraction between them, which, for all her discretion and his reserve, had not failed to be seized upon by the English agents to work discords in the Court of The Hague. It was not so long ago that the Princess's Chaplain, Dr. Covell, and Miss Trelawney, had been dismissed by Mary for inventing and spreading this kind of gossip for the benefit of those spies of the English Court who were ever endeavouring to estrange the Prince from his wife.

The Stadtholder was sensitive to these malicious scandals. He rather avoided Miss Villiers, who, on her part, was utterly indifferent to report and, secure in the position the marriage of her sister to M. Bentinck gave her, troubled herself not in the least either about Mary's gentle dislike or her own unpopularity in The Hague. She had great gifts--wit and courage and understanding, enthusiasm and self-control; she was very reserved, no one knew her well, not the Prince now, though once he had had her inspiring friendship, her brilliant advice, her ardent attention; she was still of service to him, but always through the medium of her sister and M. Bentinck. It was strange to both of them to come face to face like this in those woods in which, near ten years ago, they had walked together, and he had told her of his hopes and fears previous, and just after the Peace of Nymwegen.

He smiled and she frowned; each wondered how much that friendship had been worth to the other; Miss Villiers thought that she had long been balanced with his wife in his affections; he, that she had never considered him as more than the embodiment of a policy that she admired--both were wrong.

"Tell me," she said suddenly, "are you still in fears of the French?"

"The greatest fears. Until I know how they are going to move I consider the whole plan in jeopardy. If they should march on the frontiers----"

"God forbid!" she exclaimed fervently. "When will you know?"

"I am utterly in the dark."

"I shall not sleep until you have safely sailed," she said. "For what is to become of England if this faileth?"

"It must not fail," he answered quietly.

Miss Villiers looked at him strangely.

"No," she remarked; "I do not think you will fail--in the end."

She lowered her eyes, patted the strong arched neck of her horse, and added--

"I have seen my Lord Shrewsbury and my Lord Manchester, and laboured to strengthen them in your cause." She smiled. "They are discontented already."

"Does it matter?" asked William.

"A vast deal. You must, sir, try to please the English more; they do not love you."

"Then I cannot make them."

She raised her eyes again.

"Perhaps you do not quite understand us--the English--though you have known a many by now----"

"I do not even understand you, Madam," he answered, "save that you have done great services to the cause I stand for, and for that," he added earnestly, "you must not think me ungrateful. Some day I may be able to share prosperity with my friends."

He said the last sentence with a warmth yet a simplicity wholly charming. Miss Villiers paled and averted her eyes.

"What use is my advice!" she exclaimed bitterly. "What use am I!"

He looked in surprise at this sudden alteration in her even demeanour.

"It hath been of use to us," he said gravely. "And what you say now is just, and I will remember it----"

Miss Villiers suddenly laughed.

"Yes; you must be very civil, sir, to the English, and--you must never trust them!"

She touched up her horse.

"Sure I will not detain Your Highness----"

He took off his hat.

"I have writ to M. Bentinck," he said earnestly; "but tell him yourself what a great concern I am under as to your sister her health--and that he must send a messenger with news."

Elizabeth Villiers bent her head, smiled rather sadly, and they parted; he towards the house at the end of the long avenue, and she through gold-red glittering woods into the hazy autumn distance.

When he reached the steps of his villa he saw another woman awaiting him--the Princess, standing in the full last light, with a light cloak about her. As soon as she beheld his approach she came forward, and was at his stirrup before he had dismounted.

"There is a galloper from Flanders with news," she said; her voice was strained, and she clasped her hands tightly together to steady them.

A broken exclamation escaped the Prince.

"If the French are marching on the frontiers I cannot go!"

The grooms came forward and took his great horse; he sprang from the saddle and went with the Princess up the shallow sun-flooded steps.

"Oh, my dear!" cried Mary under her breath, "if there are ill advices----"

He pressed her hand fiercely.

"I cannot leave the country if they are invading Flanders----"

In the simple vestibule was the impatient messenger--a young Spanish officer, who went, very courtly, on one knee when the Prince entered, and handed a packet from M. de Castagnana.

"News of the French?" demanded William swiftly.

"I do believe so, Highness."

The Stadtholder broke open the dispatch, glanced down the close lines of Spanish, and turned instantly to his pale wife, whose eyes were fixed on him with a piteous intensity.

"The French have abandoned Flanders!" he cried; "their troops are pouring into Germany--the States are safe, thank God! thank God----"