Lady Strafford was admitted, without any delay, into the private apartment of the Queen, where Henriette Marie sat with two ladies in a sumptuous simplicity and elegant seclusion, which was noticeable in the extreme richness and good taste of the apartment, in the attire of the Queen herself, which, free from all fopperies of fashion, was of an exceeding fineness and grace, and in her occupation, which was that of sewing figures in beads on a casket of white silk.

The chamber was so delicately scented with attar of roses and perfume of jasmine and cascarilla, so finely warmed with a fire of cedar-wood, that every breath drawn there was a delight; the window was shrouded by peach-coloured velvet curtains, and the light came from a suspended silver lamp the flame of it softened by a screen of rosy silk; on the wall hung mellowed and ancient French tapestries, heavily shot with gold and silver, and the inlaid floor was covered with silk carpets. The Queen wore a pale saffron-coloured gown, and about her elbows and shoulders hung quantities of exquisite lace fastened by loops of pearl.

At the entrance of the Countess, she very sweetly dismissed the ladies and smiled at her visitor, then continued her task, thoughtfully selecting the beads from an ivory tray and sewing them skilfully on to the thick white silk.

The Countess remained standing before the Queen. She was now shown to be a woman of a carriage of pride and fire, fair-haired and swift-moving, with a great expression of energy which did not alter her wholly feminine attraction.

"Your Majesty will forgive this uncourtly coming of mine," she said, "but I have it on good authority that this inquiry into Irish Affairs is but a covert attack on my Lord Strafford."

"Yea, most certainly," returned the Queen, raising her soft eyes to the breathless lady.

"I saw John Pym to-day," cried the Countess, "and methought he had an air of triumph; besides, would the very boys in the street dare shout at me unless my lord's fall were assured?"

She twisted her hands together and sank on to a brocade stool near the window. The Queen slightly lifted her shoulders and smiled. She bitterly detested the English, who in their turn loathed her, both for her nationality and her religion, and even for the name "Mary," which the King gave her, and which was for ever connected in the popular mind with Papistry and with two queens who had been enemies of England. Therefore she was well-used to unpopularity and that hatred of the crowd of which Lady Strafford to-day had had a first taste.

"Why discourage yourself about that, madam?" she asked. "These creatures are not to be regarded."

"The House of Commons is to be regarded," returned Lady Strafford.

She spoke, despite herself, in a tone of respect for the power that threatened her husband, and the Frenchwoman's smile deepened.

"How afraid you all are of this Parliament," she said.

"Has it not lately shown that it is something to be afraid of?" cried the Countess.

The Queen continued to carefully select the tiny glass beads and to carefully thread them on the long white silk thread. To the Countess, who had never loved her, this absorption, at such an hour, in an occupation so trivial, was exasperating.

"I have come to Your Majesty on matter of serious moment," she said, and she spoke as one who had a claim; her husband had rendered great services to the Crown, and held his lofty position more by his own genius than by the King's favour. "Yesterday I sent an express to York, beseeching my lord to stay there with the army, and to-day Mr. Holles, one of my kinsmen, hath gone on the same errand. I beseech Your Majesty to add your weight to these entreaties of mine, and to ask His Majesty to bid my lord stay where he is safe."

At this the Queen's lovely right hand stopped work, and lay slack on the white cover of the casket, and with the other she put back the fine ringlets of black hair from her brow and looked full and delicately at the Countess.

"Both the King and I," she returned gently, "wrote to my lord before that—ay, the day before, and were you more often at court, madame, you would have heard of it."

An eloquent flush bespoke the relief and gratitude of the Countess.

"Then he is safe!" she exclaimed. "At York, amid the army, who can touch him!"

The Queen laughed lightly.

"Dear lady," she said, "thy lord is no longer at York, but on his way to London. At least, if he be as loyal as I think he be."

"London?" repeated Lady Strafford, as if it were a word of terror. "London? my lord cometh?"

"On the bidding of His Majesty and myself," answered Henriette Marie.

The Countess rose, she pushed back the dull crimson hood from her fair curls, and looked the Queen straightly in the face.

"Wherefore have you bidden him to London, madame?" she asked.

"That he may answer the charges that will be brought against him," said the Queen.

"And you have persuaded him to this!" cried the Countess. "I did think that I might have counted you and His Majesty among my lord's friends!"

Henriette Marie picked up a knot of white silk and began to disentangle the twisted strands.

"The Earl hath His Majesty's assurances and mine, of friendship and protection," she said with dignity touched with coldness.

Lady Strafford stood silent, utterly dismayed and bewildered. It seemed to her incredible that the King should have asked his hated minister to come to the capital at the moment when the popular fury against him had reached full height and the Commons were on the eve of impeaching him. She did not, could not, doubt that the King would wish to protect his favourite, but she felt an awful doubt as to his power. Had he not been forced to call the Parliament at the demand of the people?—was it not to please them that he had sent for the Earl?—so what else might he not consent to when driven into a corner!

The Countess shuddered; she thought of the angry crowd who had chased Laud from Lambeth Palace, who daily hooted at and insulted her when she went abroad, of the useless train-bands, of the general bottomless confusion and tumult, and she saw before her with a horrid vividness, the calm, weary face of John Pym, the man who led the Commons.

The Queen surveyed her narrowly, and observed the doubt and terror in her face.

"Are you afraid?" she asked. "Is it possible you think the King cannot protect his friends?"

Lady Strafford looked at the beautiful frail woman in her lace and silk who was so delicate, so charming, so gay, and who had more power over the King than his own conscience, and her heart gave a sick swerve. She never had, never could, wholly trust the French Papist Queen, for she was herself too wholly open and English in her nature.

Henriette Marie rose, and the jasmine perfume was stirred by the shaking of her garments.

"Is it not better," she said, with a lovely, tender smile, "that Lord Strafford should come here and face his enemies, than that he should lurk in York among his soldiers as if he feared what creatures like this Pym could do?"

"Madame," returned Lady Strafford, through white lips, "no one would ever think the Earl feared his enemies. But to come to London now is not courage but folly."

"It is obedience to the King's wishes," said the Queen, and a haughty fire sparkled in her dark liquid eyes.

"The King," returned the Countess, "asketh too much from his servant, by Heaven, madame! Those who love my lord would see him stay at York—"

"And those who love the King would obey him," flashed Henriette Marie.

The Countess controlled herself and swept a curtsey.

"I take my leave," she said. "May Your Majesty hold as ever sacred the promises with which you have brought my lord in among those who madden to destroy him! As for me, my heart is fallen low. Madame, a good night."

"I do forgive thy boldness for the sake of thy anxiety," said the Queen with sweetness. "We women have many desperate moments in these bitter times. A good night, my lady."

The Countess bent her proud blonde head and departed, and the Queen took up her beads and her silks and began again to work the bouquet of roses, lilies, and violets she was embroidering on the lid of the casket.

A thoughtful and haughty expression clouded the delicate lines of her face, and this proud pensive look did not alter when the hangings that had scarcely fallen into place behind Lady Strafford were again lifted, and the King, unattended, and with an air of haste, came into her presence.

"Has Strafford come?" she asked.

"Not yet!" replied Charles, in an unsteady voice, "and I have begun to wish I had not sent for him."

The Queen flung down her work and rose; the angry red of a deep passion stained her pallor.

"Canst thou never be resolute?" she cried. "Wilt thou for ever hesitate and change and regret every action? My lord, I would sooner be dead than see this temper in thee."

The King came and kissed her hand with a charming air of gallantry.

"Sweet," he said, in self-justification, "it is a horrid thing to command a man into the hands of his enemies."

"Thou knowest," returned Henriette Marie firmly, "that the Parliament and London both clamour for my lord and will not, by any means, be quiet until he appear. Thou knowest that we, that I, am in actual danger."

"Hush, dear heart—speak not of our danger," interrupted Charles hastily, "lest it seemeth we sacrifice our servant, our friend, to bare fear."

"Acquit thyself to thy conscience, Charles," she answered with limitless pride. "Art thou not the King? Must I remind thee of that as even now I had to remind my Lady Strafford?"

"My lady here?" murmured the King.

"Did you not meet her in your coming?"

As she spoke Henriette Marie moved towards a mirror that hung in one corner, and looked at her reflection with unseeing eyes, then turned the same abstracted glance on to the King.

The mirror was set in a deep border of embroidery which was framed in tortoise-shell, and the mellow colours of these, silks and shell, were softened into rosy dimness by the shaded light. This same glow was over the lovely figure of the Queen, her gown of ivory and amber tints, brightened into a knot of orange at her breast, and the pearls round her throat, and her soft, dark hair held no more lustre than the exquisite carnation of her fragile beauty. She seemed utterly removed from all that was commonplace, tumultuous, noisy, coarse, and Charles, gazing at her with his soul in his eyes, was spurred and stung, as always when he regarded his wife, with bitter anger that he was not allowed to follow the bright guidance of this lady, and live with her in rich happiness and peace adorned with every fine and costly art, with all the intellectual delicacies and luxurious refinements which so pleased them both.

He loathed the English people who dragged him and even his adored wife into the clamorous atmosphere of intrigue and dissension, of controversy and riot.

To Charles there was one God, one Church, one King, one right—the right of God as manifested in the King's right; all else was to him mere vexation, disloyalty, and blasphemy. The popular side of the questions now rending the nations he did not even consider; he stood absolutely, without compromise or doubt, by his own simple, unyielding, ardent belief that he was King by God's will, and above and beyond all laws.

And his late impotency to enforce this view on his subjects had stirred his naturally gracious serene nature to deepest astonishment and anger. He was baffled, outraged, and inwardly humiliated, and he had already in his heart decided to be avenged on these gentlemen of the Commons whose clamours had so rudely broken his regal security, and on the stubborn English who had taken advantage of the rebellion of the Scots and his lack of money with which to defend himself, to force on him this hateful Parliament.

And now, when he knew that Pym, the inspiration and leader of these unruly gentlemen, was daring to strike at his own especial friend—minister and favourite, the man who was at once his guide and mouthpiece—he was bewildered by his intense inner fury, and pride as well as justice made him regret that he had summoned the Earl to London.

He gazed at the Queen where she stood in golden shadow, and these thoughts tormented him bitterly.

He knew her mind; her temper was even more despotic than his, and armed force was the first and only weapon she would have ever used in dealing with the people; her counsels were ever for the high hand, the haughty command, the merciless sword, and always the King hearkened to her. But his nature was more subtle, involved, and secretive than hers, and he knew better than she did the growing strength of the forces opposed to him; therefore he had often endeavoured to cope with his difficulties after a fashion she called irresolute and unstable.

The Queen broke the heavy silence.

"Strafford will come and we will protect him," she said; "that is enough."

"Nay, not enough," replied Charles, "for I must be avenged on these men who seek to touch my lord."

"Hadst thou hearkened to me," she murmured in a melancholy voice, "thou hadst been avenged on all these long since."

"Ay, Mary," cried the King earnestly, "we are not in a realm as loyal and steadfast as France, but rule a country that hath become a very hive of sedition, discontent, and treason, and it is well to tread cautiously."

"Caution is not a kingly virtue," said Henriette Marie, with that same sad sweetness of demeanour that was so exquisite a cloak for reproof.

"Trust me to act as is best for thee and for our sons," replied Charles firmly. "Trust me to so acquit myself to God as to be worthy of thy love."

The Queen regarded him with a wise little smile, then pulled a toy watch of diamonds from the lace at her bosom and glanced at it with eyes that flashed a little.

"With quick riding and sharp relays, my lord might almost be here," she remarked.

Charles sank into the great chair with arms by the window, and bent his gaze on the floor. His whole figure had a drooping and fatigued look; he mechanically fingered the deep points of lace edging his cambric cuffs.

Henriette Marie dropped the watch back behind the knot of orange velvet on her breast, and her glance, that was so quick and keen behind the misty softness that veiled it, travelled rapidly over her husband's person.

She noted the grey hairs in his love-locks, the lines of anxiety across his brow and round his mouth, his unnatural pallor, the nervous twitching of his lips. He was the dearest thing on earth to her, but she had been married to him nearly twenty years and she knew his weakness, his faults, too well to any longer regard him as that Prince of romance which he had at first appeared to her. His figure, as she looked at him now, seemed to her strangely tragical; she could have wept for this man who leant on her when she should have leant on him, this man whom she would have despised if she had not loved.

"Holy Virgin," she said passionately to herself, "give him strength and me courage."

She went to her table and began to put away her work. The King raised his narrowed wistful eyes and said abruptly—

"Supposing the Earl doth not come? We are as likely to be hounded from Whitehall as His Grace from Lambeth if my lord disappoints the people."

"He will come," said Henriette Marie, delicately putting away her beads and silks in a tortoise-shell box lined with blue satin and redolent of English lavender.

Even as she spoke and before she had turned the silver key in the casket, her page had entered with the momentous news for which they both, in their different fashion, waited.

My Lord Strafford was in the audience chamber, all in a reek from hard riding.

They went down together, the King and Queen, and found the dark Earl, in boots and cloak still muddied, waiting for them.

"My faithful one!" cried Charles, "so thou art come!" and when Strafford would have knelt, he prevented him, and instead kissed him on the cheek.

"Sire," answered my lord, "I met your messengers on the road. I had already left York and was hastening to London to meet this accusation mine enemies do prepare to spring on me."

Charles seized his hand and grasped it warmly.

"I do approve thine action, and here confirm all expressions of favour I have ever given thee."

"Thy lady," added the Queen, smiling, "was, poor soul, fearful for thee, but thou art not, I think, seeing thou hast our protection and friendship."

"Madame," answered the Earl, fixing on her the powerful glance of his tired dark eyes, "I am fearful of nothing, I do thank my God, save only of some smirch on my honour, and that is surely safe while my gracious master holdeth me by the hand."

There was energy and purpose in his look, his carriage, his speech, his bearing had the unshakable composure of the fine man finely prepared for any fate.

"Sire," he said, speaking with great sincerity and emotion, "my own aim hath been to make thee and England great, and if His Majesty is satisfied, I hold myself acquitted of any wrong to any man, nor do I take any such on my conscience."

The King, much moved, clasped my lord's firm right hand closer in his own, and stood close beside him in intimate affection.

"What weapon hast thou prepared to fight these rascals with?" asked Henriette Marie.

"Madame," replied the Earl grimly, "I shall go down to the House to-morrow and impeach John Pym of high treason on the ground of his sympathy with, and negotiating with, the rebel Scots." He smiled fiercely as if to himself, and added, "My head or thine, and no time to lose!"

A sudden tremor shook the Queen, a silence fell on her vivacity.

"Come to us to-morrow," said Charles, "before going to Westminster—and now to thy waiting wife and a good night, dear lord."

"Truly this evening I am a weary man," smiled Strafford, and with that kissed the hands of his lieges and left them.

They stood silent after his going, not looking at each other.

They could hear the distant angry clamour of London at their gates.