“Her Highness should be happy enough,” replied his brother. “She has changed.”
The Prince was not in the house. One of the lackeys had seen him walking in the gardens not long since. They found him at length on a terrace, basking in the sunlight.
Roderick swept him a low bow.
“Highness, I have brought my brother. May I present him?” It was a triumphant moment for him. At last Christopher had been brought face to face with this Prince whom he had affected to despise. At last he could show Christopher how wonderful was his master.
William turned. Christopher thought he had never met such a piercing scrutiny. Then the Prince smiled and rose.
“I have long desired to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dart. Rodrigue has often spoken to me of you.” He extended his hand.
Christopher went on one knee to kiss it.
“Your Highness is very kind,” he said.
“Christopher greatly admires the gardens, Sir,” said Roderick.
William looked pleased.
“They are beautiful!” said Christopher warmly. “I do indeed admire them, Sir.”
“I love them,” answered the Prince. “I could not live without my flowers.” He waved his hand towards a bed of tulips. “Those are my flowers.”
Christopher smiled.
“Even we in England know which are your favourites, Sir!”
“So? They are my favourites because they are part of Holland. You do not grow such flowers in England.”
“No,” said Christopher. “But we have our roses.”
“Yes, you have your roses. Rodrigue, he must be shown the west side!”
So the Prince of Orange showed Mr. Dart the west side of his gardens.
The visit to the Huis ten Bosch was the first of many. Christopher made more friends in the Prince’s household, and the Princess desired his acquaintance.
He hardly recognized the Lady Mary in the quiet, soberly dressed woman to whom he was presented. The Mary he knew had sparkling eyes and a roguish smile. The eyes were calm now, almost sad; the smile was full of dignity. He thought that she seemed unhappy, and later he found that there was a coldness between the Prince and his wife.
Mary was anxious to hear all the London news. More than once Christopher saw her eyes fill, but the tears did not well over. He could not tell her much, but she was grateful for very little. She asked after various people, lingering over their names as over a pleasant memory. Christopher pitied her from the bottom of his heart.
Desire for work was growing apace. The indolent life he was leading had become irksome. Christopher realized that he must find some occupation.
The more he saw of William, the more convinced he was that he had found one who was honest and a patriot. He watched the Stadtholder’s adroit management of affairs with growing admiration.
Roderick was surprised that his brother did not fall at the Prince’s feet, worshipping. He was still more surprised that Christopher should feel no desire to become one of the Prince’s household. He could not understand that all Christopher’s love remained with Roxhythe.
“You do not desire to be near the Prince his person?”
“I would rather join his army,” answered Christopher.
“Join the army! You had better enter his household.”
“I do not wish to serve any man—personally.”
“Odds life! Not even His Highness?”
“No one.”
Roderick stared.
“You are no soldier, Chris!”
“I can learn.”
“You were better advised to turn your hand to politics.”
“Never! I want not to hear the word again!”
“But that is ridiculous! Because you found Shaftesbury acting questionably is no reason to think that—”
“I will not hear of politics. They mean intrigue and covert dealing; bribing and tricking. I’ll none of it.”
Roderick shook his head in amazement. But he broached the subject to his master.
Thus it came about that Christopher had audience with the Prince one sunny morning at the Huis ten Bosch.
William sat at his desk, chin in hand. He regarded Christopher thoughtfully for some moments.
“Rodrigue has been speaking to me of you, Mr. Dart. You desire to serve under my standard?” He spoke in Dutch.
“If your Highness permits, I ask nothing better.”
Christopher saw the hazel eyes twinkle suddenly.
“Yet if I offer you a post about my person you will refuse it?”
There was something disconcerting about the Prince. Christopher stammered a little.
“I hope—Your Highness—will not—offer that.”
“Sit down,” said William. “Why do you hope that?”
“Sir, I desire to serve no man personally. I want to serve as a soldier.”
William smiled.
“You want to serve an ideal, hein?”
“Perhaps that is true, Sir. I do not want to serve—a man.”
“Are you afraid that I should betray your trust?”
The swiftness of the attack got behind Christopher’s guard.
“I—don’t understand, Sir.”
“I think you do. Am I the man to betray a trust?”
“No, Sir. Why do you ask?”
“Because I will not be served by any man who does not place in me his whole confidence.”
Christopher hesitated.
“I believe that you at least are honest, Sir,” he said at last.
“But you will not accept a post about my person.”
Christopher grew hot under the steady scrutiny.
“No, Sir.”
“Why not?”
For a moment Christopher did not answer.
“Highness, if you must know, it is this:—For nine years I have served my Lord Roxhythe. He has all my love, all my devotion. I cannot serve another man in the same way. I have tried and failed. Twice failed.”
“Mr. Dart, you say that Roxhyt’e has your love and your devotion. What then have you to offer me?”
“Faithful service, Sir, and loyalty.”
“So!” William tapped his fingers lightly on a sheet of parchment. His face grew harsh. “We will have plain speaking, if you please, Mr. Dart. I have some knowledge of milor’ Roxhyt’e’s life, and of his dealings. How am I to know that you are not imbued with his morals—or lack of morals?”
Christopher straightened.
“Highness, may we leave Roxhythe out of the discussion? I trust my morals are above reproach.”
“I trust so, Mr. Dart. Yet in ’77 there was some question of that.”
“Will your Highness explain?”
“It is necessary? In ’77 you bore letters to Cherrywood; letters that we believe to have been addressed to the French King from King Charles. You will admit that gives
