sorbed in attending upon
him.

Anne began to watch for an opportunity to demand a dismissal, which
she thought would exempt her from all blame, but she was surprised
and a little dismayed by being summoned to the King in the Queen's
chamber. He was lying on a couch clad in a loose dressing-gown
instead of his laced coat, and a red night-cap replacing his heavy
peruke, and his face was as white and sallow as if he were
recovering from a long illness.

"Little godchild," he said, holding out his hand as Anne made her
obeisance, "the Queen tells me you can read well. I have a fancy to
hear."

Immensely relieved at the kindness of his tone, Anne courtesied, and
murmured out her willingness.

"Read this," he said; "I would fain hear this; my father loved it.
Here."

Anne felt her task a hard one when the King pointed to the third Act
of Shakespeare's Richard II. She steeled herself and strengthened
her voice as best she could, and struggled on till she came to--

"I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff,
My subjects for a pair of carved saints,
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little, little grave."

There she fairly broke down, and sobbed.

"Little one, little one," said James, you are sorry for poor
Richard, eh?"

"Oh, sir!" was all she could say.

"And you are in disgrace, they tell me, because my daughter chose to
try to entice you away," said James, "and you felt bound not to
betray her. Never mind; it was an awkward case of conscience, and
there's not too much faithfulness to spare in these days. We shall
know whom to trust to another time. Can you continue now? I would
take a lesson how, 'with mine own hands to give away my crown.'"

It was well for Anne that fresh tidings were brought in at that
moment, and she had to retire, with the sore feeling turned into an
enthusiastic pity and loyalty, which needed the relief of sobs and
mental vows of fidelity. She felt herself no longer in disgrace
with her Royal master and mistress, but she was not in favour with
her few companions left--all who could not get over her secrecy, and
thought her at least a half traitor as well as a heretic.

Whitehall was almost in a state of siege, the turbulent mob
continually coming to shout, 'No Popery!' and the like, though they
proceeded no farther. The ministers and other gentlemen c