But, on the evening of the fourteenth of
February, he received a visit from a person whose testimony he could not
treat lightly. This was a Roman Catholic gentleman of known courage and
honour, named Pendergrass. He had, on the preceding day, come up to town
from Hampshire, in consequence of a pressing summons from Porter, who,
dissolute and unprincipled as he was, had to Pendergrass been a
most kind friend, indeed almost a father. In a Jacobite insurrection
Pendergrass would probably have been one of the foremost. But he learned
with horror that he was expected to bear a part in a wicked and shameful
deed. He found himself in one of those situations which most cruelly
torture noble and sensitive natures. What was he to do? Was he to
commit a murder? Was he to suffer a murder which he could prevent to be
committed? Yet was he to betray one who, however culpable, had loaded
him with benefits? Perhaps it might be possible to save William without
harming Porter? Pendergrass determined to make the attempt. "My Lord,"
he said to Portland, "as you value King William's life, do not let
him hunt tomorrow. He is the enemy of my religion; yet my religion
constrains me to give him this caution. But the names of the
conspirators I am resolved to conceal; some of them are my friends; one
of them especially is my benefactor; and I will not betray them."

Portland went instantly to the King; but the King received the
intelligence very coolly, and seemed determined not to be frightened
out of a good day's sport by such an idle story. Portland argued and
implored in vain. He was at last forced to threaten that he would
immediately make the whole matter public, unless His Majesty would
consent to remain within doors during the next day; and this threat was
successful. [666]

Saturday the fifteenth came. The Forty were all ready to mount, when
they received intelligence from the orderlies who watched Kensington
House that the King did not mean to hunt that morning. "The fox," said
Chambers, with vindictive bitterness, "keeps his earth." Then he opened
his shirt; showed the great scar in his breast, and vowed revenge on
William.

The first thought of the conspirators was that their design had been
detected. But they were soon reassured. It was given out that the
weather had kept the King at home; and indeed the day was cold and
stormy. There was no sign of agitation at the palace. No extraordinary
precaution was taken. No arrest was ma