James would oppose the match, of course, having set his heart on a French marriage for Mary. A French marriage! A Catholic marriage! When the people hated the French and were determined to have no Catholics on the throne of England.

Charles, leaning toward the Catholic faith did so secretly. Secretly! That was the point. Poor James, he was half idealist, half sensualist; the one was continually getting in the way of the other.

Orange for Mary then! Let it be done!

William laughed aloud when he received the news that the King of England was desirous of making a match between his niece and his nephew.

He called to his dear friend Bentinck and told him what had happened.

“Marriage with England. My friend, when I was at my uncle’s Court I intimated that such a marriage would be acceptable to me. I saw the Princess Mary. She is comely, but without reticence; she seemed over familiar with the King and her father; and they have brought her up to speak without thinking first of the effect of her words; they have allowed her to excel at dancing and playacting.”

“She could be Queen of England, Highness.”

“There is that in her favor.” He gave that faint twist of the lips which could scarcely be called a smile. “As yet,” he said, “I am not ready for marriage. Nor shall I allow my uncles to think I am waiting on their words to give them back my friendship. Do not forget Bentinck that they made war on us—for I do not forget it.”

He wrote to the King of England: “My fortunes are not in a condition for me to think of taking a wife.”

He was inwardly exultant, guessing what effect those words would have on his uncles.

Charles laughed. “Our little nephew plays the great man. Well, perhaps we must accept the fact that he is half as important as he thinks himself. All in good time. We’ll marry him to Mary yet.”

The Duke of York was furious. The little upstart, to refuse his lovely daughter! To flout England, for that was what he had done since Mary could one day bring him England.

“I hate the fellow,” said James. “I shall never forgive him for insulting my daughter.”

Charles shrugged his shoulders. He displayed no passion but all the same he was determined that the marriage should take place at some future time.

These were good days for William. The Dutch nation adored him. His solemnity endeared him to them; they would not have wished for a monarch like the King of England. They shouted for the Prince of Orange wherever he went, and were certain that he would lead them to victory.

William lived for Holland; he was full of plans for defeating her enemies; he had determined to bring peace and prosperity to his people; it should be his life’s ambition. He knew that he had been born to rule. He wanted no wife; he wanted no pleasure; he wanted his people to know that another William the Silent had come to lead them.

He was proving himself to be a leader, a brilliant soldier, a man of few words and great solemnity. He was a hero.

Then the disturbing news was circulating throughout the land. Orange was sick of deadly malady.

When the first sign of the sickness had come to him he had not believed it could be; but when his doctors had seen him they withdrew in horror.

Bentinck came to his bedside.

“My friend,” said the Prince, “you should not come near me. You know what ails me?”

“I have been told you have the smallpox.”

“The disease,” said the Prince, “which killed my mother.”

He was exhausted, Bentinck saw; he had taken the disease badly, and his chances of survival would therefore be slight.

Moreover, it was inconceivable that such a man would not have enemies. How easy to prevent his recovery!

Bentinck knelt down by the bed.

The Prince looked at him as though seeing him vaguely through half closed eyes.

“Go away,” he murmured.

“I will never leave you while you need me,” said Bentinck.

William’s brow puckered; he was rapidly becoming too ill to understand.

Bentinck called the doctors into an anteroom.

“It is His Highness’s wish that I remain.”

“You have had the pox?”

Bentinck shook his head.

“You run grave risks.”

“We all must run grave risks for Holland.”

“You can do him no good, and yourself much harm.”

“It is the Prince’s wish that I remain.”

“He would not wish that for his worst enemy.”

“But perhaps he would,” said Bentinck wryly, “for his best friend.”

Hourly the Prince’s death was expected. In the streets of the cities people said: “He came like a promise that is not to be fulfilled. What will become of us? What of Holland now? We shall be under the French before we know where we are. Louis doesn’t strike now because he is waiting to hear that the Prince is dead. He wouldn’t dare while he still lived.”

“Let us pray for him. What is Holland without Orange.”

In the country the people ran out of their houses every time they heard the sound of travelers on the road.

“Any news … any news of the Prince?”

In the sickroom Bentinck sat by the Prince’s bed, determined that none but himself should look after the invalid. William lay as though dead but Bentinck believed he knew his friend was near and took comfort from the fact.

Bentinck would talk to William even though there was no answer.

“You must fight death, my Prince. All Holland depends on you.” That was the theme of his conversation and there were times when he believed the Prince understood him, for after sixteen days of uncertainty William showed the first signs of improvement. When the doctors expressed their astonishment that he, who had suffered such a violent attack, had a hope of recovery, Bentinck cried: “He is determined to live and when this Prince determines he succeeds.”

Now was the time to prepare the Prince good nourishing food—food which should come to him only through Bentinck’s hand.

William looked at Bentinck.

“You were with me all the time,” he said.

“Yes, Highness. But you were too sick to know it.”

“I sensed your presence here, Bentinck. It gave me great comfort. It is good to have a friend; and I believe you to be my friend, Bentinck.”

“Your Highness has many friends.”

“Friends to the Prince of Holland,” answered William. “Those who support him because they know he will bring good to them. Only one Bentinck. I believe one should be grateful for one such. Bentinck, I shall never forget you.”

That was all he said, for he was always one to avoid expressing emotion. But the bond was there between them.

Bentinck had risked his life for his Prince. It was something one never forgot as long as one lived.

William began to recover rapidly. Bentinck prepared all his food himself; they talked together of their future, which was Holland’s.

The people were ready to adore their Prince. Not only could he conquer their enemies but the most dreaded sickness, and they believed they could look with confidence to their deliverer.

One morning Bentinck came to his master and told him that he was exhausted and needed a little rest; had he the Prince’s permission to retire to the country for a while? The permission was readily given.

Within the next few days William heard that Bentinck was suffering from the smallpox.

William was more moved when he heard of Bentinck’s sickness than he had ever been before in his life. He sent his own doctors; he genuinely deplored the fact that he could not go himself and do for his friend what Bentinck had done for him, but the nation’s affairs occupied him and he must concern himself with his duty. Continually he thought of Bentinck; he missed him; there was so much he wanted to discuss with him, and if Bentinck died, he believed it would be one of the greatest tragedies of his life.

But Bentinck did not die. The best doctors, the greatest care in nursing, the constant messages from the Prince, and the great will to survive were on his side. And as William had, eventually he began to recover.

It was a day of great joy when the two friends were together again.

William looked at Bentinck and said, “It pleases me to see you well again. I have need of you.”

That was all; but Bentinck was aware of the deep feeling beneath the words. Their friendship was sealed; it would last for the rest of their lives. William was aware of this too; but being the man he was he expressed his pleasure in a few brusque words.

The months of anxiety followed. Holland was a small country and her enemies were strong. All the bravery in the world could not stand out against the might of arms and men many times greater than those possessed by Holland. During these months William’s natural characteristics became stronger and unshakable. He believed that he had been chosen to rule—not only Holland. He was predestined to be a King. He had never forgotten Mrs. Tanner’s vision. Always it seemed there must be on this earth a conflict between Catholic and Protestant, and he, a stern Calvinist, was ideally fitted to lead the Protestant Cause. He saw himself as the Protestant leader of Europe, perhaps the world. He must defeat Catholicism; and he believed that it did not matter how he did so as long as he was successful.

His ability to remain calm, to give no hint of anger was one of his great gifts, he realized; he must cultivate it. He would hide his thoughts from all; so that when he said one thing he might well mean another. If necessary he would lie for the Cause.

Mrs. Tanner had prophesied three crowns. Could these be England, Scotland, and Ireland? His eyes were on England, for neither the King nor the Duke of York seemed now to be able to beget heirs. Mary of York would very probably succeed her father if he did not have a son; and if William married Mary, because of his claim through his Stuart mother, he could become King of England.