Macbeth.

“Bambino mio, bambino mio,” wailed Mary Beatrice, as she pressed her child to her bosom, and murmured to him in her native tongue.  “And did they say he was not his mother’s son, his poor mother, whose dearest treasure he is!  Oime, crudeli, crudelissimi!  Even his sisters hate him and will not own him, the little jewel of his mother’s heart!”

Anne, waiting in the window, was grieved to have overheard the words which the poor Queen had poured out, evidently thinking no one near could understand her.

That evening there were orders to prepare for a journey to Whitehall the next morning.

“And,” said Hester Bridgeman, “I can tell you why, in all confidence, but I have it from a sure hand.  The Prince of Orange is collecting a fleet and army to come and inquire into certain matters, especially into the birth of a certain young gentleman we wot of.”

“How can he have the insolence?” cried Anne.

“’Tis no great wonder, considering the vipers in the Cockpit,” said Hester.

“But what will they do to us?” asked Jane Humphreys in terror.

“Nothing to you, my dear, nor to Portia; you are good Protestants,” said Hester with a sneer.

“Mrs. Royer told me it was for the christening,” said Jane, “and then we shall all have new suits.  I am glad we are going back to town.  It cannot be so mortal dull as ’tis here, with all the leaves falling—­enough to give one the vapours.”

There were auguries on either hand in the palace that if the Prince came it would be only another Monmouth affair, and this made Anne shrink, for she had partaken of the grief and indignation of Winchester at the cruel execution of Lady Lisle, and had heard rumours enough of the progress of the Assize to make her start in horror when called to watch the red-faced Lord Chancellor Jeffreys getting out of his coach.

It really seemed for the time as if the royal household were confident in this impression, though as soon as they were again settled in Whitehall there was a very close examination of the witnesses of the Prince’s birth, and a report printed of their evidence, enough it might be thought to satisfy any one; but Jane Humphreys, who went to spend a day at the Golden Lamb, her father’s warehouse, reported that people only laughed at it.

Anne’s spirit burned at the injustice, and warmed the more towards the Queen and little Prince, whose pretty responses to her caresses could not but win her love.  Moreover, Pauline’s example continued to attract her, and Father Crump was a better controversialist, or perhaps a better judge of character, than Pere Giverlai, and took her on sides where she was more vulnerable, so as to make her begin to feel unsettled, and wonder whether she were not making a vain sacrifice, and holding out after all against the better way.