always be some to forgive them.
Mary, it seemed to those about her, had few faults. Perhaps she would have been understood better if she had had. She loved card playing, but that could not be called a fault; and although she was friendly in general, after the departure of Anne Trelawny she did not make a close friend of anyone.
They did not entirely understand her, so they remained aloof; her docility to her husband was interrupted now and then by those outbursts of firmness which showed themselves in the part she had played in the Zuylestein marriage and in sending Elizabeth Villiers to England. She was meant to be gay and vivacious as she had been in the days of childhood; but life with William had subdued that. She had become devoutly religious, devoted to the Church of England—and to her husband. Those about her believed that no one could love a man like William as she professed to do, and that her obvious devotion was like a religion to her. She had chosen it as the right way of life and determined to pursue it. Those who remembered how gay she had been during the visit of the Duke of Monmouth were certain of this. Mary, because of some strange bent in her nature, was determined to subdue her natural impulses and become the sort of person she felt it her duty to be.
She knew that Elizabeth Villiers continued to be William’s mistress. For some time she had visited William at the Palace and now was installed in her old position, yet Mary preferred to ignore it. Neither Elizabeth nor William ever mentioned to her that trip to England; it was as though it had never been.
Her women said that they could not understand a woman in her position accepting what Mary did; and Mary was an enigma.
She was to William also. If he could have been sure of how she would act in the event of ascending the throne of England, his entire attitude toward her would have changed. He could have talked to her more freely of his plans; but this stood between them; and he could not bring himself to talk openly of the position she would expect him to hold. Although to all outward appearances he had subdued her, yet he was afraid of her; and although she was the meek wife, seeming always to bend to his will, yet it was in her power to exclude him from the brilliant future which had been his goal ever since he had contemplated marrying her.
This was the state of affairs when Gilbert Burnet arrived at the Court of The Hague.
Gilbert Burnet was in his forties when he came to Holland. He had been a favored chaplain of Charles II but he had quickly fallen foul of James, for he deplored the threat of papacy. It became clear to Burnet that while his position was precarious under Charles, for his friends Essex and Russell had been involved in the Rye House Plot, it would be untenable under James. After that plot he had left England for France where he was warmly received.
One of the first things he did on returning was to preach a sermon against popery which was received with wild enthusiasm by an anti-Catholic congregation; and when Burnet thundered out: “Save me from the lion’s mouth; thou hast heard me from the horn of the unicorn …” the applause rang out in the church, for the lion and unicorn were the royal arms and this could only mean that Burnet when denouncing popery was denouncing James.
After that there was only one thing for Burnet to do—leave the country. He had been writing busily for the last few years and had produced his History of the Rights of Princes in the Disposing of Ecclesiastical Benefices and Church Lands among other works. He was a man whom James could not afford to keep in England.
Burnet went to Paris where he remained until the repercussions of the Monmouth rebellion had subsided; then on to Italy and Geneva and eventually, receiving an invitation from the Prince and Princess of Orange, he arrived at The Hague.
William received him coolly. He was not sure that he trusted him completely for in his opinion the man was apt to talk too much. Burnet was without fear, there was no doubt of that, but the fearlessness made him indiscreet; and William always mistrusted indiscretion. With Mary, Burnet was on happier terms. She was