"That will give me pleasure if it comes to pass," murmured James.
"It shall be so. Your Majesty," Mar assured him.
And so to the palace of Scone there to make a court for James III! This must be set up with all the pomp and ceremony of the Court at St. James's that there might be no doubt that this was indeed the palace of the King.
This was pleasant. James allowed himself to be treated as a King; he was gracious and charming. So different, it was said, from the crude George of Hanover.
There must be a ball and a banquet to celebrate the return of the King.
There was little money but that must be found somehow; all those who possessed jewels must give them to make a crown for the King and provide the money for the necessary celebrations.
And so while Mar and James celebrated his arrival in Scotland, while they busied themselves with plans for the coronation at Scone, Argyll was marching north with the Dutch troops who had now arrived in England.
When James heard the news he shook his head sadly.
"We are lost," he said. "What hope against Argyll?"
"Argyll is a Scot, Your Majesty," pointed out Mar. "I have heard it said that he is delaying his advance in your cause, not that of the German."
"Nay," murmured James, "too many come against us. I shall at least not be surprised if I am unfortunate, for so have I been from the day of my birth. It was doubted then that I was the King's son; and shortly after my birth my father was driven from his throne. What luck can I expect now?"
"All fortunes have to change, Your Majesty."
"Not mine," he mourned. "Not mine."
The Highlanders were restive. They demanded of each other why they had been brought south. Why should there be this dismay because the enemy were approaching when they had gathered together to meet the enemy. And what of King James? Why did he not show himself? Why did he never mingle with his soldiers? And why when he was seen did he have the look of a man whose cause is hopeless?
There was only one answer to those questions: these things were so because the cause was hopeless.
James and his Council decided they must retreat in the face of the advancing army; and while this marched north, Mar and James made their arrangements for James to return to France.
So the great rebellion known as the 1715 was quashed almost before it started.
What could the Highlanders do when they heard that their leader had left? There was no point in fighting without a cause.
They returned to the Highlands, there to hide until the '15 was forgotten.
Good luck, not skill, had given the victory to George I.
In London the streets returned to normal; the Jacobites drank their toasts in secret; the camp disappeared from Hyde Park; and the soldiers returned from the north.
Ermengarda settled down happily to discover more opportunities for amassing a fortune; George grunted and was not sure whether he was pleased or sorry. He still thought with deep nostalgia of Hanover. The Prince and Princess of Wales took their walks in the Mall with their band of attendants and friends, talking their German-French-English which never failed to amuse, telling everyone how much they admired England and the English.
They were secure. James would make no more attempts. They felt safer than even before. The attempt had been made and failed; it was as though the people had given their verdict.
But the scribblers were still busy and the rhyme which won the most acclaim at that time and which was repeated in every coffee house, tavern, or wherever men and women congregated, was John Byrom's:
"God bless the King, God bless our Faith's Defender! God bless — no harm in blessing — the Pretender! But who Pretender is and who is King? God bless us all! That's quite another thing,"
The King's Departure
Mary Bellenden was leaning out of the window trying to see the last of a handsome man who had crossed the courtyard and was about to disappear through a door which led to the Prince's apartments.
As he waved and was gone, she sighed and turning sharply was aware of two of the maids of honour who had been watching her.
There could not have been two girls less alike than Margaret Meadows and Sophie Howe. Margaret had now folded her arms and was looking extremely disapproving while Sophie was giggling sympathetically.
"Such unbecoming conduct! " muttered Margaret.
"I see nothing unbecoming," retorted Mary.
"Of course you do not. You are accustomed to such manners that you believe them to be acceptable. It's more than I do."
"Really Margaret," protested Sophie. "Tell me what harm can they do by waving to each other from a window?"
"They've made an assignation no doubt."
"There's nothing wrong in making an assignation," pointed out Sophie. "Of course it depends on what happens when they keep it." She began to laugh so hilariously that, thought Margaret, she could only be remembering her own indiscretions.
"Be silent both of you," commanded Mary, "I won't have you say such things about John."
"So it's John?" cried Sophie.
"Yes, it's John and he is an honourable gentleman and I don't want either of you to start a gossip about him. Do you understand?"
"Oh, we understand, we understand?" cried Sophie. "We understand our Mary is at last in love."
"Don't shout so," reprimanded Margaret. "I never saw such behaviour. And you, Sophie Howe, are the worst of the lot. As for you, Mary Bellenden, you should be careful. These men will talk of love until they get what they want and then ..."
"'Tis true, Mary," agreed Sophie. "Oh, how they talk of love! And afterwards they laugh and tell their friends all about the submissive lady while they advise them to try their luck."
"You don't understand ... either of you. You're too much of a prude, Margaret, and Sophie's too much of a flirt."
"And our dear Mary is ... just as she should be?" laughed Sophie.
"I'm ... serious."
"But is he?" laughed Sophie. "I could tell you a few things. In fact if you want to know anything about the most fascinating subject in the world come to Sophie."
"And what would that be?" demanded Margaret.
"Men!" laughed Sophie.
"If you know anything about them, Sophie Howe, it's all you do know," retorted Margaret.
"There's no need to know anything else, I do assure you, Margaret."
Mary listened to them dreamily. Colonel John Campbell was the handsomest man in the Prince's bedchamber; one day they would marry but for the present they must be content to wait for each other. Poor John had little money; and she, as one of the greatest beauties of the court, was expected to make a brilliant match. In fact everyone knew that the Prince had his eye on her. Not, thought Mary scornfully, that that will do him much good. She was not going to take the easy road to honours by becoming a Prince's—and later perhaps a King's—mistress.
In fact, thought Mary, she would be a fool to take any notice of the Prince's insinuations. He was not really very interested in any woman as a woman; his great desire was to prove his manhood and this he thought he could best do by implying that he was the insatiable lover.
How trivial, how foolish these vanities seemed when compared with the love she and John Campbell had for each other.
One day, John, she was thinking, we'll be married. Perhaps secretly at first ... but shall we care about that? John had told her about the great love of his hero the Duke of Marlborough for his Duchess; they had been married secretly in the days before he had become famous; and whatever might be said of the great Duke or his termagant of a Duchess, none doubted their affection for each other. Their love had endured through all their fame and their misfortunes.