"The time is not yet," Bolingbroke urged him. "A rebellion now would have little hope of success."

But James, at heart feeling certain of failure, yet wanted to make the attempt. Ever since the accession to the throne of England of the Hanoverian branch of the family, messengers had been going back and forth to Scotland. The Earl of Mar assured him that the whole of the Highlands were with him; there were riots in England—and in London the Jacobites were secretly drinking his health and awaiting the signal to rise against George and acclaim James III King.

Bolingbroke continued to advise. He had recently left England; he knew the temper of the people; they were Protestant at heart; a few riots in riverside taverns did not alter that. They liked the thrill of secretly plotting against the reigning monarch but did they want a civil war? Did they want to plunge themselves into bloodshed for the sake of replacing a German by a Frenchman—for his upbringing in France had made James that in their eyes? In the place of the Maypole and the Elephant there would be James's mistresses—French, elegant and beautiful. More pleasant to look at certainly than those German ladies, but were the English prepared to go to war for that?

James turned from Bolingbroke; he was not the man to listen to advice he did not want to take.

When Louis XIV had died they had lost their best friend, Bolingbroke pointed out.

James retorted that the French would always support him against the German, for one thing he was a Catholic and the German a Protestant. But Bolingbroke, who was unsure of the Due d'Orleans, was acting as Regent for the little Louis XV, and continued in his behef that this was not the moment to make the attempt.

Meanwhile John Erskine, Earl of Mar, a man who at the accession of George had been prepared to throw in his fortunes with that King but had not been favourably received by him, was eager to set up the standard for James in Scotland and rally the clans to his help.

Even in this fate was against the Stuart, for when Mar, with a small company of sixty men, set up the flag pole an ornament fell from the top, and the suspicious Highlanders, looking at each other gravely, declared it was an ill omen. The Stuarts were notoriously unfortunate. This poor James's father had lost a crown; even his brother, the gay and charming Charles, had had to wander in penury on the Continent of Europe for years before he attained his; and one only had to mention the name of their ill-fated father to recall how he had lost his head.

No, the Stuarts' luck had not changed; and the incident with the flagstaff was certainly an omen.

Those who had watched the moving ceremony, even as they saluted the flag when it fluttered nobly in the breeze, crossed their fingers, and wives implored their husbands to wait a wee while and not become too embroiled in the Stuart cause until the German was sent back to where he belonged.

Even so Mar marched South, and nobles and their followers joined them; and the band of sixty who had watched the planting of the flagstaff had grown to five thousand when they came marching into Perth.

Now there was alarm at the Court. Mar and his followers were preparing to march south. In London some bold men and women were actually wearing the white cockade.

Ermengarda was in despair.

"You must leave at once," she told the King. "It is unsafe for you to stay here."

But George only told her to be quiet.

"These people chop off the heads of Kings they do not want."

"Only when they can't get rid of them in any other way. They know they only have to tell me I'm to go back to Hanover and I'll go."

"Let us not wait to be sent."

"You know nothing of these matters."

"I know I fear for your safety."

George regarded her with mild affection. Dear Ermengarda! They had been together for so many years and while she loved adding to her fortunes, at the same time she had a genuine affection for him. It must be so for she could gain more by staying in England than leaving it—and she was ready to leave this country and all those new treasures which she had accumulated, for the sake of his safety.

He would never discard her; in fact he did not see her as she was now—raddled and rouged, scraggy as an old hen, her enormous red wig with its luxuriant curls slightly askew on a head that was almost bald. He saw her as the beautiful young woman she had been when he had turned to her and found her character such that he wanted in a woman.

He allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness.

"We'll see it through," he said. "The worst that can happen will be that we're sent back to Hanover, and that does not seem such a bad idea to me."

Ermengarda replied that anything that put him in danger was the worst possible idea to her; but he knew best, she was well aware; and she was comforted.

And when she rode out and was recognized and jeered at, when she saw men and women wearing the white cockade, she said: "The King knows what is best. He will stay if he wants and go back if he wants."

But she hoped she would stay. She could not be homesick for Hanover when England offered unlimited opportunities for increasing her fortune—for although the King had first place in her heart, money ran him very close.

The Duke of Marlborough was with the King and George eyed the great soldier suspiciously. Here was a man who could have been a great bulwark ... if he could have been trusted. He was no longer in his prime and the years of exile from the Court of Queen Anne had taken more toll of him than all the exigencies of war.

But now he was offering his help and George, himself a soldier, could judge that it was good.

The situation was grave. Already five thousand men were in arms against them. Let them cross the Border, let them set up their standard in England and the Crown would be in very grave danger indeed. This must not become a civil war; it was to be nothing more than a rebellious rising; but it must not be forgotten how easily the first could become the second.

"And what will you do?" asked George,

" Muster all the men we can and send them north. We have eight thousand men only; if we send all these north and are troubled with risings in the south, we shall be defeated. We must immediately raise new regiments; we must send for Dutch troops; and we must set up a camp in the Park, complete with cannon to show the people of London what they can expect if these riots become really menacing. The Prince can be useful. He and the Princess have some popularity with the people which ... er..."

The King looked at the Duke and scowled. "Which I have not?" he said gruffly.

"Your Majesty's lack of English is a great barrier, naturally."

"The Prince's is far from good, I gather."

"It exists. Your Majesty, and the accent is quaint. This amuses and you know how your subjects enjoy being amused."

"They'll never find me amusing them by aping their gibberish."

"No, Your Majesty, but the fact that the Prince has done so gives him a certain popularity. He will be with the troops in the Park; he will review them with Your Majesty and the Princess. And I think I should be with you. We will show that in adversity the royal family can stand together and that any little differences of opinion which may have existed are forgotten in the present danger."

The King grunted. He could see the wisdom of Marlborough's suggestion and being a soldier himself he knew that, however devious the Duke was, however unreliable, he must admire him as the greatest soldier living—perhaps the greatest who had ever lived.

Marlborough was in command of the situation. The camp was set up in the Park; the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended and the Riot Act was read on the smallest provocation.

The people began to realize that although there might be excitement in the streets there was also danger.

The Prince reviewed the troops in the Park. That he enjoyed very much. Beaming with pleasure he would strut among the soldiers, complimenting them always on their good appearance, their obvious bravery and above all for being English.

The King was often with him and always managed to curb any outward sign of his dislike; and when Dutch troops arrived in England, when certain Jacobites were arrested and sent to the Tower, when the Duke of Argyll, Commander of the King's Forces, marched to the Border, tension relaxed. It seemed that Hanoverian George was more firmly on the throne than many had believed possible.

James arrived at Peterhead on a bleak December day which matched his mood.

He could not forget Bolingbroke's warnings and he was wishing that Bolingbroke had never come to France. For so often he had planned this invasion; he had talked of nothing else during the last years of Anne's reign; but in his heart there was a fatalism which made him believe that the throne of England would never be his. He had inherited many of his father's characteristics and had no power to win men to his side. Handsome as he was, possessed of the notorious Stuart charm, he had only to spend a little time in any company for it to doubt his success. He was melancholy by nature; he believed in failure rather than success.

In the circumstances it seemed strange that he should have embarked for Scotland; but he knew that once the Queen was dead an occasion would arise which would force him to take this action. His friend Louis XIV who fervently hoped, for the sake of Catholicism, that he would become King of England, had expected him to make a bid for his throne; and he had always implied that when the opportunity arose he would do so. It had come; Mar had set up his standard in Scotland and loyal friends were waiting for him.

In his small craft with only eight guns and six friends, in the uniform of French naval officers, his spirits did lift a little when he saw the land. Scotland should be particularly dear to all Stuarts; it was natural that he should land here and find loyal friends. It was anathema to good Scotsmen to see a German rule them when they had a good Stuart King living.

At Peterhead he was welcomed by a very small company but the welcome was warm; and keeping his identity secret he crossed Aberdeenshire to be met by the Earl of Mar, who welcomed him in the name of Scotland and for his services was awarded a dukedom.

"Your Majesty," said Mar, "if it pleases you we shall crown you James VIII of Scotland and III of England at Scone in January."

"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?