back to the time of his desperate courtship of Miss Stewart, was
at last made up; and once again we see her ladyship triumphant,
and firmly established in the amorous King's affections. She had
cause to be grateful to the Chancellor for this. But her
vindictive nature remembered only the earlier injury still
unavenged. Here at last was her chance to pay off that score.
Clarendon, beset by enemies on every hand, yet trusting in the
King whom he had served so well, stood his ground unintimidated
and unmoved--an oak that had weathered mightier storms than this.
He did not dream that he was in the power of an evil woman. And
that woman used her power. When all else failed, she told the
King of Clarendon's part in the flight of Miss Stewart, and lest
the King should be disposed to pardon the Chancellor out of
consideration for his motives, represented him as a self-seeker,
and charged him with having acted thus so as to make sure of
keeping his daughter's children by the Duke of York in the
succession.

That was the end. Charles withdrew his protection, threw
Clarendon to the wolves. He sent the Duke of Albemarle to him
with a command that he should surrender his seals of office. The
proud old man refused to yield his seals to any but the King
himself. He may have hoped that the memory of all that lay
between them would rise up once more when they were face to face.
So he came in person to Whitehall to make surrender. He walked
deliberately, firmly, and with head erect, through the hostile
throng of courtiers--"especially the buffoones and ladys of
pleasure," as Evelyn says.

Of his departure thence, his disgrace now consummated, Pepys has