as the signal for a struggle to whose danger Charles was
far from blinding himself. What had saved him till now was his cynical
courage. In the midst of the terror and panic of the Plot men "wondered
to see him quite cheerful amidst such an intricacy of troubles," says
the courtly Reresby, "but it was not in his nature to think or perplex
himself much about anything." Even in the heat of the tumult which
followed on Shaftesbury's dismissal Charles was seen fishing and
sauntering as usual in Windsor Park. But closer observers than Reresby
saw beneath this veil of indolent unconcern a consciousness of new
danger. "From this time," says Burnet, "his temper was observed to
change very visibly." He became in fact "sullen and thoughtful; he saw
that he had to do with a strange sort of people, that could neither be
managed nor frightened." But he faced the danger with his old
unscrupulous coolness. He reopened secret negotiations with France.
Lewis was as alarmed as Charles himself at the warlike temper of the
nation, and as anxious to prevent the calling of a Parliament; but the
terms on which he offered a subsidy were too humiliating even for the
king's acceptance. The failure forced him to summon a new Parliament;
and the panic which Shaftesbury was busily feeding with new tales of
massacre and invasion returned members even more violent than the
members of the House he had just dismissed. The project of Monmouth's
succession was pressed with more daring than ever. Pamphlets appeared in
open support of his claim. The young Duke himself suddenly quitted
Holland and reappeared at Court; and though Charles forced him after a
time to leave London he refused to leave England altogether. Shaftesbury
counted on the new Parliament to back the Duke's claim, and a host of
petitions called on the king to suffer it to meet at the opening of
1680. Even the Council shrank from the king's proposal to prorogue its
assembly to the coming November. But Charles prorogued it in the teeth
of his counsellors. Alone as he stood he was firm in his resolve to gain
time, for time, as he saw, was working in his favour. The tide of public
sympathy was beginning to turn. The perjury of Oates was proving too
much at last for the credulity of juries; and the acquittal of four of
his victims showed that the panic was beginning to ebb. A far stronger
proof of this was seen in the immense efforts which Shaftesbury made to
maintain a belief in the plot. Fresh