The Queen’s accouchement being now daily expected, great preparations were made for the important event; religious processions thronged the streets, prayers were offered for her Majesty’s safe deliverance, and couriers kept in constant readiness to bear the gladsome tidings to foreign courts. While all were on the tenter-hooks of expectation, the Romanists were gratified, and the Protestants deeply chagrined, by the sudden and, as it turned out, unfounded intelligence that her Majesty had given birth to a son. The news spread with extraordinary rapidity, not only in London, but throughout the whole kingdom. Public rejoicings were made. Bonfires were lighted in the streets. _Te Deum_ was sung in the churches, and one preacher—the priest of St. Anne’s in Aldersgate—went so far as to describe the personal appearance of the new-born Prince, depicting him as a miracle of beauty and proportion. But next day all was changed. The Romanists were mortified by the authoritative contradiction of the report, whilst the Protestants exulted. Other rumours were then circulated, and it was said that the Queen had died in child-bed. But this statement was soon discovered to be false, and it eventually became known that the disease under which her Majesty was labouring, and which had deceived her physicians, was dropsy. For some days Mary continued in a very precarious state, and serious apprehensions of a fatal result were entertained; but these dangerous symptoms abated, and in less than a week she was pronounced out of danger. During her illness she had been sedulously attended by Constance Tyrrell, for whom she had sent when she supposed herself sinking, and it was to Constance’s unwearying attentions that she mainly attributed her recovery. Naturally, the Queen’s state of health had been a source of the deepest anxiety to Cardinal Pole, and the news of her amendment was a proportionate relief to him. Having received permission to wait upon her, he immediately repaired to Whitehall, and on arriving at the palace he was met by Doctor Ford, the Queen’s physician, who conducted him to her Majesty’s presence. Mary was in her cabinet, reclining in a large easy-chair, propped up by cushions, wrapped in a loose gown of purple velvet, lined with miniver, and with her feet supported by a tabouret. Her features were swollen, and her complexion turbid, and she had an air of extreme lassitude and debility. The only person by whom she was attended was Constance Tyrrell, who likewise looked extremely pale and ill. Having accompanied the Cardinal to the door of the cabinet, Doctor Ford retired.