implacable monarch, and unable to get Pole, who had taken refuge in Italy, into his power, he deprived him of his benefice and possessions, declared him guilty of high treason, laid a price on his head, and sought to procure his assassination. At last, unable to accomplish his fell purpose, Henry wreaked his vengeance on the Cardinal’s mother, the venerable Countess of Salisbury—the last of the whole blood of the royal line of Plantagenet—on his brother Henry Pole, Lord Montague, Sir Edward Nevil, Sir Nicholas Carew, and other of his friends, all of whom were attainted of high treason, and brought to the block. The slaughter of the aged and unoffending Countess, who was only put to death because she was Pole’s mother, is perhaps the deepest stain on Henry’s character. These wholesale murders deeply afflicted Pole, and cast a gloom over the rest of his days; but he did not cry out for vengeance upon the perpetrator of the foul crimes, knowing that Heaven would requite him in due season. That the snares spread by the tyrant had failed to catch him—that the daggers aimed at his breast had been turned aside—convinced him he had work to do for which he was miraculously preserved. So he resigned himself to the heavy calamity that had befallen him, but though there was no show of grief on his countenance, the deep-seated wound in his heart never healed. Raised to the Purple by Paul III., on the death of that Pontiff, in 1549 (five years before the date of our history), the eminent and virtuous Cardinal appeared the most fitting person in the conclave to assume the tiara, and, in spite of the intrigues against him, he was elected to the Pontifical throne; but when the news was brought him at a late hour, he modestly bade the messengers wait till the morrow, and his answer being construed into a refusal, another election took place, when the choice fell upon Cardinal del Monte, who took the title of Julius III. This occurrence caused a little disappointment to Pole. He retired to the Benedictine convent of Maguzano, on the margin of the Lago di Garda, where he was visited by Commendone, a secret envoy from the Pope to England, and made acquainted by this discreet messenger with the Queen’s gracious intentions towards him. But with characteristic humility he declined them, alleging that, apart from any other considerations, his age and infirmities forbade him to think of marriage. Her majesty, however, he added, might count upon his zealous assistance in the great work she had before her, and the rest of his life should be devoted to her service.