When Ralegh returned, he was sent to the Tower, avowedly because he had disobeyed orders in setting sail at all, really because the Queen looked upon his marriage as a kind of personal treason. She detested marriage, thinking it did not improve the efficiency of a man. And Ralegh, without any treachery to his wife, whom he continued to love until the end of his life, was thrown into misery by the Queen's anger. There are men whose nature will not admit of more than one call upon their affection, and that of a limited kind. You will find that they are apt to preen themselves upon their loyalty, wisely enough. Ralegh was not made on those lines. His feeling for the Queen was a real and vital feeling, and was not swayed by every circumstance of his life. She was a woman whom he had loved, and a great woman for all her caprices: she was his Queen and an illustrious Queen: she was Queen of England, which under her rule had crushed Spain's power. It would have been strange if her fierce resentment of his action had not affected him. As it was he wrote from the Tower--men, English men, were not then ashamed of their feelings: they liked to try and express them-- "My heart was never broken till this day, that I hear the Queen goes away so far off--whom I have followed so many years with so great love and desire, in so many journeys and am now left behind her, in a dark prison all alone. While she was yet nire at hand, that I might hear of her once in two or three dayes, my sorrows were the less: but even now my heart is cast into the depth of all misery. I that was wont to behold her riding like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like Venus, the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about her pure cheeks, like a nymph: sometime siting in the shade like a Goddess; sometime singing like an angell; sometime playing like Orpheus. Behold the sorrow of this world! Once amiss, hath bereaved me of all. O Glory that only shineth in misfortune, what is becum of thy assurance? Al wounds have skares, but that of fantasie, all affections their relenting, but that of womankind. Who is the judge of friendship but adversity? or when is grace witnessed but in offences? There were no divinety, but by reason of compassion; for revenges are brutish and mortall. All those times past,--the loves, the sythes, the sorrows, the desires, can they not way down one frail misfortune? Cannot one dropp of gall be hidden in so great heapes of sweetness? I may then conclude _Spes et fortuna valete_. She is gone in whom I trusted, and of me hath not one thought of mercy, nor any respect of that that was. Do with me now, therefore, what you list. I am more weary of life than they are desirous I should perish; which if it had been for her, as it is by her, I had been too happily born.