For many weeks Elizabeth hesitated. She often sat buried in deep thought. "Shall I bear with her or smite her?" the ladies of the bedchamber heard her say to herself. At last she bade the secretary Davison bring her the warrant. "What have you in your hand?" she asked as he entered the room. "Sundry papers that await your Majesty's signature," answered Davison. Elizabeth took up her pen and signed the warrant. Then she pushed it away from her and it fell upon the floor. "Are you not heartily sorry to see this done?" she asked. "I should be far from rejoicing in any one's calamity," replied Davison, "but the life of the Queen of Scots is so great a threat to the life of your Majesty that not to sign the paper would be a wrong to your whole realm as much as to yourself." "I have done all that either law or reason could require of me," said the queen, "and now let me hear nothing further." Davison reported the scene to the council. "She means the deed to be done," said one, "but she has given no orders to carry out the warrant." "That is her way of dealing with her sea-captains," said another. "Does she not provide them with ships and guns and soldiers, and does she not most willingly take a share of Spanish gold? But if a commander gets into trouble with Spain, she will say, 'Did I not give orders to do no harm to my good friend Philip?'" "Then must all ten of us give the final order," said another. This was done. The warrant and the letter commanding the execution were sent. About a week after the signing of the warrant, bonfires blazed and bells rang. "The bells ring as merrily as if there were some good news," said the queen. "Why is it?" "It is because of the death of the Queen of Scots," was the answer. Elizabeth said not a word. A day or two later she was told that Mary had been executed at Fotheringay Castle. She turned pale, she burst into tears, she stormed at her councilors. "Never shall your crime be pardoned," she raged. "You well knew that I did not mean my kinswoman to be put to death. You have dared to usurp my authority, and you are worse traitors than my poor cousin. As for you, Burleigh, do you never dare show yourself in my presence again. I have made you and I can unmake you. That fellow Davison knew that I did not mean the warrant to be carried out. Take him to the Tower." "He is very ill, your Majesty," said one. "Then take his illness with him, for into the Tower he goes." "Your Majesty," pleaded the councilors, "if your secretary Davison is imprisoned, the lords of your council will be regarded as plotters and murderers." "What is that to me?" cried Elizabeth. "They who murder must expect to be called murderers."