THE seventh of January had passed, the Queen of England had been carried to her last resting-place at Peterborough Abbey, and that other Queen of England rejoiced at Greenwich. The knot in the affairs of state, which had set emperor and king and pope at variance, was severed. The unhappy woman, whose troubles had shaken a throne, would henceforth seek only the crown immortal. She was gone, and the winter sunlight shone brightly on the walls of Kimbolton, as if to exorcise the phantoms of that sorrow which had broken a royal heart. Within, there was desolation in those rooms where the queen had held her little levees, and which now seemed peopled with ghosts. The long story of her passionate struggle to maintain her own and her daughter’s claims seemed written upon the walls. Every footstep echoed sadly in the vacant galleries, every corner was full of shadows. Doors stood open, articles of wearing apparel, bits of unfinished embroidery lay on the floor, tapers that had burned low and sputtered in the sockets left a forlorn remnant of congealed wax upon the candlesticks; the great hearths were gray with ashes and the dead logs had fallen from the fire-dogs. The chill wind swept down the chimneys, roared and moaned at the casements, shrieking around the castle as if to tear its way within and sweep away the last vestige of the dead woman’s presence. She had died like a queen, calmly and with unfaltering courage; even in death her claim to royalty remained, and here it was recognized; no man at Kimbolton thought of her save as the queen. Her household was on the point of dissolution. The king’s messengers had come down from London,--the crown lawyer, Dr. Rich, some gentlemen of the Privy Council, Sir William Carew and Master Simon Raby,--and there followed much stir and excitement. Catherine’s effects were being examined, her maids separated, her servants discharged. The royal officers were busied with many matters and were peremptory and exacting; messengers ran to and fro, the courtyard was full of horses, the hall crowded with attendants. There was all the bustle attendant upon the final breaking up of such an establishment. On one side were the pale and sorrowful faces of the late queen’s personal followers, who sincerely mourned the loss of a good and charitable mistress; on the other were the hard, shrewd countenances of the king’s commissioners, intent only on fulfilling an unpleasant duty, and not a little relieved that the cause of so much dissension, and such a menace to the peace of the realm, was finally removed. It was a curious scene, and one to teach a lesson in the futility of all earthly ambitions, the fleeting pride of all worldly honors.