For a long time the Queen hesitated to sign her old favourite’s death warrant; but finally wrote her name upon the fatal document, and by so doing probably shortened her own time on earth, for after Essex’s execution she fell into a state of morbid dejection which never lightened till the end. Her last days were lonely and full of terror, if not of despair. There are few accounts more tragic in history than the description given by those who saw the poor, painted old woman at this time—half delirious as the shades of death closed around her, thrusting a sword through the tapestry of her chamber, or lying on the ground propped up with cushions, refusing all nourishment, and having no one near her to whom she could turn for one loving look or tender word. There is no truth in the popular tale of the ring which Elizabeth is supposed to have given to Essex to be returned to her in any time of trouble, and detained until too late by Lady Nottingham. Thus in domestic trouble and bloodshed closed the great Queen’s reign. When Elizabeth mounted the throne England was wretchedly weak and distracted, and apparently almost in the grasp of the huge Spanish octopus, the baleful arms of which were closing in around her. When the great Queen died, England was self-reliant and powerful. Elizabeth had not only been regarded by her own people with pride and admiration, but all Europe proclaimed her greatness. Bacon truly said that little or nothing was wanting to fill up the full measure of Elizabeth’s felicity; she had triumphed over all her enemies; and her bitterest foe, Philip of Spain, had gone to his grave five years before her own death, beaten and discredited, and like his so-called Invincible Armada, a wreck and a derision. The only other European sovereign who in any way could be compared with Elizabeth, and who survived her, was Henry of Navarre; and he had called Elizabeth his “other self.” In the next generation Cromwell, a still greater man than Henry IV. of France, speaking of Elizabeth said, “Queen Elizabeth of famous memory; we need not be ashamed to call her so.” END OF VOL. I. THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH [Illustration: The Tower T. Way, Lith: London.]