forlorn--came in the morning to wait upon Elizabeth's envoy, and to
present him, according to ancient custom, with some flasks of wine. They
came with tears streaming down their cheeks, earnestly expressing the
desire of their hearts for peace, and their joy that at least it had now
"begun to be thought on."

"It is quite true," replied Dr. Dale, "that her excellent Majesty the
Queen--filled with compassion for your condition, and having been
informed that the Duke of Parma is desirous of peace--has vouchsafed to
make this overture. If it take not the desired effect, let not the blame
rest upon her, but upon her adversaries." To these words the magistrates
all said Amen, and invoked blessings on her Majesty. And most certainly,
Elizabeth was sincerely desirous of peace; even at greater sacrifices
than the Duke could well have imagined; but there was something almost
diabolic in the cold dissimulation by which her honest compassion was
mocked, and the tears of a whole people in its agony made the
laughingstock of a despot and his tools.

On Saturday morning, Richardot and Garnier waited upon the envoy to
escort him to the presence of the Duke. Cecil, who accompanied him, was
not much impressed with the grandeur of Alexander's lodgings; and made
unfavourable and rather unreasonable comparisons between them and the
splendour of Elizabeth's court. They passed through an ante-chamber into
a dining-room, thence into an inner chamber, and next into the Duke's
room. In the ante-chamber stood Sir William Stanley, the Deventer
traitor, conversing with one Mockett, an Englishman, long resident in
Flanders. Stanley was meanly dressed, in the Spanish fashion, and as
young Cecil, passing through the chamber, looked him in the face, he
abruptly turned from him, and pulled his hat over his eyes. "'Twas well
he did so," said that young gentleman, "for his taking it off would