where Henry the Eighth got his masterful temper. Yet it was an
ascetic and priest-like face which looked upwards from the tomb.

They passed the rifled tombs of Cromwell, Blake, and Ireton--the
despicable revenge of the men who did not dare to face them in the
field,--and they marked the grave of James the First, who erected no
monument to himself, and so justified in death the reputation for
philosophy which he had aimed at in his life. Then they inspected
the great tomb of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, as surprising and as
magnificent as his history, cast a glance at the covering of plucky
little George the Second, the last English king to lead his own army
into battle, and so onwards to see the corner of the Innocents, where
rest the slender bones of the poor children murdered in the Tower.

But now the guide had collected his little flock around him again,
with the air of one who has something which is not to be missed.
'You will stand upon the step to see the profile,' said he, as he
indicated a female figure upon a tomb. 'It is the great Queen
Elizabeth.'

It was a profile and a face worth seeing--the face of a queen who was
worthy of her Shakespeares upon the land and her Drakes upon the sea.
Had the Spanish king seen her, he would have understood that she was
not safe to attack--this grim old lady with the eagle nose and the
iron lips. You could understand her grip upon her cash-box, you
could explain her harshness to her lovers, you could realise the
confidence of her people, you could read it all in that wonderful
face.

'She's splendid,' said Frank.