“I have summoned you, Sir John,” Her Majesty said, “to ask a great favour of you.  I do not often stoop, as you know, to beg a favour of any man; nor should I now, did I not know that I have no more dutiful subject than yourself, and that to ask of you is to receive.  I am interested in two young people who have had the misfortune to marry against the wishes of the lady’s father, and who have thus forfeited his favour.  And I wish you to give me and the youthful couple pleasure by taking his place and standing sponsor to their first child.”

To such a request made by his Sovereign Sir John could but give a delighted consent.  He would do much more than this, he vowed, to give her a moment’s gratification; and he not only attended the baptismal ceremony, but on the suggestion of the Queen, who was also present, allowed the child to bear his own Christian name.  “More than this, your Majesty,” he declared, “as I have now no child of my own, I will gladly adopt this infant as my heir.”

“Your goodness of heart, Sir John,” Her Majesty answered, beaming with pleasure, “shall not go unrewarded; for the child you have now taken to your heart and made inheritor of your wealth is indeed of your own flesh and blood—­the first-born son of your daughter, and my friend, Elizabeth Compton.”

Such was the dramatic plight into which “Rich Spencer’s” loyalty and generosity had led him.  He had innocently pledged himself to adopt as his heir, the son of the daughter he had disowned for ever.  “And now, Sir John,” continued the Queen, “that you have conceded so much to make me happy, will you not go one step farther and take your wilful and penitent daughter to your heart again?” What could the poor merchant do in such a predicament, when his Sovereign stooped to beg as a favour what his lonely heart yearned to grant?  Before he was many minutes older he was clasping his child to his breast; and was even shaking hands with her graceless husband.

* * * * *

When, full of years, Sir John died in 1609, his obsequies were worthy of his wealth and fame.  He was followed to his grave in St Helen’s Church by a thousand mourners, clad in black gowns; and three hundred and twenty poor men, we are told, “had each a basket given them, containing a black gown, four pounds of beef, two loaves of bread, a little bottle of wine, a candlestick, a pound of candles, two saucers, two spoons, a black pudding, a pair of gloves, a dozen points, two red herrings, four white herrings, six sprats and two eggs”—­a quaint and lavish symbol of his charity when alive.

So enormous was the fortune he left, that it is said Lord Compton, on hearing its amount (L800,000) “became distracted, and so continued for a considerable length of time, either through the vehement apprehension of joy for such a plentiful succession, or of carefulness how to take up and dispense of it.”

That my Lady Compton, who a few years after her father’s death blossomed into a Countess, proved a devoted and dutiful wife to her lord there is no reason to doubt; but that she had an adequate idea of her own importance and a determination to have her share of her father’s money-bags is shown by the following letter, which is sufficiently remarkable to bear quotation in full.