Having painted this dismal picture of the probable termination to his career—­not in the hope of melting Burghley but of touching the heart of Elizabeth—­he proceeded to argue the point in question with much logic and sagacity.  He had satisfied himself on his arrival in the Provinces, that, if he did not take the governor-generalship some other person would; and that it certainly was for the interest of her Majesty that her devoted servant, rather than an indifferent person, should be placed in that important position.  He maintained that the Queen had intimated, to him, in private, her willingness that he should accept the office in question provided the proposition should come from the States and not from her; he reasoned that the double nature of his functions—­being general and counsellor for her, as well as general and counsellor for the Provinces—­made his acceptance of the authority conferred on him almost indispensable; that for him to be merely commander over five thousand English troops, when an abler soldier than himself, Sir John Norris, was at their head, was hardly worthy her Majesty’s service or himself, and that in reality the Queen had lost nothing, by his appointment, but had gained much benefit and honour by thus having the whole command of the Provinces, of their forces by land and sea, of their towns and treasures, with knowledge of all their secrets of state.

Then, relapsing into a vein of tender but reproachful melancholy, he observed, that, if it had been any man but himself that had done as he had done, he would have been thanked, not censured.  “But such is now my wretched case,” he said, “as for my faithful, true, and loving heart to her Majesty and my country, I have utterly undone myself.  For favour, I have disgrace; for reward, utter spoil and ruin.  But if this taking upon me the name of governor is so evil taken as it hath deserved dishonour, discredit, disfavour, with all griefs that may be laid upon a man, I must receive it as deserved of God and not of my Queen, whom I have reverenced with all humility, and whom I have loved with all fidelity.”

This was the true way, no doubt, to reach the heart of Elizabeth, and Leicester had always plenty of such shafts in his quiver.  Unfortunately he had delayed too long, and even now he dared not take a direct aim.  He feared to write to the Queen herself, thinking that his so doing, “while she had such conceipts of him, would only trouble her,” and he therefore continued to employ the Lord-Treasurer and Mr. Secretary as his mediators.  Thus he committed error upon error.

Meantime, as if there had not been procrastination enough, Davison was loitering at the Brill, detained by wind and weather.  Two days after the letter, just cited, had been despatched to Walsingham, Leicester sent an impatient message to the envoy.  “I am heartily sorry, with all my heart,” he said, “to hear of your long stay at Brill, the wind serving so fair as it hath done these two days.  I would have laid any wager that you had been in England ere this.  I pray you make haste, lest our cause take too great a prejudice there ere you come, although I cannot fear it, because it is so good and honest.  I pray you imagine in what care I dwell till I shall hear from you, albeit some way very resolute.”