afford.  At that moment it was not ignorance nor dulness which was leading England towards the pitfall so artfully dug by Spain.  There was trust in the plighted word of a chivalrous soldier like Alexander Farnese, of a most religious and anointed monarch like Philip II.  English frankness, playing cards upon the table, was no match for Italian and Spanish legerdemain, a system according to which, to defraud the antagonist by every kind of falsehood and trickery was the legitimate end of diplomacy and statesmanship.  It was well known that there were great preparations in Spain, Portugal, and the obedient Netherlands, by land and sea.  But Sir Robert Sidney was persuaded that the expedition was intended for Africa; even the Pope was completely mystified—­to the intense delight of Philip—­and Burghley, enlightened by the sagacious De Loo, was convinced, that even in case of a rupture, the whole strength of the Spanish arms was to be exerted in reducing Friesland and Overyssel.  But Walsingham was never deceived; for he had learned from Demosthenes a lesson with which William the Silent, in his famous Apology, had made the world familiar, that the only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror was distrust.

Alexander, much grieved that doubts should still be felt as to his sincerity, renewed the most exuberant expressions of that sentiment, together with gentle complaints against the dilatoriness which had proceeded from the doubt.  Her Majesty had long been aware, he said, of his anxiety to bring about a perfect reconciliation; but he had waited, month after month, for her commissioners, and had waited in vain.  His hopes had been dashed to the ground.  The affair had been indefinitely spun out, and he could not resist the conviction that her Majesty had changed her mind.  Nevertheless, as Andrew de Loo was again proceeding to England, the Duke seized the opportunity once more to kiss her hand, and—­although he had well nigh resolved to think no more on the subject—­to renew his declarations, that, if the much-coveted peace were not concluded, the blame could not be imputed to him, and that he should stand guiltless before God and the world.  He had done, and was still ready to do, all which became a Christian and a man desirous of the public welfare and tranquillity.

When Burghley read these fine phrases, he was much impressed; and they were pronounced at the English court to be “very princely and Christianly.”  An elaborate comment too was drawn up by the comptroller on every line of the letter.  “These be very good words,” said the comptroller.

But the Queen was even more pleased with the last proof of the Duke’s sincerity, than even Burghley and Croft had been.  Disregarding all the warnings of Walsingham, she renewed her expressions of boundless confidence in the wily Italian.  “We do assure you,” wrote the Lords, “and so you shall do well to avow it to the Duke upon our honours, that her Majesty saith she thinketh both their minds to accord upon one good and Christian meaning, though their ministers may perchance sound upon a discord.”  And she repeated her resolution to send over her commissioners, so soon as the Duke had satisfied her as to the hostile preparations.