might still carry the day.  He had seen the fat militiaman of Naarden and other captains, and, hoped much mischief from their schemes.  “The chief mutineers of Gertruydenberg,” he said, “maybe wrought to send unto ’the States, that if they do not procure them some English governor, they will compound with the enemy, whereon the States shall be driven to request her Majesty to accept the place, themselves entertaining the garrison.  I know certain captains discontented with the States for arrears of pay, who will contrive to get into Naarden with their companies, with the States consent, who, once entered, will keep the place for their satisfaction, pay their soldiers out of the contributions of the country; and yet secretly hold the place at her Majesty’s command.”

This is not an agreeable picture; yet it is but one out of many examples of the intrigues by which Leicester and his party were doing their best to destroy the commonwealth of the Netherlands at a moment when its existence was most important to that of England.

To foment mutiny in order to subvert the authority of Maurice, was not a friendly or honourable course of action either towards Holland or England; and it was to play into the hands of Philip as adroitly as his own stipendiaries could have done.

With mischief-makers like Champernoun in every city, and with such diplomatists at Ostend as Croft and Ropers and Valentine Dale, was it wonderful that the King and the Duke of Parma found time to mature their plans for the destruction of both countries?

Lord Willoughby, too, was extremely dissatisfied with his own position.  He received no commission from the Queen for several months.  When it at last reached him, it seemed inadequate, and he became more sullen than ever.  He declared that he would rather serve the Queen as a private soldier, at his own expense—­“lean as his purse was”—­than accept the limited authority conferred on him.  He preferred to show his devotion “in a beggarly state, than in a formal show.”  He considered it beneath her Majesty’s dignity that he should act in the field under the States, but his instructions forbade his acceptance of any office from that body but that of general in their service.  He was very discontented, and more anxious than ever to be rid of his functions.  Without being extremely ambitious, he was impatient of control.  He desired not “a larger-shaped coat,” but one that fitted him better.  “I wish to shape my garment homely, after my cloth,” he said, “that the better of my parish may not be misled by my sumptuousness.  I would live quietly, without great noise, my poor roof low and near the ground, not subject to be overblown with unlooked-for storms, while the sun seems most shining.”