of duty in not opposing the measure; but he manfully declared that he never deemed so meanly of her Majesty or of his Lordship as to suppose that she would send him, or that he would go to the Provinces, merely, “to take command of the relics of Mr. Norris’s worn and decayed troops.”  Such a change, protested Davison, was utterly unworthy a person of the Earl’s quality, and utterly unsuited to the necessity of the time and state.

But Davison went farther in defence of Leicester.  He had been present at many of the conferences with the Netherland envoys during the preceding summer in England, and he now told the Queen stoutly to her face that she herself, or at any rate one of her chief counsellors, in her hearing and his, had expressed her royal determination not to prevent the acceptance of whatever authority the states might choose to confer, by any one whom she might choose to send.  She had declined to accept it in person, but she had been willing that it should be wielded by her deputy; and this remembrance of his had been confirmed by that of one of the commissioners since their return.  She had never—­Davison maintained—­sent him one single line having any bearing on the subject.  Under such circumstances, “I might have been accused of madness,”, said he, “to have dissuaded an action in my poor opinion so necessary and expedient for your Majesty’s honour, surety, and greatness.”  If it were to do over again, he avowed, and “were his opinion demanded, he could give no other advice than that which he had given, having received no contrary, commandment from her Highness.”

And so ended the first evening’s long and vehement debate, and Davison departed, “leaving her,” as he said, “much qualified, though in many points unsatisfied.”  She had however, absolutely refused to receive a letter from Leicester, with which he had been charged, but which, in her opinion, had better have been written two months before.

The next day, it seemed, after all, that Heneage was to be despatched, “in great heat,” upon his mission.  Davison accordingly requested an immediate audience.  So soon as admitted to the presence he burst into tears, and implored the Queen to pause before she should inflict the contemplated disgrace on one whom she had hitherto so highly esteemed, and, by so doing, dishonour herself and imperil both countries.  But the Queen was more furious than ever that morning, returning at every pause in the envoy’s discourse to harp upon the one string—­“How dared he come to such a decision without at least imparting it to me?”—­and so on, as so many times before.  And again Davison, with all the eloquence and with every soothing art he had at command; essayed to pour oil upon the waves.  Nor was he entirely unsuccessful; for presently the Queen became so calm again that he ventured once more to present the rejected letter of the Earl.  She broke the seal, and at sight of the well-known handwriting she became still more gentle; and so soon as she had read the first of her favourite’s honied phrases she thrust the precious document into her pocket, in order to read it afterwards, as Davison observed, at her leisure.