with your favours from all charge here, fearing still some new cross of your displeasure to fall upon me, trembling continually with the fear thereof, in such sort as till I may be fully confirmed in my new regeneration of your wonted favour I cannot receive that true comfort which doth appertain to so great a hope.  Yet I will not only acknowledge with all humbleness and dutiful thanks the exceeding joy these last blessed lines brought to my long-wearied heart, but will, with all true loyal affection, attend that further joy from your sweet self which may utterly, extinguish all consuming fear away.”

Poor Heneage—­who likewise received a kind word or two after having been so capriciously and petulantly dealt with was less extravagant in his expressions of gratitude.  “The Queen hath sent me a paper-plaister which must please for a time,” he said.  “God Almighty bless her Majesty ever, and best direct her.”  He was on the point of starting for England, the bearer of the States’ urgent entreaties that Leicester might retain the, government, and of despatches; announcing the recent success of the allies before Grave.  “God prospereth the action in these countries beyond all expectation,” he said, “which all amongst you will not be over glad of, for somewhat I know.”  The intrigues of Grafigni, Champagny, and Bodman, with Croft, Burghley, and the others were not so profound a secret as they could wish.

The tone adopted by Leicester has been made manifest in his letters to the Queen.  He had held the same language of weariness and dissatisfaction in his communications to his friends.  He would not keep the office, he avowed, if they should give him “all Holland and Zeeland, with all their appurtenances,” and he was ready to resign at any moment.  He was not “ceremonious for reputation,” he said, but he gave warning that the Netherlanders would grow desperate if they found her Majesty dealing weakly or carelessly with them.  As for himself he had already had enough of government.  “I am weary, Mr. Secretary,” he plaintively exclaimed, “indeed I am weary; but neither of pains nor travail.  My ill hap that I can please her Majesty no better hath quite discouraged me.”

He had recently, however—­as we have seen—­received some comfort, and he was still further encouraged, upon the eve of Heneage’s departure, by receiving another affectionate epistle from the Queen.  Amends seemed at last to be offered for her long and angry silence, and the Earl was deeply grateful.

“If it hath not been, my most dear and gracious Lady,” said he in reply, “no small comfort to your poor old servant to receive but one line of your blessed hand-writing in many months, for the relief of a most grieved, wounded heart, how far more exceeding joy must it be, in the midst of all sorrow, to receive from the same sacred hand so many comfortable lines as my good friend Mr. George hath at once brought me.  Pardon me, my sweet Lady, if they cause me to forget myself.  Only this I do say, with most humble dutiful thanks, that the scope of all my service hath ever been to content and please you; and if I may do that, then is all sacrifice, either of life or whatsoever, well offered for you.”