eems to have kept to
himself the knowledge of the existence of this letter for the present,
as Sir George Harvey, with less excuse, concealed the fact of Cobham's
prayer to himself.

[Sidenote: _Sir George Harvey's Disclosure._]

The correspondence was arranged partly through Edward Cottrell, a Tower
servant who waited upon Ralegh. Partly it was through the Lieutenant's
son, George, whom Ralegh had won over, as he had won over Sir John
Peyton's son, John. It was on account of the discovery by the Council,
through Ralegh's production at the trial of Cobham's letter to him, of
George Harvey's mediation, and of the youth's imprisonment for it, that
on December 17, several weeks after the end of the trial, at which it
might have benefited Ralegh, the Lieutenant gave Cecil the letter of
October 24. In the confidence that the infraction of discipline by his
son, as well as by his two prisoners, would be extenuated by his own
confession of an excess of official zeal, he acknowledged his
suppression of the October letter. Incidentally he testified to the
sincerity of Cobham's remorse. Cobham's 'great desire to justify Sir
Walter,' he admitted to Cecil, 'having been by me then stopped, he
diverted it, as I conceive, and it is very likely, unto Sir Walter
himself.' In this penitent mood Cobham had confessed his misdeeds to
others besides. He is reported to have told the vicar of Cobham parish
that Ralegh 'had done him no hurt, but he had done Ralegh a great deal.'
At last Ralegh might think that Cobham had ceased to be his accuser.
Prepared as he was for his companion's 'fashion of uttering things
easily,' he could scarcely have anticipated the layers of retractation
still latent in that voluminous repository.

[Sidenote: _Animosity of the Howards._]

His trust in the return of Cobham's veracity would not blind him to the
peril he continued to incur from the 'cruelty' of the law of treason;
from its willingness, in jealousy for the sovereign's safety, to have an
innocent scapegoat rather than no example. He knew that the people took
his guilt for granted, and that a jury would reflect popular opinion. He
could look for no real help in any quarter. To honest, but
unimaginative, politicians, he was an enigma and a trouble with his
ideas. They simply wished him out of the way. He was sure of the hatred
of the new men, 'very honourable men,' like the Tissaphernes of his
History, 'if honour may be valued by greatness and place in