ess be
many masses for him here."

"_Il faut beaucoup prier_!" said Marguerite Rose, drily.

The end was at hand now. The eventful November of 1558 had set in.

Philippa told Isoult that the Queen suffered fearfully. She sat many
days on the floor of her chamber, her knees higher than her head. The
pain in her head was dreadful; and people began to say that she, who was
originally accounted merciful, had been merciful all through, for that
others had given orders for the burnings, and she, even in sceptring the
Acts, had scarcely known what she did. The last time that she went to
the House of Lords, she was too ill to walk, but was borne by her
gentlemen in waiting to the throne. James Basset told his sister, that
"he counted all burned or beheaded in the Queen's reign had not suffered
so much, body nor soul, as she."

James Basset, who had been ailing for some time, grew worse on the 16th,
when the Queen and the Cardinal were both so ill, that it was thought
doubtful which of them would die the sooner. All matters of state, and
many of business, were held as it were in the air, waiting the Queen's
death. Many of the Council had already set forth for Hatfield. "That
should not like me," said Isoult, "were I either the dying sister or the
living." And she who lay in that palace of White Hall must have known
(if she were not beyond knowing anything) that round her grave would be
no mourners--that she had done little to cause England to weep for her,
and much to cause rejoicing that she could harm England no more. Did
she know that men without were naming the day Hope Wednesday, because
every hour they expected news of her end?

"God save Queen Elizabeth! Long live the Queen! Yea, may the Queen
live for ever!"

These were the first sounds which Isoult heard when she was awoke from
sleep on the Friday morning. Indeed, there was far too much tumult for
sleep. Great crowds of men were pouring through Aldgate; and as she
looked from the window she saw men kissing, and embracing, and weeping,
and laughing, and shouting, all at once, and all together. And but one
was the burden of all--"The Queen is dead! The Lady Elizabeth is Queen!
God save Queen Elizabeth!"

"Hurrah!" said Mr Ferris, an hour later, flinging up his cap to the
ceiling as he came in. "Hurrah! now is come the Golden Age again! We
may breathe now. Long life to the Queen of the Gospellers!"

"I thought she were rather the Queen of the Lu