eautiful and well-kept place. Among other repairs and buildings he had
re-roofed the great hall that stood just within Morton's gateway; he had
built a long pier into the Thames where the barge could be entered easily
even at low tide; he had rebuilt the famous summerhouse of Cranmer's in
the garden, besides doing many sanitary alterations and repairs; and the
house was well kept up in Grindal's time.

Anthony soon added a great affection and tenderness to the awe that he
felt for the Archbishop, who was almost from the first a pathetic and
touching figure. When Anthony first entered on his duties in November
'76, he found the Archbishop in his last days of freedom and good favour
with the Queen. Elizabeth, he soon learnt from the gossip of the
household, was as determined to put down the Puritan "prophesyings" as
the popish services; for both alike tended to injure the peace she was
resolved to maintain. Rumours were flying to and fro; the Archbishop was
continually going across the water to confer with his friends and the
Lords of the Council, and messengers came and went all day; and it was
soon evident that the Archbishop did not mean to yield. It was said that
his Grace had sent a letter to her Majesty bidding her not to meddle with
what did not concern her, telling her that she, too, would one day have
to render account before Christ's tribunal, and warning her of God's
anger if she persisted.

Her Majesty had sworn like a trooper, a royal page said one day as he
lounged over the fire in the guard-room, and had declared that if she was
like Ozeas and Ahab and the rest, as Grindal had said she was, she would
take care that he, at least, should be like Micaiah the son of Imlah,
before she had done with him. Then it began to leak out that Elizabeth
was sending her commands to the bishops direct instead of through their
Metropolitan; and, as the days went by, it became more and more evident
that disgrace was beginning to shadow Lambeth. The barges that drew up at
the watergate were fewer as summer went on, and the long tables in hall
were more and more deserted; even the Archbishop himself seemed silent
and cast down. Anthony used to watch him from his window going up and
down the little walled garden that looked upon the river, with his hands
clasped behind him and his black habit gathered up in them, and his chin
on his breast. He would be longer than ever too in chapel after the
morning prayer, and the company woul