. Here, in days gone by, when Robert
Dudley, Earl of Leicester, first drew the eyes of his Queen upon him,
Elizabeth came to listen to his vows of allegiance, which swam in floods
of passionate devotion to her person. Christopher Hatton, Sir Henry Lee,
the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Sussex, a race of gallants, had knelt
upon this pleasant sward. Here they had declared a devotion that,
historically platonic, had a personal passion which, if rewarded by no
personal requital, must have been an expensive outlay of patience and
emotion.

But those days had gone. Robert Dudley had advanced far past his
fellows, had locked himself into the chamber of the Queen's confidence,
had for long proved himself necessary to her, had mingled deference and
admiration with an air of monopoly, and had then advanced to an air of
possession, of suggested control. Then had begun his decline. England
and England's Queen could have but one ruler, and upon an occasion in
the past Elizabeth made it clear by the words she used: "God's death, my
Lord, I have wished you well; but my favour is not so locked up for you
that others shall not partake thereof; and, if you think to rule here,
I will take a course to see you forthcoming. I will have here but one
mistress and no master."

In these words she but declared what was the practice of her life, the
persistent passion of her rule. The world could have but one sun, and
every man or woman who sought its warmth must be a sun-worshipper. There
could be no divided faith, no luminaries in the sky save those which
lived by borrowed radiance.

Here in this bright theatre of green and roses poets had sung the
praises of this Queen to her unblushing and approving face; here ladies
thrice as beautiful as she had begged her to tell them the secret of
her beauty, so much greater than that of any living woman; and she was
pleased even when she knew they flattered but to gain her smile--it was
the tribute that power exacts. The place was a cenotaph of past romance
and pleasure. Every leaf of every tree and flower had impressions of
glories, of love, ambition and intrigue, of tears and laughter, of
joyousness and ruin. Never a spot in England where so much had been said
and done, so far reaching in effect and influence. But its glory was
departed, its day was done, it was a place of dreams and memories: the
Queen came here no more. Many years had withered since she had entered
this charmed spot; and that it re