ow her mind. This was a
plot of Winchester's, who, to convict her of treasonable practices,
caused several prisoners to be racked; particularly Mr. Edmund Tremaine
and Smithwicke were offered considerable bribes to accuse the guiltless
princess.

Her life was several times in danger. While at Woodstock, fire was
apparently put between the boards and ceiling under which she lay. It
was also reported strongly, that one Paul Penny, the keeper of
Woodstock, a notorious ruffian was appointed to assassinate her, but,
however this might be, God counteracted in this point the nefarious
designs of the enemies of the reformation. James Basset was another
appointed to perform the same deed: he was a peculiar favourite of
Gardiner, and had come within a mile of Woodstock, intending to speak
with Benefield on the subject. The goodness of God however so ordered
it, that while Basset was travelling to Woodstock, Benefield, by an
order of council, was going to London; in consequence of which, he left
a positive order with his brother, that no man should be admitted to the
princess during his absence, not even with a note from the queen; his
brother met the murderer, but the latter's intention was frustrated, as
no admission could be obtained.

When Elizabeth quitted Woodstock, she left the following lines written
with her diamond on the window:--

Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be. Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.

With the life of Winchester ceased the extreme danger of the princess,
as many of her other secret enemies soon after followed him, and, last
of all, her cruel sister, who outlived Gardiner but three years. The
death of Mary was ascribed to several causes. The council endeavoured to
console her in her last moments, imagining it was the absence of her
husband that lay heavy at her heart, but though his treatment had some
weight, the loss of Calais, the last fortress possessed by the English
in France, was the true source of her sorrow. "Open my heart," said
Mary, "when I am dead, and you shall find Calais written there."
Religion caused her no alarm; the priests had lulled to rest every
misgiving of conscience, which might have obtruded, on account of the
accusing spirits of the murdered martyrs. Not the blood she had spilled,
but the loss of a town, excited her emotions in dying, and this last
stroke seemed to be awarded, that her fanatical persecution might be
paralleled by her political imbecility.