such a thorny
seat as the throne of England. Neither he nor Lady Anne Stanley set up
the faintest claim to the succession; though Seymour, at least, might
have done so with a decided show of justice, as the law of succession
then stood. By the two royal wills, King James of Scotland, and his
cousin, Lady Arbella Stuart, were entirely dispossessed; their claim had
to be made under the law as it had stood unaltered by the will of Henry
the Eighth.

But there was one prior question, which, had it been settled in the
affirmative, would have finally disposed of all these four claims at
once. If the contract between Edward the Fourth and Elizabeth Lucy were
to be regarded as a legal marriage, then there could be no doubt who was
the true heir. Better than any claim of Stuart or Tudor, of Seymour or
Stanley, was then that of the Devonshire knight, Sir Robert Basset. For
fifteen hundred years, a contract had been held as legal marriage. The
vast estates of the Plantagenets of Kent had passed to the Holands on
the validity of a contract no better, and perhaps worse, than that of
Elizabeth Lucy. [Note 2.] Why was this contract to be set aside?

Had England at large been less apathetic, or had the little knot of
agitators been less politic, a civil war might have been reasonably
anticipated. But the intriguers were determined that James of Scotland
should succeed; and James himself, aware of the flaw in his title, was
busily working with them to the same end. Cecil, Lady Rich, Lady
Scrope, and Carey, were all pledged to let him know the exact moment of
the Queen's, decease, that he might set out for England at once.

All was gloom and suspense in the chamber of Richmond Palace, where the
great Queen of England lay dying. Her ladies and courtiers urged her to
take more nourishment,--she refused. They urged her to go to bed,--she
refused. She would be a queen to her last breath. No failure of bodily
strength could chill or tame the lion heart of Elizabeth.

At last, very delicately, Cecil attempted to sound the dying Queen on
that subject of the succession, always hitherto forbidden. Her throat
was painful, and she spoke with difficulty: Cecil, as spokesman for her
Council, asked her to declare "whom she would have for King," offering
to name sundry persons, and requesting that. Her Majesty would hold up
her finger when he came to the name which satisfied her. To test the
vigour of her mind, he first named the Kin