stood as another of its chapters.

[Sidenote: _Robert Cecil's Death._]

Prince Henry's death was the most cruel blow inflicted on him since his
trial. The disappointment was the severer that it had been preceded six
months earlier by another death on which his friends, and perhaps
himself, founded expectations. On May 16, 1612, died Robert Cecil, Earl
of Salisbury, and Lord High Treasurer. He was hastening to Court, to
countermine his underminers, from Bath, where he had been taking the
waters. At the inn at Marlborough he found himself grievously ill. He
was removed, it has been variously stated, either to the parsonage, or
to the house of a Mr. Daniel, which had formerly been St. Margaret's
Priory. There he expired.

[Sidenote: _Dumb Enmity._]

A born statesman, Cecil had been condemned by a passion for affairs, and
incapacity for dispensing with office, to serve a great sovereign in
little ways, and to emphasize or dissemble a feeble sovereign's
feebleness. As a friend he could relieve adversity so far as not to
cancel it; but he could not pardon in a companion prosperity which
threatened rivalry, or risk his share of sunshine by screening a victim
of popular and regal odium. By no class was he profoundly lamented.
Veteran and well-endowed officials seldom are. Ralegh, it is to be
feared, was never among the mourners. He had received benefits from
Cecil, and acknowledged them thankfully. He could not forgive an
acquaintance, who must have known his innocence of treason, for letting
his life be blasted by the charge. He could not understand that the
statesman and potent courtier, whose fortunes at no time were visibly
clouded, should be unable, or honestly think himself unable, to lift a
persecuted comrade out of the mire. If Cecil did not come effectually to
the rescue, he believed, at any rate at last, that it was because he
would not. Cecil read his mind, had no faith in his gratitude, and
accounted the duties of a dead friendship discharged by attempts to
mitigate rather than to reverse his doom. Harassed by business and the
toil of keeping his slippery footing, he would feel chiefly a dull
irritation at the captive, whether guiltless or guilty, for the
obstinacy of his dispute with accomplished facts. He ought, the
Minister, like his avowed enemies, would think, to have acquiesced, and
been still. Thus the two went on, mutually scornful and mistrustful,
exchanging soft phrases which neither meant. The true co