“Most gracious thanks do I return to the king of Spain,” answered Elizabeth, “and fully do I hold in my remembrance the favors shown to me in the time of my captivity. For all his efforts that I might be the heir of her Majesty, my sister, I return due gratitude, though verily I have ever thought myself entitled to the crown by the will of my father, the decree of Parliament, and the affection of the people.”
Three or four days later Mary sent Elizabeth a casket containing jewels belonging to the crown, and with it another casket of jewels belonging to Philip which he had given orders to have presented to her. Elizabeth well knew that the end of her sister’s life could not be long delayed, and soon the word came that Mary was dead.
“It may be a plot,” thought the wary princess, “to induce me to claim the crown while the queen lives, and so give my enemies a hold upon me. Sir Nicholas,” she bade a faithful nobleman who she well knew had ever been true to her cause, “go you to the palace to one of the ladies of the bedchamber, the one in whom I do put most trust, and beg her that, if the queen is really dead, she will send me the ring of black enamel that her Majesty wore night and day, the one that King Philip gave her on their marriage.”
Sir Nicholas set out on the short journey. The rumor had, indeed, preceded the death of the queen, but she died just as he reached the palace. Before he returned, several of Queen Mary’s councilors made a hurried journey to Elizabeth’s house at Hatfield.
“Your Highness,” said they, “it is with the deepest sadness that we perform our duty to announce the death of her Majesty, Queen Mary. To your Grace, as our rightful sovereign, do we now proffer our homage, and promise to obey your Highness as the true and lawful ruler into whose hands the government of the realm has fallen.”
Elizabeth sank upon her knees and repeated in Latin a sentence that was on the gold coins of the country, “It is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.”
Queen Mary died in the twilight of a November morning, but her death was not known at once in the city. Parliament was in session, and before noon the lord chancellor called the two houses together and said:—
“God this morning hath called to his mercy our late sovereign lady, Queen Mary; which hap, as it is most heavy and grievous to us, so have we no less cause, otherwise, to rejoice with praise to almighty God for leaving to us a true, lawful, and right inheritrix to the crown of this realm, which is the Lady Elizabeth, second daughter to our late sovereign of noble memory, Henry VIII.”
For an instant there was silence, then the house rang with the cry, “God save Queen Elizabeth! Long may Queen Elizabeth reign over us!” The proclamation of her accession was now made in front of the palace of Westminster with many soundings of trumpets, and later, in the city of London.
“Did anyone ever see such a time?” said a Londoner to his friend at night. “No one would think that a queen had died since the day began; there has been nothing but bonfires and bell-ringing and feasting and shouting.”