"We are intruders here!" said Elisabeth, cold to the heart. She got out of bed (her husband was still asleep; she could hear his even breathing) and stood shivering in the keen air.
A chill like a presage of death crept through her veins; the whole place seemed to exhale an air of hate and misery.
So strong was this feeling that she fumbled for a gown in the dark, and stole to the next chamber to look at her infant son.
The moonlight was in his room, and she saw him sleeping peacefully beside his nurse. Elisabeth crept back, dreading lest she should conjure up another awful image of the late King.
"I am not going to be happy here," she kept saying to herself. "I am not going to be happy here."
The next day she did not leave her bed, and before long it was known that the Protector's favourite daughter was stricken with a lingering, nameless illness.
CHAPTER V
HIS HIGHNESS
"Was England ever in a better way?" demanded the Lord-Protector. "Even under Elisabeth of famous memory (for so we may truly call her) was this country more quiet at home, more respected abroad? Nay, there is no malignant in the land can say it——"