They had not heard of the death of one Queen or the proclamation of the other till one dark winter's night when, just as the household were about to retire to bed, my grandfather and your father, Cuthbert, arrived at the house, their faces pale with anxiety and apprehension, their clothes stained with travel; the state of both riders and horses showing the speed with which they had travelled, and betraying plainly that something urgent had happened.

The news was quickly told.

Queen Mary was dead.

Bonfires in London streets were blazing in honour of Elizabeth.

The Protestants were everywhere in a transport of joy and triumph.