"For myself, I humbly answer that your Grace errs. I never coveted
other honours than those of the Church."

"Ay," said Edward, keenly examining the young prelate's smooth face,
"is it so? Yes, now I begin to comprehend thee. What offence have I
given to the Church? Have I suffered the law too much to sleep
against the Lollards. If so, blame Warwick."

"On the contrary, sire, unlike other priests, I have ever deemed that
persecution heals no schism. Blow not dying embers. Rather do I
think of late that too much severity hath helped to aid, by Lollard
bows and pikes, the late rising. My lady, the queen's mother,
unjustly accused of witchcraft, hath sought to clear herself, and
perhaps too zealously, in exciting your Grace against that invisible
giant yclept heresy."

"Pass on," said Edward. "It is not then indifference to the ecclesia
that you complain of. Is it neglect of the ecclesiastic? Ha, ha! you
and I, though young, know the colours that make up the patchwork
world. Archbishop, I love an easy life; if your brother and his
friends will but give me that, let them take all else. Again, I say,
to the point,--I cannot banish my lady's kindred, but I will bind your
House still more to mine. I have a daughter, failing male issue, the
heiress to my crown. I will betroth her to your nephew, my beloved
Montagu's son. They are children yet, but their ages not unsuited.
And when I return to London, young Nevile shall be Duke of Bedford, a
title hitherto reserved to the royal race. [And indeed there was but
one Yorkist duke then in England out of the royal family,--namely, the
young boy Buckingham, who afterwards vainly sought to bend the Ulysses
bow of Warwick against Richard III.] Let that be a pledge of peace