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 between the queen's mother,
bearing the same honours, and the House of Nevile, to which they pass."

The cheek of the archbishop flushed with proud pleasure; he bowed his
head, and Edward, ere he could answer, went on: "Warwick is already
so high that, pardie, I have no other step to give him, save my throne
itself, and, God's truth, I would rather be Lord Warwick than King
of England! But for you--listen--our only English cardinal is old and
sickly; whenever he pass to Abraham's bosom, who but you should have
the suffrage of the holy college? Thou knowest that I am somewhat in
the good favour of the sovereign pontiff. Command me to the utmost.
Now, George, are we friends?" The archbishop kissed the gracious hand
extended to him, and, surprised to find, as by magic,