The fourth important meeting of this kind took place on November the 6th, when the Archbishop, and the Bishops of London, Rochester, and Peterborough, made their appearance in the Sovereign’s presence; the Bishop of St. David’s--throughout an object of suspicion--“waiting for them in the Guard-chamber, ready to thrust in with them to the King.” The Primate, taking Lord Preston aside, requested him to procure for them a private audience; upon which the King, through his Lordship, ordered the obnoxious and forward Prelate to withdraw. The rest told James they had done all they could, and that if he were satisfied, they did not care for other people’s opinions; but when he talked to them of such a paper as he had required, they fell back on the ground they had occupied before, that scarcely one in five hundred believed in the genuineness of the document published in the Prince’s name. The Archbishop did not touch the question of the paper so much wished for by James, although one had been drawn up, and signed by himself; most probably the reason of this omission was, that he could not carry his brethren with him in the matter, and he felt it would not do for him to make a solitary disavowal on the subject. Presently the dispute wandered into a confused maze, and the Archbishop could not help adverting to the treatment which he and his six brethren had received at the Royal hands. The King was annoyed, but the Primate persevered; the rest supported him, and His Majesty stood like a stag at bay. James retorted that if they complained, he had a right to complain too, and the quarrel became unseemly in the extreme. Indeed, His Majesty was now beginning to find that whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap, and as he had by his lawyers bearded the Bishops in his own Court at Westminster, the Bishops in return were bearding him in his own Palace of Whitehall. The conversation came round to the old point. James wanted them to sign a paper. They would not. “I am your King,” he said; “I am judge what is best for me. I will go my own way; I desire your assistance in it.” Go his own way he might, but they would not go with him. Whatever their high notions of Royal prerogatives, and the obligations of subjects, might have been once, the recent trial had wonderfully opened the eyes of their understanding. They would not take on themselves the responsibility of publishing any disclaimer. His Majesty might publish to the world what they had said, if he liked.[39] “No,” said he; “if I should publish it, the people would not believe me.” Not believe him? The confession was most humiliating. “Sir,” said the right reverend father, “the word of a King is sacred--it ought to be believed.” “They that could believe me guilty of a false son, what will they not believe of me?” was the bitter rejoinder. James’ credit had sunk as low as it could. Further talking was useless. “I will urge you no further,” said he, in conclusion. “If you will not assist me as