Wolsey's reply shot like a shaft--ay, and a well-aimed one it was--to the hearts of Latimer and Ellen. 'I suppose thy friend, Bishop Goldwell, and Alice, his niece, have consented to be here.' 'Indeed they have not; nor have we invited them, for, since the day of Ivan's death, we have never exchanged a word.' 'I can only regret it,' replied Wolsey. 'He is a man whose acquaintance I should have courted, and his niece a fit companion for thy daughter. I thought they had been intimate.' 'Their characters are very dissimilar.' 'That should be no bar to friendship.' 'But I know that Bishop Goldwell does not admire thy friend Latimer, and that he is the aversion of Alice.' 'On such an occasion as this, distances should be abridged, and differences of opinion softened, wounds healed, and friends united.' 'I agree with thee, Wolsey; thy doctrine is herein sound, but somewhat opposed to thy practice.' 'Ah! how so?' 'Thou thyself art not thyself as formerly. Thy bearing is widely different; thy manner, speech, and conduct, have undergone a great change.' 'I am a priest; yet I am here to-day by thine invitation. Why not Bishop Goldwell and his niece?' 'They are not our kin.' 'And I now have no kin, no connexions, no property, no friends, but the church, to which I am henceforth devoted.' 'Does that destroy thy former friendships?' 'It cancels every one: I have given them up!--forsaken them all!--and I shall follow the Church of Rome, of which I am her devoted servant.' 'And so,' said Ellen, 'I may address thee no longer as my learned and dear friend--my choice companion--my tutor--my relative and associate, but simply as "Your Reverence?"' 'I am come to perform a duty, Mistress Ellen, and if thou wouldst have me discharge it gracefully, I pray thee mar not the dignity of mine office by any allusions to the past.' 'I cannot forget what thou wast, Thomas Wolsey, both to me and to thy friend Latimer, once our loving companion.' 'And now,' said Wolsey, with a bow of studied courtesy, 'the humble servant of both!' 'No, Thomas Wolsey,' replied the maiden, 'thou art not humble at all! Thy priesthood, Thomas, sits mournfully on thy years; and the wisdom which used to ornament thy brow seems lost in outward stateliness. I like thee not in thy change.' 'May be, Mistress Ellen, thou may'st one day think differently, and then praise that reserve which now thou dost misinterpret.' 'It may be so, Thomas Wolsey! but my heart must be contracted instead of being enlarged; my soul must bend to form and ceremony, and not to love; and I must admire Alice De Clinton, and imitate her bearing, and forget the friends who taught me truth, that I may be admitted to the favor of a priest!'