Alice De Clinton, had she been at all of Ellen's disposition, would have been her companion upon this occasion, but she lacked not friends of the noblest class to fill her place. The fair daughters of Fastolf, and De Broke, from the Haugh, were at Freston Castle, together with four other maidens of quality, to accompany her to the wedding. The morning broke most lovely! The merry bells could be heard from the town of Ipswich, ringing cheerily; for Lord De Freston and Edmund Daundy were as universally loved for their amiable qualities, as they were known to be rich and generous. Everything indicated a happy morning: birds were singing blithely, and men and women's voices mingled therewith. The hills around Ipswich echoed the joyful notes, whilst people looked upon that day as one of the brightest festival in which love reigned omnipotent. In short, every face exhibited something of the anticipated pleasure of the bridal. Maidens might be seen tripping along the meadows of the meandering Gipping, with little baskets of flowers, on purpose to strew the bridal path from St. Peter's Gate to the porch of St. Lawrence. It was no loss of time to them to be seen to participate in the happiness of a lady whom some one or other of them had known, for her kindness to some poor relative, or for her gentleness and amiable bearing. Fame, when not courted but deserved, will come with a reward which is as pleasant as it is unexpected. Actions done upon the Christian principle of brotherly love are sure to be successful in the end; they carry with them their own reward, being done from faith, and a sense of duty. Such were those of the whole life of Lord De Freston and his daughter. Such were the motives which influenced him in his patronage of Wolsey; such were his daughter's motives in the interest she felt in his rising fame. But whilst hundreds around them were grateful, and rejoiced to show the interest they felt in Ellen's happiness, that one, the scholar and the friend, felt nothing of gratitude, little of affection: he felt only the deepest, the most heartfelt mortification. Early on the morning of the 8th of July, 1498, did Thomas Wolsey, Priest of Magdalen College, rise. Whether he slept or not, those who saw him could only give a surmise, and from the swollen appearance of his eyes, and the excessive pallor of his countenance, it was thought that his reverence had passed a very restless night. He was not stirring earlier than William Latimer, who, when Wolsey descended from the internal balcony of the hall, was, with Edmund Daundy, preparing to depart for Ipswich, that both might be in readiness to receive the _cortège_ of the bride at the house of the latter in St. Lawrence. As they stood in the hall, Thomas Wolsey descended. He bowed haughtily in return to the generous salute of his uncle and his young friend.