'I am ready to depart for Ipswich, gentlemen, and to solicit of the officiating priest of St. Lawrence permission to perform the _marriage ceremony_.' These last words created a kind of adhesive firmness of his tongue to the roof of his mouth; for, when his uncle replied that he had already secured that permission, there was but a bow of acquiescence, and a dignified move towards the massive hall-door. The party went forward. Three of Lord De Freston's horses stood caparisoned for them at the porch; but a delay was created by the proud priest saying to the groom in waiting-- 'My own horse!' 'My lord thought your own would be fatigued, and requests that you will use his,' said the man. 'My own horse, sirrah!' was the uncourteous reply. The gentlemen were equally as astonished as the groom; but seeing that Wolsey quietly retreated into the hall, they could but desire the groom to be as expeditious as possible in bringing the said nag round to the door. It was evident that Wolsey would have his own way, and not put a foot into the stirrup until he had. The horse was brought round. The bridegroom, bridesman, and priest, departed with a retinue of horsemen for the town. It was a stately ride. Nothing seemed to please Wolsey. He received all that was said to him with silent indications of assent, as if they were only such commonplace sayings as he might expect to receive from the attendants upon his greatness. So passed they to his native town, where, at this day, nothing remains in any way connected with him but a postern gate of brick, leading to the school-master's lodge within the area of the schools, and not, as some have called it, the principal entrance to the President's Court. They arrived at the mansion of Edmund Daundy at seven o'clock on the morning of the eighth of July. Dame Joan, Wolsey's mother, was there before them, with many of the friends, wives, and daughters of the best families of the town and neighborhood, who came to participate in the joyous doings. 'I give thee this, young man,' said Wolsey to the groom on taking his horse, 'that thou mayest learn that a reward is worth having when it is deserved. At ten o'clock do thou be at the portal leading to the chancel door of St. Lawrence Church. Thou knowest the priest's entrance, his private entrance, from the lane. There be thou with this horse, caparisoned exactly as he now is--his trappings on, exactly as thou seest them now. Let nothing be taken out of thy possession. There is an angel for thee. Another angel doth await thee.' Wolsey gave the man a golden angel, of the value of six and eightpence, a gift which commanded much more attention than many such pieces would do now-a-days. He not only promised obedience, but kept it punctually. 'Thou wilt accept once more, Thomas Wolsey, thine aged uncle's hospitality. Come in.' 'I have a vow at the altar of St. Lawrence, which I must pay this morning. I can enter no house until that is paid.'