Wolsey had cast off his vestments, and repaired to the priest's gate, at the entrance from the back lane adjoining the churchyard. There stood his own steed, with his travelling cloak and rough skinned trappings in which he carried his change of linen. He was soon in his saddle--gave the promised angel, and taking the circuit of the town walls, proceeded immediately on his way to London. He turned his back upon his native town, on the very day of its most worthy rejoicing; for, celebrated as Ipswich always has been for political animosities, its people in that day, as well as in this, were glad of any common event in which all parties might unite without contention. And such was the moment of their universally respected fellow-townsman's popularity, when Lord De Freston, his daughter, and the bridegroom partook of the good man's hospitality. Wolsey, however, had left the town, and at that time felt himself cut off from it for ever. He had not so much as taken leave of his mother, nor acquainted any one with his intention. He wore a face of lamentation as if he were going into exile, or to perform penance for his sins. So severe had been this blow, and the effort he had made to bear it, that he would willingly have forgotten every event of his childhood--his mother, his kindred, and his connexions. He pursued his way, a lonely and disconsolate man, leaving cheerful faces behind him, a sight he could ill have borne to see, whilst the merry bells sent out their liveliest tones, as if to mock the heart of a man who could not enjoy the happiness of another. Merry days do not last for ever, and marriage days are not, among the wealthy, of long enjoyment. As Wolsey traversed the long narrow lane, with his pack-horse slowly pacing up the hill, the last peal of the Ipswich bells fell on his proud heart, and he wept. Man could no longer see him. He had no longer to act a part before those who knew him. He was overcome by the associations of his youth. 'No flowers for him were strewn that day; No maidens graced his bridal day; He trode the roses in the street. And crushed them with indignant feet. Another's bliss to him was woe, And he sustained the deepest blow.' But merrily, merrily still rang the Ipswich bells, and the proud priest's heart was touched. Never was friendship more pure than that shown by Lord De Freston and his friends to Wolsey; but never was there less response to those kindly affections in the heart of man than in Wolsey at that moment. All he felt, he felt for himself; all he had done, had been done to gratify himself; all he looked forward to was for himself. His mother was nothing to him; his friends and townsmen nothing; Lord De Freston nothing; Latimer nothing; and if for Ellen he once felt _everything_, she now was nothing. The great man sighed--he groaned; but in another moment he said, 'Wolsey, be a man! Spurn the past. Fulfil thy destiny, and forget that ever thou didst love.' CHAPTER XXX.