'At all events, my lord cannot expect me to remain in his house under existing circumstances. No, my lord, no; perish York House, before I sleep in it whilst heretics lie under the same roof. Heretics, too, who once dared to insult my guardian, and now affront me in this house. 'Oh, my Lord Cardinal, this is a blow I did not expect from you. Farewell, my lord's greatness; farewell, my hopes of preferment in your grace's mansion. When the days of heresy come, it will be remembered that the Cardinal of York fostered them in his own palace; but let it be remembered, also, that she who dwelt with him as his friend for twenty years, on that day took her departure. 'I shall return to Goldwell Hall, near the seat of my lord's birth, and in that very house where I first knew him, shall I learn to forget him, My Lord Cardinal--Farewell!' 'Alice De Clinton, hear me. One word. Nay--I insist upon giving you an explanation. Care and I have of late been close companions. Greatness and sorrow have been closeted in my soul for these many days. Dignity and distress have been accompanying my lot wheresoever I have gone; and now, Mistress Alice, that I return home, I find that hospitality and heresy are to be the cause of separating Cardinal Wolsey and Alice De Clinton for ever. 'This is what I call a domestic consummation of my calamitous career. I did not think of heresy. I did not think of animosity. I forgot your distaste, and I thought only of my former acquaintance with these friends when I was poor and they were rich; and should I desert them in distress, when the only opportunity I have, or ever may have, in life, to repay them for their early kindness to me, is to befriend them in the day of adversity. 'Shall I forget, Alice, that I am a man, because I am a Cardinal? Is every feeling of gratitude to be totally extinct towards those who have watched over my early years, and helped me in my studies, and befriended me? 'Oh! Alice, if we forget those who have been kind to us in our youth, God will forget us when we grow old. Read that letter from Ellen, and let your heart feel its simplicity and truth, and then say whether I ought or ought not to have exercised the duties of hospitality.' Alice read it. Yes, she read it. The tears started in her eyes, but they were tears of bitterness, not of love; for love had no share in her proud heart. It was ready to burst with vexation; but without pity. She read it--she returned it; and she looked as if she felt a sovereign contempt for the Cardinal's weakness; but she replied-- 'My lord, it is not usual for a judge to entertain his prisoner before he is honorably acquitted; and very seldom then. Judges seldom have innocent persons tried before them. They know well that they are set on high for the punishment of evil men, and not for the encouragement of them.