"Yes, there is need," answered the bishop. "I had my motive for doing as I have done, and that motive sufficient for my own conscience. As you say, the cause of Lancaster had fallen, and hopelessly fallen. All efforts in its favour could but produce more bloodshed, and protract a desolating civil strife. By yielding to the conqueror, by giving him the counsel of a christian man, not unversed in affairs of state, I did believe--I do believe, that I could, and did, do more good than if I had withdrawn from the counsels of the ruler of the country, and joined with those who sought to throw him from his seat. I never advised in those affairs where York and Lancaster opposed each other. It was part of my compact with him, that I should take no share in acts or councils against a family I once had served. Yet in my humble way I could do good, in moderating the fury of men's passions, and the rancour of party strife." "You plead, my lord, to an indictment I have never laid," replied the woodman. "I blame you not. I never thought of blaming you. But hear me on! You became attached to a prince who favoured you greatly--a man of many high qualities, and also of many great vices; brave, courteous, graceful, and good-humoured; lewd, idle, insincere, and cruel; a consummate general, a short-seeing statesman, a bad king, a heartless kinsman, a man of pleasant converse, and a devoted friend. You loved him well; you loved his children better, and would not consent to their murder." "Nay, nay, not their murder," cried the bishop; "no one ever ventured to speak of their death. Even now, we know not that they are really dead; but I believe it. If you had said, I would not be consenting to their deprivation of their rights, you had been justified."