"Now, reverend father and good lord," said Boyd, "we must not daily. You must throw away that gown, and put on this common waggoner's frock. You must cover the tonsure with this peasant's bonnet, and take part in driving a load of wood a stage on the way to Litchfield. You will be met with by those who will see you safely to the coast; and you will have one with you who will in reality perform the office--unworthy of your profession and name--which you must seem to fulfil only for the sake of security. I will bring you the garments in a moment; but first," he continued, "let me place in your hands this letter, which you must conceal with the greatest care, and contrive to convey it to the earl of Richmond. How it fell into my hands matters not; but, if you run your eye over it, you will see that it contains all the information for which you were inclined to wait.--Stay, I will give you a light;" and, stirring the fire into a blaze, he lighted a lamp at the flame. "Ha, from Landais, himself," exclaimed the bishop, as he read the letter, "with a promise to arrest the earl and all his companions, as soon as Richard's ambassador has arrived, and the money is paid!--The money is paid! What may that mean?" "Can you not divine, good father?" asked the woodman. "In this good world of ours, there is a price for everything. We are all merchants, traders with what we make, or with what we possess. One man sells his barony, another his honour, another his conscience, another his soul. One acquires for himself power and sells the use of it, another gains a reputation and trades on that, as others do on learning or on skill. There is a difference of prices too; and the coin in which men require payment is various. A kingly crown is the price which some demand; a high office the price of others. The crosier or the triple crown is one man's price; the smile of a fair lady is another's; the sordid soul requires mere money; and this Landais, this Breton peasant, risen to be the minister and ruler of his imbecile prince, sells the duke's honour and his own for hard gold, Ha, ha, ha! He is quite right; for, of all the things which go to purchase such commodities, gold is the only solid permanent possession. What is honour, fame, power, or even woman's smile, but the empty, transitory, visionary deceit of an hour. Gold, gold, my lord bishop, untarnishable, persisting, ever-valuable gold is the only proper payment, when honesty, honour, feeling, and character are to be sold--Upon my life, I think so!--But there is the letter. Let the duke have it; show him the toils that are around him; and bid him break through before they close upon him."