"'Tis a rough road," said the woodman, in a low voice, as he relaxed his hold of the prelate's arm. "So are all the ways of life, my son," answered the bishop. "And the roughest often the safest," answered Boyd. "I know it by experience. Smooth paths end in precipices." At that instant something started up before them out of the fern, and a quick rush was heard through the neighbouring brushwood. The bishop started, and drew a little back, but Boyd said with a laugh,-- "'Tis but a doe, my lord. If she find her way amongst the soldiers, there will be more chases than one to-night. Fear not, however. I will answer for your safety, though not for hers." "I do not fear," answered the prelate. "Indeed, I am little given to fear; but, as you doubtless well know, my son, the mind has not always that command over the body which can prevent the mere animal impulse from starting at dangers, which calm consideration could meet unshrinking." "True," replied the woodman. "So long as life is happy it may be so; but with the loss of all that makes existence valuable, the body itself loses its sensibility to all signs of danger. Hope, dread, anxiety, and the struggle with the ills of life, make us vibrate as it were to the touch of all external things; but when hope and fear are dead, when there is neither care nor thought of existence, 'tis wonderful how this blind horse of the body, ridden by that plodding wayfarer, the mind, learns to jog on, without starting at anything that glistens on the way.--But come on, my good lord, for I must take you first to my cottage, and then send you forward some miles upon your journey." Thus saying, he walked forward; and the good bishop followed through the more open space, musing as he went; for, to say the truth, he was pulled different ways by different inclinations. Self-preservation, was, of course, one great object, and that led him to desire immediate escape; but yet there was another object, which he had much at heart, and which would have bound him to remain. Nor was he a man who would suffer the consideration of personal safety alone to make him abandon what he considered a duty; but, as yet, he knew not fully what were the risks, and what the probabilities; and, as the only means of obtaining information, he, at length, after some consideration, determined to have recourse to the woodman. Boyd was striding on, however; and it cost the prelate two or three quick steps to overtake him, so as to be able to speak in that low tone which he judged necessary in the existing circumstances. "You think you can insure my safety," he said. "Beyond a doubt," replied the woodman, laconically. "But only, I suppose, by instant flight," said the prelate. "By flight before daylight," replied Boyd.