"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.
"But if I tell you," continued the bishop, "that it is absolutely necessary, for a great purpose I have in view, that I should remain in this immediate neighbourhood for some few days, do you think it possible for me to lie concealed here, till I receive the intelligence I am seeking? Remember, I do not heed a little risk, so that my object be attained."
"That is brave," answered Boyd; "but yet 'tis difficult to weigh nicely in the balance, for another man, the estimation of his own life. If I knew what you sought, I could judge better. However, I will say this: the risk were very great to stay, but yet such as any one of courage would encounter for a great and noble object."
"Then I will stay," replied the bishop, firmly. "My object is a great and, I believe, a just and holy one, and life must not be weighed in the balance against it."
"Would that I knew what it is," said the woodman, "for methinks I might show you that more may be gained by going than by staying. Of that, however, anon. Let me see if I can divine your object."