Majesty is far too careless of the means whereby his exchequer is enriched, and his favourites gratified; and, at all events, suffers himself to be too easily imposed upon.  Hence all these patents and monopolies under which we groan.  The favourites must have money; and as the King has little to give them, they raise as much as they please on the credit of his name.  Thus everything is sold; places, posts, titles, all have their price—­bribery and corruption reign everywhere.  The lord-keeper pays a pension to the Marquis—­so doth the attorney-general—­and simony is openly practised; for the Bishop of Salisbury paid him L3,500 for his bishopric.  But this is not the worst of it.  Is it not terrible to think of a proud nobleman, clothed almost with supreme authority, being secretly leagued with sordid wretches, whose practices he openly discountenances and contemns, and receiving share of their spoil?  Is it not yet more terrible to reflect that the royal coffers are in some degree supplied by similar means?”

“’Tis enough to drive an honest man distracted,” Jocelyn said, “and you cannot wonder at my indignation, though you may blame my want of caution.  I have said nothing half so strong as you have just uttered, Master Wolfe.”

“Ah! but, my good young Sir, I do not publicly proclaim my opinions as you do.  My lord of Buckingham’s name must no more be called in question than his Majesty’s.  To associate the Marquis’s name with those of his known instruments were to give him mortal offence.  Even to hint at such a connection is sufficient to provoke his displeasure!  But enough of this.  My purpose is not to lecture you, but to befriend you.  Tell me frankly, my good young Sir—­and be not offended with the offer—­will my purse be useful to you?  If so, ’tis freely at your service; and it may help you in your present emergency—­for though there is not enough in it to bribe the master to forego his purpose against you, there is amply sufficient to procure your liberation, privily, from the men.”

“I thank you heartily, good Master Wolfe, and believe me, I am not withheld by false pride from accepting your offer,” Jocelyn replied; “but I must trust to my own arm to maintain my liberty, and to my own address to regain it, if I be taken.  Again, I thank you, Sir.”

“I grieve that I cannot lend you other aid,” John Wolfe replied, looking compassionately at him; “but my peaceful avocations do not permit me to take any part in personal conflicts, and I am loath to be mixed up in such disturbances.  Nevertheless, I do not like to stand by, and see outrage done.”

“Concern yourself no more about me, worthy Sir,” interrupted Jocelyn.  “Perhaps I shall not be molested, and if I should be, I am well able to take care of myself.  Let those who assail me bear the consequences.”