As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper by the arm, it changed the

current of his ideas, and he roared out, "Thieves!--thieves! I will die

in defence of my gold--my hard-won gold--that has cost me so dear. Where

is Janet?--Is Janet safe?"

"Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!" said Varney; "art thou not ashamed

of thy clamour?"

Foster by this time was broad awake, and sitting up in his bed, asked

Varney the meaning of so untimely a visit. "It augurs nothing good," he

added.

"A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony," returned Varney; "it augurs

that the hour is come for converting thy leasehold into copyhold. What

sayest thou to that?"

"Hadst thou told me this in broad day," said Foster, "I had rejoiced;

but at this dead hour, and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale

face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light words, I cannot

but rather think of the work that is to be done, than the guerdon to be

gained by it."

"Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge back to Cumnor Place."

"Is that indeed all?" said Foster; "thou lookest deadly pale, and thou

art not moved by trifles--is that indeed all?"

"Ay, that--and maybe a trifle more," said Varney.

"Ah, that trifle more!" said Foster; "still thou lookest paler and

paler."

"Heed not my countenance," said Varney; "you see it by this wretched

light. Up and be doing, man. Think of Cumnor Place--thine own proper

copyhold. Why, thou mayest found a weekly lectureship, besides endowing

Janet like a baron's daughter. Seventy pounds and odd."

"Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fivepence half-penny, besides

the value of the wood," said Foster; "and I am to have it all as

copyhold?"

"All, man--squirrels and all. No gipsy shall cut the value of a

broom--no boy so much as take a bird's nest--without paying thee a

quittance.--Ay, that is right--don thy matters as fast as possible;

horses and everything are ready, all save that accursed villain

Lambourne, who is out on some infernal gambol."

"Ay, Sir Richard," said Foster, "you would take no advice. I ever told

you that drunken profligate would fail you at need. Now I could have

helped you to a sober young man."

"What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother of the congregation? Why,

we shall have use for such also, man. Heaven be praised, we shall lack

labourers of every kind.--Ay, that is right--forget not your pistols.

Come now, and let us away."




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