"How's this? how's this?" said Anthony Foster hastily; "gave he gold to
Janet?"
"Ay, man, wherefore not?--does not her service to his fair lady require
guerdon?"
"She shall have none on't," said Foster; "she shall return it. I know
his dotage on one face is as brief as it is deep. His affections are as
fickle as the moon."
"Why, Foster, thou art mad--thou dost not hope for such good fortune
as that my lord should cast an eye on Janet? Who, in the fiend's name,
would listen to the thrush while the nightingale is singing?"
"Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler; and, Master Varney,
you can sound the quail-pipe most daintily to wile wantons into his
nets. I desire no such devil's preferment for Janet as you have brought
many a poor maiden to. Dost thou laugh? I will keep one limb of my
family, at least, from Satan's clutches, that thou mayest rely on. She
shall restore the gold."
"Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which will serve as well,"
answered Varney; "but I have that to say which is more serious. Our lord
is returning to court in an evil humour for us."
"How meanest thou?" said Foster. "Is he tired already of his pretty
toy--his plaything yonder? He has purchased her at a monarch's ransom,
and I warrant me he rues his bargain."
"Not a whit, Tony," answered the master of the horse; "he dotes on her,
and will forsake the court for her. Then down go hopes, possessions, and
safety--church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well if the holders be not
called to account in Exchequer."
"That were ruin," said Foster, his brow darkening with apprehensions;
"and all this for a woman! Had it been for his soul's sake, it were
something; and I sometimes wish I myself could fling away the world that
cleaves to me, and be as one of the poorest of our church."
"Thou art like enough to be so, Tony," answered Varney; "but I think
the devil will give thee little credit for thy compelled poverty, and so
thou losest on all hands. But follow my counsel, and Cumnor Place shall
be thy copyhold yet. Say nothing of this Tressilian's visit--not a word
until I give thee notice."
"And wherefore, I pray you?" asked Foster, suspiciously.
"Dull beast!" replied Varney. "In my lord's present humour it were the
ready way to confirm him in his resolution of retirement, should he know
that his lady was haunted with such a spectre in his absence. He would
be for playing the dragon himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony,
thy occupation is ended. A word to the wise. Farewell! I must follow
him."