that you have had cause), ’one who knows not why he came, so far as I can see, or when he is going away; and wilt thou, being a publican, having paid scot and lot these thirty years in the town of Cumnor, and being at this instant head-borough, wilt thou suffer this guest of guests, this man of men, this six-hooped pot (as I may say) of a traveller, to fall into the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for a swasher and a desperate Dick, a carder and a dicer, a professor of the seven damnable sciences, if ever man took degrees in them?’ No, by Heaven!  I might wink, and let him catch such a small butterfly as Goldthred; but thou, my guest, shall be forewarned, forearmed, so thou wilt but listen to thy trusty host.”

“Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast away,” replied Tressilian; “however, I must uphold my share in this wager, having once passed my word to that effect.  But lend me, I pray, some of thy counsel.  This Foster, who or what is he, and why makes he such mystery of his female inmate?”

“Troth,” replied Gosling, “I can add but little to what you heard last night.  He was one of Queen Mary’s Papists, and now he is one of Queen Elizabeth’s Protestants; he was an onhanger of the Abbot of Abingdon; and now he lives as master of the Manor-house.  Above all, he was poor, and is rich.  Folk talk of private apartments in his old waste mansion-house, bedizened fine enough to serve the Queen, God bless her!  Some men think he found a treasure in the orchard, some that he sold himself to the devil for treasure, and some say that he cheated the abbot out of the church plate, which was hidden in the old Manor-house at the Reformation.  Rich, however, he is, and God and his conscience, with the devil perhaps besides, only know how he came by it.  He has sulky ways too—­breaking off intercourse with all that are of the place, as if he had either some strange secret to keep, or held himself to be made of another clay than we are.  I think it likely my kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike thrust his acquaintance on him; and I am sorry that you, my worthy Master Tressilian, will still think of going in my nephew’s company.”

Tressilian again answered him, that he would proceed with great caution, and that he should have no fears on his account; in short, he bestowed on him all the customary assurances with which those who are determined on a rash action are wont to parry the advice of their friends.

Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord’s invitation, and had just finished the excellent breakfast, which was served to him and Gosling by pretty Cicely, the beauty of the bar, when the hero of the preceding night, Michael Lambourne, entered the apartment.  His toilet had apparently cost him some labour, for his clothes, which differed from those he wore on his journey, were of the newest fashion, and put on with great attention to the display of his person.

“By my faith, uncle,” said the gallant, “you made a wet night of it, and I feel it followed by a dry morning.  I will pledge you willingly in a cup of bastard.—­How, my pretty coz Cicely! why, I left you but a child in the cradle, and there thou stand’st in thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl as England’s sun shines on.  Know thy friends and kindred, Cicely, and come hither, child, that I may kiss thee, and give thee my blessing.”