“Oh! thou shalt live as long as Methuselah,” said Varney, “and amass as much wealth as Solomon; and thou shalt repent so devoutly, that thy repentance shall be more famous than thy villainy—­and that is a bold word.  But for all this, Tressilian must be looked after.  Thy ruffian yonder is gone to dog him.  It concerns our fortunes, Anthony.”

“Ay, ay,” said Foster sullenly, “this it is to be leagued with one who knows not even so much of Scripture, as that the labourer is worthy of his hire.  I must, as usual, take all the trouble and risk.”

“Risk! and what is the mighty risk, I pray you?” answered Varney.  “This fellow will come prowling again about your demesne or into your house, and if you take him for a house-breaker or a park-breaker, is it not most natural you should welcome him with cold steel or hot lead?  Even a mastiff will pull down those who come near his kennel; and who shall blame him?”

“Ay, I have a mastiff’s work and a mastiff’s wage among you,” said Foster.  “Here have you, Master Varney, secured a good freehold estate out of this old superstitious foundation; and I have but a poor lease of this mansion under you, voidable at your honour’s pleasure.”

“Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy leasehold into a copyhold—­the thing may chance to happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost good service for it.  But softly, good Anthony—­it is not the lending a room or two of this old house for keeping my lord’s pretty paroquet—­nay, it is not the shutting thy doors and windows to keep her from flying off that may deserve it.  Remember, the manor and tithes are rated at the clear annual value of seventy-nine pounds five shillings and fivepence halfpenny, besides the value of the wood.  Come, come, thou must be conscionable; great and secret service may deserve both this and a better thing.  And now let thy knave come and pluck off my boots.  Get us some dinner, and a cup of thy best wine.  I must visit this mavis, brave in apparel, unruffled in aspect, and gay in temper.”

They parted and at the hour of noon, which was then that of dinner, they again met at their meal, Varney gaily dressed like a courtier of the time, and even Anthony Foster improved in appearance, as far as dress could amend an exterior so unfavourable.

This alteration did not escape Varney.  Then the meal was finished, the cloth removed, and they were left to their private discourse—­“Thou art gay as a goldfinch, Anthony,” said Varney, looking at his host; “methinks, thou wilt whistle a jig anon.  But I crave your pardon, that would secure your ejection from the congregation of the zealous botchers, the pure-hearted weavers, and the sanctified bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool while their brains get heated.”

“To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney,” said Foster, “were—­excuse the parable—­to fling sacred and precious things before swine.  So I will speak to thee in the language of the world, which he who is king of the world, hath taught thee, to understand, and to profit by in no common measure.”