While his stately form vanished under the dark archway which led out of the quadrangle, Varney muttered, “There goes fine policy—­the servant before the master!” then as he disappeared, seized the moment to speak a word with Foster.  “Thou look’st dark on me, Anthony,” he said, “as if I had deprived thee of a parting nod of my lord; but I have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance for thy faithful service.  See here! a purse of as good gold as ever chinked under a miser’s thumb and fore-finger.  Ay, count them, lad,” said he, as Foster received the gold with a grim smile, “and add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last night to Janet.”

“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.”