“Under favour, that is what I doubt.  Anthony Foster is a dangerous man, defended by strong court patronage, which hath borne him out in matters of very deep concernment.  And, then, my kinsman—­why, I have told you what he is; and if these two old cronies have made up their old acquaintance, I would not, my worshipful guest, that it should be at thy cost.  I promise you, Mike Lambourne has been making very particular inquiries at my hostler when and which way you ride.  Now, I would have you think whether you may not have done or said something for which you may be waylaid, and taken at disadvantage.”

“Thou art an honest man, mine host,” said Tressilian, after a moment’s consideration, “and I will deal frankly with thee.  If these men’s malice is directed against me—­as I deny not but it may—­it is because they are the agents of a more powerful villain than themselves.”

“You mean Master Richard Varney, do you not?” said the landlord; “he was at Cumnor Place yesterday, and came not thither so private but what he was espied by one who told me.”

“I mean the same, mine host.”

“Then, for God’s sake, worshipful Master Tressilian,” said honest Gosling, “look well to yourself.  This Varney is the protector and patron of Anthony Foster, who holds under him, and by his favour, some lease of yonder mansion and the park.  Varney got a large grant of the lands of the Abbacy of Abingdon, and Cumnor Place amongst others, from his master, the Earl of Leicester.  Men say he can do everything with him, though I hold the Earl too good a nobleman to employ him as some men talk of.  And then the Earl can do anything (that is, anything right or fitting) with the Queen, God bless her!  So you see what an enemy you have made to yourself.”

“Well—­it is done, and I cannot help it,” answered Tressilian.

“Uds precious, but it must be helped in some manner,” said the host.  “Richard Varney—­why, what between his influence with my lord, and his pretending to so many old and vexatious claims in right of the abbot here, men fear almost to mention his name, much more to set themselves against his practices.  You may judge by our discourses the last night.  Men said their pleasure of Tony Foster, but not a word of Richard Varney, though all men judge him to be at the bottom of yonder mystery about the pretty wench.  But perhaps you know more of that matter than I do; for women, though they wear not swords, are occasion for many a blade’s exchanging a sheath of neat’s leather for one of flesh and blood.”

“I do indeed know more of that poor unfortunate lady than thou dost, my friendly host; and so bankrupt am I, at this moment, of friends and advice, that I will willingly make a counsellor of thee, and tell thee the whole history, the rather that I have a favour to ask when my tale is ended.”