“And so I did, Master Varney,” answered Foster; “and she said her lady called out upon the sickness of her father.”
“Good!” replied Varney; “that is a hint worth catching, and I will work upon it. But the country must be rid of this Tressilian—I would have cumbered no man about the matter, for I hate him like strong poison—his presence is hemlock to me—and this day I had been rid of him, but that my foot slipped, when, to speak truth, had not thy comrade yonder come to my aid, and held his hand, I should have known by this time whether you and I have been treading the path to heaven or hell.”
“And you can speak thus of such a risk!” said Foster; “You keep a stout heart, Master Varney—for me, if I did not hope to live many years, and to have time for the great work of repentance, I would not go forward with you.”
“O! 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,
