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.”
He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, and rode off under the archway in pursuit of his lord.
