silian,” 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 every thing 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 any thing (that is any thing 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
