“Abject! abject!” repeated Lambourne; “that shall be answered with cold steel whenever a bowl of sack has washed out memory of the morning’s draught that we had together. In the meanwhile, do you see, shog—tramp—begone—we are two to one.” He spoke truth, for Varney had taken the opportunity to regain his weapon, and Tressilian perceived it was madness to press the quarrel farther against such odds. He took his purse from his side, and taking out two gold nobles, flung them to Lambourne; “There, caitiff, is thy morning wage—thou shalt not say thou hast been my guide unhired.—Varney, farewell—we shall meet where there are none to come betwixt us.” So saying, he turned round and departed through the postern-door.
Varney seemed to want the inclination, or perhaps the power, (for his fall had been a severe one, ) to follow his retreating enemy. But he glared darkly as he disappeared, and then addressed Lambourne; “Art thou a comrade of Foster’s, good fellow?”
“Sworn friends, as the haft is to the knife,” replied Michael Lambourne.
“Here is a broad piece for thee—follow yonder fellow, and see where he takes earth, and bring me word up to the mansion-house here. Cautious and silent, thou knave, as thou valuest thy throat.”
“Enough said,” replied Lambourne; “I can draw on a scent as well as a sleuth-hound.”
“Begone, then,” said Varney, sheathing his rapier; and, turning his back on Michael Lambourne,
