“In either case I were foully sped,” said Wayland, “and therefore I do not, on the whole, much relish your device.”
“Nay, but take me with you, good master serving-man,” replied mine host. “This is your master's business, and not mine, you best know the risk to be encountered, or how far you are willing to brave it. But that which you will not yourself hazard, you cannot expect others to risk.”
“Hold, hold,” said Wayland; “tell me but one thing—goes yonder old man up to Cumnor?”
“Surely, I think so?” said the landlord; “their servant said he was to take their baggage thither. But the ale-tap has been as potent for him as the sack-spigot has been for Michael.”
“It is enough,” said Wayland, assuming an air of resolution. “I will thwart that old villain's projects; my affright at his baleful aspect begins to abate, and my hatred to arise. Help me on with my pack, good mine host.—And look to thyself, old Albumazar; there is a malignant influence in thy horoscope, and it gleams from the constellation Ursa Major.”
So saying, he assumed his burden, and, guided by the landlord through the postern gate of the Black Bear, took the most private way from thence up to Cumnor Place.
CHAPTER XX.
CLOWN. You have of these pedlars, that have more in'em than you'd think, sister.—WINTER'S TALE, ACT IV., SCENE 3.
In his anxiety to obey the Earl's repeated charges of secrecy, as well as from his own unsocial and miserly habits, Anthony Foster was more desirous, by his mode of housekeeping, to escape observation than to resist intrusive curiosity. Thus, instead of a numerous household, to secure his charge, and defend his house, he studied as much as possible to elude notice by diminishing his attendants; so that, unless when there were followers of the Earl, or of Varney, in the mansion, one old male domestic, and two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the Countess's apartments in order, were the only servants of the family.