that knows no better. I will say, and I care not who
hears me, there is something about the real gentry that few men come up
to that are not born and bred to the mystery. I wot not where the trick
lies; but although I can enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke
the waiters and drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as
round an oath, and fling my gold as freely about as any of the jingling
spurs and white feathers that are around me, yet, hang me if I can ever
catch the true grace of it, though I have practised an hundred times.
The man of the house sets me lowest at the board, and carves to me the
last; and the drawer says, 'Coming, friend,' without any more reverence
or regardful addition. But, hang it, let it pass; care killed a cat. I
have gentry enough to pass the trick on Tony Fire-the-Faggot, and that
will do for the matter in hand."

"You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance?" said
Tressilian to the adventurer.

"Ay, sir," replied Lambourne; "when stakes are made, the game must be
played; that is gamester's law, all over the world. You, sir, unless
my memory fails me (for I did steep it somewhat too deeply in the
sack-butt), took some share in my hazard?"

"I propose to accompany you in your adventure," said Tressilian, "if you
will do me so much grace as to permit me; and I have staked my share of
the forfeit in the hands of our worthy host."

"That he hath," answered Giles Gosling, "in as fair Harry-nobles as ever
were melted into sack by a good fellow. So, luck to your enterprise,
since you will needs venture on Tony Foster; but, by my credit, you had
better take another draught before you depart, for your welcome at
the Hall yonder will be somewhat of the driest. And if you do get into
peril, beware of taking to cold steel; but send for me, Giles Gosling,
the head-borough, and I may be able to make something out of Tony yet,
for as proud as he is."

The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle's hint, by taking a second
powerful pull at the tankard, observing that his wit never served him
so well as when he had washed his temples with a deep morning's draught;
and they set forth together for the habitation of Anthony Foster.

The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a hill, and in a wooded
park closely adjacent was situated the ancient mansion occupied at this
time by Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may be still extant. The park
was then full of large trees, and i