l-board, nor looked on the big book of
harrowtry wi' Master Mumblazen. I let the clock run down, thinking the
missing the bell might somewhat move him--for you know, Master Edmund,
he was particular in counting time--but he never said a word on't, so
I may e'en set the old chime a-towling again. I made bold to tread on
Bungay's tail too, and you know what a round rating that would ha' cost
me once a-day; but he minded the poor tyke's whine no more than a madge
howlet whooping down the chimney--so the case is beyond me."

"Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. Meanwhile, let this
person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect. He is a man of
art."

"White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had any
art which could help us.--Here, Tom Butler, look to the man of art;--and
see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad," he added in a whisper to
the butler, who showed himself at a low window, "I have known as honest
a faced fellow have art enough to do that."

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his desire,
to see in what state his master was, lest the sudden return of his
darling pupil and proposed son-in-law should affect him too strongly.
He returned immediately, and said that Sir Hugh was dozing in his
elbow-chair, but that Master Mumblazen would acquaint Master Tressilian
the instant he awaked.

"But it is chance if he knows you," said the huntsman, "for he has
forgotten the name of every hound in the pack. I thought, about a week
since, he had gotten a favourable turn. 'Saddle me old Sorrel,' said he
suddenly, after he had taken his usual night-draught out of the great
silver grace-cup, 'and take the hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow.'
Glad men were we all, and out we had him in the morning, and he rode to
cover as usual, with never a word spoken but that the wind was south,
and the scent would lie. But ere we had uncoupled'the hounds, he began
to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a dream--turns
bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us to hunt at leisure
by ourselves, if we listed."

"You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must help
us--there is no aid in man."

"Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? But what need I
ask--your brow tells the story. Ever I hoped that if any man could or
would track her, it must be you. All's over and lost now. But if ever I
have that Varney within reach of a f