"I will stick my knife to the haft in him," said Foster, in a low tone,
which trembled with passion.
"For the love of Heaven, no violence!" said the astrologer. "It cannot
but be looked closely into.--Here, honest Lambourne, wilt thou pledge me
to the health of the noble Earl of Leicester and Master Richard Varney?"
"I will, mine old Albumazar--I will, my trusty vender of ratsbane. I
would kiss thee, mine honest infractor of the Lex Julia (as they said
at Leyden), didst thou not flavour so damnably of sulphur, and such
fiendish apothecary's stuff.--Here goes it, up seyes--to Varney and
Leicester two more noble mounting spirits--and more dark-seeking,
deep-diving, high-flying, malicious, ambitious miscreants--well, I say
no more, but I will whet my dagger on his heart-spone that refuses to
pledge me! And so, my masters--"
Thus speaking, Lambourne exhausted the cup which the astrologer had
handed to him, and which contained not wine, but distilled spirits. He
swore half an oath, dropped the empty cup from his grasp, laid his hand
on his sword without being able to draw it, reeled, and fell without
sense or motion into the arms of the domestic, who dragged him off to
his chamber, and put him to bed.
In the general confusion, Janet regained her lady's chamber unobserved,
trembling like an aspen leaf, but determined to keep secret from the
Countess the dreadful surmises which she could not help entertaining
from the drunken ravings of Lambourne. Her fears, however, though they
assumed no certain shape, kept pace with the advice of the pedlar; and
she confirmed her mistress in her purpose of taking the medicine which
he had recommended, from which it is probable she would otherwise
have dissuaded her. Neither had these intimations escaped the ears
of Wayland, who knew much better how to interpret them. He felt much
compassion at beholding so lovely a creature as the Countess, and whom
he had first seen in the bosom of domestic happiness, exposed to the
machinations of such a gang of villains. His indignation, too, had been
highly excited by hearing the voice of his old master, against whom he
felt, in equal degree, the passions of hatred and fear. He nourished
also a pride in his own art and resources; and, dangerous as the task
was, he that night formed a determination to attain the bottom of the
mystery, and to aid the distressed lady, if it were yet possible. From
some words which Lambourne had dropped among his ravings, Wayland
now, for the first time, felt inclined to doubt that Varney had acted
entirely on his own account in wooing and winning the affections of this
beautiful creature. Fame asserted of this zealous retainer that he
had accommodated his lord in former love intrigues; and it occurred
to Wayland Smith that Leicester himself might be the party chiefly
interested. Her marriage with the Earl he could not suspect; but even
the discovery of such a passing intrigue with a lady of Mistress Amy
Robsart's rank was a secret of the deepest importance to the stability
of the favourite's power over Elizabeth. "If Leicester himself should
hesitate to stifle such a rumour by very strange means," said he to
himself, "he has those about him who would do him that favour without
waiting for his consent. If I would meddle in this business, it must
be in such guise as my old master uses when he compounds his manna of
Satan, and that is with a close mask on my face. So I will quit Giles
Gosling to-morrow, and change my course and place of residence as often
as a hunted fox. I should like to see this little Puritan, too, once
more. She looks both pretty and intelligent to have come of such a
caitiff as Anthony Fire-the-Fagot."