"Now, as I hope to hear lecture again," replied Janet, "I will not go

thither this night, unless I am better assured of my mistress's safety.

Give me that flask, father"--and she took it from his reluctant hand,

while he resigned it as if conscience-struck. "And now," she said,

"father, that which shall benefit my mistress, cannot do ME prejudice.

Father, I drink to you."

Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter and wrested the

flask from her hand; then, as if embarrassed by what he had done, and

totally unable to resolve what he should do next, he stood with it in

his hand, one foot advanced and the other drawn back, glaring on his

daughter with a countenance in which rage, fear, and convicted villainy

formed a hideous combination.

"This is strange, my father," said Janet, keeping her eye fixed on his,

in the manner in which those who have the charge of lunatics are said to

overawe their unhappy patients; "will you neither let me serve my lady,

nor drink to her myself?"

The courage of the Countess sustained her through this dreadful scene,

of which the import was not the less obvious that it was not even hinted

at. She preserved even the rash carelessness of her temper, and though

her cheek had grown pale at the first alarm, her eye was calm and almost

scornful. "Will YOU taste this rare cordial, Master Foster? Perhaps you

will not yourself refuse to pledge us, though you permit not Janet to do

so. Drink, sir, I pray you."

"I will not," answered Foster.

"And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?" said the

Countess.

"For the devil, who brewed it!" answered Foster; and, turning on his

heel, he left the chamber.

Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expressive in the

highest degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow.

"Do not weep for me, Janet," said the Countess kindly.

"No, madam," replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs, "it is

not for you I weep; it is for myself--it is for that unhappy man. Those

who are dishonoured before man--those who are condemned by God--have

cause to mourn; not those who are innocent! Farewell, madam!" she said

hastily assuming the mantle in which she was wont to go abroad.

"Do you leave me, Janet?" said her mistress--"desert me in such an evil

strait?"

"Desert you, madam!" exclaimed Janet; and running back to her mistress,

she imprinted a thousand kisses on her hand--"desert you I--may the Hope

of my trust desert me when I do so! No, madam; well you said the God you

serve will open you a path for deliverance. There is a way of escape. I

have prayed night and day for light, that I might see how to act betwixt

my duty to yonder unhappy man and that which I owe to you. Sternly and

fearfully that light has now dawned, and I must not shut the door which

God opens. Ask me no more. I will return in brief space."




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