rawe 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."

So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and saying to the old
woman whom she passed in the outer room that she was going to evening
prayer, she left the house.

Meanwhile her father had reached once more the laboratory, where
he found the accomplices of his intended guilt. "Has the sweet bird
sipped?" said Varney, with half a smile; while the astrologer put the
same question with his eyes, but spoke not a word.

"She has not, nor she shall not from my hands," replied Foster; "would
you have me do murder