"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.