warrant the giving of a draught to beast or body--I who
can gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or blister, if need, to my very
self."

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought it meet to carry this
information instantly to Tressilian, who as speedily summoned before
him Wayland Smith, and demanded of him (in private, however) by what
authority he had ventured to administer any medicine to Sir Hugh
Robsart?

"Why," replied the artist, "your worship cannot but remember that I told
you I had made more progress into my master's--I mean the learned Doctor
Doboobie's--mystery than he was willing to own; and indeed half of his
quarrel and malice against me was that, besides that I got something too
deep into his secrets, several discerning persons, and particularly a
buxom young widow of Abingdon, preferred my prescriptions to his."

"None of thy buffoonery, sir," said Tressilian sternly. "If thou hast
trifled with us--much more, if thou hast done aught that may prejudice
Sir Hugh Robsart's health, thou shalt find thy grave at the bottom of a
tin-mine."

"I know too little of the great ARCANUM to convert the ore to
gold," said Wayland firmly. "But truce to your apprehensions, Master
Tressilian. I understood the good knight's case from what Master William
Badger told me; and I hope I am able enough to administer a poor dose
of mandragora, which, with the sleep that must needs follow, is all that
Sir Hugh Robsart requires to settle his distraught brains."

"I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Wayland?" said Tressilian.

"Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall show," replied the artist.
"What would it avail me to harm the poor old man for whom you are
interested?--you, to whom I owe it that Gaffer Pinniewinks is not even
now rending my flesh and sinews with his accursed pincers, and probing
every mole in my body with his sharpened awl (a murrain on the hands
which forged it!) in order to find out the witch's mark?--I trust to
yoke myself as a humble follower to your worship's train, and I only
wish to have my faith judged of by the result of the good knight's
slumbers."

Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication. The sedative draught
which his skill had prepared, and Will Badger's confidence had
administered, was attended with the most beneficial effects. The
patient's sleep was long and healthful, and the poor old knight awoke,
humbled indeed in thought and weak in frame, yet a much better judge of