y be called
in to aid, recommend a quiet residence at home, will, in one word, be
esteemed good service, and remunerated as such."

"I am not to be asked to affect the House of Life?" said the chemist.

"On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if thou dost," replied
Varney.

"And I must," added Alasco, "have opportunity to do my turn, and all
facilities for concealment or escape, should there be detection?"

"All, all, and everything, thou infidel in all but the impossibilities
of alchemy. Why, man, for what dost thou take me?"

The old man rose, and taking a light walked towards the end of the
apartment, where was a door that led to the small sleeping-room destined
for his reception during the night. At the door he turned round, and
slowly repeated Varney's question ere he answered it. "For what do
I take thee, Richard Varney? Why, for a worse devil than I have been
myself. But I am in your toils, and I must serve you till my term be
out."

"Well, well," answered Varney hastily, "be stirring with grey light.
It may be we shall not need thy medicine--do nought till I myself
come down. Michael Lambourne shall guide you to the place of your
destination." [See Note 7. Dr. Julio.]

When Varney heard the adept's door shut and carefully bolted within, he
stepped towards it, and with similar precaution carefully locked it
on the outside, and took the key from the lock, muttering to himself,
"Worse than THEE, thou poisoning quacksalver and witch-monger, who,
if thou art not a bounden slave to the devil, it is only because he
disdains such an apprentice! I am a mortal man, and seek by mortal means
the gratification of my passions and advancement of my prospects; thou
art a vassal of hell itself--So ho, Lambourne!" he called at another
door, and Michael made his appearance with a flushed cheek and an
unsteady step.

"Thou art drunk, thou villain!" said Varney to him.

"Doubtless, noble sir," replied the unabashed Michael; "We have been
drinking all even to the glories of the day, and to my noble Lord of
Leicester and his valiant master of the horse. Drunk! odds blades and
poniards, he that would refuse to swallow a dozen healths on such an
evening is a base besognio, and a puckfoist, and shall swallow six
inches of my dagger!"

"Hark ye, scoundrel," said Varney, "be sober on the instant--I command
thee. I know thou canst throw off thy drunken folly, like a fool's coat,
at pleasure; and if not, it were the worse for