“Thank you! thank you!” cried Blaize, transported with delight.

“Wait here a moment, and I will ascertain whether he will see you,” replied Parkhurst.

So saying, he quitted the porter, who amused himself during his absence by studying the labels affixed to the jars and bottles on the shelves.  He had much ado to restrain himself from opening some of them, and tasting their contents.

Full a quarter of an hour elapsed before the apothecary appeared.

“I am sorry to have detained you so long,” he said; “but I had more difficulty with the doctor than I expected, and for some time he refused to see you on any terms, because he has a violent antipathy to Doctor Hodges, whom he regards as a mere pretender, and whose patient he conceives you to be.”

“I am not Doctor Hodges’ patient,” returned Blaize; “and I regard him as a pretender myself.”

“That opinion will recommend you to Doctor Bottesham,” replied Parkhurst; “and since I have smoothed the way for you, you will find him very affable and condescending.  He has often heard me speak of your master; and if it were not for his dislike of Doctor Hodges, whom he might accidentally encounter, he would call upon him.”

“I wish I could get my master to employ him instead of the other,” said Blaize.

“I wish so too,” cried Parkhurst, eagerly.  “Do you think it could be managed?”

“I fear not,” returned Blaize.

“There would be no harm in making the trial,” replied Parkhurst.  “But you shall now see the learned gentleman.  I ought to apprise you that he has two friends with him—­one a young gallant, named Hawkswood, whom he has recently cured of the distemper, and who is so much attached to him that he never leaves him; the other, a doctor, like himself, named Martin Furbisher, who always accompanies him in his visits to his patients, and prepares his mixtures for him.  You must not be surprised at their appearance.  And now come with me.”

With this, he led the way into a small room at the back of the shop, where three personages were seated at the table, with a flask of wine and glasses before them.  Blaize detected Doctor Bottesham at a glance.  He was an ancient-looking man, clad in a suit of rusty black, over which was thrown a velvet robe, very much soiled and faded, but originally trimmed with fur, and lined with yellow silk.  His powers of vision appeared to be feeble, for he wore a large green shade over his eyes, and a pair of spectacles of the same colour.  A venerable white beard descended almost to his waist.  His head was protected by a long flowing grey wig, over which he wore a black velvet cap.  His shoulders were high and round, his back bent, and he evidently required support when he moved, as a crutch-headed staff was reared against his chair.  On his left was a young, handsome, and richly-attired gallant, answering to the apothecary’s description of Hawkswood; and on the right sat a stout personage precisely habited like himself, except that he wore a broad-leaved hat, which completely overshadowed his features.  Notwithstanding this attempt at concealment, it was easy to perceive that Doctor Furbisher’s face was covered with scars, that he had a rubicund nose, studded with carbuncles, and a black patch over his left eye.