After priming him with another bumper of malmsey, Blaise’s new friends suffered him to depart.  On returning home, he proceeded to his own room, and feeling unusually drowsy, he threw himself on the bed, and almost instantly dropped asleep.  When he awoke, the fumes of the liquor had, in a great degree, evaporated, and he recalled, with considerable self-reproach, the promise he had given, and would gladly have recalled it, if it had been possible.  But it was now not far from the appointed hour, and he momentarily expected the arrival of the two doctors.  The only thing that consoled him was the store of medicine he had obtained, and, locking it up in his cupboard, he descended to the kitchen.  Fortunately, his mother was from home, so that he ran no risk from her; and, finding Patience alone, after some hesitation, he let her into the secret of his anticipated visitors.  She was greatly surprised, and expressed much uneasiness lest they should be discovered; as, if they were so, it would be sure to bring them both into trouble.

“What can they want with Mistress Amabel?” she cried.  “I should not wonder if Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, as you call him, turns out a lover in disguise.”

“A lover!” exclaimed Blaize.  “Your silly head is always running upon lovers.  He’s an old man—­old enough to be your grandfather, with a long white beard, reaching to his waist.  He a lover!  Mr. Bloundel is much more like one.”

“For all that, it looks suspicious,” returned Patience; “and I shall have my eyes about me on their arrival.”

Shortly after this, Blaize crept cautiously up to the back yard, and, opening the door, found, as he expected, Bottesham and his companion.  Motioning them to follow him, he led the way to the kitchen, where they arrived without observation.  Patience eyed the new-comers narrowly, and felt almost certain, from their appearance and manner, that her suspicions were correct.  All doubts were removed when Bottesham, slipping a purse into her hand, entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel to come into the kitchen.  At first she hesitated; but having a tender heart, inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course of any love-affair, her scruples were soon overcome.  Accordingly she hurried upstairs, and chancing to meet with her young mistress, who was about to retire to her own chamber, entreated her to come down with her for a moment in the kitchen.  Thinking it some unimportant matter, but yet wondering why Patience should appear so urgent, Amabel complied.  She was still more perplexed when she saw the two strangers, and would have instantly retired if Bottesham had not detained her.

“You will pardon the liberty I have taken in sending for you,” he said, “when I explain that I have done so to offer you counsel.”

“I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here,” she replied.

“Amabel,” returned Bottesham, in a low tone, but altering his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his features; “it is I—­Maurice Wyvil.”