“Well, Edmund,” responded the knight, gaily, “let us hope so; only one more substance, eh?”

“Only one,” the enthusiast replied, while the look of triumph flashed already from his eyes.

“And then we shall—­shall what, Edmund, what shall we do?”

“Live for ages.”

“For ever, in fact, I suppose?”

“My elixir will conquer disease, and man shall live until his feeble frame has worn away,” he responded grandly.

“Lucky man,” soliloquised Sir Ronald, facetiously.  “But the dames, Edmund, you said naught of them.  Cannot you discover aught for them?  Surely they may share the blessing also!”

“No more is wanted; my elixir will serve for both,” majestically responded Edmund, as he placed a cauldron over the fire.  He was too intensely in earnest himself to note that his companion was sceptically making fun of him.

“And will soldiers live for ages, too?” continued Sir Ronald.

“Those who are killed my elixir is impotent to bring back again to life.  The dead are beyond all aid.”

“And the wounded?” persisted the knight.

“I can but stave off disease, Ronald; but what a glorious achievement have I accomplished then!  Methinks I see the glory now, and when I am in my grave, pilgrims shall come and worship at my shrine as they have done these centuries at the altar of St. Thomas the Martyr at Canterbury.  What glory, what glory!” and in the exuberance of his delight, Edmund Wynne gleefully rubbed his hands together.

“I am forgetting my errand, though,” exclaimed the deputy-governor, “I have a visitor for thee.”

Edmund quailed.  He was not in the habit of receiving visitors, for he had few friends and many enemies, therefore the announcement gave him very little pleasure.

“For me?” he said, in a tone of unmistakable surprise, and equally unmistakable displeasure.

“Aye, for thee,” Sir Ronald replied.  “Shall I bring him to you?”

“Bring him down here?” screamed Edmund, aghast at the very idea.  “No, never.”

“You will come up to him, then?  It makes no matter!”

“I am too busy,” he evasively replied.  “Tell me, Ronald, who it is.”

“’Tis a friend.”

“Humph!  He has heard of my elixir and wants—­ah, well, I shall have friends enough now, I’ll warrant me.”

“He is an enemy of Sir George Vernon, then,” added the knight.

“Hey!  Bring him down, then,” said the alchemyst.  “I will meet him outside the room.”

“Well, Master John Manners will be down by and bye.  Lady Bury meanwhile is entertaining him, for he was hungry.”

Edmund started.

“Manners, John Manners!” he exclaimed.  “Nay, then, bring him not hither.  Does he know that I am here?”

“Aye, I have told him.”

“You have!” ejaculated Edmund, in a frenzy of terror.  “I met him at Haddon, he is a friend of the baron’s.”