“Edmund, thou speakest over rashly,” interposed Sir Ronald.  “Master Manners would honour thee, and thou treatest him so lightly.  Together you may accomplish your designs and work whatever you will; the past—­”

“Is buried with its forefathers and forgotten,” quickly exclaimed Manners.  “Come, I greet thee on equal terms.  I would be thy friend.”

Edmund shook the proffered hand as though it were a bar of red-hot iron he had been commanded to hold, or a phial of his precious elixir he was carrying, and he felt by no means flattered at the reference to their equality, just as if he, too, had discovered such mighty secrets.

“I shall not want for friends soon, forsooth; the great have ever many,” he replied.

Manners laughed.

“Thou hast few enough as yet, I’ll warrant, besides thy good friend, Sir Ronald,” he exclaimed.  “I trow you cannot well afford to turn the first comers away, Nathan.”

“I can do all with my elixir,” was the proud response.

“Sir Ronald Bury tells me thou hast prepared this engine for Sir George,” said Manners, abruptly changing the topic of the conversation.  “Is that so?”

“Aha, for Sir George Vernon, yes.”

“Can’st thou direct it against the Stanleys, too?  I would have them punished if we could.”

“Thou art a friend of his,” said Edmund, suspiciously, referring to the baron.

“Albeit I seek revenge, justice, anything!” he said bitterly.  “I have been spurned away from his door like as I had been a dog.”

Edmund looked at him incredulously.  He was not convinced yet.

“If you mean no treachery,” he said cautiously, “call me by my name, for I am Edmund Wynne.  I like not to bethink me of the past until—­,” and he approvingly looked at his instrument of death.

“Until what?”

“Ha, I will show thee,” replied Edmund.  “Stand not too near.”

Manners had not much faith in the destructive properties of the instrument, but the command was given in such an earnest and authoritative fashion that to have refused compliance would only have caused offence.  Probably, too, Edmund would not try the experiment if he expressed his scepticism, and he was curious to see it, so he retreated to the doorway to watch his movements.

“This,” Edmund went on, “is to be put in the baron’s room.”

“Yes, but how?” asked Manners, perceiving that some sort of a remark was expected of him.

“Cannot I, who have invented it, find some means for conveying the engine there?” replied the inventor, with staggering emphasis.

Manners deferentially bowed his acquiescence, much to the amusement of Sir Ronald.

“You must not heed his words,” whispered the knight.  “He is infatuated with his work.  In all things else he is as timid as a mouse.”

“And then,” pursued the mighty alchemyst, “and then—!  Nay, I will show thee, see!” and with some difficulty he forced open a little door at the side.