“Stand back, venture not too near,” he commanded, and placing a heavy piece of loose rock upon the case, he set the wheels in motion and stepped back proudly behind his handiwork.

“Thou shalt be convinced shortly, Master Manners,” he exclaimed.  “Ha, ha, I shall have many friends soon.  None know the power I have at my command, and princes and queens will court me to possess it.  I can either kill or keep alive, my elixir—­”

His voice was lost in the din of a great explosion.  Bottles and jars were rattled together and smashed.  The chamber was full of smoke and flame.  Everything was suddenly thrown into frightful disorder, all was in confusion.  Solid masses of rock were detached from the walls and roof, and went crashing across the room, destroying everything with which they came into contact, or else burst through the wall and bounded down the steep rock outside.  The very room seemed to spin around, and Sir Ronald and Manners were thrown headlong upon the pavement of the passage outside.

What could it all mean?

Simply that the engine had done its work.  Edmund had overcharged it, and it had exploded.  The angel of death had slain its creator, and the wonderful elixir of life was lost to the world for ever.

CHAPTER XXX.

Stolen Sweets.

  All close they met again, before the dusk
    Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil;
  Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
    Unknown of any, from whispering tale. 
  Ah! better had it been for ever so,
    Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.

  Keats.

It was within a week off Christmas, and at Haddon all was in confusion and disorder amid the preparations for the forthcoming wedding.  Manners had now relinquished all hope of Sir George ever relenting, and he waited with feverish impatience the time when, once more, he might clasp his darling to his heart, and pour again into her ears the oft-told story of his undiminished love.

He longed to see her again, or to be seen by her, even though no words were spoken; for he had been away awhile, and though he had bidden Roger send Dorothy word of his absence through Lettice, yet he feared lest the message had not been delivered, and she would feel alarmed at his being away.

Ill news awaited his return.  Dorothy was to go away with Margaret, for she was ill, and Benedict had prescribed a change of air.  He was desperate, and in his desperation he was prepared to hazard anything which promised the remotest chance of success; but alas! his ventures, while resulting harmlessly, brought him no nearer the goal of his ambition than he had been before.

“Roger,” he said, “I shall get me to the Hall.  Lettice should come soon; bid her hasten back and tell her mistress I am there awaiting her.”

“Aye, I will tell her,” replied the honest woodsman, “but methinks it is a sorry chance.  Thou art far more likely to be discovered than to succeed, for there be many folks at the Hall, and few dare to be friends of thine.”