Varney bowed, and the astrologer kissed the Earl’s hand in token of adieu, and followed the master of the horse to another apartment, in which were placed wine and refreshments for his use.

The astrologer sat down to his repast, while Varney shut two doors with great precaution, examined the tapestry, lest any listener lurked behind it, and then sitting down opposite to the sage, began to question him.

“Saw you my signal from the court beneath?”

“I did,” said Alasco, for by such name he was at present called, “and shaped the horoscope accordingly.”

“And it passed upon the patron without challenge?” continued Varney.

“Not without challenge,” replied the old man, “but it did pass; and I added, as before agreed, danger from a discovered secret, and a western youth.”

“My lord’s fear will stand sponsor to the one, and his conscience to the other, of these prognostications,” replied Varney.  “Sure never man chose to run such a race as his, yet continued to retain those silly scruples!  I am fain to cheat him to his own profit.  But touching your matters, sage interpreter of the stars, I can tell you more of your own fortune than plan or figure can show.  You must be gone from hence forthwith.”

“I will not,” said Alasco peevishly.  “I have been too much hurried up and down of late—­immured for day and night in a desolate turret-chamber.  I must enjoy my liberty, and pursue my studies, which are of more import than the fate of fifty statesmen and favourites that rise and burst like bubbles in the atmosphere of a court.”

“At your pleasure,” said Varney, with a sneer that habit had rendered familiar to his features, and which forms the principal characteristic which painters have assigned to that of Satan—­“at your pleasure,” he said; “you may enjoy your liberty and your studies until the daggers of Sussex’s followers are clashing within your doublet and against your ribs.”  The old man turned pale, and Varney proceeded.  “Wot you not he hath offered a reward for the arch-quack and poison-vender, Demetrius, who sold certain precious spices to his lordship’s cook?  What! turn you pale, old friend?  Does Hali already see an infortune in the House of Life?  Why, hark thee, we will have thee down to an old house of mine in the country, where thou shalt live with a hobnailed slave, whom thy alchemy may convert into ducats, for to such conversion alone is thy art serviceable.”

“It is false, thou foul-mouthed railer,” said Alasco, shaking with impotent anger; “it is well known that I have approached more nearly to projection than any hermetic artist who now lives.  There are not six chemists in the world who possess so near an approximation to the grand arcanum—­”

“Come, come,” said Varney, interrupting him, “what means this, in the name of Heaven?  Do we not know one another?  I believe thee to be so perfect—­so very perfect—­in the mystery of cheating, that, having imposed upon all mankind, thou hast at length in some measure imposed upon thyself, and without ceasing to dupe others, hast become a species of dupe to thine own imagination.  Blush not for it, man—­thou art learned, and shalt have classical comfort: