‘Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax.’

No one but thyself could have gulled thee; and thou hast gulled the whole brotherhood of the Rosy Cross besides—­none so deep in the mystery as thou.  But hark thee in thine ear:  had the seasoning which spiced Sussex’s broth wrought more surely, I would have thought better of the chemical science thou dost boast so highly.”

“Thou art an hardened villain, Varney,” replied Alasco; “many will do those things who dare not speak of them.”

“And many speak of them who dare not do them,” answered Varney.  “But be not wroth—­I will not quarrel with thee.  If I did, I were fain to live on eggs for a month, that I might feed without fear.  Tell me at once, how came thine art to fail thee at this great emergency?”

“The Earl of Sussex’s horoscope intimates,” replied the astrologer, “that the sign of the ascendant being in combustion—­”

“Away with your gibberish,” replied Varney; “thinkest thou it is the patron thou speakest with?”

“I crave your pardon,” replied the old man, “and swear to you I know but one medicine that could have saved the Earl’s life; and as no man living in England knows that antidote save myself—­moreover, as the ingredients, one of them in particular, are scarce possible to be come by, I must needs suppose his escape was owing to such a constitution of lungs and vital parts as was never before bound up in a body of clay.”

“There was some talk of a quack who waited on him,” said Varney, after a moment’s reflection.  “Are you sure there is no one in England who has this secret of thine?”

“One man there was,” said the doctor, “once my servant, who might have stolen this of me, with one or two other secrets of art.  But content you, Master Varney, it is no part of my policy to suffer such interlopers to interfere in my trade.  He pries into no mysteries more, I warrant you, for, as I well believe, he hath been wafted to heaven on the wing of a fiery dragon—­peace be with him!  But in this retreat of mine shall I have the use of mine elaboratory?”

“Of a whole workshop, man,” said Varney; “for a reverend father abbot, who was fain to give place to bluff King Hal and some of his courtiers, a score of years since, had a chemist’s complete apparatus, which he was obliged to leave behind him to his successors.  Thou shalt there occupy, and melt, and puff, and blaze, and multiply, until the Green Dragon become a golden goose, or whatever the newer phrase of the brotherhood may testify.”

“Thou art right, Master Varney,” said the alchemist setting his teeth close and grinding them together—­“thou art right even in thy very contempt of right and reason.  For what thou sayest in mockery may in sober verity chance to happen ere we meet again.  If the most venerable sages of ancient days have spoken the truth—­if the most learned of our own have rightly received it; if I have been accepted wherever I travelled in