"Now, as I hope to hear lecture again," replied Janet, "I will not go
thither this night, unless I am better assured of my mistress's safety.
Give me that flask, father"--and she took it from his reluctant hand,
while he resigned it as if conscience-struck. "And now," she said,
"father, that which shall benefit my mistress, cannot do ME prejudice.
Father, I drink to you."
Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his daughter and wrested the
flask from her hand; then, as if embarrassed by what he had done, and
totally unable to resolve what he should do next, he stood with it in
his hand, one foot advanced and the other drawn back, glaring on his
daughter with a countenance in which rage, fear, and convicted villainy
formed a hideous combination.
"This is strange, my father," said Janet, keeping her eye fixed on his,
in the manner in which those who have the charge of lunatics are said to
overawe their unhappy patients; "will you neither let me serve my lady,
nor drink to her myself?"
The courage of the Countess sustained her through this dreadful scene,
of which the import was not the less obvious that it was not even hinted
at. She preserved even the rash carelessness of her temper, and though
her cheek had grown pale at the first alarm, her eye was calm and almost
scornful. "Will YOU taste this rare cordial, Master Foster? Perhaps you
will not yourself refuse to pledge us, though you permit not Janet to do
so. Drink, sir, I pray you."
"I will not," answered Foster.
"And for whom, then, is the precious beverage reserved, sir?" said the
Countess.
"For the devil, who brewed it!" answered Foster; and, turning on his
heel, he left the chamber.
Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance expressive in the
highest degree of shame, dismay, and sorrow.
"Do not weep for me, Janet," said the Countess kindly.
"No, madam," replied her attendant, in a voice broken by sobs, "it is
not for you I weep; it is for myself--it is for that unhappy man. Those
who are dishonoured before man--those who are condemned by God--have
cause to mourn; not those who are innocent! Farewell, madam!" she said
hastily assuming the mantle in which she was wont to go abroad.
"Do you leave me, Janet?" said her mistress--"desert me in such an evil
strait?"
"Desert you, madam!" exclaimed Janet; and running back to her mistress,
she imprinted a thousand kisses on her hand--"desert you I--may the Hope
of my trust desert me when I do so! No, madam; well you said the God you
serve will open you a path for deliverance. There is a way of escape. I
have prayed night and day for light, that I might see how to act betwixt
my duty to yonder unhappy man and that which I owe to you. Sternly and
fearfully that light has now dawned, and I must not shut the door which
God opens. Ask me no more. I will return in brief space."