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“We must not hesitate now, Jemima,” said Lady Bothwell, and walked forwards into the inner room, where, surrounded by books, maps, philosophical utensils, and other implements of peculiar shape and appearance, they found the man of art.

There was nothing very peculiar in the Italian’s appearance. He had the dark complexion and marked features of his country, seemed about fifty years old, and was handsomely but plainly dressed in a full suit of black clothes, which was then the universal costume of the medical profession. Large wax-lights, in silver sconces, illuminated the apartment, which was reasonably furnished. He rose as the ladies entered, and, notwithstanding the inferiority of their dress, received them with the marked respect due to their quality, and which foreigners are usually punctilious in rendering to those to whom such honours are due.

Lady Bothwell endeavoured to maintain her proposed incognito, and, as the Doctor ushered them to the upper end of the room, made a motion declining his courtesy, as unfitted for their condition. “We are poor people, sir,” she said; “only my sister’s distress has brought us to consult your worship whether –“

He smiled as he interrupted her–“I am aware, madam, of your sister’s distress, and its cause; I am aware, also, that I am honoured with a visit from two ladies of the highest consideration–Lady Bothwell and Lady Forester. If I could not distinguish them from the class of society which their present dress would indicate, there would be small possibility of my being able to gratify them by giving the information which they come to seek.”

“I can easily understand–” said Lady Bothwell.

“Pardon my boldness to interrupt you, milady,” cried the Italian; “your ladyship was about to say that you could easily understand that I had got possession of your names by means of your domestic. But in thinking so, you do injustice to the fidelity of your servant, and, I may add, to the skill of one who is also not less your humble servant–Baptista Damiotti.”

“I have no intention to do either, sir,” said Lady Bothwell, maintaining a tone of composure, though somewhat surprised; “but the situation is something new to me. If you know who we are, you also know, sir, what brought us here.”

“Curiosity to know the fate of a Scottish gentleman of rank, now, or lately, upon the Continent,” answered the seer. “His name is Il Cavaliero Philippo Forester, a gentleman who has the honour to be husband to this lady, and, with your ladyship’s permission for using plain language, the misfortune not to value as it deserves that inestimable advantage.”

Lady Forester sighed deeply, and Lady Bothwell replied,–

“Since you know our object without our telling it, the only question that remains is, whether you have the power to relieve my sister’s anxiety?”

“I have, madam,” answered the Paduan scholar; “but there is still a previous inquiry. Have you the courage to behold with your own eyes what the Cavaliero Philippo Forester is now doing? or will you take it on my report?”

“That question my sister must answer for herself,” said Lady Bothwell.

“With my own eyes will I endure to see whatever you have power to show me,” said Lady Forester, with the same determined spirit which had stimulated her since her resolution was taken upon this subject.

“There may be danger in it.”

“If gold can compensate the risk,” said Lady Forester, taking out her purse.

“I do not such things for the purpose of gain,” answered the foreigner; “I dare not turn my art to such a purpose. If I take the gold of the wealthy, it is but to bestow it on the poor; nor do I ever accept more than the sum I have already received from your servant. Put up your purse, madam; an adept needs not your gold,”

Lady Bothwell, considering this rejection of her sister’s offer as a mere trick of an empiric, to induce her to press a larger sum upon him, and willing that the scene should be commenced and ended, offered some gold in turn, observing that it was only to enlarge the sphere of his charity.