"And why, I pray you," said Janet, "if it be fitting that the noble lady should partake of the cup at all?"
"Why--why?" said the seneschal, hesitating, and then bursting into passion as the readiest mode of supplying the lack of all other reason--"why, because it is my pleasure, minion, that you should not! Get you gone to the evening lecture."
"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
