him further away from success than he had been before. But now it was
not the elixir that he was seeking to find. From trying to discover
something that should rob the grave of its prey, he had turned his
attention towards the invention of an engine to hasten death. His
heart was all aflame with the passion of revenge. The lord of Haddon
had incurred his intense and undying hatred. He had heaped indignities
upon him; he had slain the object of his affections; and the disgrace
into which he had fallen at London was also ascribed, rightly or
wrongly, to the baron.

Baulked of his revenge hitherto, his passionate desire for it had
decreased rather than declined through his failures, and the very fact
of his failing was itself another charge for which the baron would
have to answer. Death, and death alone, would now be sufficient to
wipe out the stain, and Edmund had long cudgelled his wits to secure
the destruction of his foe.

"Aye, Edmund, Edmund," exclaimed Sir Ronald Bury, as he broke in upon
Wynne's privacy, "at thy whimsical labours again, I see."

"Nay, not whimsical, Ronald," was the gentle reply. "My elixir is
nearly right; only one ingredient more is wanted, and then!"

"And then, what?" laughed the knight.

"Why, then I shall have discovered what all the sages of the earth
have sought in vain."

"A toadstone, I suppose?" replied Sir Ronald, lightly.