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"That's little enough, Lady Marian, if one is thirsty."

This astounding fib did not seem to strike Lady Marian as a fib at all, and she only asked eagerly:

"Think you the wine was drugged?"

Having entered on his career as a liar, there was now no retreat for Macfarren. Moreover, he was really at a loss for opinions, and his only resource was to lie, promptly, thoroughly, and consistently.

"I think not," he replied, humbly. "A lady of rank would scarcely be so treated in the house of her friends, and besides," he added, with the mendacity of a man in love. "You drank so little—not more than a gallon altogether."

Marian's countenance assumed a look of genuine relief.

"They would hardly dare to play so scurvy a trick on the daughter of Lord Howard de Winstanley. And, although I have heard dark tales of what was done to Amy Robsart—thou dost know Amy, the daughter of Sir John Robsart of Cumnor Hall?"

"I have heard of her," replied Macfarren, and, his self-possession returning, he added, boldly, "through Sir Walter Scott of Abbotsford."