"And what manner of charm, deacon?" asked the cardinal, affecting not to hear the king; for he did not scoff at sorcery, though he did at Paracelsus.
"A muild, as our peasants call it. She may have trod upon a muild, which is a powder of potent effect, prepared from the bones of the dead, and scattered by sorcerers in the path of their enemies. We all know that, at the Sabaoth of the witches, sepulchres are violated, corpses are dismembered, and the limy particles of the bones pulverised to operate as mischiefs upon mankind. At this time the queen hath all the symptoms of one who hath trod upon an enchanted muild, or dieth of pricked images—for they are the same. A swarting of the heart, a fluttering of the breast. When the patients will merely sicken they turn red—when they will die, they turn pale."
"And the queen is pale?" said the cardinal.
"Yea, even as death."
"The cure—the cure?" sighed the king.
"There are two: the first is, to find a certain reptile, forming one of the six species of salamanders which are indigenous in southern Europe, in the head whereof is a red stone, to be taken as a powder. For it is written by Paracelsus——"
"Paracelsus again!" said James, stamping his foot; "the second cure?"
"Is to burn the sorcerer."
"Then Sir Adam Otterburn must sift this matter to its bottom."
"Ah, that reminds me," said the doctor, rising up, and clutching his sand-glass; "I must now retire, with your majesty's leave."