Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  BOOK THE FOURTH.

  SEPTEMBER, 1665.

  I.

  THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT.

  Amabel's departure for Berkshire caused no change in her father's modeof life. Everything proceeded as before within his quiet dwelling; and,except that the family were diminished in number, all appeared the same.It is true they wanted the interest, and indeed the occupation, affordedthem by the gentle invalid, but in other respects, no difference wasobservable. Devotional exercises, meals, the various duties of thehouse, and cheerful discourse, filled up the day, which never provedwearisome. The result proved the correctness of Mr. Bloundel's judgment.While the scourge continued weekly to extend its ravages throughout thecity, it never crossed his threshold; and, except suffering in a slightdegree from scorbutic affections, occasioned by the salt meats to whichthey were now confined, and for which the lemon and lime-juice, providedagainst such a contingency, proved an efficacious remedy, all the familyenjoyed perfect health. For some weeks after her separation from herdaughter, Mrs. Bloundel continued in a desponding state, but after thattime she became more reconciled to the deprivation, and partiallyrecovered her spirits. Mr. Bloundel did not dare to indulge a hope thatAmabel would ever return; but though he suffered much in secret, henever allowed his grief to manifest itself. The circumstance that he hadnot received any intelligence of her did not weigh much with him,because the difficulty of communication became greater and greater, aseach week the scourge increased in violence, and he was inclined to takeno news as good news. It was not so in the present case, but of this hewas happily ignorant.

  In this way, a month passed on. And now every other consideration wasmerged in the alarm occasioned by the daily increasing fury of thepestilence. Throughout July the excessive heat of the weather underwentno abatement, but in place of the clear atmosphere that had prevailedduring the preceding month, unwholesome blights filled the air, and,confining the pestilential effluvia, spread the contagion far and widewith extraordinary rapidity. Not only was the city suffocated with heat,but filled with noisome smells, arising from the carcasses with whichthe close alleys and other out-of-the-way places were crowded, and whichwere so far decomposed as not to be capable of removal. The aspect ofthe river was as much changed as that of the city. Numbers of bodieswere thrown into it, and, floating up with the tide, were left to taintthe air on its banks, while strange, ill-omened fowl, attracted thitherby their instinct, preyed upon them. Below the bridge, all captains ofships moored in the Pool, or off Wapping, held as little communicationas possible with those on shore, and only received fresh provisions withthe greatest precaution. As the plague increased, most of these removedlower down the river, and many of them put out entirely to sea. Abovethe bridge, most of the wherries and other smaller craft haddisappeared, their owners having taken them up the river, and mooredthem against its banks at different spots, where they lived in themunder tilts. Many hundreds of persons remained upon the river in thisway during the whole continuance of the visitation.

  August had now arrived, but the distemper knew no cessation. On thecontrary, it manifestly increased in violence and malignity. The deathsrose a thousand in each week, and in the last week in this fatal monthamounted to upwards of sixty thousand!

  But, terrible as this was, the pestilence had not yet reached itsheight. Hopes were entertained that when the weather became cooler, itsfury would abate; but these anticipations were fearfully disappointed.The bills of mortality rose the first week in September to seventhousand, and though they slightly decreased during the secondweek--awakening a momentary hope--on the third they advanced to twelvethousand! In less than ten days, upwards of two thousand personsperished in the parish of Aldgate alone; while Whitechapel sufferedequally severely. Out of the hundred parishes in and about the city, oneonly, that of Saint John the Evangelist in Watling-street, remaineduninfected, and this merely because there was scarcely a soul leftwithin it, the greater part of the inhabitants having quitted theirhouses, and fled into the country.

  The deepest despair now seized upon all the survivors. Scarcely a familybut had lost half of its number--many, more than half--while those whowere left felt assured that their turn would speedily arrive. Even thereckless were appalled, and abandoned their evil courses. Not only werethe dead lying in the passages and alleys, but even in the mainthoroughfares, and none would remove them. The awful prediction ofSolomon Eagle that "grass would grow in the streets, and that the livingshould not be able to bury the dead," had come to pass. London hadbecome one vast lazar-house, and seemed in a fair way of becoming amighty sepulchre.

  During all this time, Saint Paul's continued to be used as a pest-house,but it was not so crowded as heretofore, because, as not one in fifty ofthe infected recovered when placed under medical care, it was notthought worth while to remove them from their own abodes. The number ofattendants, too, had diminished. Some had died, but the greater part hadabandoned their offices from a fear of sharing the fate of theirpatients. In consequence of these changes, Judith Malmayns had beenadvanced to the post of chief nurse at the cathedral. Both she andChowles had been attacked by the plague, and both had recovered. Judithattended the coffin-maker, and it was mainly owing to her that he gotthrough the attack. She never left him for a moment, and would neversuffer any one to approach him--a necessary precaution, as he was somuch alarmed by his situation that he would infallibly have made someawkward revelations. When Judith, in her turn, was seized, Chowlesexhibited no such consideration for her, and scarcely affected toconceal his disappointment at her recovery. This want of feeling on hispart greatly incensed her against him, and though he contrived in somedegree to appease her, it was long before she entirely forgave him. Farfrom being amended by her sufferings, she seemed to have grown moreobdurate, and instantly commenced a fresh career of crime. It was not,however, necessary now to hasten the end of the sick. The distemper hadacquired such force and malignity that it did its work quicklyenough--often too quickly--and all she sought was to obtain possessionof the poor patients' attire, or any valuables they might possess worthappropriating. To turn to the brighter side of the picture, it must notbe omitted that when the pestilence was at its height, and no offerscould induce the timorous to venture forth, or render assistance to thesufferers, Sir John Lawrence the Lord Mayor, the Duke of Albermarle, theEarl of Craven, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, devoted themselves tothe care of the infected, and supplied them with every necessary theyrequired. Among the physicians, no one deserves more honourable mentionthan Doctor Hodges, who was unremitting in his attentions to thesufferers.

  To return to the grocer. While the plague was thus raging around him,and while every house in Wood-street except one or two, from which theinmates had fled, was attacked by the pestilence, he and his family hadremained untouched. About the middle of August, he experienced a greatalarm. His second son, Hubert, fell sick, and he removed him to one ofthe upper rooms which he had set aside as an hospital, and attended uponhim himself. In a few days, however, his fears were removed and hefound, to his great satisfaction, that the youth had not been attackedby the plague, but was only suffering from a slight fever, which quicklyyielded to the remedies applied. About the same time, too, he lost hisporter, Dallison. The poor fellow did not make his appearance as usualfor two days, and intelligence of his fate was brought on the followingday by his wife, who came to state that her husband was dead, and hadbeen thrown into the plague-pit at Aldgate. The same night, however, shebrought another man, named Allestry, who took the place of the lateporter, and acquainted his employer with the deplorable state of thecity.

  Two days afterwards, Allestry himself died, and Mr. Bloundel had no oneto replace him. He thus lost all means of ascertaining what was goingforward; but the deathlike stillness around him, broken only by thehoarse tolling of a bell, by a wild shriek or other appalling cry,proclaimed too surely the terrible state of things. Sometimes, too, apassenger would go by, and would tell him the dreadful height to whichthe bills of mortality had risen
, assuring him that ere another monthhad expired, not a soul would be left alive in London.

  One night, as Solomon Eagle, who had likewise been miraculouslypreserved, pursued his course through the streets, he paused before Mr.Roundel's house, and looking up at the window, at which the latter hadchanced to be stationed, cried in a loud voice, "Be of good cheer. Youhave served God faithfully, and there shall no evil befall you, neithershall the plague come nigh your dwelling." And raising his arms, as ifinvoking a blessing upon the habitation, he departed.

  It was now the second week in September, and as yet Mr. Bloundel hadreceived no tidings of his daughter. At any other season he would havebeen seriously uneasy, but now, as has been already stated, all privategrief was swallowed up in the horror of the general calamity. Satisfiedthat she was in a healthful situation, and that her chance ofpreservation from the pestilence was better than that of any othermember of his family, he turned his thoughts entirely to them.Redoubling his precautions, he tried by every means to keep up thefailing spirits of his household, and but rarely ventured to open hisshutter, and look forth on the external world.

  On the tenth of September, which was afterwards accounted the most fatalday of this fatal month, a young man of a very dejected appearance, andwearing the traces of severe suffering in his countenance, entered thewest end of London, and took his way slowly towards the city. He hadpassed Saint Giles's without seeing a single living creature, or thesign of one in any of the houses. The broad thoroughfare was completelygrown over with grass, and the habitations had the most melancholy anddeserted air imaginable. Some doors and windows were wide open,discovering rooms with goods and furniture scattered about, having beenleft in this state by their inmates; but most part of them were closelyfastened up.

  As he proceeded along Holborn, the ravages of the scourge were yet moreapparent. Every house, on either side of the way, had a red cross, withthe fatal inscription above it, upon the door. Here and there, awatchman might be seen, looking more like a phantom than a living thing.Formerly, the dead were conveyed away at night, but now the carts wentabout in the daytime. On reaching Saint Andrew's, Holborn, severalpersons were seen wheeling hand-barrows filled with corpses, scarcelycovered with clothing, and revealing the blue and white stripes of thepestilence, towards a cart which was standing near the church gates. Thedriver of the vehicle, a tall, cadaverous-looking man, was ringing hisbell, and jesting with another person, whom the young man recognised,with a shudder, as Chowles. The coffin-maker also recognised him at thesame moment, and called to him, but the other paid no attention to thesummons and passed on.

  Crossing Holborn Bridge, he toiled faintly up the opposite hill, for hewas evidently suffering from extreme debility, and on gaining the summitwas obliged to support himself against a wall for a few minutes, beforehe could proceed. The same frightful evidences of the ravages of thepestilence were observable here, as elsewhere. The houses were allmarked with the fatal cross, and shut up. Another dead-cart was heardrumbling along, accompanied by the harsh cries of the driver, and thedoleful ringing of the bell. The next moment the loathly vehicle wasseen coming along the Old Bailey. It paused before a house, from whichfour bodies were brought, and then passed on towards Smithfield.Watching its progress with fearful curiosity, the young man noted howoften it paused to increase its load. His thoughts, coloured by thescene, were of the saddest and dreariest complexion. All around wore theaspect of death. The few figures in sight seemed staggering towards thegrave, and the houses appeared to be plague-stricken like theinhabitants. The heat was intolerably oppressive, and the air taintedwith noisome exhalations. Ever and anon, a window would be opened, and aghastly face thrust from it, while a piercing shriek, or lamentable cry,was uttered. No business seemed going on--there were no passengers--novehicles in the streets. The mighty city was completely laid prostrate.

  After a short rest, the young man shaped his course towards SaintPaul's, and on reaching its western precincts, gazed for some time atthe reverend structure, as if its contemplation called up many andpainful recollections. Tears started to his eyes, and he was about toturn away, when he perceived the figure of Solomon Eagle stationed nearthe cross at the western extremity of the roof. The enthusiast caughtsight of him at the same moment, and motioned him to come nearer. "Whathas happened?" he demanded, as the other approached the steps of theportico.

  The young man shook his head mournfully. "It is a sad tale," he said,"and cannot be told now."

  "I can conjecture what it is," replied Solomon Eagle. "But come to thesmall door near the northern entrance of the cathedral at midnight. Iwill meet you there."

  "I will not fail," replied the young man.

  "One of the terrible judgments which I predicted would befall thisdevoted city has come to pass," cried Solomon Eagle. "Another yetremains--the judgment by fire--and if its surviving inhabitants repentnot, of which there is as yet no sign, it will assuredly follow."

  "Heaven avert it!" groaned the other, turning away.

  Proceeding along Cheapside, he entered Wood-street, and took his waytowards the grocer's dwelling. When at a little distance from it, hepaused, and some minutes elapsed before he could muster strength to goforward. Here, as elsewhere, there were abundant indications of thehavoc occasioned by the fell disease. Not far from the grocer's shop,and in the middle of the street, lay the body of a man, with the faceturned upwards, while crouching in an angle of the wall sat a youngwoman watching it. As the young man drew nearer, he recognised in thedead man the principal of the Brotherhood of Saint Michael, and in thepoor mourner one of his profligate female associates. "What has becomeof your unhappy companions?" he demanded of the woman.

  "The last of them lies there," she rejoined mournfully. "All the restdied long ago. My lover was true to his vow; and instead of deploringtheir fate, lived with me and three other women in mirth and revelrytill yesterday, when the three women died, and he fell sick. He did not,however, give in, but continued carousing until an hour before hisdeath."

  Too much shocked to make any reply, the young man proceeded towards thehutch. Beneath a doorway, at a little distance from it, sat a watchmanwith a halberd on his shoulder, guarding the house; but it was evidenthe would be of little further use. His face was covered with his hands,and his groans proclaimed that he himself was attacked by thepestilence. Entering the hutch, the young man pulled the cord of thebell, and the summons was soon after answered by the grocer, whoappeared at the window. "What, Leonard Holt!" he exclaimed, in surprise,on seeing the young man--"is it you?--what ails you?--you lookfrightfully ill."

  "I have been attacked a second time by the plague," replied theapprentice, "and am only just recovered from it."

  "What of my child?" cried the grocer eagerly--"what of her?"

  "Alas! alas!" exclaimed the apprentice.

  "Do not keep me in suspense," rejoined the grocer. "Is she dead?"

  "No, not dead," replied the apprentice, "but--"

  "But what?" ejaculated the grocer. "In Heaven's name, speak!"

  "These letters will tell you all," replied the apprentice, producing apacket. "I had prepared them to send to you in case of my death. I amnot equal to further explanation now."

  With trembling eagerness the grocer lowered the rope, and Leonard havingtied the packet to it, it was instantly drawn up. Notwithstanding hisanxiety to ascertain the fate of Amabel, Mr. Bloundel would not touchthe packet until he had guarded against the possibility of beinginfected by it. Seizing it with a pair of tongs, he plunged it into apan containing a strong solution of vinegar and sulphur, which he hadalways in readiness in the chamber, and when thoroughly saturated, laidit in the sun to dry. On first opening the shutter to answer Leonard'ssummons, he had flashed off a pistol, and he now thought to expel theexternal air by setting fire to a ball composed of quick brimstone,saltpetre, and yellow amber, which being placed on an iron plate,speedily filled the room with a thick vapour, and prevented the entranceof any obnoxious particles. These precautions taken, he again
addressedhimself, while the packet was drying, to Leonard, whom he found gazinganxiously at the window, and informed him that all his family hadhitherto escaped contagion.

  "A special providence must have watched over you, sir," replied theapprentice, "and I believe yours is the only family in the whole citythat has been so spared. I have reason to be grateful for my ownextraordinary preservation, and yet I would rather it had pleased Heavento take me away than leave me to my present misery."

  "You keep me in a frightful state of suspense, Leonard," rejoined thegrocer, regarding the packet wistfully, "for I dare not open yourletters till they are thoroughly fumigated. You assure me my child isliving. Has she been attacked by the plague?"

  "Would she had!" groaned Leonard.

  "Is she still at Ashdown?" pursued the grocer. "Ah! you shake your head.I see!--I must be beside myself not to have thought of it before. She isin the power of the Earl of Rochester."

  "She is," cried Leonard, catching at the angle of the shed for support.

  "And I am here!" exclaimed Mr. Bloundel, forgetting his caution, andthrusting himself far out of the window, as if with the intention ofletting himself down by the rope--"I am here, when I ought to be nearher!"

  "Calm yourself, I beseech you, sir," cried Leonard; "a moment's rashnesswill undo all you have done."

  "True!" replied the grocer, checking himself. "I must think of others aswell as of her. But where is she? Hide nothing from me."

  "I have reason to believe she is in London," replied the apprentice. "Itraced her hither, and should not have desisted from my search if I hadnot been checked by the plague, which attacked me on the night of myarrival. I was taken to the pesthouse near Westbourne Green, where Ihave been for the last three weeks."

  "If she was brought to London, as you state," rejoined the grocer, "Icannot doubt but she has fallen a victim to the scourge."

  "It may be," replied Leonard, moodily, "and I would almost hope it isso. When you peruse my letters, you will learn that she was carried offby the earl from the residence of a lady at Kingston Lisle, whither shehad been removed for safety; and after being taken from place to place,was at last conveyed to an old hall in the neighbourhood of Oxford,where she was concealed for nearly a month."

  "Answer me, Leonard," cried the grocer, "and do not attempt to deceiveme. Has she preserved her honour?"

  "Up to the time of quitting Oxford she had preserved it," replied theapprentice. "She herself assured me she had resisted all the earl'simportunities, and would die rather than yield to him. But I will tellyou how I obtained an interview with her. After a long search, Idiscovered the place of her concealment, the old hall I have justmentioned, and climbed in the night, and at the hazard of my life, tothe window of the chamber where she was confined. I saw and spoke withher; and having arranged a plan by which I hoped to accomplish herdeliverance on the following night, descended. Whether our briefconference was overheard, and communicated to the earl, I know not; butit would seem so, for he secretly departed with her the next morning,taking the road, as I subsequently learnt, to London. I instantlystarted in pursuit, and had reached Paddington, when I fell ill, as Ihave related."

  "What you tell me in some measure eases my mind," replied Mr. Bloundel,after a pause; "for I feel that my daughter, if alive, will be able toresist her persecutor. What has become of your companions?"

  "Nizza Macascree has met with the same fate as Amabel," replied Leonard."She was unfortunate enough to attract the king's attention, when hevisited Ashdown Lodge in company of the Earl of Rochester, and wasconveyed to Oxford, where the court is now held, and must speedily havefallen a victim to her royal lover if she had not disappeared, havingbeen carried off, it was supposed, by Sir Paul Parravicin. But thevillain was frustrated in his infamous design. The king's suspicionfalling upon him, he was instantly arrested; and though he denied allknowledge of Nizza's retreat, and was afterwards liberated, hismovements were so strictly watched, that he had no opportunity ofvisiting her."

  "You do not mention Blaize," said Mr. Bloundel. "No ill, I trust, hasbefallen him?"

  "I grieve to say he has been attacked by the distemper he so muchdreaded," replied Leonard. "He accompanied me to London, but quitted mewhen I fell sick, and took refuge with a farmer named Wingfield,residing near Kensal Green. I accidentally met Wingfield this morning,and he informed me that Blaize was taken ill the day before yesterday,and removed to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields. I will go thitherpresently, and see what has become of him. Is Doctor Hodges still amongthe living?"

  "I trust so," replied Mr. Bloundel, "though I have not seen him for thelast ten days."

  He then disappeared for a few minutes, and on his return lowered a smallbasket containing a flask of canary, a loaf which he himself had baked,and a piece of cold boiled beef. The apprentice thankfully received theprovisions, and retiring to the hutch, began to discuss them, fortifyinghimself with a copious draught of canary. Having concluded his repast,he issued forth, and acquainting Mr. Bloundel, who had at lengthventured to commence reading the contents of the packet by the aid ofpowerful glasses, that he was about to proceed to Dr. Hodges'sresidence, to inquire after him, set off in that direction.

  Arrived in Great Knightrider-street, he was greatly shocked at findingthe door of the doctor's habitation fastened, nor could he make any onehear, though he knocked loudly and repeatedly against it. The shuttersof the lower windows were closed, and the place looked completelydeserted. All the adjoining houses were shut up, and not a living beingcould be discerned in the street from whom information could be obtainedrelative to the physician. Here, as elsewhere, the pavement wasovergrown with grass, and the very houses had a strange and melancholylook, as if sharing in the general desolation. On looking down a narrowstreet leading to the river, Leonard perceived a flock of poultryscratching among the staves in search of food, and instinctively callingthem, they flew towards him, as if delighted at the unwonted sound of ahuman voice. These, and a half-starved cat, were the only things livingthat he could perceive. At the further end of the street he caught sightof the river, speeding in its course towards the bridge, and scarcelyknowing whither he was going, sauntered to its edge. The tide had justturned, and the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, but no craft couldbe discovered upon its bosom; and except a few barges moored to itssides, all vestiges of the numberless vessels with which it was oncecrowded were gone. Its quays were completely deserted. Boxes and balesof goods lay untouched on the wharves; the cheering cries with which theworkmen formerly animated their labour were hushed. There was no soundof creaking cords, no rattle of heavy chains--none of the busy humordinarily attending the discharge of freight from a vessel, or thepacking of goods and stores on board. All traffic was at an end; andthis scene, usually one of the liveliest possible, was now forlorn anddesolate. On the opposite shore of the river it appeared to be thesame--indeed, the borough of Southwark was now suffering the utmostrigour of the scourge, and except for the rows of houses on its banks,and the noble bridge by which it was spanned, the Thames appeared asundisturbed as it must have been before the great city was built uponits banks.

  The apprentice viewed this scene with a singular kind of interest. Hehad become so accustomed to melancholy sights, that his feelings hadlost their acuteness, and the contemplation of the deserted buildingsand neglected wharves around him harmonized with his own gloomythoughts. Pursuing his walk along the side of the river, he was checkedby a horrible smell, and looking downward, he perceived a carcass in thelast stage of decomposition lying in the mud. It had been washed ashoreby the tide, and a large bird of prey was contending for the possessionof it with a legion of water-rats. Sickened by the sight, he turned up anarrow thoroughfare near Baynard's Castle, and crossing Thames-street,was about to ascend Addle-hill, when he perceived a man wheeling ahand-barrow, containing a couple of corpses, in the direction of theriver, with the intention, doubtless, of throwing them into it, as thereadiest means of disposing of them. Both bodies were stripped of thei
rclothing, and the blue tint of the nails, as well as the blotches withwhich they were covered, left no doubt as to the disease of which theyhad died. Averting his gaze from the spectacle, Leonard turned off onthe right along Carter-lane, and threading a short passage, approachedthe southern boundary of the cathedral; and proceeding towards the greatdoor opposite him, passed through it. The mighty lazar-house was lesscrowded than he expected to find it, but its terrible condition farexceeded his worst conceptions. Not more than half the pallets wereoccupied; but as the sick were in a great measure left to themselves,the utmost disorder prevailed. A troop of lazars, with sheets foldedaround them, glided, like phantoms, along Paul's Walk, and mimicked in aghastly manner the air and deportment of the gallants who had formerlythronged the place. No attempt being made to maintain silence, the noisewas perfectly stunning; some of the sick were shrieking--some laughingin a wild unearthly manner--some praying--some uttering loudexecrations--others groaning and lamenting. The holy building seemed tohave become the abode of evil and tormented spirits. Many dead werelying in the beds--the few attendants who were present not caring toremove them; and Leonard had little doubt, that before another sun wentdown the whole of the ghastly assemblage before him would share theirfate. If the habitations he had recently gazed upon had appearedplague-stricken, the sacred structure in which he was now standingseemed yet more horribly contaminated. Ill-kept and ill-ventilated, theair was loaded with noxious effluvia, while the various abominationsthat met the eye at every turn would have been sufficient to produce thedistemper in any one who had come in contact with them. They were,however, utterly disregarded by the miserable sufferers and theirattendants. The magnificent painted windows were dimmed by a thickclammy steam, which could scarcely be washed off--while the carved oakscreens, the sculptured tombs, the pillars, the walls, and the flaggedfloors were covered with impurities.

  Satisfied with a brief survey of this frightful scene, Leonard turned todepart, and was passing the entrance to Saint Faith's, which stood open,when he caught sight of Judith standing at the foot of the broad stonesteps, and holding a lamp in her hand. She was conversing with a tallrichly-dressed man, whose features he fancied he had seen before, thoughhe could not at the moment call them to mind. After a briefconversation, they moved off into the depths of the vault, and he lostsight of them. All at once it occurred to Leonard that Judith'scompanion was the unfortunate stranger whose child he had interred, andwho had been so strangely affected at the sight of Nizza Macascree.Determined to ascertain the point, he hurried down the steps and plungedinto the vault. It was buried in profound darkness, and he had notproceeded far when he stumbled over something lying in his path, andfound from the groan that followed that it was a plague-patient. Beforehe could regain his feet, the unfortunate sufferer whom he had thusdisturbed implored him, in piteous accents, which, with a shudder, herecognised as those of Blaize, to remove him. Leonard immediately gavethe poor porter to understand that he was near him, and would render himevery aid in his power.

  "Your assistance comes too late, Leonard," groaned Blaize--"it's allover with me now, but I don't like to breathe my last in this dismalvault, without medicine or food, both of which I am denied by thatinfernal hag Mother Malmayns, who calls herself a nurse, but who is inreality a robber and murderess. Oh! the frightful scenes I havewitnessed since I have been brought here! I told you I should not escapethe plague. I shall die of it--I am sure I shall."

  "I thought you were at the pest-house in Finsbury Fields," said Leonard.

  "I was taken there," replied Blaize; "but the place was full, and theywould not admit me, so I was sent to Saint Paul's, where there wasplenty of room. Yesterday I did pretty well, for I was in the great wardabove, and one of the attendants obeyed my directions implicitly, and Iam certain if they had been fully carried out, I should have got well. Iwill tell you what I did. As soon as I was placed on a pallet, andcovered with blankets, I ordered a drink to be prepared of the innerbark of an ash-tree, green walnuts, scabious vervain, and saffron,boiled in two quarts of the strongest vinegar. Of this mixture I drankplentifully, and it soon produced a plentiful perspiration. I next had ahen--a live one, of course--stripped of the feathers, and brought to me.Its bill was held to the large blotch under my arm, and kept there tillthe fowl died from the noxious matter it drew forth. I next repeated theexperiment with a pigeon, and derived the greatest benefit from it. Thetumour had nearly subsided, and if I had been properly treatedafterwards, I should now be in a fair way of recovery. But instead ofnice strengthening chicken-broth, flavoured with succory and marigolds;or water-gruel, mixed with rosemary and winter-savory; or a panado,seasoned with verjuice or wood-sorrel; instead of swallowing largedraughts of warm beer; or water boiled with carduus seeds; or a possetdrink, made with sorrel, bugloss, and borage;--instead of theseremedies, or any other, I was carried to this horrible place when I wasasleep, and strapped to my pallet, as you perceive. Unloose me, if youcan do nothing else."

  "That I will readily do," replied Leonard; "but I must first procure alight." With this, he groped his way among the close ranks of ponderouspillars, but though he proceeded with the utmost caution, he could notavoid coming in contact with the beds of some of the other patients, anddisturbing them. At length he descried a glimmer of light issuing from adoor which he knew to be that of the vestry, and which was standingslightly ajar. Opening it, he perceived a lamp burning on the table, andwithout stopping to look around him, seized it, and hurried back to theporter. Poor Blaize presented a lamentable, and yet grotesqueappearance. His plump person was greatly reduced in bulk, and his roundcheeks had become hollow and cadaverous. He was strapped, as he hadstated, to the pallet, which in its turn was fastened to the adjoiningpillar. A blanket was tightly swathed around him, and a large cloth wasbound round his head in lieu of a nightcap. Leonard instantly set aboutreleasing him, and had just unfastened the straps when he heardfootsteps approaching, and looking up, perceived the stranger and JudithMalmayns advancing towards him.

  II.

  THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT.

  Judith, being a little in advance of her companion, took Leonard in thefirst instance for a chirurgeon's assistant, and called to him, in aharsh and menacing voice, to let her charge alone. On drawing near,however, she perceived her mistake, and recognising the apprentice,halted with a disconcerted look. By this time, the stranger had come up,and remarking her embarrassment, inquired the cause of it.

  "Look there," cried Judith, pointing towards the apprentice. "Yonderstands the very man you seek."

  "What! Leonard Holt," cried the other, in astonishment.

  "Ay, Leonard Holt," rejoined Judith. "You can now put any questions tohim you think proper."

  The stranger did not require the suggestion to be repeated, butinstantly hastened to the apprentice. "Do you remember me?" he asked.

  Leonard answered in the affirmative. "I owe you a large debt ofobligation," continued the stranger, "and you shall not find me slow inpaying it. But let it pass for the moment. Do you know aught of NizzaMacascree? I know she was taken to Oxford by the king, and subsequentlydisappeared."

  "Then you know as much as I do of her, sir," rejoined Leonard.

  "I was right, you see, Mr. Thirlby," interposed Judith, with a maliciousgrin. "I told you this youth would be utterly ignorant of her retreat."

  "My firm conviction is, that she is in the power of Sir PaulParravicin," observed Leonard. "But it is impossible to say where she isconcealed."

  "Then my last hope of finding her has fallen to the ground," repliedThirlby, with a look of great distress. "Ever since my recovery from theplague, I have been in search of her. I traced her from Ashdown Park toOxford, but she was gone before my arrival at the latter place; andthough I made every possible inquiry after her, and kept strict andsecret watch upon the villain whom I suspected, as you do, of carryingher off, I could gain no clue to her retreat. Having ascertained,however, that you were seen in the neighbourhood of Oxford about thetime of her disappearance, I had
persuaded myself you must have aidedher escape. But now," he added, with a groan, "I find I was mistaken."

  "You were so," replied Leonard, mournfully; "I was in search of mymaster's daughter, Amabel, who was carried off at the same time by theEarl of Rochester, and my anxiety about her made me neglectful ofNizza."

  "I am not ignorant of your devoted attachment to her," remarked thestranger.

  "You will never find Amabel again," observed Judith, bitterly.

  "What mean you woman?" asked Leonard.

  "I mean what I say," rejoined Judith. "I repeat, you will never see heragain."

  "You would not speak thus positively without some motive," returnedLeonard, seizing her arm. "Where is she? What has happened to her?"

  "That you shall never learn from me," returned Judith, with a triumphantglance.

  "Speak, or I will force you to do so," cried Leonard, furiously.

  "Force me!" cried Judith, laughing derisively; "you know not whom youthreaten."

  "But _I_ do," interposed Thirlby. "This young man _shall_ have an answerto this question," he continued, addressing her in an authoritativetone. "Do you know anything of the girl?"

  "No," replied Judith; "I was merely jesting with him."

  "Shame on you, to trifle with his feelings thus," rejoined Thirlby."Step with me this way, young man, I wish to speak with you."

  "Do not leave me here, Leonard," cried Blaize, "or I shall die beforeyou come back."

  "I have no intention of leaving you," rejoined Leonard. "Are you awarewhether Doctor Hodges is still alive, sir?" he added to Thirlby. "I havejust been to his residence in Great Knight-rider-street, and found itshut up."

  "He has removed to Watling-street," replied the other; "but I have notseen him since my return to London. If you wish it, I will go to hishouse at once, and send him to look after your poor friend."

  Leonard was about to return thanks for the offer, when the design wasfrustrated by Blaize himself, who was so terrified by Judith's looks,that he could pay no attention to what was going forward; and fearing,notwithstanding Leonard's assurance to the contrary, that he should beleft behind, he started to his feet, and wrapping the blanket about him,ran up the steps leading to the cathedral. Leonard and Thirlby followed,and seeing him dart into the southern aisle, would have pursued himalong it, but were afraid of coming in contact with the many sickpersons by whom it was thronged. They contented themselves, therefore,with watching his course, and were not a little surprised and alarmed tofind the whole troop of lazars set off after him, making the sacredwalls ring with their cries. Frightened by the clamour, Blaize redoubledhis speed, and, with this ghastly train at his heels, crossed the lowerpart of the mid-aisle, and darting through the pillars, took refugewithin Bishop Kempe's Chapel, the door of which stood open, and which heinstantly closed after him. Judith, who had followed the party from thesubterranean church, laughed heartily at the chase of the poor porter,and uttered an exclamation of regret at its sudden conclusion. Leonard,however, being apprehensive of mischief from the crowd of sick personscollected before the door, some of whom were knocking against it andtrying to force it open, addressed himself to a couple of theattendants, and prevailed on them to accompany him to the chapel. Theassemblage was speedily dispersed, and Blaize hearing Leonard's voice,instantly opened the door and admitted him; and, as soon as his fearswere allayed, he was placed on a pallet within the chapel, and wrappedup in blankets, while such remedies as were deemed proper wereadministered to him. Committing him to the care of the attendants, andpromising to reward them well for their trouble, Leonard told Blaize heshould go and bring Doctor Hodges to him. Accordingly, he departed, andfinding Thirlby waiting for him at the south door, they went forthtogether.

  "I am almost afraid of leaving the poor fellow," said Leonard,hesitating as he was about to descends the steps. "Judith Malmayns is socunning and unscrupulous, that she may find some means of doing him aninjury."

  "Have no fear," replied Thirlby; "she has promised me not to molest himfurther."

  "You appear to have a strange influence over her, then," observedLeonard. "May I ask how you have attained it?"

  "No matter," replied the other. "It must suffice that I am willing toexercise it in your behalf."

  "And you are not disposed to tell me the nature of the interest you feelin Nizza Macascree?" pursued Leonard.

  "Not as yet," replied Thirlby, with a look and tone calculated to put astop to further inquiries.

  Passing through Saint Austin's Gate, they approached Watling-street, atthe corner of which stood the house where Doctor Hodges had taken up histemporary abode, that he might visit the sick in the cathedral withgreater convenience, and be more readily summoned whenever hisattendance might be required. Thirlby's knock at the door was answered,to Leonard's great satisfaction, by the old porter, who was equallydelighted to see him.

  It did not escape Leonard that the porter treated the stranger withgreat respect, and he inferred from this that he was a person of someconsideration, as indeed his deportment bespoke him. The old maninformed them that his master had been summoned on a case of urgencyearly in the morning, and had not yet returned, neither was he awarewhither he was gone. He promised, however, to acquaint him with Blaize'scondition immediately on his return--"and I need not assure you," headded to Leonard, "that he will instantly go to him." Thirlby theninquired of the porter whether Mike Macascree, the blind piper, wasstill at Dame Lucas's cottage, in Finsbury Fields, and was answered inthe affirmative by the old man, who added, however, in a voice of muchemotion, that the good dame herself was no more.

  "She died about a fortnight ago of the plague," he said, "and is buriedwhere she desired to be, beneath an old apple-tree in her garden."

  "Alas!" exclaimed Leonard, brushing away a tear, "her own foreboding istoo truly realised."

  "I am about to visit the old piper," observed Thirlby to the apprentice."Will you go with me?"

  The other readily acquiesced, only stipulating that they should call inWood-street on the way, that he might inquire whether his master wantedhim. Thirlby agreeing to this, and the old porter repeating hisassurance that Leonard might make himself quite easy as to Blaize, forhe would send his master to him the instant he returned, they set out.On reaching Wood-street the apprentice gave the customary signal, andthe grocer answering it, he informed him of his unexpected meeting withBlaize, and of the state in which he had left him. Mr. Bloundel was muchdistressed by the intelligence, and telling Leonard that he should notrequire him again that night, besought him to observe the utmostcaution. This the apprentice promised, and joining Thirlby, who hadwalked forward to a little distance, they struck into a narrow street onthe right, and proceeding along Aldermanbury, soon arrived at the firstpostern in the city walls beyond Cripplegate.

  Hitherto, Thirlby had maintained a profound silence, and appeared lostin melancholy reflection. Except now and then casting a commiseratingglance at the wretched objects they encountered on the road, he kept hiseyes steadily fixed upon the ground, and walked at a brisky pace, as ifdesirous of getting out of the city as quickly as possible.Notwithstanding his weakness, Leonard managed to keep up with him, andhis curiosity being greatly aroused by what had just occurred, he beganto study his appearance and features attentively. Thirlby was full sixfeet in height, and possessed a powerful and well-proportioned figure,and would have been considered extremely handsome but for a certainsinister expression about the eyes, which were large and dark, butlighted by a fierce and peculiar fire. His complexion was dark, and hiscountenance still bore the impress of the dreadful disease from which hehad recently recovered. A gloomy shade sat about his brow, and it seemedto Leonard as if he had been led by his passions into the commission ofcrimes of which he had afterwards bitterly repented. His deportment wasproud and commanding, and though he exhibited no haughtiness towards theapprentice, but, on the contrary, treated him with great familiarity, itwas plain he did so merely from a sense of gratitude. His age was underforty, and his habili
ments were rich, though of a sombre colour.

  Passing through the postern, which stood wide open, the watchman havingdisappeared, they entered a narrow lane, skirted by a few detachedhouses, all of which were shut up, and marked by the fatal cross. Asthey passed one of these habitations, they were arrested by loud andcontinued shrieks of the most heart-rending nature, and questioning awatchman who stood at an adjoining door, as to the cause of them, hesaid they proceeded from a poor lady who had just lost the last of herfamily by the plague.

  "Her husband and all her children, except one daughter, died last week,"said the man, "and though she seemed deeply afflicted, yet she bore herloss with resignation. Yesterday, her daughter was taken ill, and shedied about two hours ago, since when the poor mother has done nothingbut shriek in the way you hear. Poor soul! she will die of grief, asmany have done before her at this awful time."

  "Something must be done to pacify her," returned Thirlby, in a voice ofmuch emotion,--"she must be removed from her child."

  "Where can she be removed to?" rejoined the watchman. "Who will receiveher?"

  "At all events, we can remove the object that occasions her affliction,"rejoined Thirlby. "My heart bleeds for her. I never heard shrieks sodreadful."

  "The dead-cart will pass by in an hour," said the watchman; "and thenthe body can be taken away."

  "An hour will be too late," rejoined Thirlby. "If she continues in thisfrantic state, she will be dead before that time. You have a hand-barrowthere. Take the body to the plague-pit at once, and I will reward youfor your trouble."

  "We shall find some difficulty in getting into the house," said thewatchman, who evidently felt some repugnance to the task.

  "Not so," replied Thirlby. And pushing forcibly against the door, heburst it open, and, directed by the cries, entered a room on the right.The watchman's statement proved correct. Stretched upon a bed in onecorner lay the body of a beautiful girl, while the poor mother wasbending over it in a state bordering on distraction. On seeing Thirlby,she fled to the further end of the room, but did not desist from hercries. In fact, she was unable to do so, being under the dominion of thewildest hysterical passion. In vain Thirlby endeavoured to make hercomprehend by signs the nature of his errand. Waving him off, shecontinued shrieking more loudly than ever. Half-stunned by the cries,and greatly agitated by the sight of the child, whose appearancereminded him of his own daughter, Thirlby motioned the watchman, who hadfollowed him into the room, to bring away the body, and rushed forth.His injunctions were obeyed. The remains of the unfortunate girl werewrapped in a sheet, and deposited in the hand-barrow. The miserablemother followed the watchman to the door, but did not attempt tointerfere with him, and having seen the body of her child disposed of inthe manner above described, turned back. The next moment, a heavy soundproclaimed that she had fallen to the ground, and her shrieks werehushed. Thirlby and Leonard exchanged sad and significant looks, butneither of them went back to see what had happened to her. The watchmanshook his head, and setting the barrow in motion, proceeded along anarrow footpath across the fields. Remarking that he did not take thedirect road to the plague-pit, Leonard called to him, and pointed outthe corner in which it lay.

  "I know where the old plague-pit is, as well as you," replied thewatchman, "but it has been filled these three weeks. The new pit lies inthis direction." So saying, he pursued his course, and they presentlyentered a field, in the middle of which lay the plague-pit, as wasevident from the immense mound of clay thrown out of the excavation.

  "That pit is neither so deep nor so wide as the old one," said thewatchman, "and if the plague goes on at this rate, they will soon haveto dig another--that is, if any one should be left alive to undertakethe job."

  And chuckling as if he had said a good thing, he impelled his barrowforward more quickly. A few seconds brought them near the horriblechasm. It was more than half full, and in all respects resembled theother pit, except that it was somewhat smaller. There was the sameheaving and putrefying mass,--the same ghastly objects of everykind,--the grey-headed old man, the dark-haired maiden, the tenderinfant,--all huddled together. Wheeling the barrow to the edge of thepit, the watchman cast his load into it; and without even tarrying tothrow a handful of soil over it, turned back, and rejoined Thirlby, whohad halted at some distance from the excavation. While the latter wassearching for his purse to reward the watchman, they heard wild shrieksin the adjoining field, and the next moment perceived the wretchedmother running towards them. Guessing her purpose from his formerexperience, Leonard called to the others to stop her, and stretching outhis arms, placed himself in her path. But all their efforts were invain. She darted past them, and though Leonard caught hold of her, shebroke from him, and leaving a fragment of her dress in his grasp, flungherself into the chasm.

  Well knowing that all help was vain, Thirlby placed a few pieces ofmoney in the watchman's hand, and hurried away. He was followed byLeonard, who was equally eager to quit the spot. It so chanced that thepath they had taken led them near the site of the old plague-pit, andLeonard pointed it out to his companion. The latter stopped for amoment, and then, without saying a word, ran quickly towards it. Onreaching the spot, they found that the pit was completely filled up. Thevast cake of clay with which it was covered had swollen and cracked inan extraordinary manner, and emitted such a horrible effluvium that theyboth instantly retreated.

  "And that is the grave of my poor child," cried Thirlby, halting, andbursting into a passionate flood of tears. "It would have been a fittingresting-place for a guilty wretch like me; but for her it is horrible."

  Allowing time for the violence of his grief to subside, Leonardaddressed a few words of consolation to him, and then tried to turn thecurrent of his thoughts by introducing a different subject. With thisview, he proceeded to detail the piper's mysterious conduct as to thepacket, and concluded by mentioning the piece of gold which Nizza woreas an amulet, and which she fancied must have some connection with herearly history.

  "I have heard of the packet and amulet from Doctor Hodges," saidThirlby, "and should have visited the piper on my recovery from theplague, but I was all impatience to behold Nizza, and could not brook aninstant's delay. But you know his cottage. We cannot be far from it."

  "Yonder it is," replied Leonard, pointing to the little habitation,which lay at a field's distance from them--"and we are certain to meetwith him, for I hear the notes of his pipe."

  Nor was he deceived, for as they crossed the field, and approached thecottage, the sounds of a melancholy air played on the pipe became eachinstant more distinct. Before entering the gate, they paused for amoment to listen to the music, and Leonard could not help contrastingthe present neglected appearance of the garden with the neatness itexhibited when he last saw it. It was overgrown with weeds, while thedrooping flowers seemed to bemoan the loss of their mistress. Leonard'sgaze involuntarily wandered in search of the old apple-tree, and hepresently discovered it. It was loaded with fruit, and the rounded sodbeneath it proclaimed the grave of the ill-fated Dame Lucas.

  Satisfied with this survey, Leonard opened the gate, but had no soonerset foot in the garden than the loud barking of a dog was heard, andBell rushed forth. Leonard instantly called to her, and on hearing hisvoice, the little animal instantly changed her angry tones to a gladsomewhine, and, skipping towards him, fawned at his feet. While he stoopedto caress her, the piper, who had been alarmed by the barking, appearedat the door, and called out to know who was there? At the sight of him,Thirlby, who was close behind Leonard, uttered a cry of surprise, andexclaiming, "It is he!" rushed towards him.

  The cry of recognition uttered by the stranger caused the piper to startas if he had received a sudden and violent shock. The ruddy tintinstantly deserted his cheek, and was succeeded by a deadly paleness;his limbs trembled, and he bent forward with a countenance of the utmostanxiety, as if awaiting a confirmation of his fears. When within acouple of yards of him, Thirlby paused, and having narrowly scrutinizedhis features, as if to sa
tisfy himself he was not mistaken, againexclaimed, though in a lower and deeper tone than before, "It is he!"and seizing his arm, pushed him into the house, banging the door toafter him in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the apprentice's mindthat his presence was not desired. Accordingly, though extremely anxiousto hear what passed between them, certain their conversation must relateto Nizza Macascree, Leonard did not attempt to follow, but, accompaniedby Bell, who continued to gambol round him, directed his steps towardsthe grave of Dame Lucas. Here he endeavoured to beguile the time inmeditation, but in spite of his efforts to turn his thoughts into adifferent channel, they perpetually recurred to what he supposed to betaking place inside the house. The extraordinary effect produced byNizza Macascree on Thirlby--the resemblance he had discovered betweenher and some person dear to him--the anxiety he appeared to feel forher, as evinced by his recent search for her--the mysterious connectionwhich clearly subsisted between him and the piper--all thesecircumstances convinced Leonard that Thirlby was, or imagined himself,connected by ties of the closest relationship with the supposed piper'sdaughter.

  Leonard had never been able to discern the slightest resemblance eitherin manner or feature, or in those indescribably slight personalpeculiarities that constitute a family likeness, between Nizza and herreputed father--neither could he now recall any particular resemblancebetween her and Thirlby; still he could not help thinking her beauty andhigh-bred looks savoured more of the latter than the former. He came,therefore, to the conclusion that she must be the offspring of someearly and unfortunate attachment on the part of Thirlby, whose remorsemight naturally be the consequence of his culpable conduct at that time.His sole perplexity was the piper's connection with the affair; but hegot over this difficulty by supposing that Nizza's mother, whoever shewas, must have committed her to Macascree's care when an infant,probably with strict injunctions, which circumstances might rendernecessary, to conceal her even from her father. Such was Leonard'ssolution of the mystery; and feeling convinced that he had made himselfmaster of the stranger's secret, he resolved to give him to understandas much as soon as he beheld him again.

  More than half an hour having elapsed, and Thirlby not coming forth,Leonard began to think sufficient time had been allowed him for privateconference with the piper, and he therefore walked towards the door, andcoughing to announce his approach, raised the latch and entered thehouse. He found the pair seated close together, and conversing in a lowand earnest tone. The piper had completely recovered from his alarm, andseemed perfectly at ease with his companion, while all traces of angerhad disappeared from the countenance of the other. Before them on thetable lay several letters, taken from a packet, the cover of whichLeonard recognised as the one that had been formerly intrusted to him.Amidst them was the miniature of a lady--at least, it appeared so toLeonard, in the hasty glance he caught of it; but he could not be quitesure; for on seeing him, Thirlby closed the case, and placing his handon the piper's mouth, to check his further speech, arose.

  "Forgive my rudeness," he said to the apprentice; "but I have been sodeeply interested in what I have just heard, that I quite forgot youwere waiting without. I shall remain here some hours longer, but willnot detain you, especially as I am unable to admit you to ourconference. I will meet you at Doctor Hodges's in the evening, and shallhave much to say to you."

  "I can anticipate some part of your communication," replied Leonard."You will tell me you have a daughter still living."

  "You are inquisitive, young man," rejoined Thirlby, sternly.

  "You do me wrong, sir," replied Leonard. "I have no curiosity as regardsyourself; and if I had, would never lower myself in my own estimation togratify it. Feeling a strong interest in Nizza Macascree, I am naturallyanxious to know whether my suspicion that a near relationship subsistsbetween yourself and her is correct."

  "I cannot enter into further explanation now," returned Thirlby. "Meetme at Doctor Hodges's this evening, and you shall know more. And nowfarewell. I am in the midst of a deeply-interesting conversation, whichyour presence interrupts. Do not think me rude--do not think meungrateful. My anxiety must plead my excuse."

  "None is necessary, sir," replied Leonard. "I will no longer place anyrestraint upon you."

  So saying, and taking care not to let Bell out, he passed through thedoor, and closed it after him. Having walked to some distance across thefields, musing on what had just occurred, and scarcely conscious whitherhe was going, he threw himself down on the grass, and fell asleep. Heawoke after some time much refreshed, and finding he was considerablynearer Bishopsgate than any other entrance into the city, determined tomake for it. A few minutes brought him to a row of houses without thewalls, none of which appeared to have escaped infection, and passingthem, he entered the city gate. As he proceeded along the once-crowdedbut now utterly-deserted thoroughfare that opened upon him, he couldscarcely believe he was in a spot which had once been the busiest of thebusy haunts of men--so silent, so desolate did it appear! On reachingCornhill, he found it equally deserted. The Exchange was closed, and asLeonard looked at its barred gates, a saddening train of reflectionpassed through his mind. His head declined upon his breast, and hecontinued lost in a mournful reverie until he was roused by a hand laidupon his shoulder, and starting--for such a salutation at this seasonwas alarming--he looked round, and beheld Solomon Eagle.

  "You are looking upon that structure," said the enthusiast, "and arethinking how much it is changed. Men who possess boundless richesimagine their power above that of their Maker, and suppose they mayneglect and defy him. But they are mistaken. Where are now the wealthymerchants who used to haunt those courts and chambers?--why do they notcome here as of old?--why do they not buy and sell, and send theirmessengers and ships to the farthest parts of the world? Because theLord hath smitten them and driven them forth--'From the least of themeven to the greatest of them,' as the prophet Jeremiah saith, 'every onehas been given to covetousness.' The balances of deceit have been intheir hands. They have cozened their neighbours, and greedily gainedfrom them, and will find it true what the prophet Ezekiel hath written,that 'the Lord will pour out his indignation upon them, and consume themwith the fire of his wrath.' Yea, I tell you, unless they turn fromtheir evil ways--unless they cast aside the golden idol they nowworship, and set up the Holy One of Israel in its stead, a fire will besent to consume them, and that pile which they have erected as a templeto their god shall be burnt to the ground."

  Leonard's heart was too full to make any answer, and the enthusiast,after a brief pause, again addressed him. "Have you seen Doctor Hodgespass this way? I am in search of him."

  "On what account?" asked Leonard anxiously. "His advice, I trust, is notneeded on behalf of any one in whom I am interested."

  "No matter," replied Solomon Eagle, in a sombre tone; "have you seenhim?"

  "I have not," rejoined the apprentice; "but he is probably at SaintPaul's."

  "I have just left the cathedral, and was told he had proceeded to somehouse near Cornhill," rejoined the enthusiast.

  "If you have been there, you can perhaps tell me how my master's porter,Blaize Shotterel, is getting on," said Leonard.

  "I can," replied the enthusiast. "I heard one of the chirurgeons saythat Doctor Hodges had pronounced him in a fair way of recovery. But Imust either find the doctor or go elsewhere. Farewell!"

  "I will go with you in search of him," said Leonard.

  "No, no; you must not--shall not," cried Solomon Eagle.

  "Wherefore not?" asked the apprentice.

  "Do not question me, but leave me," rejoined the enthusiast.

  "Do you know aught of Amabel--of her retreat?" persisted Leonard, whohad a strange misgiving that the enthusiast's errand in some wayreferred to her.

  "I do," replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily; "but I again advise you not topress me further."

  "Answer me one question at least," cried Leonard. "Is she with the Earlof Rochester?"

  "She is," replied Solomon Eagle; "but I shall al
lay your fears in thatrespect when I tell you she is sick of the plague."

  Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he fell to theground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness by a sudden sense ofstrangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld two dark figures bendingover him, one of whom was kneeling on his chest. A glance showed himthat this person was Chowles; and instantly comprehending what was thematter, and aware that the coffin-maker was stripping him previously tothrowing him into the dead-cart, which was standing hard by, he criedaloud, and struggled desperately to set himself free. Little oppositionwas offered; for, on hearing the cry, Chowles quitted his hold, andretreating to a short distance, exclaimed, with a look of surprise,"Why, the fellow is not dead, after all!"

  "I am neither dead, nor likely to die, as you shall find to your cost,rascal, if you do not restore me the clothes you have robbed me of,"cried Leonard, furiously. And chancing to perceive a fork, dropped byChowles in his hasty retreat, he snatched it up, and, brandishing itover his head, advanced towards him. Thus threatened, Chowles tossed hima rich suit of livery.

  "These are not mine," said the apprentice, gazing at the habiliments.

  "They are better than your own," replied Chowles, "and therefore youought to be glad of the exchange. But give me them back again. I have nointention of making you a present."

  "This is the livery of the Earl of Rochester," cried Leonard.

  "To be sure it is," replied Chowles, with a ghastly smile. "One of hisservants is just dead."

  "Where is the profligate noble?" cried Leonard, eagerly.

  "There is the person who owned these clothes," replied Chowles, pointingto the dead-cart. "You had better ask him."

  "Where is the Earl of Rochester, I say, villain?" cried Leonard,menacingly.

  "How should I know?" rejoined Chowles. "Here are your clothes," headded, pushing them towards him.

  "I will have an answer," cried Leonard.

  "Not from me," replied Chowles. And hastily snatching up the livery, heput the cart in motion, and proceeded on his road. Leonard would havefollowed him, but the state of his attire did not permit him to do so.Having dressed himself, he hastened to the cathedral, where he soonfound the attendant who had charge of Blaize.

  "Doctor Hodges has been with him," said the man, in reply to hisinquiries after the porter, "and has good hopes of him. But the patientis not entirely satisfied with the treatment he has received, and wishesto try some remedies of his own. Were his request granted, all wouldsoon be over with him."

  "That I am sure of," replied Leonard. "But let us go to him."

  "You must not heed his complaints," returned the attendant. "I assureyou he is doing as well as possible; but he is so dreadfully frightenedat a trifling operation which Doctor Hodges finds it necessary toperform upon him, that we have been obliged to fasten him to the bed."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Leonard, suspiciously. "Has Judith Malmayns had nohand in this arrangement?"

  "Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the afternoon,"said the man, "and another nurse has taken her place in Saint Faith's.She has never been near Blaize since I have had charge of him."

  By this time they had reached the pallet in which the porter was laid.His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were alone visible, hishead being still enveloped by the linen cloth, while his mouth wascovered by blankets. He looked so anxiously at the apprentice, that thelatter removed the covering from his mouth, and enabled him to speak.

  "I am glad to find you are getting on so well," said Leonard, in acheerful tone. "Doctor Hodges has been with you, I understand?"

  "He has," groaned Blaize; "but he has done me no good--none whatever. Icould doctor myself much better, if I might be allowed; for I know everyremedy that has been prescribed for the plague; but he would adopt nonethat I mentioned to him. I wanted him to place a hot loaf, fresh fromthe oven, to the tumour, to draw it; but he would not consent. Then Iasked for a cataplasm, composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onionsand garlic roasted, mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney where woodonly has been burnt. This he liked no better than the first. Next, Ibegged for an ale posset with pimpernel soaked in it, assuring him thatby frequently drinking such a mixture, Secretary Naunton drew theinfection from his very heart. But the doctor would have none of it, andseemed to doubt the fact."

  "What did he do?" inquired Leonard.

  "He applied oil of St. John's wort to the tumour," replied Blaize, witha dismal groan, and said, "if the scar did not fall off, he mustcauterize it. Oh! I shall never be able to bear the pain of theoperation."

  "Recollect your life is at stake," rejoined Leonard. "You must eithersubmit to it or die."

  "I know I must," replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan; "but it is aterrible alternative."

  "You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine," rejoinedLeonard; "and you know I speak from personal experience."

  "You give me great comfort," said Blaize. "And so you really think Ishall get better?"

  "I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits," replied Leonard."The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man."

  "I will try to do so," rejoined Blaize. "I have been told that if acircle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-blotch, it will falloff. Couldn't we just try the experiment?"

  "It will not do to rely upon it," observed the attendant, with a smile."You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call the 'button,'much more efficacious."

  "Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Blaize, "I already feel that dreadfulbutton burning into my flesh."

  "On the contrary, you won't feel it at all," replied the attendant. "Theiron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is nosensibility."

  "In that case, I don't care how soon the operation is performed,"replied Blaize.

  "Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it," said the attendant. "Inthe mean time, here is a cup of barley-broth for you. You will find itdo you good."

  While the man applied the cup to the poor porter's lips--for he wouldnot unloose the straps, for fear of mischief--Leonard, who was sickenedby the terrible scene around him, took his departure, and quitted thecathedral by the great western entrance. Seating himself on one of thegreat blocks of stone left there by the workmen employed in repairingthe cathedral, but who had long since abandoned their task, he thoughtover all that had recently occurred. Raising his eyes at length, helooked toward the cathedral. The oblique rays of the sun had quitted thecolumns of the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the roof andtowers were glittering in light. In ten minutes more, only the summit ofthe central tower caught the last reflection of the declining orb.Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastlyregarded the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, untilat length each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, waslost in one vast indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city--anight destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it; and yetit was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible toimagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel was, however,fearfully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath his touch; and asLeonard wondered how many miserable wretches were at that momentreleased from suffering, it crossed him like an icy chill, that amongthe number might be Amabel. So forcibly was he impressed by this idea,that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud.

  He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell, which announced theapproach of the dead-cart, and presently afterwards the gloomy vehicleapproached from Ludgate-hill, and moved slowly towards the portico ofthe cathedral, where it halted. A great number of the dead were placedwithin it, and the driver, ringing his bell, proceeded in the directionof Cheapside. A very heavy dew had fallen; for as Leonard put his handto his clothes, they felt damp, and his long hair was filled withmoisture. Reproaching himself with having needlessly exposed himself torisk, he was about to walk away, when he heard footsteps at a littledistance, and looking in the direction of the sound, p
erceived the tallfigure of Thirlby. Calling to him, the other, who appeared to be inhaste, halted for a moment, and telling the apprentice he was going toDoctor Hodges's, desired him to accompany him thither, and went on.

  * * * * *

  III.

  THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS-LANE.

  On reaching Watling-street, Leonard and his companion found DoctorHodges was from home. This did not much surprise the apprentice, afterthe information he had received from Solomon Eagle, but Thirlby wasgreatly disappointed, and eagerly questioned the porter as to theprobable time of his master's return. The man replied that it was quiteuncertain, adding, "He has been in since you were last here, and hasseen Blaize. He had not been gone to the cathedral many minutes when agentleman arrived, desiring his instant attendance upon a young womanwho was sick of the plague."

  "Did you hear her name?" asked Leonard and Thirlby, in a breath.

  "No," replied the porter, "neither did I obtain any informationrespecting her from the gentleman, who appeared in great distress. But Iobserved that my master, on his return, looked much surprised at seeinghim, and treated him with a sort of cold respect."

  "Was the gentleman young or old?" demanded Leonard, hastily.

  "As far as I noticed," replied the porter, "for he kept his face coveredwith a handkerchief, I should say he was young--very young."

  "You are sure it was not Lord Rochester?" pursued Leonard.

  "How should I be sure of it," rejoined the porter, "since I have neverseen his lordship that I am aware of? But I will tell you all thathappened, and you can judge for yourselves. My master, as I have justsaid, on seeing the stranger, looked surprised and angry, and bowinggravely, conducted him to his study, taking care to close the door afterhim. I did not, of course, hear what passed, but the interview was briefenough, and the gentleman, issuing forth, said, as he quitted the room,'You will not fail to come?' To which my master replied, 'Certainly not,on the terms I have mentioned.' With this, the gentleman hurried out ofthe house. Shortly afterwards the doctor came out, and said to me, 'I amgoing to attend a young woman who is sick of the plague, and may beabsent for some time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should call, detainthem till my return.'"

  "My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit is no otherthan Amabel," said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully.

  "I suspect it is Nizza Macascree," cried Thirlby. "Which way did yourmaster take?"

  "I did not observe," replied the porter, "but he told me he should crossLondon Bridge."

  "I will go into Southwark in quest of him," said Thirlby. "Every momentis of consequence now."

  "You had better stay where you are," replied the old porter. "It is thesurest way to meet with him."

  Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, and hisimpatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, though from adifferent motive, they set forth together. "If I fail to find him, youmay expect me back ere long," were Thirlby's last words to the porter.Hurrying along Watling-street, and taking the first turning on theright, he descended to Thames-street, and made the best of his waytowards the bridge. Leonard followed him closely, and they pursued theirrapid course in silence. By the time they reached the north gate of thebridge, Leonard found his strength failing him, and halting at one ofthe openings between the tall houses overlooking the river, where therewas a wooden bench for the accommodation of passengers, he sank upon it,and begged Thirlby to go on, saying he would return to Watling-street assoon as he recovered from his exhaustion. Thirlby did not attempt todissuade him from his purpose, but instantly disappeared.

  The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beautiful. It wasalmost as light as day, for the full harvest moon (alas! there was noharvest for it to smile upon!) having just risen, revealed every objectwith perfect distinctness. The bench on which Leonard was seated lay onthe right side of the bridge, and commanded a magnificent reach of theriver, that flowed beneath like a sheet of molten silver. The apprenticegazed along its banks, and noticed the tall spectral-looking houses onthe right, until his eye finally settled on the massive fabric of SaintPaul's, the roof and towers of which rose high above the lesserstructures. His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the opening ofa window in the house near him, while a loud splash in the water toldthat a body had been thrown into it. He turned away with a shudder, andat the same moment perceived a watchman, with a halberd upon hisshoulder, advancing slowly towards him from the Southwark side of thebridge. Pausing as he drew near the apprentice, the watchmancompassionately inquired whether he was sick, and being answered in thenegative, was about to pass on, when Leonard, fancying he recognised hisvoice, stopped him.

  "We have met somewhere before, friend," he said, "though where, or underwhat circumstances, I cannot at this moment call to mind."

  "Not unlikely," returned the other, roughly, "but the chances areagainst our meeting again."

  Leonard heaved a sigh at this remark. "I now recollect where I met you,friend," he remarked. "It was at Saint Paul's, when I was in search ofmy master's daughter, who had been carried off by the Earl of Rochester.But you were then in the garb of a smith."

  "I recollect the circumstance, too, now you remind me of it," repliedthe other. "Your name is Leonard Holt as surely as mine is RobertRainbird. I recollect, also, that you offended me about a dog belongingto the piper's pretty daughter, Nizza Macascree, which I was about todestroy in obedience to the Lord Mayor's commands. However, I bear nomalice, and if I did, this is not a time to rip up old quarrels."

  "You are right, friend," returned Leonard. "The few of us left ought tobe in charity with each other."

  "Truly, ought we," rejoined Rainbird. "For my own part, I have seen somuch misery within the last few weeks, that my disposition is whollychanged. I was obliged to abandon my old occupation of a smith, becausemy master died of the plague, and there was no one else to employ me. Ihave therefore served as a watchman, and in twenty days have stood atthe doors of more than twenty houses. It would freeze your blood were Ito relate the scenes I have witnessed."

  "It might have done formerly," replied Leonard; "but my feelings are asmuch changed as your own. I have had the plague twice myself."

  "Then, indeed, you _can_ speak," replied Rainbird. "Thank God, I havehitherto escaped it! Ah! these are terrible times--terrible times! Theworst that ever London knew. Although I have been hitherto miraculouslypreserved myself, I am firmly persuaded no one will escape."

  "I am almost inclined to agree with you," replied Leonard.

  "For the last week the distemper has raged fearfully--fearfully,indeed," said Rainbird; "but yesterday and to-day have far exceeded allthat have gone before. The distempered have died quicker than cattle ofthe murrain. I visited upwards of a hundred houses in the Borough thismorning, and only found ten persons alive; and out of those ten, notone, I will venture to say, is alive now. It will, in truth, be a mercyif they are gone. There were distracted mothers raving over theirchildren,--a young husband lamenting his wife,--two little childrenweeping over their dead parents, with none to attend them, none to feedthem,--an old man mourning over his son cut off in his prime. In short,misery and distress in their worst form,--the streets ringing withshrieks and groans, and the numbers of dead so great that it wasimpossible to carry them off. You remember Solomon Eagle's prophecy?"

  "Perfectly," replied Leonard; "and I lament to see its fulfilment."

  "'The streets shall be covered with grass, and the living shall not beable to bury their dead,'--so it ran," said Rainbird. "And it has cometo pass. Not a carriage of any description, save the dead-cart, is to beseen in the broadest streets of London, which are now as green as thefields without her walls, and as silent as the grave itself. Terribletimes, as I said before--terrible times! The dead are rotting in heapsin the courts, in the alleys, in the very houses, and no one to removethem. What will be the end of it all? What will become of this greatcity?"

  "It is not difficult to foresee wha
t will become of it," repliedLeonard, "unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm. Andsomething whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst. The scourgecannot exceed its present violence without working our ruin; and deeplyas we have sinned, little as we repent, I cannot bring myself to believethat God will sweep his people entirely from the face of the earth."

  "I dare not hope otherwise," rejoined Rainbird, "though I would fain doso. I discern no symptoms of abatement of the distemper, but, on thecontrary, an evident increase of malignity, and such is the opinion ofall I have spoken with on the subject. Chowles told me he buried twohundred more yesterday than he had ever done before, and yet he did notcarry a third of the dead to the plague-pit. He is a strange fellow thatChowles. But for his passion for his horrible calling there is nonecessity for him to follow it, for he is now one of the richest men inLondon."

  "He must have amassed his riches by robbery, then," remarked Leonard.

  "True," returned Rainbird. "He helps himself without scruple to theclothes, goods, and other property, of all who die of the pestilence;and after ransacking their houses, conveys his plunder in the dead-cartto his own dwelling."

  "In Saint Paul's?" asked Leonard.

  "No--a large house in Nicholas-lane, once belonging to a wealthymerchant, who perished, with his family, of the plague," repliedRainbird. "He has filled it from cellar to garret with the spoil he hasobtained."

  "And how has he preserved it?" inquired the apprentice.

  "The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird. "The fewauthorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his proceedings;or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting a more favourableseason, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him of his hoard, andpunish him for his delinquencies; while, in the mean time, they areglad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his services as a burier.Other people do not care to meddle with him, and the most daring robberwould be afraid to touch infected money or clothes."

  "If you are going towards Nicholas-lane," said Leonard, as if struckwith a sudden idea, "and will point out to me the house in question, youwill do me a favour."

  Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towardsFish-street-hill. Ascending it, and turning off on the right, theyentered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they wereobliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with a pileof carcasses deposited there by the burier's assistants. Shaping theircourse along Gracechurch-street, they turned off into Lombard-street,and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' houses on either side, whichwere all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the doors, he could nothelp remarking to his companion, "The plague has not spared any of theseon account of their riches."

  "True," replied the other; "and of the thousands who used formerly tothrong this street not one is left. Wo to London!--wo!--wo!"

  Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train ofreflection. It has been more than once remarked that the particular daynow under consideration was the one in which the plague exercised itsfiercest dominion over the city; and though at first its decline was asimperceptible as the gradual diminution of the day after the longest haspassed, yet still the alteration began. On that day, as if death hadknown that his power was to be speedily arrested, he sharpened hisfellest arrows, and discharged them with unerring aim. To pursue thecourse of the destroyer from house to house--to show with whatunrelenting fury he assailed his victims--to describe theirsufferings--to number the dead left within their beds, thrown into thestreets, or conveyed to the plague-pits--would be to present a narrativeas painful as revolting. On this terrible night it was as hot as if ithad been the middle of June. No air was stirring, and the silence was soprofound, that a slight noise was audible at a great distance. Hushed inthe seemingly placid repose lay the great city, while hundreds of itsinhabitants were groaning in agony, or breathing their last sigh.

  On reaching the upper end of Nicholas-lane, Rainbird stood still for amoment, and pointed out a large house on the right, just below the oldchurch dedicated to the saint from which the thoroughfare took its name.They were about to proceed towards it, when the smith again paused, andcalled Leonard's attention to two figures quickly advancing from thelower end of the street. As the apprentice and his companion stood inthe shade, they could not be seen, while the two persons, being in themoonlight, were fully revealed. One of them, it was easy to perceive,was Chowles. He stopped before the door of his dwelling and unfastenedit, and while he was thus occupied, the other person turned his face soas to catch the full radiance of the moon, disclosing the features ofSir Paul Parravicin. Before Leonard recovered from the surprise intowhich he was thrown by this unexpected discovery, they had entered thehouse.

  He then hurried forward, but, to his great disappointment, found thedoor locked. Anxious to get into the house without alarming those whohad preceded him, he glanced at the windows; but the shutters wereclosed and strongly barred. While hesitating what to do, Rainbird cameup, and guessing his wishes, told him there was a door at the back ofthe house by which he might probably gain admittance. Accordingly theyhastened down a passage skirting the churchyard, which brought them to anarrow alley lying between Nicholas-lane and Abchurch-lane. Tracking itfor about twenty yards, Rainbird paused before a small yard-door, andtrying the latch, found it yielded to his touch.

  Crossing the yard, they came to another door. It was locked, and thoughthey could have easily burst it open, they preferred having recourse toan adjoining window, the shutter of which, being carelessly fastened,was removed without noise or difficulty. In another moment they gained asmall dark room on the ground-floor, whence they issued into a passage,where, to their great joy, they found a lighted lantern placed on achair. Leonard hastily possessed himself of it, and was about to enter aroom on the left when his companion arrested him.

  "Before we proceed further," he said in a low voice, "I must know whatyou are about to do?"

  "My purpose will be explained in a word," replied the apprentice in thesame tone. "I suspect that Nizza Macascree is confined here by Sir PaulParravicin and Chowles, and if it turns out I am right in my conjecture,I propose to liberate her. Will you help me?"

  "Humph!" exclaimed Rainbird, "I don't much fancy the job. However, sinceI am here, I'll not go back. I am curious to see the coffin-maker'shoards. Look at yon heap of clothes. There are velvet doublets andsilken hose enow to furnish wardrobes for a dozen court gallants. Andyet, rich as the stuffs are, I would not put the best of them on for allthe wealth of London."

  "Nor I," replied Leonard. "I shall make free, however, with a sword," headded, selecting one from the heap. "I may need a weapon."

  "I require nothing more than my halberd," observed the smith; "and Iwould advise you to throw away that velvet scabbard; it is a certainharbour for infection."

  Leonard did not neglect the caution, and pushing open the door, theyentered a large room which resembled an upholsterer's shop, beingliterally crammed with chairs, tables, cabinets, moveable cupboards,bedsteads, curtains, and hangings, all of the richest description.

  "What I heard is true," observed Rainbird, gazing around inastonishment. "Chowles must have carried off every thing he could layhands upon. What can he do with all that furniture?"

  "What the miser does with his store," replied Leonard: "feast his eyeswith it, but never use it."

  They then proceeded to the next room. It was crowded with books,looking-glasses, and pictures; many of them originally of great value,but greatly damaged by the careless manner in which they were piled oneupon another. A third apartment was filled with flasks of wine, withcasks probably containing spirits, and boxes, the contents of which theydid not pause to examine. A fourth contained male and femalehabiliments, spread out like the dresses in a theatrical wardrobe. Mostof these garments were of the gayest and costliest description, and ofthe latest fashion, and Leonard sighed as he looked upon them, andthought of the fate of those they had so lately adorned.

  "There is contagio
n enough in those clothes to infect a whole city,"said Rainbird, who regarded them with different feelings. "I have half amind to set fire to them."

  "It were a good deed to do so," returned Leonard; "but it must not bedone now. Let us go upstairs. These are the only rooms below."

  Accordingly, they ascended the staircase, and entered chamber afterchamber, all of which were as full of spoil as those they had justvisited; but they could find no one, nor was there any symptom that thehouse was tenanted. They next stood still within the gallery, andlistened intently for some sound to reveal those they sought, but allwas still and silent as the grave.

  "We cannot be mistaken," observed Leonard. "It is clear this house isthe receptacle for Chowles's plunder. Besides, we should not have foundthe lantern burning if they had gone forth again. No, no; they must behidden somewhere, and I will not quit the place till I find them." Theirsearch, however, was fruitless. They mounted to the garrets, openedevery door, and glanced into every corner. Still, no one was to be seen.

  "I begin to think Nizza cannot be here," said the apprentice; "but I amresolved not to depart without questioning Chowles on the subject."

  "You must find him first," rejoined Rainbird. "If he is anywhere, hemust be in the cellar, for we have been into every room in this part ofthe house. For my own part, I think you had better abandon the searchaltogether. No good will come of it."

  Leonard, however, was not to be dissuaded, and they went downstairs. Ashort flight of stone steps brought them to a spacious kitchen, but itwas quite empty, and seemed to have been long disused. They then peepedinto the scullery adjoining, and were about to retrace their steps, whenRainbird plucked Leonard's sleeve to call attention to a gleam of lightissuing from a door which stood partly ajar, in a long narrow passageleading apparently to the cellars.

  "They are there," he said, in a whisper.

  "So I see," replied Leonard, in the same tone. And raising his finger tohis lips in token of silence, he stole forward on the points of his feetand cautiously opened the door.

  At the further end of the cellar--for such it was--knelt Chowles,examining with greedy eyes the contents of a large chest, which, fromthe hasty glance that Leonard caught of it, appeared to be filled withgold and silver plate. A link stuck against the wall threw a stronglight over the scene, and showed that the coffin-maker was alone. AsLeonard advanced, the sound of his footsteps caught Chowles's ear, anduttering a cry of surprise and alarm, he let fall the lid of the chest,and sprang to his feet.

  "What do you want?" he cried, looking uneasily round, as if in search ofsome weapon. "Are you come to rob me?"

  "No," replied Leonard; "neither are we come to reclaim the plunder youhave taken from others. We are come in search of Nizza Macascree."

  "Then you have come on a fool's errand," replied Chowles, regaining hiscourage, "for she is not here. I know nothing of her."

  "That is false," replied Leonard. "You have just conducted Sir PaulParravicin to her."

  This assertion on the part of the apprentice, which he thought himselfjustified under the circumstances in making, produced a strong effect onChowles. He appeared startled and confounded. "What right have you toplay the spy upon me thus?" he faltered.

  "The right that every honest man possesses to check the designs of thewicked," replied Leonard. "You admit she is here. Lead me to herhiding-place without more ado."

  "If you know where it is," rejoined Chowles, who now perceived the trickthat had been practised upon him, "you will not want me to conduct youto it. Neither Nizza nor Sir Paul Parravicin are here."

  "That is false, prevaricating scoundrel," cried Leonard. "My companionand I saw you enter the house with your profligate employer. And as wegained admittance a few minutes after you, it is certain no one can haveleft it. Lead me to Nizza's retreat instantly, or I will cut yourthroat." And seizing Chowles by the collar, he held the point of hissword to his breast.

  "Use no violence," cried Chowles, struggling to free himself, "and Iwill take you wherever you please. This way--this way." And he motionedas if he would take them upstairs.

  "Do not think to mislead me, villain," cried Leonard, tightening hisgrasp. "We have searched every room in the upper part of the house, andthough we have discovered the whole of your ill-gotten hoards, we havefound nothing else. No one is there."

  "Well, then," rejoined Chowles, "since the truth must out, Sir Paul isin the next house. But it is his own abode. I have nothing to do withit, nothing whatever. He is accountable for his own actions, and youwill be accountable to _him_ if you intrude upon his privacy. Releaseme, and I swear to conduct you to him. But you will take theconsequences of your rashness upon yourself. I only go upon compulsion."

  "I am ready to take any consequences," replied Leonard, resolutely.

  "Come along, then," said Chowles, pointing down the passage.

  "You mean us no mischief?" cried Leonard, suspiciously. "If you do, theattempt will cost you your life."

  Chowles made no answer, but moved along the passage as quickly asLeonard, who kept fast hold of him and walked by his side, would permit.Presently they reached a door, which neither the apprentice nor Rainbirdhad observed before, and which admitted them into an extensive vault,with a short staircase at the further end, communicating with a passagethat Leonard did not require to be informed was in another house.

  Here Chowles paused. "I think it right to warn you you are running intoa danger from which ere long you will be glad to draw back, young man,"he said, to the apprentice. "As a friend, I advise you to proceed nofurther in the matter."

  "Waste no more time in talking," cried Leonard, fiercely, and forcinghim forward as he spoke, "where is Nizza? Lead me to her without aninstant's delay."

  "A wilful man must have his way," returned Chowles, hurrying up the mainstaircase. "It is not my fault if any harm befalls you."

  They had just gained the landing when a door on the right was suddenlythrown open, and Sir Paul Parravicin stood before them. He lookedsurprised and startled at the sight of the apprentice, and angrilydemanded his business. "I am come for Nizza Macascree," replied Leonard,"whom you and Chowles have detained against her will."

  Parravicin glanced sternly and inquiringly at the coffin-maker.

  "I have protested to him that she is not here, Sir Paul," said thelatter, "but he will not believe me, and has compelled me, by threats oftaking my life, to bring him and his companion to you."

  "Then take them back again," rejoined Parravicin, turning haughtily uponhis heel.

  "That answer will not suffice, Sir Paul," cried Leonard--"I will notdepart without her."

  "How!" exclaimed the knight, drawing his sword. "Do you dare to intrudeupon my presence? Begone! or I will punish your presumption." And heprepared to attack the apprentice.

  "Advance a footstep," rejoined Leonard, who had never relinquished hisgrasp of Chowles, "and I pass my sword through this man's body. Speak,villain," he continued, in a tone so formidable that the coffin-makershook with apprehension--"is she here or not?" Chowles gazed from him tothe knight, whose deportment was equally menacing and appearedbewildered with terror.

  "It is needless," said Leonard, "your looks answer for you. She _is_."

  "Yes, yes, I confess she is," replied Chowles.

  "You hear what he says, Sir Paul," remarked Leonard.

  "His fears would make him assert anything," rejoined Parravicin,disdainfully. "If you do not depart instantly, I will drive you forth."

  "Sir Paul Parravicin," rejoined Leonard, in an authoritative tone, "Icommand you in the king's name, to deliver up this girl."

  Parravicin laughed scornfully. "The king has no authority here," hesaid.

  "Pardon me, Sir Paul," rejoined Chowles, who began to be seriouslyalarmed at his own situation, and eagerly grasped at the opportunitythat offered of extricating himself from it--"pardon me. If it is theking's pleasure she should be removed, it materially alters the case,and I can be no party to her detention."

  "Both
you and your employer will incur his majesty's severestdispleasure, by detaining her after this notice," remarked Leonard.

  "Before I listen to the young man's request, let him declare that it ishis intention to deliver her up to the king," rejoined Parravicin,coldly.

  "It is my intention to deliver her up to one who has the best right totake charge of her," returned Leonard.

  "You mean her father," sneered Parravicin.

  "Ay, but not the person you suppose to be her father," replied Leonard."An important discovery has been made respecting her parentage."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Parravicin, with a look of surprise. "Who has thehonour to be her father?"

  "A gentleman named Thirlby," replied Leonard.

  "What!" cried Parravicin, starting, and turning pale. "Did you sayThirlby?"

  The apprentice reiterated his assertion. Parravicin uttered a deepgroan, and pressed his hand forcibly against his brow for some moments,during which the apprentice watched him narrowly. He then controlledhimself by a powerful effort, and returned his sword to its scabbard.

  "Come into this room, young man," he said to the apprentice, "and letyour companion remain outside with Chowles. Fear nothing. I intend youno injury."

  "I do not distrust you," replied Leonard, "and if I did, should have noapprehension." And motioning Rainbird to remain where he was, he enteredthe room with the knight, who instantly closed the door.

  Parravicin's first proceeding was to question him as to his reasons forsupposing Nizza to be Thirlby's daughter, and clearly perceiving thedeep interest his interrogator took in the matter, and the favourablechange that, from some unknown cause, had been wrought in hissentiments, the apprentice did not think fit to hide anything from him.Parravicin's agitation increased as he listened to the recital; and atlast, overcome by emotion, he sank into a chair, and covered his facewith his hands. Recovering himself in a short time, he arose, and beganto pace the chamber to and fro.

  "What I have told you seems to have disturbed you, Sir Paul," remarkedLeonard. "May I ask the cause of your agitation?"

  "No, man, you may not," replied Parravicin, angrily. And then suddenlychecking himself, he added, with forced calmness, "And so you partedwith Mr. Thirlby on London Bridge, and you think he will return toDoctor Hodges's residence in Watling-street."

  "I am sure of it," replied Leonard.

  "I must see him without delay," rejoined Parravicin.

  "I will take you to him," remarked Leonard; "but first I must seeNizza."

  Parravicin walked to a table, on which stood a small silver bell, andringing it, the summons was immediately answered by an old woman. He wasabout to deliver a message to her, when the disturbed expression of hercountenance struck him, and he hastily inquired the cause of it.

  "You must not see the young lady to-night, Sir Paul," said the oldwoman.

  "Why not?" demanded the knight, hastily. "Why not?"

  "Because--but you frighten me so that I dare not speak," was the answer.

  "I will frighten you still more if you keep me in this state ofsuspense," rejoined Parravicin, furiously. "Is she ill?"

  "I fear she has got the plague," returned the old woman. "Now you cansee her if you think proper."

  "_I_ will see her," said Leonard. "I have no fear of infection."

  The old woman looked hard at Parravicin, as if awaiting his orders."Yes, yes, you can take him to her room," said the knight, who seemedcompletely overpowered by the intelligence, "if he chooses to gothither. But why do you suppose it is the plague?"

  "One cannot well be deceived in a seizure of that kind," replied the oldwoman, shaking her head.

  "I thought the disorder never attacked the same person twice," saidParravicin.

  "I myself am an instance to the contrary," replied Leonard.

  "And, as you have twice recovered, there may be a chance for Nizza,"said Parravicin. "This old woman will take you to her. I will hasten toDoctor Hodges's residence, and if I should fail in meeting him, will notrest till I procure assistance elsewhere. Do not leave her till Ireturn."

  Leonard readily gave a promise to the desired effect, and accompanyinghim to the door, told Rainbird what had happened. The latter agreed towait below to render any assistance that might be required, and wentdownstairs with Parravicin and Chowles. The two latter instantly quittedthe house together, and hastened to Watling-street.

  With a beating heart, Leonard then followed the old woman to Nizza'schamber. They had to pass through a small anteroom, the door of whichwas carefully locked. The suite of apartments occupied by the captivegirl were exquisitely and luxuriously furnished, and formed a strikingcontrast to the rest of the house. The air was loaded with perfumes;choice pictures adorned the walls; and the tables were covered withbooks and china ornaments. The windows, however, were strictly barred,and every precaution appeared to be taken to prevent an attempt atescape. Leonard cast an anxious look round as he entered the anteroom,and its luxurious air filled him with anxiety. His conductress, however,did not allow him time for reflection, but led him into another room,still more richly furnished than the first, and lighted by a largecoloured lamp, that shed a warm glow around it. An old dwarfed African,in a fantastic dress, and with a large scimetar stuck in his girdle,stepped forward on their approach, and shook his head significantly.

  "He is dumb," said the old woman, "but his gestures are easy to beunderstood. He means that Nizza is worse."

  Leonard heaved a deep sigh. Passing into a third room, they perceivedthe poor girl stretched on a couch placed in a recess at one side. Sheheard their footsteps, and without raising her head, or looking towardsthem, said, in a weak but determined voice--"Tell your master I will seehim no more. The plague has again attacked me, and I am glad of it, forit will deliver me from him. It will be useless to offer me anyremedies, for I will not take them."

  "It is not Sir Paul Parravicin," replied the old woman. "I have broughta stranger, with whose name I am unacquainted, to see you."

  "Then you have done very wrong," replied Nizza. "I will see no one."

  "Not even me, Nizza?" asked Leonard, advancing. The poor girl started atthe sound of his voice, and raising herself on one arm, looked wildlytowards him. As soon as she was satisfied that her fancy did not deceiveher, she uttered a cry of delight, and falling backwards on the couch,became insensible.

  Leonard and the old woman instantly flew to the poor girl's assistance,and restoratives being applied, she speedily opened her eyes and fixedthem tenderly and inquiringly on the apprentice. Before replying to hermute interrogatories, Leonard requested the old woman to leave them--anorder very reluctantly obeyed--and as soon as they were left alone,proceeded to explain, as briefly as he could, the manner in which he haddiscovered her place of captivity. Nizza listened to his recital withthe greatest interest, and though evidently suffering acute pain,uttered no complaint, but endeavoured to assume an appearance ofcomposure and tranquillity.

  "I must now tell you all that has befallen me since we last met," shesaid, as he concluded. "I will not dwell upon the persecution I enduredfrom the king, whose passion increased in proportion to my resistance--Iwill not dwell upon the arts, the infamous arts, used to induce me tocomply with his wishes--neither will I dwell upon the desperate measureI had determined to resort to, if driven to the last strait--nor would Imention the subject at all, except to assure you I escaped contaminationwhere few escaped it."

  "You need not give me any such assurance," remarked Leonard.

  "While I was thus almost driven to despair," pursued Nizza, "a youngfemale who attended me, and affected to deplore my situation, offered tohelp me to escape. I eagerly embraced the offer; and one night, havingpurloined, as she stated, the key of the chamber in which I was lodged,she conducted me by a back staircase into the palace-gardens. Thinkingmyself free, I warmly thanked my supposed deliverer, who hurried metowards a gate, at which she informed me a man was waiting to guide meto a cottage about a mile from the city, where I should be in perfects
afety."

  "I see the device," cried Leonard. "But, why--why did you trust her?"

  "What could I do?" rejoined Nizza. "To stay was as bad as to fly, andmight have been worse. At all events, I had no distrust. My companionopened the gate, and called to some person without. It was profoundlydark; but I could perceive a carriage, or some other vehicle, at alittle distance. Alarmed at the sight, I whispered my fears to mycompanion, and would have retreated; but she laid hold of my hand, anddetained me. The next moment I felt a rude grasp upon my arm. Before Icould cry out, a hand was placed over my mouth so closely as almost tostifle me; and I was forced into the carriage by two persons, who seatedthemselves on either side of me, threatening to put me to death if Imade the slightest noise. The carriage was then driven off at a furiouspace. For some miles it pursued the high road, and then struck into alane, where, in consequence of the deep and dangerous ruts, the driverwas obliged to relax his speed. But in spite of all his caution, one ofthe wheels sunk into a hole, and in the efforts to extricate it, thecarriage was overturned. No injury was sustained either by me or theothers inside, and the door being forced open without much difficulty,we were let out. One of my captors kept near me, while the other lenthis assistance to the coachman to set the carriage to rights. It proved,however, to be so much damaged, that it could not proceed; and, afterconsiderable delay, my conductors ordered the coachman to remain with ittill further assistance could be sent; and, taking the horses, one ofthem, notwithstanding my resistance, placed me beside him, and gallopedoff. Having ridden about five miles, we crossed an extensive common, andpassed an avenue of trees, which brought us to the entrance of an oldhouse. Our arrival seemed to be expected; for the instant we appeared,the gate was opened, and the old woman you have just seen, and who iscalled Mrs. Carteret, together with a dumb African, named Hassan,appeared at it. Some muttered discourse passed between my conductors andthese persons, which ended in my being committed to the care of Mrs.Carteret who led me upstairs to a richly-furnished chamber, and urged meto take some refreshment before I retired to rest, which, however, Ideclined."

  "Still, you saw nothing of Sir Paul Parravicin?" asked Leonard.

  "On going downstairs next morning, he was the first person I beheld,"replied Nizza. "Falling upon his knees, he implored my pardon for theartifice he had practised, and said he had been compelled to haverecourse to it in order to save me from the king. He then began to pleadhis own suit; but finding his protestations of passion of no effect, hebecame yet more importunate; when, at this juncture, one of the men whohad acted as my conductor on the previous night suddenly entered theroom, and told him he must return to Oxford without an instant's delay,as the king's attendants were in search of him. Casting a look at methat made me tremble, he then departed; and though I remained more thantwo months in that house, I saw nothing more of him."

  "Did you not attempt to escape during that time?" asked Leonard.

  "I was so carefully watched by Mrs. Carteret and Hassan, that it wouldhave been vain to attempt it," she replied. "About a week ago, the twomen who had conducted me to my place of captivity, again made theirappearance, and told me I must accompany them to London. I attempted noresistance, well aware it would be useless; and as the journey was madeby by-roads, three days elapsed before we reached the capital. Wearrived at night, and I almost forgot my own alarm in the terriblesights I beheld at every turn. It would have been useless to call outfor assistance, for there was no one to afford it. I asked my conductorsif they had brought me there to die, and they answered, sternly, 'Itdepended on myself.' At Ludgate we met Chowles, the coffin-maker, and hebrought us to this house. Yesterday, Sir Paul Parravicin made hisappearance, and told me he had brought me hither to be out of the king'sway. He then renewed his odious solicitations. I resisted him as firmlyas before; but he was more determined; and I might have been reduced tothe last extremity but for your arrival, or for the terrible disorderthat has seized me. But I have spoken enough of myself. Tell me what hasbecome of Amabel?"

  "She, too, has got the plague," replied Leonard, mournfully.

  "Alas! alas!" cried Nizza, bursting into tears; "she is so dear to you,that I grieve for her far more than for myself."

  "I have not seen her since I last beheld you," said Leonard, greatlytouched by the poor girl's devotion. "She was carried off by the Earl ofRochester on the same night that you were taken from Kingston Lisle bythe king."

  "And she has been in his power ever since?" demanded Nizza, eagerly.

  "Ever since," repeated Leonard.

  "The same power that has watched over me, I trust has protected her,"cried Nizza, fervently.

  "I cannot doubt it," replied Leonard. "She would now not be alive wereit otherwise. But I have now something of importance to disclose to you.You remember the stranger we met near the plague-pit in Finsbury Fields,and whose child I buried?"

  "Perfectly," replied Nizza.

  "What if I tell you he is your father?" said Leonard.

  "What!" cried Nizza, in the utmost surprise. "Have I, then, beenmistaken all these years in supposing the piper to be my father?"

  "You have," replied Leonard. "I cannot explain more to you at present;but a few hours will reveal all. Thirlby is the name of your father.Have you ever heard it before?"

  "Never," returned Nizza. "It is strange what you tell me. I have oftenreproached myself for not feeling a stronger affection for the piper,who always treated me with the kindness of a parent. But it now seemsthe true instinct was wanting. Tell me your reasons for supposing thisperson to be my father."

  As Leonard was about to reply, the door was opened by Mrs. Carteret, whosaid that Sir Paul Parravicin had just returned with Doctor Hodges andanother gentleman. The words were scarcely uttered, when Thirlby rushedinto the room, and, flinging himself on his knees before the couch,cried, "At last I have found you--my child! my child!" The surprisewhich Nizza must have experienced at such an address was materiallylessened by what Leonard had just told her; and, after earnestlyregarding the stranger for some time, she exclaimed, in a gentle voice,"My father!"

  Thirlby sprang to his feet, and would have folded her in his arms, ifDoctor Hodges, who by this time had reached the couch, had not preventedhim. "Touch her not, or you destroy yourself," he cried.

  "I care not if I do," rejoined Thirlby. "The gratification would becheaply purchased at the price of my life; and if I could preserve hersby the sacrifice, I would gladly make it."

  "No more of this," cried Hodges, impatiently, "or you will defeat anyattempt I may make to cure her. You had better not remain here. Yourpresence agitates her."

  Gazing wistfully at his daughter, and scarcely able to tear himselfaway, Thirlby yielded at last to the doctor's advice, and quitted theroom. He was followed by Leonard, who received a hint to the sameeffect. On reaching the adjoining room, they found Sir Paul Parravicinwalking to and fro in an agitated manner. He immediately came up toThirlby, and, in an anxious but deferential tone, inquired how he hadfound Nizza? The latter shook his head, and, sternly declining anyfurther conversation, passed on with the apprentice to an outer room. Hethen flung himself into a chair, and appeared lost in deep and bitterreflection. Leonard was unwilling to disturb him; but at last his ownanxieties compelled him to break silence.

  "Can you tell me aught of Amabel?" he asked.

  "Alas! no," replied Thirlby, rousing himself. "I have had no time toinquire about her, as you shall hear. After leaving you on the bridge, Iwent into Southwark, and hurrying through all the principal streets,inquired from every watchman I met whether he had seen any personanswering to Doctor Hodges's description, but could hear nothing of him.At last I gave up the quest, and, retracing my steps, was proceedingalong Cannon-street, when I descried a person a little in advance of me,whom I thought must be the doctor, and, calling out to him, found I wasnot mistaken. I had just reached him, when two other persons turned thecorner of Nicholas-lane. On seeing us, one of them ran up to the doctor,exclaiming, 'By Heaven, the very person I w
ant!' It was Sir PaulParravicin; and he instantly explained his errand. Imagine the feelingswith which I heard his account of the illness of my daughter. Imagine,also, the horror I must have experienced in recognising in herpersecutor my--"

  The sentence was not completed, for at that moment the door was openedby Sir Paul Parravicin, who, advancing towards Thirlby, begged, in thesame deferential tone as before, to have a few words with him.

  "I might well refuse you," replied Thirlby, sternly, "but it isnecessary we should have some explanation of what has occurred."

  "It is," rejoined Parravicin, "and, therefore, I have sought you."Thirlby arose, and accompanied the knight into the outer room, closingthe door after him. More than a quarter of an hour--it seemed an age toLeonard--elapsed, and still no one came. Listening intently, he heardvoices in the next room. They were loud and angry, as if in quarrel.Then all was quiet, and at last Thirlby reappeared, and took his seatbeside him.

  "Have you seen Doctor Hodges?" inquired the apprentice, eagerly.

  "I have," replied Thirlby--"and he speaks favourably of my poor child.He has administered all needful remedies, but as it is necessary towatch their effect, he will remain with her some time longer."

  "And, meanwhile, I shall know nothing of Amabel," cried Leonard, in atone of bitter disappointment.

  "Your anxiety is natural," returned Thirlby, "but you may restsatisfied, if Doctor Hodges has seen her, he has done all that human aidcan effect. But as you must perforce wait his coming forth, I willendeavour to beguile the tedious interval by relating to you so much ofmy history as refers to Nizza Macascree."

  After a brief pause, he commenced. "You must know, then, that in myyouth I became desperately enamoured of a lady named Isabella Morley.She was most beautiful--but I need not enlarge upon her attractions,since you have beheld her very image in Nizza. When I first met her shewas attached to another, but I soon rid myself of my rival. I quarrelledwith him, and slew him in a duel. After a long and urgent suit, for thesuccessful issue of which I was mainly indebted to my rank and wealth,which gave great influence with her parents, Isabella became mine. But Isoon found out she did not love me. In consequence of this discovery, Ibecame madly jealous, and embittered her life and my own by constant,and, now I know too well, groundless suspicions. She had borne me a son,and in the excess of my jealous fury, fancying the child was not my own,I threatened to put it to death. This violence led to the unhappy resultI am about to relate. Another child was born, a daughter--need I sayNizza, or to give her her proper name, Isabella, for she was sochristened after her mother--and one night--one lucklessnight,--maddened by some causeless doubt, I snatched the innocent babefrom her mother's arms, and if I had not been prevented by theattendants, who rushed into the room on hearing their mistress'sshrieks, should have destroyed her. After awhile, I became pacified, andon reviewing my conduct more calmly on the morrow, bitterly reproachedmyself, and hastened to express my penitence to my wife. 'You will neverhave an opportunity of repeating your violence,' she said; 'the objectof your cruel and unfounded suspicions is gone.'--'Gone!' I exclaimed;'whither?' And as I spoke I looked around the chamber. But the babe wasnowhere to be seen. In answer to my inquiries, my wife admitted that shehad caused her to be removed to a place of safety, but refused, even onmy most urgent entreaties, accompanied by promises of amended conduct,to tell me where. I next interrogated the servants, but they professedentire ignorance of the matter. For three whole days I made ineffectualsearch for the child, and offered large rewards to any one who wouldbring her to me. But they failed to produce her; and repairing to mywife's chamber, I threatened her with the most terrible consequences ifshe persisted in her vindictive project. She defied me, and, transportedwith rage, I passed my sword through her body, exclaiming as I dealt themurderous blow, 'You have sent the brat to her father--to your lover,madam.' Horror and remorse seized me the moment I had committed theruthless act, and I should have turned my sword against myself, if I hadnot been stayed by the cry of my poor victim, who implored me to hold myhand. 'Do not add crime to crime,' she cried; 'you have done me grievouswrong. I have not, indeed, loved you, because my affections were notunder my control, but I have been ever true to you, and this I declarewith my latest breath. I freely forgive you, and pray God to turn yourheart.' And with these words she expired. I was roused from thestupefaction into which I was thrown by the appearance of the servants.Heaping execrations upon me, they strove to seize me; but I brokethrough them, and gained a garden at the back of my mansion, which wassituated on the bank of the Thames, not far from Chelsea. This gardenran down to the river side, and was defended by a low wall, which Ileapt, and plunged into the stream. A boat was instantly sent in pursuitof me, and a number of persons ran along the banks, all eager for mycapture. But being an excellent swimmer, I tried to elude them, and as Inever appeared again, it was supposed I was drowned."

  "And Nizza, or as I ought now to call her, Isabella, was confided, Isuppose, to the piper?" inquired Leonard.

  "She was confided to his helpmate," replied Thirlby, "who had been nurseto my wife. Mike Macascree was one of my father's servants, and was inhis younger days a merry, worthless fellow. The heavy calamity underwhich he now labours had not then befallen him. On taking charge of mydaughter, his wife received certain papers substantiating the child'sorigin, together with a miniature, and a small golden amulet. The papersand miniature were delivered by her on her death-bed to the piper, whoshowed them to me to-night."

  "And the amulet I myself have seen," remarked Leonard.

  "To resume my own history," said Thirlby--"after the dreadfulcatastrophe I have related, I remained concealed in London for somemonths, and was glad to find the report of my death generally believed.I then passed over into Holland, where I resided for several years, inthe course of which time I married the widow of a rich merchant, whodied soon after our union, leaving me one child." And he covered hisface with his hands to hide his emotion. After awhile he proceeded:

  "Having passed many years, as peacefully as one whose conscience was soheavily burdened as mine could hope to pass them, in Amsterdam, I lastsummer brought my daughter, around whom my affections were closelytwined, to London, and took up my abode in the eastern environs of thecity. There again I was happy--too happy!--until at last the plaguecame. But why should I relate the rest of my sad story?" he added, in avoice suffocated with emotion--"you know it as well as I do."

  "You said you had a son," observed Leonard, after a pause--"Is he yetliving?"

  "He is," replied Thirlby, a shade passing over his countenance. "On myreturn to England I communicated to him through Judith Malmayns, who ismy foster-sister, that I was still alive, telling him the name I hadadopted, and adding, I should never disturb him in the possession of histitle and estates."

  "Title!" exclaimed Leonard.

  "Ay, title!" echoed Thirlby. "The title I once bore was that of LordArgentine."

  "I am glad to hear it," said Leonard, "for I began to fear Sir PaulParravicin was your son."

  "Sir Paul Parravicin, or, rather, the Lord Argentine, for such is hisrightful title, _is_ my son," returned Thirlby; "and I lament to own Iam his father. When among his worthless associates,--nay, even with theking--he drops the higher title, and assumes that by which you haveknown him; and it is well he does so, for his actions are sufficient totarnish a far nobler name than that he bears. Owing to this disguise Iknew not he was the person who carried off my daughter. But, thankHeaven, another and fouler crime has been spared us. All these thingshave been strangely explained to me to-night. And thus, you see, youngman, the poor piper's daughter turns out to be the Lady IsabellaArgentine." Before an answer could be returned, the door was opened byHodges, and both starting to their feet, hurried towards him.

  IV.

  THE TRIALS OF AMABEL.

  It will now be necessary to return to the period of Amabel's abductionfrom Kingston Lisle. The shawl thrown over her head prevented her criesfrom being heard; and, notwithstanding her str
uggles, she was placed onhorseback before a powerful man, who galloped off with her along theWantage-road. After proceeding at a rapid pace for about two miles, herconductor came to a halt, and she could distinguish the sound of otherhorsemen approaching. At first she hoped it might prove a rescue; butshe was quickly undeceived. The shawl was removed, and she beheld theEarl of Rochester, accompanied by Pillichody, and some half-dozenmounted attendants. The earl would have transferred her to his ownsteed, but she offered such determined resistance to the arrangement,that he was compelled to content himself with riding by her aide. Allhis efforts to engage her in conversation were equally unsuccessful. Shemade no reply to his remarks, but averted her gaze from him; and,whenever he approached, shrank from him with abhorrence. The earl,however, was not easily repulsed, but continued his attentions anddiscourse, as if both had been favourably received.

  In this way they proceeded for some miles, one of the earl's attendants,who was well acquainted with the country, being in fact a native of it,serving as their guide. They had quitted the Wantage-road, and leavingthat ancient town, renowned as the birthplace of the great Alfred, onthe right, had taken the direction of Abingdon and Oxford. It was alovely evening, and their course led them through many charming places.But the dreariest waste would have been as agreeable as the richestprospect to Amabel. She noted neither the broad meadows, yet white fromthe scythe, nor the cornfields waving with their deep and abundant,though yet immature crops; nor did she cast even a passing glance at anyone of those green spots which every lane offers, and upon which the eyeof the traveller ordinarily delights to linger. She rode beneath anatural avenue of trees, whose branches met overhead like the arches ofa cathedral, and was scarcely conscious of their pleasant shade. Sheheard neither the song of the wooing thrush, nor the cry of the startledblackbird, nor the evening hymn of the soaring lark. Alike to her wasthe gorse-covered common, along which they swiftly speeded, and thesteep hill-side up which they more swiftly mounted. She breathed not thedelicious fragrance of the new-mown hay, nor listened to the distantlowing herds, the bleating sheep, or the cawing rooks. She thought ofnothing but her perilous situation,--heard nothing but the voice ofRochester,--felt nothing but the terror inspired by his presence.

  As the earl did not desire to pass through any village, if he could helpit, his guide led him along the most unfrequented roads; but in spite ofhis caution, an interruption occurred which had nearly resulted inAmabel's deliverance. While threading a narrow lane, they came suddenlyupon a troop of haymakers, in a field on the right, who, up to thatmoment, had been hidden from view by the high hedges. On seeing them,Amabel screamed loudly for assistance, and was instantly answered bytheir shouts. Rochester ordered his men to gallop forward, but the roadwinding round the meadow, the haymakers were enabled to take a shortercut and intercept them. Leaping the hedge, a stout fellow rushed towardsAmabel's conductor, and seized the bridle of his steed. He was followedby two others, who would have instantly liberated the captive girl, ifthe earl had not, with great presence of mind, cried out, "Touch hernot, as you value your lives! She is ill of the plague!"

  At this formidable announcement, which operated like magic upon Amabel'sdefenders, and made them fall back more quickly than the weapons of theearl's attendants could have done, they retreated, and communicatingtheir fears to their comrades, who were breaking through the hedge inall directions, and hurrying to their aid, the whole band took to theirheels, and, regardless of Amabel's continued shrieks, never stopped tillthey supposed themselves out of the reach of infection. The earl wasthus at liberty to pursue his way unmolested, and laughing heartily atthe success of his stratagem, and at the consternation he had createdamong the haymakers, pressed forward.

  Nothing further occurred till, in crossing the little river Ock, nearLyford, the horse ridden by Amabel's conductor missed its footing, andprecipitated them both into the water. No ill consequences followed theaccident. Throwing himself into the shallow stream, Rochester seizedAmabel, and placed her beside him on his own steed. A deathly palenessoverspread her countenance, and a convulsion shook her frame as she wasthus brought into contact with the earl, who, fearing the immersionmight prove dangerous in her present delicate state of health, quickenedhis pace to procure assistance. Before he had proceeded a hundred yards,Amabel fainted. Gazing at her with admiration, and pressing herinanimate frame to his breast, Rochester imprinted a passionate kiss onher cheek.

  "By my soul!" he mentally ejaculated, "I never thought I could be sodesperately enamoured. I would not part with her for the crown of theserealms."

  While considering whither he should take her, and much alarmed at hersituation, the man who acted as guide came to his relief. Halting tillthe earl came up, he said, "If you want assistance for the young lady,my lord, I can take you to a good country inn, not far from this, whereshe will be well attended to, and where, as it is kept by my father, Ican answer that no questions will be asked."

  "Precisely what I wish, Sherborne," replied Rochester. "We will haltthere for the night. Ride on as fast as you can."

  Sherborne struck spurs into his steed, and passing Kingston Bagpuze,reached the high road between Abingdon and Faringdon, at the corner ofwhich stood the inn in question,--a good-sized habitation, with largestables and a barn attached to it. Here he halted, and calling out in aloud and authoritative voice, the landlord instantly answered thesummons; and, on being informed by his son of the rank of his guest,doffed his cap, and hastened to assist the earl to dismount. ButRochester declined his services, and bidding him summon his wife, sheshortly afterwards made her appearance in the shape of a stoutmiddle-aged dame. Committing Amabel to her care, the earl then alighted,and followed them into the house.

  The Plough, for so the inn was denominated, was thrown into the utmostconfusion by the arrival of the earl and his suite. All the ordinaryfrequenters of the inn were ejected, while the best parlour wasinstantly prepared for the accommodation of his lordship and Pillichody.But Rochester was far more anxious for Amabel than himself, and couldnot rest for a moment till assured by Dame Sherborne that she wasrestored to sensibility, and about to retire to rest. He then becameeasy, and sat down to supper with Pillichody. So elated was he by hissuccess, that, yielding to his natural inclination for hard drinking, hecontinued to revel so freely and so long with his follower, thatdaybreak found them over their wine, the one toasting the grocer'sdaughter, and the other Patience, when they both staggered off to bed.

  A couple of hours sufficed Rochester to sleep off the effects of hiscarouse. At six o'clock he arose, and ordered his attendants to prepareto set out without delay. When all was ready, he sent for Amabel, butshe refused to come downstairs, and finding his repeated messages of noavail, he rushed into her room, and bore her, shrieking to his steed.

  In an hour after this, they arrived at an old hall, belonging to theearl, in the neighbourhood of Oxford. Amabel was entrusted to the careof a female attendant, named Prudence, and towards evening, Rochester,who was burning with impatience for an interview, learnt, to hisinfinite disappointment, that she was so seriously unwell, that if heforced himself into her presence, her life might be placed in jeopardy.She continued in the same state for several days, at the end of whichtime, the chirurgeon who attended her, and who was a creature of theearl's, pronounced her out of danger. Rochester then sent her word byPrudence that he must see her in the course of that day, and a few hoursafter the delivery of the message, he sought her room. She was muchenfeebled by illness, but received him with great self-possession.

  "I cannot believe, my lord," she said, "that you desire to destroy me,and when I assure you--solemnly assure you, that if you continue topersecute me thus, my death, will be the consequence, I am persuaded youwill desist, and suffer me to depart."

  "Amabel," rejoined the earl, passionately, "is it possible you can be sochanged towards me? Nothing now interferes to prevent our union."

  "Except my own determination to the contrary, my lord," she replied. "Ican never be yours."<
br />
  "Wherefore not?" asked the earl, half angrily, half reproachfully.

  "Because I know and feel that I should condemn myself to wretchedness,"she replied. "Because--for since your lordship will force the truth fromme, I must speak out--I have learnt to regard your character in its truelight,--and because my heart is wedded to heaven."

  "Pshaw!" exclaimed the earl, contemptuously; "you have been listening solong to your saintly father's discourses, that you fancy them applicableto yourself. But you are mistaken in me," he added, altering his tone;"I see where the main difficulty lies. You think I am about to deludeyou, as before, into a mock marriage. But I swear to you you aremistaken. I love you so well that I would risk my temporal and eternalhappiness for you. It will rejoice me to raise you to my own rank--toplace you among the radiant beauties of our sovereign's court, thebrightest of whom you will outshine, and to devote my whole life to yourhappiness."

  "It is too late," sighed Amabel.

  "Why too late?" cried the earl, imploringly. "We have gone throughsevere trials, it is true. I have been constantly baffled in my pursuitof you, but disappointment has only made me love you more devotedly. Whytoo late? What is to prevent our nuptials from taking placeto-day--to-morrow--when you will? The king himself shall be present atthe ceremony, and shall give you away. Will this satisfy your scruples?I know I have offended you. I know I deserve your anger. But the lovethat prompted me to act thus, must also plead my pardon."

  "Strengthen me!" she murmured, looking supplicatingly upwards."Strengthen me, for my trial is very severe."

  "Be not deceived, Amabel," continued Rochester, yet more ardently; "thatyou love me I am well assured, however strongly you may at this momentpersuade yourself to the contrary. Be not governed by your father'sstrait-laced and puritanical opinions. Men, such as he is, cannot judgeof fiery natures like mine. I myself have had to conquer a stubborn andrebellious spirit,--the demon pride. But I have conquered. Love hasachieved the victory,--love for you. I offer you my heart, my hand, mytitle. A haughty noble makes this offer to a grocer's daughter. Canyou--will you refuse me?"

  "I can and do, my lord," she replied. "I have achieved a yet hardervictory. With me, principle has conquered love. I no longer respect you,no longer love you--and, therefore, cannot wed you."

  "Rash and obstinate girl," cried the earl, unable to conceal hismortification; "you will bitterly repent your inconsiderate conduct. Ioffer you devotion such as no other person could offer you, and ranksuch as no other is likely to offer you. You are now in my power, andyou _shall_ be mine,--in what way rests with yourself. You shall have aweek to consider the matter. At the end of that time, I will again renewmy proposal. If you accept it, well and good. If not, you know thealternative." And without waiting for a reply, he quitted the room.

  He was as good as his word. During the whole of the week allowed Amabelfor consideration, he never intruded upon her, nor was his name at anytime mentioned by her attendants. If she had been, indeed, Countess ofRochester, she could not have been treated with greater respect than wasshown her. The apartment allotted her opened upon a large garden,surrounded by high walls, and she walked within it daily. Her serenityof mind remained undisturbed; her health visibly improved; and, what wasyet more surprising, she entirely recovered her beauty. The whole of hertime not devoted to exercise, was spent in reading, or in prayer. On theappointed day, Rochester presented himself. She received him with themost perfect composure, and with a bland look, from which he auguredfavourably. He waved his hand to the attendants, and they were alone.

  "I came for your answer, Amabel," he said; "but I scarcely require it,being convinced from your looks that I have nothing to fear. Oh! why didyou not abridge this tedious interval? Why not inform me you had alteredyour mind? But I will not reproach you. I am too happy to complain ofthe delay."

  "I must undeceive you, my lord," returned Amabel, gravely. "No changehas taken place in my feelings. I still adhere to the resolution I hadcome to when we last parted."

  "How!" exclaimed the earl, his countenance darkening, and the evil lookwhich Amabel had before noticed taking possession of it. "One momentlured on, and next rebuffed. But no--no!" he added, constraininghimself, "you cannot mean it. It is not in woman's nature to act thus.You have loved me--you love me still. Make me happy--make yourselfhappy."

  "My lord," she replied, "strange and unnatural as my conduct may appear,you will find it consistent. You have lost the sway you had once overme, and, for the reasons I have already given you, I can never beyours."

  "Oh, recall your words, Amabel," he cried, in the most moving tones hecould command; "if you have no regard for me--at least have compassion.I will quit the court if you desire it; will abandon title, rank,wealth; and live in the humblest station with you. You know not what Iam capable of when under the dominion of passion. I am capable of thedarkest crimes, or of the brightest virtues. The woman who has a man'sheart in her power may mould it to her own purposes, be they good orill. Reject me, and you drive me to despair, and plunge me into guilt.Accept me, and you may lead me into any course, you please."

  "Were I assured of this--" cried Amabel.

  "Rest assured of it," returned the earl, passionately. "Oh, yield toimpulses of natural affection, and do not suffer a cold and calculatingcreed to chill your better feelings. How many a warm and loving hearthas been so frozen! Do not let yours be one of them. Be mine! be mine!"

  Amabel looked at him earnestly for a moment; while he, assured that hehad gained his point, could not conceal a slightly triumphant smile.

  "Now, your answer!" he cried. "My life hangs upon it."

  "I am still unmoved," she replied, coldly, and firmly.

  "Ah!" exclaimed the earl with a terrible imprecation, and starting tohis feet. "You refuse me. Be it so. But think not that you shall escapeme. No, you are in my power, and I will use it. You shall be mine andwithout the priest's interference. I will not degrade myself by analliance with one so lowly born. The strongest love is nearest allied tohatred, and mine has become hatred--bitter hatred. You shall be mine, Itell you, and when I am indifferent to you, I will cast you off. Then,when you are neglected, despised, shunned, you will regret--deeply butunavailingly--your rejection of my proposals."

  "No, my lord, I shall never regret it," replied Amabel, "and I cannotsufficiently rejoice that I did not yield to the momentary weakness thatinclined me to accept them. I thank you for the insight you haveafforded me into your character."

  "You have formed an erroneous opinion of me, Amabel," cried the earl,seeing his error, and trying to correct it. "I am well nigh distractedby conflicting emotions. Oh, forgive my violence--forget it."

  "Readily," she replied; "but think not I attach the least credit to yourprofessions."

  "Away, then, with further disguise," returned the earl, relapsing intohis furious mood, "and recognise in me the person I am--or, rather theperson you would have me be. You say you are immovable. So am I; norwill I further delay my purpose."

  Amabel, who had watched him uneasily during this speech, retreated astep, and taking a small dagger from a handkerchief in which she kept itconcealed, placed its point against her breast.

  "I well know whom I have to deal with, my lord," she said, "and am,therefore, provided against the last extremity. Attempt to touch me, and Iplunge this dagger into my heart."

  "Your sense of religion will not allow you to commit so desperate adeed," replied the earl, derisively.

  "My blood be upon your head, my lord," she rejoined; "for it is yourhand that strikes the blow, and not my own. My honour is dearer to methan life, and I will unhesitatingly sacrifice the one to preserve theother. I have no fear but that the action, wrongful though it be, willbe forgiven me."

  "Hold!" exclaimed the earl, seeing from her determined look and mannerthat she would unquestionably execute her purpose. "I have no desire todrive you to destruction. Think over what I have said to you, and wewill renew the subject tomorrow."

  "Renew it when y
ou please, my lord, my answer will still be the same,"she replied. "I have but one refuge from you--the grave--and thither, ifneed be, I will fly." And as she spoke, she moved slowly towards theadjoining chamber, the door of which she fastened after her.

  "I thought I had some experience of her sex," said Rochester to himself,"but I find I was mistaken. To-morrow's mood, however, may be unliketo-day's. At all events, I must take my measures differently."

  * * * * *

  V.

  THE MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

  Unwilling to believe he had become an object of aversion to Amabel,Rochester renewed his solicitations on the following day, and callinginto play his utmost fascination of manner, endeavoured to remove anyill impression produced by his previous violence. She was proof,however, against his arts; and though he never lost his mastery overhimself, he had some difficulty in concealing his chagrin at the resultof the interview. He now began to adopt a different course, and enteringinto long discussions with Amabel, strove by every effort of wit andridicule, to shake and subvert her moral and religious principles. Buthere again he failed; and once more shifting his ground, affected to beconvinced by her arguments. He entirely altered his demeanour, andthough Amabel could not put much faith in the change, it was a subjectof real rejoicing to her. Though scarcely conscious of it herself, hesensibly won upon her regards, and she passed many hours of each day inhis society without finding it irksome. Seeing the advantage he hadgained, and well aware that he should lose it by the slightestindiscretion, Rochester acted with the greatest caution. The more atease she felt with him, the more deferential did he become; and beforeshe was conscious of her danger, the poor girl was once more on thebrink of the precipice.

  It was about this time that Leonard Holt, as has been previouslyintimated, discovered her retreat, and contrived, by clambering up apear-tree which was nailed against the wall of the house, to reach herchamber-window. Having received her assurance that she had resisted allRochester's importunities, the apprentice promised to return on thefollowing night with means to affect her liberation, and departed. Fullypersuaded that she could now repose confidence in the earl, Amabelacquainted him, the next morning, with Leonard's visit, adding that hewould now have an opportunity of proving the sincerity of hisprofessions by delivering her up to her friends.

  "Since you desire it," replied the earl, who heard her with an unmovedcountenance, though internally torn with passion, "I will convey you toyour father myself. I had hoped," he added with a sigh, "that we shouldnever part again."

  "I fear I have been mistaken in you, my lord," rejoined Amabel,half-repenting her frankness.

  "Not so," he replied. "I will do anything you require, except deliveryou to this hateful apprentice. If it is your pleasure, I repeat, I willtake you back to your father."

  "Promise me this, my lord, and I shall be quite easy," cried Amabel,joyfully.

  "I do promise it," he returned. "But oh! why not stay with me, andcomplete the good work you have begun?"

  Amabel averted her head, and Rochester sighing deeply, quitted the room.An attendant shortly afterwards came to inform her that the earlintended to start for London without delay, and begged her to preparefor the journey. In an hour's time, a carriage drove to the door, andRochester having placed her and Prudence in it, mounted his horse, andset forth. Late on the second day they arrived in London, and passingthrough the silent and deserted streets, the aspect of which struckterror into all the party, shaped their course towards the city.Presently they reached Ludgate, but instead of proceeding toWood-street, the carriage turned off on the right, and traversingThames-street, crossed London Bridge. Amabel could obtain no explanationof this change from Prudence; and her uneasiness was not diminished whenthe vehicle, which was driven down a narrow street on the leftimmediately after quitting the bridge, stopped at the entrance of alarge court-yard. Rochester, who had already dismounted, assisted her toalight, and in answer to her hasty inquiries why he had brought herthither, told her he thought it better to defer taking her to her fathertill the morrow. Obliged to be content with this excuse, she was ledinto the house, severely reproaching herself for her indiscretion.Nothing, however, occurred to alarm her that night. The earl was evenmore deferential than before, and assuring her he would fulfil hispromise in the morning, confided her to Prudence.

  The house whither she had been brought was large and old-fashioned. Therooms had once been magnificently fitted up, but the hangings andfurniture were much faded, and had a gloomy and neglected air. This wasespecially observable in the sleeping-chamber appointed for herreception. It was large and lofty, panelled with black and shining oak,with a highly-polished floor of the same material, and was filled withcumbrous chests and cabinets, and antique high-backed chairs. But themost noticeable object was a large state-bed, with a heavy squarecanopy, covered, with the richest damask, woven with gold, and hung withcurtains of the same stuff, though now decayed and tarnished. A chillcrept over Amabel as she gazed around.

  "I cannot help thinking," she observed to Prudence, "that I shall breathemy last in this room, and in that bed."

  "I hope not, madam," returned the attendant, unable to repress ashudder.

  Nothing more was said, and Amabel retired to rest. But not being able tosleep, and having vainly tried to compose herself, she arose and openedthe window. It was a serene and beautiful night, and she could see thesmooth river sparkling in the starlight, and flowing at a hundred yards'distance at the foot of the garden. Beyond, she could indistinctlyperceive the outline of the mighty city, while nearer, on the left, laythe bridge. Solemnly across the water came the sound of innumerablebells, tolling for those who had died of the plague, and were now beingborne to their last home. While listening to these sad sounds, another,but more doleful and appalling noise, caught her ears. It was therumbling of cart-wheels in the adjoining street, accompanied by theringing of a hand-bell, while a hoarse-voice cried, "Bring out yourdead! bring out your dead!" On hearing this cry, she closed the windowand retired. Morning broke before sleep visited her weary eyelids, andthen, overcome by fatigue, she dropped into a slumber, from which shedid not awake until the day was far advanced. She found Prudence sittingby her bedside, and alarmed by the expression of her countenance,anxiously inquired what was the matter?

  "Alas! madam," replied the attendant, "the earl has been taken suddenlyill. He set out for Wood-street the first thing this morning, and hasseen your father, who refuses to receive you. On his return, hecomplained of a slight sickness, which has gradually increased inviolence, and there can be little doubt it is the plague. Advice hasbeen sent for. He prays you not to disturb yourself on his account, butto consider yourself sole mistress of this house, whatever may befallhim."

  Amabel passed a miserably anxious day. A fresh interest had beenawakened in her heart in behalf of the earl, and the precarious state inwhich she conceived him placed did not tend to diminish it. She mademany inquiries after him, and learned that he was worse, while thefearful nature of the attack could not be questioned. On the followingday Prudence reported that the distemper had made such rapid andterrible progress, that his recovery was considered almost hopeless.

  "He raves continually of you, madam," said the attendant, "and I have nodoubt he will expire with your name on his lips."

  Amabel was moved to tears by the information, and withdrawing into acorner of the room, prayed fervently for the supposed sufferer. Prudencegazed at her earnestly and compassionately, and muttering something toherself, quitted the room. The next day was the critical one (so it wassaid) for the earl, and Amabel awaited, in tearful anxiety, the momentthat was to decide his fate. It came, and he was pronounced out ofdanger. When the news was brought the anxious girl, she fainted.

  A week passed, and the earl, continued to improve, and all danger ofinfection--if any such existed--being at an end, he sent a message toAmabel, beseeching her to grant him an interview in his own room. Shewillingly assented, and, following the
attendant, found him stretchedupon a couch. In spite of his paleness and apparent debility, however,his good looks were but little impaired, and his attire, thoughnegligent, was studiously arranged for effect. On Amabel's appearance hemade an effort to rise, but she hastened to prevent him. After thankingher for her kind inquiries, he entered into a long conversation withher, in the course of which he displayed sentiments so exactlycoinciding with her own, that the good opinion she had already begun toentertain for him was soon heightened into the liveliest interest. Theyparted, to meet again on the following day--and on the day followingthat. The bloom returned to the earl's countenance, and he lookedhandsomer than ever. A week thus passed, and at the end of it, hesaid--"To-morrow I shall be well enough to venture forth again, and myfirst business shall be to proceed to your father, and see whether he isnow able to receive you."

  "The plague has not yet abated, my lord," she observed, blushingly.

  "True," he replied, looking passionately at her. "Oh, forgive me,Amabel," he added, taking her hand, which she did not attempt towithdraw. "Forgive me, if I am wrong. But I now think your feelings arealtered towards me, and that I may venture to hope you will be mine?"

  Amabel's bosom heaved with emotion. She tried to speak, but could not.Her head declined upon his shoulder, and her tears flowed fast. "I amanswered," he cried, scarcely able to contain his rapture, and strainingher to his bosom.

  "I know not whether I am doing rightly," she murmured, gazing at himthrough her tears, "but I believe you mean me truly. God forgive you ifyou do not."

  "Have no more doubts," cried the earl. "You have wrought an entirechange in me. Our union shall not be delayed an hour. It shall takeplace in Saint Saviour's to-night."

  "Not to-night," cried Amabel, trembling at his eagerness--"to-morrow."

  "To-night, to-night!" reiterated the earl, victoriously. And he rushedout of the room.

  Amabel was no sooner left to herself than she repented what she haddone. "I fear I have made a false step," she mused; "but it is now toolate to retreat, and I will hope for the best. He cannot mean to deceiveme."

  Her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Prudence, who cametowards her with a face full of glee. "My lord has informed me of thegood news," she said. "You are to be wedded to him to-day. I haveexpected it all along, but it is somewhat sudden at last. He is gone insearch of the priest, and in the mean time has ordered me to attire youfor the ceremony. I have several rich dresses for your ladyship--for soI must now call you--to choose from."

  "The simplest will suit me best," replied Amabel, "and do not call meladyship till I have a right to that title."

  "That will be so soon that I am sure there can be no harm in using itnow," returned Prudence. "But pray let me show you the dresses."

  Amabel suffered herself to be led into another room, where she sawseveral sumptuous female habiliments, and selecting the least showy ofthem, was soon arrayed in it by the officious attendant. More than twohours elapsed before Rochester returned, when he entered Amabel'schamber, accompanied by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. A feeling ofmisgiving crossed Amabel, as she beheld his companions.

  "I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the earl, "forthe rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. His curate,however, will officiate for him, and is now in the church."

  Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. "Why are these gentlemen here?"she asked.

  "I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, "because, as theywere aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish them to be presentat its reparation."

  "I am satisfied," she replied.

  Taking her hand, the earl then led her to a carriage, which conveyedthem to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the dead-cart passed,and several bodies were brought towards it. Eager to withdraw herattention from the spectacle, Rochester hurried her into the old andbeautiful church. In another moment they were joined by Etherege andPillichody, and they proceeded to the altar, where the priest, a youngman, was standing. The ceremony was then performed, and the earl led hisbride back to the carriage. On their return they had to undergo anotherill-omened interruption. The dead-cart was stationed near the gateway,and some delay occurred before it could be moved forward.

  Amabel, however, suffered no further misgiving to take possession ofher. Deeming herself wedded to the earl, she put no constraint on heraffection for him, and her happiness, though short-lived, was deep andfull. A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing occurred inthe slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester seemed only to livefor her--to think only of her. At the end of this time, someindifference began to manifest itself in his deportment to her, and heevinced a disposition to return to the court and to its pleasures.

  "I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," said Amabel,reproachfully.

  "For awhile I have," he replied, carelessly.

  "You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined.

  "If I must, I must," said the earl.

  "You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, bursting into tears. "Youcannot be so changed."

  "I have never changed since you first knew me," replied Rochester.

  "Impossible!" she cried, in a tone of anguish; "you have not thefaults--the vices, you once had."

  "I know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied the earlsharply, "but I have the same qualities as heretofore.

  "Am I to understand, then," cried Amabel, a fearful suspicion of thetruth breaking upon her, "that you never sincerely repented your formeractions?"

  "You are to understand it," replied Rochester.

  "And you deceived me when you affirmed the contrary?"

  "I deceived you," he replied.

  "I begin to suspect," she cried, with a look of horror and doubt, "thatthe attack of the plague was feigned."

  "You are not far wide of the truth," was the reply.

  "And our marriage?" she cried--"our marriage? Was that feignedlikewise?"

  "It was," replied Rochester, calmly.

  Amabel looked at him fixedly for a few minutes, as if she could notcredit his assertion, and then receiving no contradiction, uttered awild scream, and rushed out of the room. Rochester followed, and saw herdart with lightning swiftness across the court-yard. On gaining thestreet, he perceived her flying figure already at some distance; andgreatly alarmed, started in pursuit. The unfortunate girl was notallowed to proceed far. Two persons who were approaching, and who provedto be Etherege and Pillichody, caught hold of her, and detained her tillRochester came up. When the latter attempted to touch her, she utteredsuch fearful shrieks, that Etherege entreated him to desist. With somedifficulty she was taken back to the house. But it was evident that theshock had unsettled her reason. She alternately uttered wild, piercingscreams, or broke into hysterical laughter. The earl's presence so muchincreased her frenzy, that he gladly withdrew.

  "This is a melancholy business, my lord," observed Etherege, as theyquitted the room together, "and I am sorry for my share in it. We haveboth much to answer for."

  "Do you think her life in danger?" rejoined Rochester.

  "It would be well if it were so," returned the other; "but I fear shewill live to be a perpetual memento to you of the crime you havecommitted."

  Amabel's delirium produced a high fever, which continued for three days.Her screams were at times so dreadful, that her betrayer shut himself upin the furthest part of the house, that he might not hear them. When atlast she sank into a sleep like that of death, produced by powerfulopiates, he stole into the room, and gazed at her with feelings whichthose who watched his countenance did not envy. It was hoped by thechirurgeon in attendance, that when the violence of the fever abated,Amabel's reason would be restored. But it was not so. Her faculties werecompletely shaken, and the cause of her affliction being effaced fromher memory, she now spoke of the Earl of Rochester with her formeraffection.

  Her betrayer once ventured into her presence, but he did not re
peat thevisit. Her looks and her tenderness were more than even _his_ firmnesscould bear, and he hurried away to hide his emotion from the attendants.Several days passed on, and as no improvement took place, the earl, whobegan to find the stings of conscience too sharp for further endurance,resolved to try to deaden the pangs by again plunging into thedissipation of the court. Prudence had been seized by the plague, andremoved to the pest-house, and not knowing to whom to entrust Amabel, itat last occurred to him that Judith Malmayns would be a fitting person,and he accordingly sent for her from Saint Paul's, and communicated hiswishes to her, offering her a considerable reward for the service.Judith readily undertook the office, and the earl delayed his departurefor two days, to see how all went on; and finding the arrangements, toall appearances, answer perfectly, he departed with Etherege andPillichody.

  Ever since the communication of the fatal truth had been made to her bythe earl, his unfortunate victim had occupied the large oak-panelledchamber, on entering which so sad a presentiment had seized her; and shehad never quitted the bed where she thought she would breathe her last.On the night of Rochester's departure she made many inquiries concerninghim from Judith Malmayns, who was seated in an old broad-cushioned,velvet-covered chair, beside her, and was told that the king requiredhis attendance at Oxford, but that he would soon return. At this answerthe tears gathered thickly in Amabel's dark eyelashes, and she remainedsilent. By-and-by she resumed the conversation.

  "Do you know, nurse," she said, with a look of extreme anxiety, "I haveforgotten my prayers. Repeat them to me, and I will say them after you."

  "My memory is as bad as your ladyship's," replied Judith,contemptuously. "It is so long since I said mine, that I have quiteforgotten them."

  "That is wrong in you," returned Amabel, "very wrong. When I lived withmy dear father, we had prayers morning and evening, and I was never sohappy as then. I feel it would do me good if I could pray as I used todo."

  "Well, well, all in good time," replied Judith. "As soon as you arebetter, you shall go back to your father, and then you can do as youplease."

  "No, no, I cannot go back to him," returned Amabel. "I am the Earl ofRochester's wife--his wedded wife. Am I not Countess of Rochester?"

  "To be sure you are," replied Judith--"to be sure."

  "I sometimes think otherwise," rejoined Amabel, mournfully.

  "And so my dear lord is gone to Oxford?"

  "He is," returned Judith, "but he will be back soon. And now," sheadded, with some impatience, "you have talked quite long enough. Youmust take your composing draught, and go to sleep."

  With this she arose, and stepping to the table which stood by the sideof the bed, filled a wine-glass with the contents of a silver flagon,and gave it to her. Amabel drank the mixture, and complaining of itsnauseous taste, Judith handed her a plate of fruit from the table toremove it. Soon after this she dropped asleep, when the nurse arose, andtaking a light from the table, cautiously possessed herself of a bunchof keys which were placed in a small pocket over Amabel's head, andproceeded to unlock a large chest that stood near the foot of the bed.She found it filled with valuables--with chains of gold, necklaces ofprecious stones, loops of pearl, diamond crosses, and other ornaments.Besides these, there were shawls and stuffs of the richest description.While contemplating these treasures, and considering how she shouldcarry them off without alarming the household, she was startled by aprofound sigh; and looking towards the bed, perceived to her greatalarm, that Amabel had opened her eyes, and was watching her.

  "What are you doing there, nurse?" she cried.

  "Only looking at these pretty things, your ladyship," replied Judith, inan embarrassed tone.

  "I hope you are not going to steal them?" said Amabel.

  "Steal them?" echoed Judith, alarmed. "Oh, no! What should make yourladyship think so?"

  "I don't know," said Amabel; "but put them by, and bring the keys tome."

  Judith feigned compliance, but long before she had restored the thingsto the chest, Amabel had again fallen asleep. Apprised by her tranquilbreathing of this circumstance, Judith arose; and shading the candlewith her hand, crept noiselessly towards the bed. Dark thoughts crossedher as she gazed at the unfortunate sleeper; and moving with the utmostcaution, she set the light on the table behind the curtains, and hadjust grasped the pillow, with the intention of plucking it from underAmabel's head, and of smothering her with it, when she felt herselfrestrained by a powerful grasp, and turning in utmost alarm, beheld theEarl of Rochester.

  VI.

  THE CERTIFICATE.

  "Wretch!" cried the earl. "An instinctive dread that you would do yourpoor charge some injury brought me back, and I thank Heaven I havearrived in time to prevent your atrocious purpose."

  "Your lordship would have acted more discreetly in staying away,"replied Judith, recovering her resolution; "and I would recommend younot to meddle in the matter, but to leave it to me. No suspicion shallalight on you, nor shall it even be known that her end was hastened.Leave the house as secretly as you came, and proceed on your journeywith a light heart. She will never trouble you further."

  "What!" exclaimed Rochester, who was struck dumb for the moment bysurprise and indignation, "do you imagine I would listen to such aproposal? Do you think I would sanction her murder?"

  "I am sure you would, if you knew as much as I do," replied Judith,calmly. "Hear me, my lord," she continued, drawing him to a littledistance from the bed, and speaking in a deep low tone. "You cannotmarry Mistress Mallet while this girl lives."

  Rochester looked sternly and inquiringly at her. "You think yourmarriage was feigned," pursued Judith; "that he was no priest whoperformed the ceremony; and that no other witnesses were present exceptSir George Etherege and Pillichody. But you are mistaken. I and Chowleswere present; and he who officiated _was_ a priest. The marriage was alawful one; and yon sleeping girl, who, but for your ill-timedinterference, would, ere this, have breathed her last, is to all intentsand purposes Countess of Rochester."

  "A lie!" cried the earl, furiously.

  "I will soon prove it to be truth," rejoined Judith. "Your retainer andunscrupulous agent, Major Pillichody, applied to Chowles to find someone to personate a clergyman in a mock marriage, which your lordshipwished to have performed, and promised a handsome reward for theservice. Chowles mentioned the subject to me, and we speedily contriveda plan to outwit your lordship, and turn the affair to our advantage."

  The earl uttered an ejaculation of rage.

  "Being acquainted with one of the minor canons of Saint Paul's, a worthyand pious young man, named Vincent," pursued Judith, utterly unmoved byRochester's anger, "who resided hard by the cathedral, we hastened tohim, and acquainted him with the design, representing ourselves asanxious to serve the poor girl, and defeat your lordship's wickeddesign--for such we termed it. With a little persuasion, Mr. Vincentconsented to the scheme. Pillichody was easily duped by Chowles'sstatement, and the ceremony was fully performed."

  "The whole story is a fabrication," cried the earl, with affectedincredulity.

  "I have a certificate of the marriage," replied Judith, "signed by Mr.Vincent, and attested by Chowles and myself. If ever woman was wedded toman, Amabel is wedded to your lordship."

  "If this is the case, why seek to destroy her?" demanded the earl. "Herlife must be of more consequence to you than her removal."

  "I will deal frankly with you," replied Judith. "She discovered me inthe act of emptying that chest, and an irresistible impulse prompted meto make away with her. But your lordship is in the right. Her life _is_valuable to me, and she _shall_ live. But, I repeat, you cannot marrythe rich heiress, Mistress Mallet."

  "Temptress!" cried the earl, "you put frightful thoughts into my head."

  "Go your ways," replied Judith, "and think no more about her. All shallbe done that you require. I claim as my reward the contents of thatchest."

  "Your reward shall be the gallows," rejoined the earl, indignantly. "Ireject your proposal at onc
e. Begone, wretch! or I shall forget you area woman, and sacrifice you to my fury. Begone!"

  "As your lordship pleases," she replied; "but first, the Countess ofRochester shall be made acquainted with her rights." So saying, shebroke from him, and rushed to the bed.

  "What are you about to do?" he cried.

  "Waken her," rejoined Judith, slightly shaking the sleeper.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Amabel, opening her eyes, and gazing at her with aterrified and bewildered look.

  "His lordship is returned," said Judith.

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Amabel, raising herself in the bed. "Where ishe?--Ah, I see him.--Come to me, my dear lord," she added, stretchingout her arms to him, "Come to me."

  But evil thoughts kept Rochester motionless. "Oh! come to me, my lord,"cried Amabel, in a troubled tone, "or I shall begin to think what I havedreamed is true, and that I am not wedded to you."

  "It _was_ merely a dream, your ladyship," observed Judith. "I will bearwitness you are wedded to his lordship, for I was present at theceremony."

  "I did not see you," remarked Amabel.

  "I was there, nevertheless," replied Judith.

  "I am sorry to hear it," replied Amabel.

  "Your ladyship would rejoice if you knew all," returned Judith,significantly.

  "Why so?" inquired the other, curiously.

  "Because the clergyman who married you is dead of the plague," was theanswer; "and it may chance in these terrible times that the twogentlemen who were present at the ceremony may die of the samedistemper, and then there will be no one left but me and another personto prove that your marriage was lawful."

  "But its lawfulness will never be questioned, my dear lord, will it?"asked Amabel, looking beseechingly at Rochester.

  "Never," replied Judith, producing a small piece of parchment, "while Ihold this certificate."

  "Give me that document," said the earl, in an undertone, to her.

  Judith directed her eyes towards the chest. "It is yours," said theearl, in the same tone as before.

  "What are you whispering, my lord?" inquired Amabel, uneasily.

  "I am merely telling her to remove that chest, sweetheart," he replied.

  "Do not send it away," cried Amabel. "It contains all the ornaments andtrinkets you have given me. Do you know," she added in a whisper, "Icaught her looking into it just now, and I suspect she was about tosteal something."

  "Pshaw!" cried the earl, "she acted by my directions. Take the chestaway," he added to Judith.

  "Has your lordship no further orders?" she rejoined, significantly.

  "None whatever," he replied, with a frown.

  "Before you go, give me the certificate," cried Amabel. "I must haveit."

  Judith pretended not to hear her. "Give it her," whispered the earl, "Iwill remove it when she falls asleep."

  Nodding acquiescence, Judith took the parchment from her bosom, andreturned with it to the bed. While this was passing, the earl walkedtowards the chest, and cast his eye over such of its contents as werescattered upon the floor. Judith watched him carefully, and when hisback was turned, drew a small lancet, and affecting to arrange herdress, slightly punctured Amabel's neck. The pain was trifling, but thepoor girl uttered a cry.

  "What is the matter?" cried the earl, turning suddenly round.

  "Nothing--nothing," replied Judith; "a pin in my sleeve pricked her as Iwas fastening her cap, that was all. Her death is certain," she added toherself, "she is inoculated with the plague-venom."

  She then went to the chest, and replacing everything within it, removedit, by the help of the Earl of Rochester, into the adjoining room. "Iwill send for it at midnight," she said.

  "It shall be delivered to your messenger," rejoined the earl; "but youwill answer for Chowles's secrecy?"

  "I will," returned Judith, with a meaning smile. "But you may take myword for it you will not be troubled long with your wife. If I have anyjudgment respecting the plague, she is already infected."

  "Indeed!" cried Rochester--"then--" but he checked himself, and added,"I do not believe it. Begone."

  "He _does_ believe it for all that," muttered Judith, as he slunk away.

  Rochester returned to Amabel, and sat by her until she fell asleep, whenhe took the parchment from beneath the pillow where she had placed it.Examining it, he found it, as Judith had stated, a certificate of hismarriage, signed by Mark Vincent, the clergyman who had officiated, andduly attested. Having carefully perused it, he held it towards thetaper, with the intention of destroying it. As he was about toperpetrate this unworthy action, he looked towards the bed. The softsweet smile that played upon the sleeper's features, turned him from hispurpose. Placing the parchment in his doublet, he left the room, andsummoning a female attendant, alleged some reason for his unexpectedreturn, and ordered her to watch by the bedside of her mistress. Givingsome further directions, he threw himself upon a couch and sought a fewhours' repose. At daybreak, he repaired to Amabel's chamber, and findingher wrapped in a peaceful slumber, he commended her to the attendant,and departed.

  On awaking, Amabel complained of an uneasy sensation on her neck, andthe attendant examining the spot, found, to her great alarm, a small redpustule. Without making a single observation, she left the room, anddespatched a messenger after the Earl of Rochester to acquaint him thatthe countess was attacked by the plague. Such was the terror inspired bythis dread disorder, that the moment it was known that Amabel wasattacked by it, the whole household, except an old woman, fled. This oldwoman, whose name was Batley, and who acted as the earl's housekeeper,took upon herself the office of nurse. Before evening, the poorsufferer, who had endured great agony during the whole of the day,became so much worse, that Mrs. Batley ran out in search of assistance.She met with a watchman, who told her that a famous apothecary, fromClerkenwell, named Sibbald, who was celebrated for the cures he hadeffected, had just entered a neighbouring house, and offered to awaithis coming forth, and send him to her. Thanking him, Mrs. Batleyreturned to the house, and presently afterwards, Sibbald made hisappearance. His looks and person had become even more repulsive thanformerly. He desired to be led to the patient, and on seeing her, shookhis head. He examined the pustule, which had greatly increased in size,and turning away, muttered, "I can do nothing for her."

  "At least make the attempt," implored Mrs. Batley. "She is the Countessof Rochester. You shall be well rewarded--and if you cure her, the earlwill make your fortune."

  "If his lordship would change stations with me, I could not cure her,"replied Sibbald. "Let me look at her again," he added, examining thepustule. "There is a strange appearance about this tumour. Has JudithMalmayns attended her?"

  "She was here yesterday," replied Mrs. Batley.

  "I thought so," he muttered. "I repeat it is all over with her." And heturned to depart.

  "Do not leave her thus, in pity do not!" cried the old woman, detaininghim. "Make some effort to save her. My lord loves her to distraction,and will abundantly reward you."

  "All I can do is to give her something to allay the pain," returnedSibbald. And drawing a small phial from his doublet, he poured itscontents into a glass, and administered it to the patient.

  "That will throw her into a slumber," he said, "and when she wakes, shewill be without pain. But her end will be not far off."

  Mrs. Batley took a purse from a drawer in one of the cabinets, and gaveit to the apothecary, who bowed and retired. As he had foretold, Amabelfell into a heavy lethargy, which continued during the whole of thenight. Mrs. Batley, who had never left her, noticed that anextraordinary and fearful change had taken place in her countenance, andshe could not doubt that the apothecary's prediction would be realized.The tumour had increased in size, and was surrounded by a dusky browncircle, which she knew to be a bad sign. The sufferer's eyes, when sheopened them, and gazed around, had a dim and glazed look. But she wasperfectly calm and composed, and, as had been prognosticated, free frompain. She had, also, fully regained her faculties, and seemed quiteaw
are of her dangerous situation.

  But the return of reason brought with it no solace. On the contrary, theearl's treachery rushed upon her recollection, and gave her infinitelymore anguish than the bodily pain she had recently endured. She bedewedthe pillow with her tears, and fervently prayed for forgiveness for herinvoluntary fault. Mrs. Batley was deeply moved by her affliction, andoffered her every consolation in her power.

  "I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead of yourladyship," she said. "It is hard to leave the world at your age,possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth. At mine, it would notsignify."

  "You mistake the cause of my grief," returned Amabel; "I do not lamentthat my hour is at hand, but--" and her emotion so overpowered her thatshe could not proceed.

  "Do not disturb yourself further, dear lady," rejoined the old woman."Let the worst happen, I am sure you are well prepared to meet yourMaker."

  "I once was," replied Amabel in a voice of despair, "but now--Oh, Heavenforgive me!"

  "Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?" saidMrs. Batley; "one to whom you can pour forth the sorrows of your heart?"

  "Do so! oh, do!" cried Amabel, "and do not call me lady. I am not worthyto be placed in the same rank as yourself."

  "Her wits are clean gone," muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at hercompassionately.

  "Heed me not," cried Amabel; "but if you have any pity for theunfortunate, do as you have promised."

  "I will--I will," said Mrs. Batley, departing.

  Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor sufferer, whowas employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. Batley returned. Shewas accompanied by a tall man, whom Amabel recognised as Solomon Eagle.

  "I have not been able to find a clergyman," said the old woman, "but Ihave brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you."

  "Ah!" exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. "Can it beMr. Bloundel's daughter?"

  "It is," returned Amabel with a groan. "Leave us, my good woman," sheadded to Mrs. Batley, "I have something to impart to Solomon Eagle whichis for his ear alone." The old woman instantly retired, and Amabelbriefly related her hapless story to the enthusiast.

  "May I hope for forgiveness?" she inquired, as she concluded.

  "Assuredly," replied Solomon Eagle, "assuredly! You have not erredwilfully, but through ignorance, and therefore have committed nooffence. _You_ will be forgiven--but woe to your deceiver, here andhereafter."

  "Oh' say not so," she cried. "May Heaven pardon him as I do. While Ihave strength left I will pray for him." And she poured forth hersupplications for the earl in terms so earnest and pathetic, that thetears flowed down Solomon Eagle's rough cheek. At this juncture, hastysteps were heard in the adjoining passage, and the door opening,admitted the Earl of Rochester, who rushed towards the bed.

  "Back!" cried Solomon Eagle, pushing him forcibly aside. "Back!"

  "What do you here?" cried Rochester, fiercely.

  "I am watching over the death-bed of your victim," returned SolomonEagle. "Retire, my lord. You disturb her."

  "Oh, no," returned Amabel, meekly. "Let him come near me." And asSolomon Eagle drew a little aside, and allowed the earl to approach, sheadded, "With my latest breath I forgive you, my lord, for the wrong youhave done me, and bless you."

  The earl tried to speak, but his voice was suffocated by emotion. Assoon as he could find words, he said, "Your goodness completelyoverpowers me, dearest Amabel. Heaven is my witness, that even now Iwould make you all the reparation in my power were it needful. But it isnot so. The wrong I intended you was never committed. I myself wasdeceived. I intended a feigned marriage, but it was rightfullyperformed. Time will not allow me to enter into further particulars ofthe unhappy transaction, but you may credit my assertion when I tell youyou are indeed my wife, and Countess of Rochester."

  "If I thought so, I should die happy," replied Amabel.

  "Behold this proof!" said Rochester, producing the certificate.

  "I cannot read it," replied Amabel. "But you could not have the heart todeceive me now."

  "I will read it, and you well know _I_ would not deceive you," criedSolomon Eagle, casting his eye over it--"His lordship has avouched thetruth," he continued. "It is a certificate of your marriage with him,duly signed and attested."

  "God be thanked," ejaculated Amabel, fervently. "God be thanked! Youhave been spared that guilt, and I shall die content."

  "I trust your life will long be spared," rejoined the earl. Amabel shookher head.

  "There is but one man in this city who could save her," whisperedSolomon Eagle, and I doubt even his power to do so.'

  "Who do you mean?" cried Rochester, eagerly.

  "Doctor Hodges," replied the enthusiast.

  "I know him well," cried the earl. "I will fly to him instantly. Remainwith her till I return."

  "My lord--my dear lord," interposed Amabel, faintly, "you troubleyourself needlessly. I am past all human aid."

  "Do not despair," replied the earl. "Many years of happiness are, Itrust, in store for us. Do not detain me. I go to save you. Farewell fora short time."

  "Farewell, for ever, my lord," she said, gently pressing his hand. "Weshall not meet again. Your name will be coupled with my latest breath."

  "I shall be completely unmanned if I stay here a moment longer," criedthe earl, breaking from her, and rushing out of the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Amabel addressed herself once more to prayerwith Solomon Eagle, and in this way an hour passed by. The earl notreturning at the end of that time, Solomon Eagle became extremelyuneasy, every moment being of the utmost consequence, and summoning Mrs.Batley, committed the patient to her care, and set off in search ofHodges. He hastened to the doctor's house--he was absent--to SaintPaul's--he was not there, but he learnt that a person answering to theearl's description had been making similar inquiries after him.

  At last, one of the chirurgeon's assistants told him that he thought thedoctor was gone towards Cornhill, and hoping, accidentally, to meet withhim, the enthusiast set off in that direction. While passing near theExchange, he encountered Leonard, as before related, but did not thinkfit to acquaint him with more than Amabel's dangerous situation; and hehad reason to regret making the communication at all, on finding itseffect upon the poor youth. There was, however, no help for it, andplacing him in what appeared a situation of safety, he left him.

  Rochester, meanwhile, had been equally unsuccessful in his search forHodges. Hurrying first in one direction and then in another, at thesuggestion of the chirurgeon's assistant, he at last repaired to thedoctor's residence, determined to await his return. In half an hour hecame, and received the earl, as the old porter stated to Thirlby andLeonard, with angry astonishment. As soon as they were alone, the earltold him all that had occurred, and besought him to accompany him to thepoor sufferer.

  "I will go to her," said Hodges, who had listened to the recital withmixed feelings of sorrow and indignation, "on one condition--and oneonly--namely, that your lordship does not see her again without mypermission."

  "Why do you impose this restriction upon, me sir?' demanded Rochester.

  "I do not think it necessary to give my reasons, my lord," returnedHodges; "but I will only go upon such terms."

  "Then I must perforce submit," replied the earl; "but I entreat you toset forth-without a moment's delay, or you will be too late."

  "I will follow you instantly," rejoined Hodges. "Your lordship can waitfor me at the Southwark side of the bridge." He then opened the door,reiterating the terms upon which alone he would attend, and the earldeparted.

  Shortly afterwards he set out, and making the best of his way, foundRochester at the appointed place. The latter conducted him to theentrance of the habitation, and indicating a spot where he would remaintill his return, left him. Hodges soon found his way to the chamber ofthe sufferer, and at once perceived that all human aid was vain. Sheexhibited much pleasure at seeing him, and look
ed round, as if in searchof the earl. Guessing her meaning, the physician, who now began toregret the interdiction he had placed upon him, told her that he was thecause of his absence.

  "It is well," she murmured--"well." She then made some inquiries afterher relatives, and receiving a satisfactory answer, said, "I am glad youare come. You will be able to tell my father how I died."

  "It will be a great comfort to him to learn the tranquil frame in whichI have found you," replied Hodges.

  "How long have I to live?" asked Amabel, somewhat quickly. "Do notdeceive me."

  "You had better make your preparations without delay," returned Hodges.

  "I understand," she replied; and joining her hands upon her breast, shebegan to murmur a prayer.

  Hodges, who up to this moment had had some difficulty in repressing hisemotion, withdrew to a short distance to hide his fast-falling tears. Hewas roused shortly after, by a sudden and startling cry from the oldwoman.

  "Oh, sir, she is going! she is going!" ejaculated Mrs. Batley. He foundthe exclamation true. The eyes of the dying girl were closed. There wasa slight quiver of the lips, as if she murmured some name--probablyRochester's--and then all was over.

  Hodges gazed at her sorrowfully for some time. He then roused himself,and giving some necessary directions to the old woman respecting thebody, quitted the house. Not finding the earl at the place he hadappointed to meet him, after waiting for a short time, he proceeded,towards his own house. On the way he was net by Thirlby and Parravicin,as previously related, and conducted to the house in Nicholas-lane. Itwill not be necessary to recapitulate what subsequently occurred. Weshall, therefore, proceed to the point of time when he quitted his newpatient, and entered the room where Thirlby and Leonard were waiting forhim. Both, as has been stated, rushed towards him, and the formereagerly asked his opinion respecting his daughter.

  "My opinion is positive," replied Hodges. "With care, she willundoubtedly recover."

  "Heaven be thanked!" cried Thirlby, dropping on his knees.

  "And now, one word to me, sir," cried Leonard. "What of Amabel?"

  "Alas!" exclaimed the doctor, "her troubles are ended."

  "Dead!" shrieked Leonard.

  "Ay, dead!" repeated the doctor. "She died of the plague to-night."

  He then proceeded to detail briefly all that had occurred. Leonardlistened like one stupefied, till he brought his recital to a close, andthen asking where the house in which she had died was situated, rushedout of the room, and made his way, he knew not how, into the street. Hisbrain seemed on fire, and he ran so quickly that his feet appearedscarcely to touch the ground. A few seconds brought him to LondonBridge. He crossed it, and turning down the street on the left, hadnearly reached the house to which he had been directed, when his careerwas suddenly checked. The gate of the court-yard was opened, and twomen, evidently, from their apparel, buriers of the dead, issued from it.They carried a long narrow board between them, with a body wrapped in awhite sheet placed upon it. A freezing horror rooted Leonard to the spotwhere he stood. He could neither move nor utter a cry.

  The men proceeded with their burden towards the adjoining habitation,which was marked with a fatal red cross and inscription. Before it stoodthe dead-cart, partly filled with corpses. The foremost burier carried alantern, but he held it so low that its light did not fall upon hisburden. Leonard, however, did not require to see the body to know whoseit was. The moon was at its full, and shed a ghastly light over thegroup, and a large bat wheeled in narrow circles round the dead-cart.

  On reaching the door of the house, the burier set down the lantern nearthe body of a young man which had just been thrust forth. At the samemoment, Chowles, with a lantern in his hand, stepped out upon thethreshold. "Who have you got, Jonas?" he asked.

  "I know not," replied the hindmost burier. "We entered yon large house,the door of which stood open, and in one of the rooms found, an oldwoman in a fainting state, and the body of this young girl, wrapped in asheet, and ready for the cart. So we clapped it on the board, andbrought it away with us."

  "You did right," replied Chowles. "I wonder whose body it is."

  As he spoke, he held up his lantern, and unfastening it, threw the lightfull upon the face. The features were pale as marble; calm in theirexpression, and like those of one wrapped in placid slumber. The longfair hair hung over the side of the board. It was a sad and touchingsight.

  "Why, as I am a living man, it is the grocer's daughter,Amabel,--somewhile Countess of Rochester!" exclaimed Chowles.

  "It is, it is!" cried the earl, suddenly rushing from behind a buildingwhere he had hitherto remained concealed. "Whither are you about to takeher? Set her down--set her down."

  "Hinder them not, my lord," vociferated another person, also appearingon the scene with equal suddenness. "Place her in the cart," criedSolomon Eagle--for he it was--to the bearers. "This is a just punishmentupon you, my lord," he added to Rochester, as his injunctions wereobeyed--"oppose them not in their duty."

  It was not in the earl's power to do so. Like Leonard, he was transfixedwith horror. The other bodies were soon placed in the cart, and it wasput in motion. At this juncture, the apprentice's suspended facultieswere for an instant--and an instant only--restored to him. He uttered apiercing cry, and staggering forward, fell senseless on the ground.