Mrs. Batley took a purse from a drawer in one of the cabinets, and gave it to the apothecary, who bowed and retired. As he had foretold, Amabel fell into a heavy lethargy, which continued during the whole of the night. Mrs. Batley, who had never left her, noticed that an extraordinary and fearful change had taken place in her countenance, and she could not doubt that the apothecary’s prediction would be realized. The tumour had increased in size, and was surrounded by a dusky brown circle, which she knew to be a bad sign. The sufferer’s eyes, when she opened them, and gazed around, had a dim and glazed look. But she was perfectly calm and composed, and, as had been prognosticated, free from pain. She had, also, fully regained her faculties, and seemed quite aware of her dangerous situation.
But the return of reason brought with it no solace. On the contrary, the earl’s treachery rushed upon her recollection, and gave her infinitely more anguish than the bodily pain she had recently endured. She bedewed the pillow with her tears, and fervently prayed for forgiveness for her involuntary fault. Mrs. Batley was deeply moved by her affliction, and offered her every consolation in her power.
“I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead of your ladyship,” she said. “It is hard to leave the world at your age, possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth. At mine, it would not signify.”
“You mistake the cause of my grief,” returned Amabel; “I do not lament that my hour is at hand, but—” and her emotion so overpowered her that she 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 your
Maker.”
“I once was,” replied Amabel in a voice of despair, “but now — Oh, Heaven forgive me!”
“Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?” said
Mrs. 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 worthy to be placed in the same rank as yourself.”
“Her wits are clean gone,” muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at her compassionately.
“Heed me not,” cried Amabel; “but if you have any pity for the unfortunate, 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, who was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. Batley returned. She was 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 I have brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. “Can it be
Mr. Bloundel’s daughter?”
“It is,” returned Amabel with a groan. “Leave us, my good woman,” she added to Mrs. Batley, “I have something to impart to Solomon Eagle which is for his ear alone.” The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel briefly 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 erred wilfully, but through ignorance, and therefore have committed no offence. You will be forgiven — but woe to your deceiver, here and hereafter.”
“Oh’ say not so,” she cried. “May Heaven pardon him as I do. While I have strength left I will pray for him.” And she poured forth her supplications for the earl in terms so earnest and pathetic, that the tears flowed down Solomon Eagle’s rough cheek. At this juncture, hasty steps 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 Solomon
Eagle. “Retire, my lord. You disturb her.”
“Oh, no,” returned Amabel, meekly. “Let him come near me.” And as Solomon Eagle drew a little aside, and allowed the earl to approach, she added, “With my latest breath I forgive you, my lord, for the wrong you have done me, and bless you.”
The earl tried to speak, but his voice was suffocated by emotion. As soon as he could find words, he said, “Your goodness completely overpowers me, dearest Amabel. Heaven is my witness, that even now I would make you all the reparation in my power were it needful. But it is not so. The wrong I intended you was never committed. I myself was deceived. I intended a feigned marriage, but it was rightfully performed. Time will not allow me to enter into further particulars of the unhappy transaction, but you may credit my assertion when I tell you you 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 to deceive me now.”
“I will read it, and you well know I would not deceive you,” cried Solomon Eagle, casting his eye over it— “His lordship has avouched the truth,” he continued. “It is a certificate of your marriage with him, duly signed and attested.”
“God be thanked,” ejaculated Amabel, fervently. “God be thanked! You have been spared that guilt, and I shall die content.”
“I trust your life will long be spared,” rejoined the earl. Amabel shook her head.
“There is but one man in this city who could save her,” whispered
Solomon 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. Remain with her till I return.”
“My lord — my dear lord,” interposed Amabel, faintly, “you trouble yourself needlessly. I am past all human aid.”
“Do not despair,” replied the earl. “Many years of happiness are, I trust, in store for us. Do not detain me. I go to save you. Farewell for a short time.”
“Farewell, for ever, my lord,” she said, gently pressing his hand. “We shall not meet again. Your name will be coupled with my latest breath.”
“I shall be completely unmanned if I stay here a moment longer,” cried the earl, breaking from her, and rushing out of the room.
As soon as he was gone, Amabel addressed herself once more to prayer with Solomon Eagle, and in this way an hour passed by. The earl not returning at the end of that time, Solomon Eagle became extremely uneasy, every moment being of the utmost consequence, and summoning Mrs. Batley, committed the patient to her care, and set off in search of Hodges. He hastened to the doctor’s house — he was absent — to Saint Paul’s — he was not there, but he learnt that a person answering to the earl’s description had been making similar inquiries after him.
At last, one of the chirurgeon’s assistants told him that he thought the doctor was gone towards Cornhill, and hoping, accidentally, to meet with him, the enthusiast set off in that direction. While passing near the Exchange, he encountered Leonard, as before related, but did not think fit to acquaint him with more than Amabel’s dangerous situation; and he had reason to regret making the communication at all, on finding its effect upon the poor youth. There was, however, no help for it, and placing him in what appeared a situation of safety, he left him.
Rochester, meanwhile, had been equally unsuccessful in his search for Hodges. Hurrying first in one direction and then in another, at the suggestion of the chirurgeon’s assistant, he at last repaired to the doctor’s residence, determined to await his return. In half an hour he came, and received the earl, as the old porter stated to Thirlby and Leonard, with angry astonishment. As soon as they were alone, the earl told him all that had occurred, and besought him to accompany him to the po
or sufferer.
“I will go to her,” said Hodges, who had listened to the recital with mixed feelings of sorrow and indignation, “on one condition — and one only — namely, that your lordship does not see her again without my permission.”
“Why do you impose this restriction upon, me sir?’ demanded Rochester.
“I do not think it necessary to give my reasons, my lord,” returned
Hodges; “but I will only go upon such terms.”
“Then I must perforce submit,” replied the earl; “but I entreat you to set forth-without a moment’s delay, or you will be too late.”
“I will follow you instantly,” rejoined Hodges. “Your lordship can wait for me at the Southwark side of the bridge.” He then opened the door, reiterating the terms upon which alone he would attend, and the earl departed.
Shortly afterwards he set out, and making the best of his way, found Rochester at the appointed place. The latter conducted him to the entrance of the habitation, and indicating a spot where he would remain till his return, left him. Hodges soon found his way to the chamber of the sufferer, and at once perceived that all human aid was vain. She exhibited much pleasure at seeing him, and looked round, as if in search of the earl. Guessing her meaning, the physician, who now began to regret the interdiction he had placed upon him, told her that he was the cause of his absence.
“It is well,” she murmured— “well.” She then made some inquiries after her relatives, and receiving a satisfactory answer, said, “I am glad you are 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 which
I have found you,” replied Hodges.
“How long have I to live?” asked Amabel, somewhat quickly. “Do not deceive me.”
“You had better make your preparations without delay,” returned Hodges.
“I understand,” she replied; and joining her hands upon her breast, she began to murmur a prayer.
Hodges, who up to this moment had had some difficulty in repressing his emotion, withdrew to a short distance to hide his fast-falling tears. He was roused shortly after, by a sudden and startling cry from the old woman.
“Oh, sir, she is going! she is going!” ejaculated Mrs. Batley. He found the exclamation true. The eyes of the dying girl were closed. There was a slight quiver of the lips, as if she murmured some name — probably Rochester’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 the body, quitted the house. Not finding the earl at the place he had appointed 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. It will not be necessary to recapitulate what subsequently occurred. We shall, therefore, proceed to the point of time when he quitted his new patient, and entered the room where Thirlby and Leonard were waiting for him. Both, as has been stated, rushed towards him, and the former eagerly asked his opinion respecting his daughter.
“My opinion is positive,” replied Hodges. “With care, she will undoubtedly 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. Leonard listened like one stupefied, till he brought his recital to a close, and then asking where the house in which she had died was situated, rushed out of the room, and made his way, he knew not how, into the street. His brain seemed on fire, and he ran so quickly that his feet appeared scarcely to touch the ground. A few seconds brought him to London Bridge. He crossed it, and turning down the street on the left, had nearly reached the house to which he had been directed, when his career was suddenly checked. The gate of the court-yard was opened, and two men, evidently, from their apparel, buriers of the dead, issued from it. They carried a long narrow board between them, with a body wrapped in a white sheet placed upon it. A freezing horror rooted Leonard to the spot where 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 stood the dead-cart, partly filled with corpses. The foremost burier carried a lantern, but he held it so low that its light did not fall upon his burden. Leonard, however, did not require to see the body to know whose it was. The moon was at its full, and shed a ghastly light over the group, 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 near the body of a young man which had just been thrust forth. At the same moment, Chowles, with a lantern in his hand, stepped out upon the threshold. “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 old woman in a fainting state, and the body of this young girl, wrapped in a sheet, and ready for the cart. So we clapped it on the board, and brought 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 light full upon the face. The features were pale as marble; calm in their expression, and like those of one wrapped in placid slumber. The long fair hair hung over the side of the board. It was a sad and touching sight.
“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 building where he had hitherto remained concealed. “Whither are you about to take her? Set her down — set her down.”
“Hinder them not, my lord,” vociferated another person, also appearing on the scene with equal suddenness. “Place her in the cart,” cried Solomon Eagle — for he it was — to the bearers. “This is a just punishment upon you, my lord,” he added to Rochester, as his injunctions were obeyed— “oppose them not in their duty.”
It was not in the earl’s power to do so. Like Leonard, he was transfixed with horror. The other bodies were soon placed in the cart, and it was put in motion. At this juncture, the apprentice’s suspended faculties were for an instant — and an instant only — restored to him. He uttered a piercing cry, and staggering forward, fell senseless on the ground.
BOOK THE FIFTH. DECEMBER, 1665.
I.
THE DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE.
More than two months must be passed over in silence. During that time, the pestilence had so greatly abated as no longer to occasion alarm to those who had escaped its ravages. It has been mentioned that the distemper arrived at its height about the 10th of September, and though for the two following weeks the decline was scarcely perceptible, yet it had already commenced. On the last week in that fatal month, when all hope had been abandoned, the bills of mortality suddenly decreased in number to one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four. And this fortunate change could not be attributed to the want of materials to act upon, for the sick continued as numerous as before, while the deaths were less frequent. In the next week there was a further decrease of six hundred; in the next after that of six hundred; and so on till the end of October, when, the cold weather setting in, the amount was reduced to nearly one thousand.
At first, when the distemper began to lose somewhat of its malignancy, a few scared individuals appeared in the streets, but carefully shunned each other. In a few days, however, considerable numbers joined them, and for the first time for nearly three months there was something like life abroad. It is astonishi
ng how soon hope and confidence are revived. Now that it could no longer be doubted that the plague was on the decline, it seemed as if a miracle had been performed in favour of the city. Houses were opened — shopkeepers resumed their business — and it was a marvel to every one that so many persons were left alive. Dejection and despair of the darkest kind were succeeded by frenzied delight, and no bound was put to the public satisfaction. Strangers stopped each other in the streets, and conversed together like old friends. The bells, that had grown hoarse with tolling funerals, were now cracked with joyous peals. The general joy extended even to the sick, and many, buoyed up by hope, recovered, when in the former season of despondency they would inevitably have perished. All fear of the plague seemed to vanish with the flying disorder. Those who were scarcely out of danger joined in the throng, and it was no uncommon sight to see men with bandages round their necks, or supported by staves and crutches, shaking hands with their friends, and even embracing them.
The consequence of this incautious conduct may be easily foreseen. The plague had received too severe a check to burst forth anew; but it spread further than it otherwise would have done, and attacked many persons, who but for their own imprudence would have escaped. Amongst others, a barber in Saint Martin’s-le-Grand, who had fled into the country in August, returned to his shop in the middle of October, and, catching the disorder from one of his customers, perished with the whole of his family.
But these, and several other equally fatal instances, produced no effect on the multitude. Fully persuaded that the virulence of the disorder was exhausted — as, indeed, appeared to be the case — they gave free scope to their satisfaction, which was greater than was ever experienced by the inhabitants of a besieged city reduced by famine to the last strait of despair, and suddenly restored to freedom and plenty. The more pious part of the community thronged to the churches, from which they had been so long absent, and returned thanks for their unexpected deliverance. Others, who had been terrified into seriousness and devotion, speedily forgot their former terrors, and resumed their old habits. Profaneness and debauchery again prevailed, and the taverns were as well filled as the churches. Solomon Eagle continued his midnight courses through the streets; but he could no longer find an audience as before. Those who listened to him only laughed at his denunciations of a new judgment, and told him his preachings and prophesyings were now completely out of date.
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