Read Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire Page 4

  BOOK THE THIRD.

  JUNE, 1665.

  I.

  THE IMPRISONED FAMILY.

  The first few days of their confinement were passed by the grocer'sfamily in a very uncomfortable manner. No one, except Mr. Bloundel,appeared reconciled to the plan, and even he found it more difficult ofaccomplishment that he had anticipated. The darkness of the rooms, andthe want of ventilation caused by the closed windows and barred doors,gave the house the air of a prison, and occasioned a sense of oppressionalmost intolerable. Blaize declared it was "worse than being in Newgate,and that he must take an additional rufus to set right his digestion;"while Patience affirmed "that it was like being buried alive, and thatshe would not stand it." Mr. Bloundel paid no attention to theircomplaints, but addressed himself seriously to the remedy. Insistingupon the utmost attention being paid to cleanliness, he had an abundantsupply of water drawn, with which the floors of every room and passagewere washed down daily. By such means the house was kept cool andwholesome; and its inmates, becoming habituated to the gloom, in a greatdegree recovered their cheerfulness.

  The daily routine of the establishment was as follows. The grocer aroseat dawn, and proceeded to call up the whole of his family. They thenassembled in a large room on the second story, where he offered upthanks that they had been spared during the night, and prayed for theirpreservation during the day. He next assigned a task to each, and tookcare to see it afterwards duly fulfilled; well knowing that constantemployment was the best way to check repining and promote contentment.Heretofore the servants had always taken their meals in the kitchen, butnow they always sat down to table with him. "I will make no distinctionat this season," he said; "all shall fare as I fare, and enjoy the samecomforts as myself. And I trust that my dwelling may be as sure a refugeamid this pestilential storm as the ark of the patriarch proved whenHeaven's vengeance was called forth in the mighty flood."

  Their devotions ended, the whole party repaired to one of the lowerrooms, where a plentiful breakfast was provided, and of which they allpartook. The business of the day then began, and, as has just beenobserved, no one was suffered to remain idle. The younger children wereallowed to play and exercise themselves as much as they chose in thegarret, and Blaize and Patience were occasionally invited to join them.A certain portion of the evening was also devoted to harmless recreationand amusements. The result may be anticipated. No one suffered inhealth, while all improved in spirits. Prayers, as usual, concluded theday, and the family retired to rest at an early hour.

  This system of things may appear sufficiently monotonous, but it wasprecisely adapted to the exigencies of the case, and produced a mostsalutary effect. Regular duties and regular employments being imposedupon each, and their constant recurrence, so far from being irksome,soon became agreeable. After a while the whole family seemed to growindifferent to the external world--to live only for each other, and tothink only of each other--and to Leonard Holt, indeed, that house wasall the world. Those walls contained everything dear to him, and hewould have been quite content never to leave them if Amabel had beenalways near. He made no attempt to renew his suit--seldom or neverexchanging a word with her, and might have been supposed to have becomewholly indifferent to her. But it was not so. His heart was consumed bythe same flame as before. No longer, however, a prey to jealousy--nolonger apprehensive of the earl--he felt so happy, in comparison withwhat he had been, that he almost prayed that the term of theirimprisonment might be prolonged. Sometimes the image of Nizza Macascreewould intrude upon him, and he thought, with a feeling akin to remorse,of what she might suffer--for he was too well acquainted with the pangsof unrequited love not to sympathise deeply with her. As to Amabel, sheaddressed herself assiduously to the tasks enjoined by her father, andallowed her mind to dwell as little as possible on the past, butemployed all her spare time in devotional exercises.

  It will be remembered that the grocer had reserved a communication withthe street, by means of a shutter opening from a small room in the upperstory. Hither he would now frequently repair, and though he did not asyet think it necessary to have recourse to all the precautionarymeasures he intended eventually to adopt--such as flashing a pistol whenhe looked forth--yet he never opened the shutter without holding a phialof vinegar, or a handkerchief wetted with the same liquid, to his face.

  Before closing his house he had hired a porter, who occupied the hutchat his door, and held himself in readiness to execute any commission, orperform any service that might be required. Fresh vegetables, poultry,eggs, butter, and milk, were brought by a higgler from the country, andraised by means of a basket or a can attached to the pulley. Butcher'smeat was fetched him from Newgate-market by the porter. This man, whosename was Ralph Dallison, had been formerly in the employ of the grocer,who, knowing his character, could place entire reliance on him. Dallisonreported the progress of the pestilence daily, and acquainted him withthe increasing amount of the bills of mortality. Several houses, hesaid, were infected in Cheapside, and two in Wood-street, one of whichwas but a short distance from the grocer's habitation. A watchman wasstationed at the door, and the red cross marked upon it, and on thefollowing night the grocer heard the sound of the doleful bellannouncing the approach of the pest-cart.

  The weather still continued as serene and beautiful as ever, but norefreshing showers fell--no soft and healthful breezes blew--and it wasnow found to be true, what had been prognosticated--viz, that with theheats of summer the plague would fearfully increase. The grocer was notincommoded in the same degree as his neighbours. By excluding the lighthe excluded the heat, and the care which he took to have his housewashed down kept it cool. The middle of June had arrived, and suchdismal accounts were now brought him of the havoc occasioned by thescourge, that he would no longer take in fresh provisions, but began toopen his stores. Dallison told him that the alarm was worse thanever--that vast numbers were endeavouring to leave the city, but no onecould now do so without a certificate, which was never granted if theslightest suspicion was attached to the party.

  "If things go on in this way," said the porter, "London will soon bedeserted. No business is conducted, as it used to be, and everybody isviewed with distrust. The preachers, who ought to be the last to quit,have left their churches, and the Lord's day is no longer observed. Manymedical men even have departed, declaring their services are no longerof any avail. All public amusements are suspended, and the taverns areonly open to the profane and dissolute, who deride God's judgments, anddeclare they have no fear. Robberies, murders, and other crimes, havegreatly increased, and the most dreadful deeds are now committed withimpunity. You have done wisely, sir, in protecting yourself againstthem."

  "I have reason to be thankful that I have done so," replied Bloundel.And he closed his shutter to meditate on what he had just heard.

  And there was abundant food for reflection. Around him lay a great andpopulous city, hemmed in, as by a fire, by an exterminating plague, thatspared neither age, condition, nor sex. No man could tell what the endof all this would be--neither at what point the wrath of the offendedDeity would stop--nor whether He would relent, till He had utterlydestroyed a people who so contemned his word. Scarcely daring to hopefor leniency, and filled with a dreadful foreboding of what would ensue,the grocer addressed a long and fervent supplication to Heaven,imploring a mitigation of its wrath.

  On joining his family, his grave manner and silence showed howpowerfully he had been affected. No one questioned him as to what hadoccurred, but all understood he had received some distressingintelligence.

  Amid his anxiety one circumstance gave him unalloyed satisfaction. Thiswas the change wrought in Amabel's character. It has been stated thatshe had become extremely devout, and passed the whole of the time notappointed for other occupations, in the study of the Scriptures, or inprayer. Her manner was extremely sedate, and her conversation assumed atone that gave her parents, and especially her father, inexpressiblepleasure. Mrs. Bloundel would have been equally delighted with thechange,
if it had tended to forward her own favourite scheme of a unionwith Leonard; but as this was not the case, though she rejoiced in theimprovement, she still was not entirely satisfied. She could not helpnoting also, that her daughter had become pale and thin, and though sheuttered no complaint, Mrs. Bloundel began to fear her health wasdeclining. Leonard Holt looked on in wonder and admiration, and ifpossible his love increased, though his hopes diminished; for thoughAmabel was kinder to him than before, her kindness seemed the resultrather of a sense of duty than regard.

  Upon one occasion they were left alone together, and instead of quittingthe room, as she had been accustomed, Amabel called to Leonard, who wasabout to depart, and requested him to stay. The apprentice instantlyobeyed; the colour forsook his cheek, and his heart beat violently.

  "You desire to speak with me, Amabel," he said:--"Ha! you haverelented?--Is there any hope for me?"

  "Alas! no," she replied; "and it is on that very point I have nowdetained you. You will, I am sure, rejoice to learn that I have atlength fully regained my peace of mind, and have become sensible of theweakness of which I have been guilty--of the folly, worse than folly, Ihave committed. My feelings are now under proper restraint, and viewingmyself with other eyes, I see how culpable I have been. Oh! Leonard, ifyou knew the effort it has been to conquer the fatal passion thatconsumed me, if I were to tell you of the pangs it has cost me, of thetears I have shed, of the heart-quakes endured, you would pity me."

  "I do, indeed, pity you," replied Leonard, "for my own sufferings havebeen equally severe. But I have not been as successful as you insubduing them."

  "Because you have not pursued the right means, Leonard," she rejoined."Fix your thoughts on high; build your hopes of happiness on Heaven;strengthen your faith; and you will soon find the victory easy. A shorttime ago I thought only of worldly pleasures, and was ensnared by vanityand admiration, enchained to one whom I knew to be worthless, and whopursued me only to destroy me. Religion has preserved me from the snare,and religion will restore you to happiness. But you must devote yourselfto Heaven, not lightly, but with your whole soul. You must forgetme--forget yourself--forget all but the grand object. And this is aseason of all others, when it is most needful to lead a life of piety,to look upon yourself as dead to this world, and to be ever prepared forthat to come. I shudder to think what might have been my portion had Iperished in my sin."

  "Yours is a most happy frame of mind," returned Leonard, "and I would Ihad a chance of attaining the same tranquillity. But if you haveconquered your love for the earl,--if your heart is disengaged, why denyme a hope?"

  "My heart is _not_ disengaged, Leonard," she replied; "it is engrossedby Heaven. While the plague is raging around us thus--while thousandsare daily carried off by that devouring scourge--and while every hour,every moment, may be our last, our thoughts ought always to be fixedabove. I have ceased to love the earl, but I can never love another, andtherefore it would be unjust to you, to whom I owe so much, to hold outhopes that never can be realized."

  "Alas! alas!" cried Leonard, unable to control his emotion.

  "Compose yourself, dear Leonard," she cried, greatly moved. "I would Icould comply with your wishes. But, alas! I cannot. I could only giveyou," she added, in a tone so thrilling, that it froze the blood in hisveins--"a breaking, perhaps a broken heart!"

  "Gracious heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, becoming as pale as death; "is itcome to this?"

  "Again, I beg you to compose yourself," she rejoined, calmly--"and Ientreat you not to let what I have told you pass your lips. I would notalarm my father, or my dear and anxious mother, on my account. And theremay be no reason for alarm. Promise me, therefore, you will be silent."

  Leonard reluctantly gave the required pledge.

  "I have unwittingly been the cause of much affliction to you," pursuedAmabel--"and would gladly see you happy, and there is one person, Ithink, who would make you so--I mean Nizza Macascree. From what she saidto me when we were alone together in the vaults of Saint Faith's, I amsure she is sincerely attached to you. Could you not requite her love?"

  "No," replied Leonard. "There is no change in affection like mine."

  "Pursue the course I have advised," replied Amabel, "and you will findall your troubles vanish. Farewell! I depend upon your silence!"

  And she quitted the room, leaving Leonard in a state of indescribableanxiety.

  Faithful, however, to his promise, he made no mention of his uneasinessto the grocer or his wife, but indulged his grief in secret. Ignorant ofwhat was passing, Mr. Bloundel, who was still not without apprehensionof some further attempt on the part of the earl, sent Dallison to makeinquiries after him, and learnt that he was at Whitehall, but that thecourt had fixed to remove to Hampton Court at the end of June. Theporter also informed him that the city was emptying fast--that the LordMayor's residence was literally besieged with applications for bills ofhealth--that officers were stationed at the gates--and that, besidesthese, barriers and turnpikes were erected on all the main roads, atwhich the certificates were required to be exhibited--and that suchpersons as escaped without them were driven back by the inhabitants ofthe neighbouring villages, who refused to supply them with necessaries;and as they could not return home, many had perished of want, or perhapsof the pestilence, in the open fields. Horses and coaches, he added,were not to be procured, except at exorbitant prices; and thousands haddeparted on foot, locking up their houses, and leaving their effectsbehind them.

  "In consequence of this," added Dallison, "several houses have beenbroken open; and though the watch had been trebled, still they cannot bein all places at once; and strong as the force is, it is not adequate tothe present emergency. Bands of robbers stalk the streets at night,taking vehicles with them, built to resemble pest-carts, and beating offthe watch, they break open the houses, and carry off any goods theyplease."

  This intelligence greatly alarmed the grocer, and he began to fear hisplans would be defeated in an unexpected manner. He engaged Dallison toprocure another trusty companion to take his place at night, andfurnished him with money to purchase arms. He no longer slept astranquilly as before, but frequently repaired to his place ofobservation to see that the watchman was at his post, and that all wassecure. For the last few days, he had remarked with some uneasiness thata youth frequently passed the house and gazed at the barred windows, andhe at first imagined he might be leagued with the nocturnal marauders hehad heard of; but the prepossessing appearance of the stripling, whocould not be more than sixteen, and who was singularly slightly made,soon dispelled the idea. Still, as he constantly appeared at the samespot, the grocer began to have a new apprehension, and to suspect he wasan emissary of the Earl of Rochester, and he sent Dallison to inquirehis business. The youth returned an evasive answer, and withdrew; butthe next day he was there again. On this occasion, Mr. Bloundel pointedhim out to Leonard Holt, and asked him if he had seen him before. Theyouth's back being towards them, the apprentice unhesitatingly answeredin the negative, but as the subject of investigation turned the nextmoment, and looked up, revealing features of feminine delicacy andbeauty, set off by long flowing jet-black ringlets, Leonard started, andcoloured.

  "I was mistaken," he said, "I _have_ seen him before."

  "Is he one of the Earl of Rochester's pages?" asked Mr. Bloundel.

  "No," replied Leonard, "and you need not be uneasy about him. I am surehe intends no harm."

  Thus satisfied, the grocer thought no more about the matter. He thenarranged with Leonard that he should visit the window at certain hourson alternate nights with himself, and appointed the following night asthat on which the apprentice's duties should commence.

  On the same night, however, an alarming incident occurred, which keptthe grocer and his apprentice for a long time on the watch. The familyhad just retired to rest when the report of fire-arms was heard close tothe street door, and Mr. Bloundel hastily calling up Leonard, theyrepaired to the room overlooking the street, and found that a desperatestruggle was going
on below. The moon being overclouded, and the lanternextinguished, it was too dark to discern the figures of the combatants,and in a few seconds all became silent, except the groans of a woundedman. Mr. Bloundel then called out to know what was the matter, andascertained from the sufferer, who proved to be his own watchman, thatthe adjoining house, being infected, had been shut up by theauthorities; and its owner, unable to bear the restraint, had burst openthe door, shot the watchman stationed at it, and firing another pistolat the poor wretch who was making the statement, because he endeavouredto oppose his flight, had subsequently attacked him with his sword. Itwas a great grief to Mr. Bloundel not to be able to aid the unfortunatewatchman, and he had almost determined to hazard a descent by thepulley, when a musical voice was heard below, and the grocer soonunderstood that the youth, about whom his curiosity had been excited,was raising the sufferer, and endeavouring to stanch his wounds. Findingthis impossible, however, at Mr. Bloundel's request, he went in searchof assistance, and presently afterwards returned with a posse of men,bearing halberds and lanterns, who carried off the wounded man, andafterwards started in pursuit of the murderer.

  Mr. Bloundel then entered into conversation with the youth, who informedhim that his name was Flitcroft, that he was without a home, all hisrelations having died of the plague, and that he was anxious to serve asa watchman in place of the poor wretch who had just been removed.Leonard remonstrated against this arrangement, but Mr. Bloundel was somuch pleased with Flitcroft's conduct that he would listen to noobjection. Accordingly provisions were lowered down in a basket to thepoor youth, and he stationed himself in the hutch. Nothing materialoccurred during the day. Flitcroft resigned his post to Dallison, butreturned in the evening.

  At midnight, Leonard took his turn to watch. It was a bright moonlightnight, but though he occasionally looked out into the street, andperceived Flitcroft below, he gave no intimation of his presence. All atonce, however, he was alarmed by a loud cry, and opening the shutter,perceived the youth struggling with two persons, whom he recognised asSir Paul Parravicin and Pillichody.

  He shouted to them to release their captive, but they laughed at hisvociferations, and in spite of his resistance dragged the youth away.Maddened at the sight, Leonard lowered the rope as quickly as he couldwith the intention of descending by it. At this moment, Flitcroft turnedan agonized look behind him, and perceiving what had been done, brokesuddenly from his captors, and before he could be prevented, sprang intothe basket, and laid hold of the rope. Leonard, who had seen themovement, and divined its object, drew up the pulley with the quicknessof thought; and so expeditiously was the whole accomplished, that erethe knight and his companion reached the spot, Flitcroft was above theirheads, and the next moment was pulled through the window, and in safetyby the side of Leonard.

  II.

  HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS.

  Nizza Macascree, for it is useless to affect further mystery, as soon asshe could find utterance, murmured her thanks to the apprentice, whosesatisfaction at her deliverance was greatly diminished by his fears lesthis master should disapprove of what he had done. Seeing his uneasiness,and guessing the cause, Nizza hastened to relieve it.

  "I reproach myself bitterly for having placed you in this situation!"she said, "but I could not help it, and will free you from my presencethe moment I can do so with safety. When I bade you farewell, I meant itto be for ever, and persuaded myself I could adhere to my resolution.But I was deceived. You would pity me, were I to tell you the anguish Iendured. I could not accompany my poor father in his rambles; and if Iwent forth at all, my steps involuntarily led me to Wood-street. Atlast, I resolved to disguise myself, and borrowed this suit from a Jewclothesman, who has a stall in Saint Paul's. Thus equipped, I pacedbackwards and forwards before the house, in the hope of obtaining aglimpse of you, and fortune has favoured me more than I expected, thoughit has led to this unhappy result. Heaven only knows what will become ofme!" she added, bursting into tears. "Oh! that the pestilence wouldselect me as one of its victims. But, like your own sex, it shuns allthose who court it."

  "I can neither advise you," replied Leonard, in sombre tone, "nor helpyou. Ah!" he exclaimed, as the sounds of violent blows were heardagainst the door below--"your persecutors are trying to break into thehouse."

  Rushing to the window, and gazing downwards, he perceived Sir PaulParravicin and Pillichody battering against the shop door, andendeavouring to burst it open. It was, however, so stoutly barricaded,that it resisted all their efforts.

  "What is to be done?" cried Leonard. "The noise will certainly alarm mymaster, and you will be discovered."

  "Heed me not," rejoined Nizza, distractedly, "you shall not run any riskon my account. Let me down the pulley. Deliver me to them. Anything isbetter than that you should suffer by my indiscretion."

  "No, no," replied Leonard; "Mr. Bloundel shall know all. His love forhis own daughter will make him feel for you. But come what will, I willnot abandon you."

  As he spoke a timid knock was heard at the door, and a voice withoutexclaimed, in accents of the utmost trepidation, "Are you there,Leonard?--Robbers are breaking into the house. We shall all bemurdered."

  "Come in, Blaize," returned Leonard, opening the door and admitting theporter--"you may be of some assistance to me."

  "In what way?" demanded Blaize. "Ah! who's this?" he added, perceivingNizza--"what is this page doing here?"

  "Do not concern yourself about him but attend to me," replied Leonard."I am about to drive away those persons from the door. You must lower medown in the basket attached to the pulley."

  "And will you dare to engage them?" asked Blaize, peeping out at theshutter. "They are armed. As I live, one is Major Pillichody, the rascalwho dared to make love to Patience. I have half a mind to go down withyou, and give him a sound drubbing."

  "You shall not encounter this danger for me," interposed Nizza,endeavouring to stay Leonard, who, having thrust a sword into hisgirdle, was about to pass through the window.

  "Do not hinder me," replied the apprentice, breaking from her. "Takehold of the rope, Blaize, and mind it does not run down too quickly."

  With this, he got into the basket, and as the porter carefully obeyedhis instructions, he reached the ground in safety. On seeing him,Pillichody bolted across the street, and flourishing his sword, anduttering tremendous imprecations, held himself in readiness to beat animmediate retreat. Not so Parravicin. Instantly assailing theapprentice, he slightly wounded him in the arm. Seeing how mattersstood, and that victory was pretty certain to declare itself for hispatron, Pillichody returned, and, attacking the apprentice, by theircombined efforts, he was speedily disarmed. Pillichody would have passedhis sword through his body, but the knight stayed his hand.

  "The fool has placed himself in our power," he said, "and he shall payfor his temerity; nevertheless, I will spare his life provided he assistus to get into the house, or will deliver up Nizza Macascree."

  "I will do neither," replied Leonard, fiercely.

  Parravicin raised his sword, and was about to strike, when, at themoment, the basket was again quickly lowered to the ground. It boreNizza Macascree, who, rushing between them, arrested the stroke.

  "Oh! why have you done this?" cried Leonard, in a tone of reproach.

  "I will tell you why," rejoined Parravicin, triumphantly; "because shesaw you were unable to defend her, and, like a true woman, surrenderedherself to the victor. Take care of him, Pillichody, while I secure thegirl. Spit him, if he attempts to stir."

  And twining his arms round Nizza, notwithstanding her shrieks andresistance, he bore her away. Infuriated by the sight, Leonard Holtthrew himself upon Pillichody, and a desperate struggle took placebetween them, which terminated this time successfully for theapprentice. Wresting his long rapier from the bully, Leonard rushedafter Parravicin, and reached the end of Wood-street, just in time tosee him spring into a coach, and drive off with his prize. Speedingafter them along Blowbladder-street, and Middle-row, as New
gate-streetwas then termed, the apprentice shouted to the coachman to stop, but noattention being paid to his vociferations, and finding pursuitunavailing, he came to a halt. He then more slowly retraced his steps,and on arriving at the grocer's residence, found the basket drawn up.Almost afraid to call out, he at length mustered courage enough to shoutto Blaize to lower it, and was answered by Mr. Bloundel, who, puttinghis head through the window, demanded in a stern tone why he had leftthe house?

  Leonard briefly explained.

  "I deeply regret your imprudence," replied his master; "because I cannow no more admit you. It is my fixed determination, as you well know,not to suffer any member of my family who may quit my house, to enter itagain."

  "I shall not attempt to remonstrate with you, sir," replied Leonard."All I pray of you is to allow me to occupy this hutch, and to act asyour porter."

  "Willingly," rejoined Mr. Bloundel; "and as you have had the plague, youwill run no risk of infection. You shall know all that passes withindoors; and I only lament that you should have banished yourself from theasylum which I hoped to afford you."

  After some further conversation between them, a bundle was lowered bythe grocer, containing a change of clothes and a couple of blankets. Onreceiving these, Leonard retired to the hutch, and tying a handkerchiefround his wounded arm, wrapped himself in a night trail, and stretchinghimself on the ground, in spite of his anxiety, soon sank asleep. Heawoke about four o'clock in the morning, with a painful consciousness ofwhat had taken place during the night. It was just beginning to growlight, and he walked across the street to gaze at the house from whichhe was exiled. Its melancholy, uninhabited look did not serve to cheerhim. It seemed totally altered since he knew it first. The sign, whichthen invited the passers-by to enter the shop and deal with its honestowner, now appeared no longer significant, unless--and it will beremembered it was the Noah's Ark--it could be supposed to have referenceto those shut up within. The apprentice looked at the habitation withmisgiving, and, instead of regarding it as a sanctuary from thepestilence, could not help picturing it as a living tomb. The lastconversation he had had with Amabel also arose forcibly to hisrecollection, and the little likelihood there appeared of seeing heragain gave him acute agony. Oppressed by this painful idea, and unableto exclude from his thoughts the unhappy situation of Nizza Macascree,he bent his steps, scarcely knowing whither he was going, towards SaintPaul's.

  Having passed so much of his time of late in the cathedral, Leonardbegan to regard it as a sort of home, and it now appeared like a placeof refuge to him. Proceeding to the great western entrance, he seatedhimself on one of the large blocks of stone left there by the masonsoccupied in repairing the exterior of the fane. His eye rested upon themighty edifice before him, and the clear sparkling light revealednumberless points of architectural grandeur and beauty which he hadnever before noticed. The enormous buttresses and lofty pinnacles of thecentral tower were tinged with the beams of the rising sun, and glowedas if built of porphyry. While gazing at the summit of this tower, andcalling to mind the magnificent view he had recently witnessed from itat the same hour, if a wish could have transported him thither at thatmoment, he would have enjoyed it again. But as this could not be, hetried to summon before his mental vision the whole gloriousprospect--the broad and shining river, with its moving or motionlesscraft--the gardens, the noble mansions, the warehouses, and mightywharfs on its banks--London Bridge, with its enormous pile ofhabitations--the old and picturesque city, with its innumerable towers,and spires, and girdle of grey walls--the green fields and winding lanesleading to the lovely hills around it--all these objects arose obedientto his fancy, and came arrayed in colouring as fresh as that whereinthey had before appeared to him. While thus occupied, his gaze remainedriveted on the summit of the central tower, and he fancied he perceivedsome one leaning over the balustrade; but as little beyond the upperpart of the figure could be discerned, and as it appeared perfectlymotionless, he could not be quite sure that his eyes did not deceivehim. Having gazed at the object for some minutes, during which itmaintained the same attitude, he continued his survey of the pile, andbecame so excited by the sublime emotions inspired by the contemplation,as to be insensible to aught else.

  After a while he arose, and was about to proceed towards the portico,when, chancing to look at the top of the tower, he remarked that thefigure had disappeared, and while wondering who it could be, heperceived a person emerge from one of the tall windows in the lower partof the tower. It was Solomon Eagle, and he no longer wondered at what hehad seen. The enthusiast was without his brazier, but carried a longstout staff. He ran along the pointed roof of the nave withinconceivable swiftness, till, reaching the vast stone cross, upwards oftwelve feet in height, ornamenting the western extremity, he climbed itsbase, and clasping the transverse bar of the sacred symbol of his faithwith his left arm, extended his staff with his right, and described acircle, as if pointing out the walls of the city. He then raised hisstaff towards heaven to invoke its vengeance, and anon pointed itmenacingly downwards. After this he broke into loud denunciations; butthough the apprentice could not hear the words, he gathered theirpurport from his gestures.

  By this time a few masons had assembled, and producing their implements,commenced working at the blocks of stone. Glancing at the enthusiast,one of them observed with a smile to his companion, "There is SolomonEagle pronouncing his morning curse upon the city. I wonder whether thejudgments he utters against it will come to pass."

  "Assuredly, Phil Gatford," replied the other mason, gravely; "and I lookupon all the work we are now doing as labour thrown away. Was he notright about the plague? Did he not foretell the devouring scourge bywhich we are visited? And he will be right also about the fire. Since hehas doomed it, this cathedral will be consumed by flames, and one stonewill not be left standing on another."

  "It is strange, Ned Turgis," observed Gatford, "that, though SolomonEagle may always be seen at daybreak at the top of the tower or on theroof of the cathedral--sometimes at one point and sometimes atanother--no one can tell where he hides himself at other times. He nolonger roams the streets at night, but you may remember when theofficers of justice were in search of him, to give evidence againstMother Malmayns and Chowles, he was not to be found."

  "I remember it," replied Turgis; "but I have no doubt he was hidden insome out-of-the-way corner of the cathedral--perhaps among the immensewooden beams of the clerestory."

  "Or in some of the secret passages or cells contrived in the thicknessof the walls," rejoined the first speaker. "I say, Ned Turgis, if theplague increases, as there is every likelihood it will, Solomon Eaglewill be the only preacher left in Saint Paul's. Neither deans, prebends,minor-canons, nor vicars will attend. As it is, they have almostabandoned it."

  "Shame on them!" exclaimed Leonard Holt, who, being much interested inthe conversation of the masons, had silently approached them. "At thisseason, more than ever, they are bound to attend to their duty."

  "Why, so I think," rejoined Gatford; "but I suppose they considerself-preservation their first duty. They aver that all assemblages,whether called together for religious purposes or not, are dangerous,and likely to extend the pestilence."

  "And yet crowds are permitted to assemble for purposes of amusement, ifnot for worship, in those holy walls," returned Leonard.

  "Not so," replied Gatford. "Very few persons now come there, and nonefor amusement. Paul's Walk is completely deserted. The shops and stallshave been removed, and the pillars to which they were attached arerestored to their former appearance."

  "I am glad to hear it," rejoined Leonard. "I would far rather the sacrededifice were altogether abandoned than be what it has been of late--aden of thieves."

  "It was a stable and a magazine of arms in the time of theCommonwealth," remarked Gatford.

  "And if Solomon Eagle's foreboding come to pass, it will be a heap ofruins in our own time," rejoined Turgis. "But I see the prophet of illhas quitted his post, and retired to his hiding-place
."

  Looking up as this was said, Leonard saw that the enthusiast haddisappeared. At this moment the great door of the cathedral was thrownopen, and, quitting the masons, he ascended the broad steps under theportico, and entered the fane, where he found that the information hehad received was correct, and that the stalls and other disfigurementsto the pillars had been removed. After pacing the solitary aisles forsome time, he made inquiries from the verger concerning Solomon Eagle.

  "I know nothing about him," replied the man, reluctantly. "I believe healways appears at daybreak on some part of the roof, but I am asignorant as yourself where he hides himself. The door of the windingstaircase leading to the central tower is open. You can ascend it, andsearch for him, if you think proper."

  Acting upon the suggestion, Leonard mounted to the belfry, and fromthence to the summit of the tower. Having indulged himself with a briefsurvey of the glorious view around, he descended, and glanced into everycell and chamber as he passed, in the hopes of meeting with theenthusiast, but he was disappointed. At length, as he got about half-waydown, he felt his arm forcibly grasped, and, instantly conjecturing whoit was, offered no resistance. Without uttering a word, the person whohad seized him dragged him up a few steps, pushed aside a secret door,which closed behind them with a hollow clangour, and leading him along adark narrow passage, opened another door, and they emerged upon theroof. He then found that his suspicion was correct, and that hismysterious guide was no other than Solomon Eagle.

  "I am glad to find you have recovered from the pestilence," said theenthusiast, regarding him with a friendly glance; "it proves you arefavoured by Heaven. I saw you in the open space before the cathedralthis morning, and instantly recognised you. I was in the belfry when youdescended, but you did not perceive me, and I wished to be certain youwere alone before I discovered myself."

  "You have ceased to roam the streets at night, and rouse the slumberingcitizens to repentance?" asked Leonard.

  "For the present I have," returned Solomon Eagle. "But I shall appearagain when I am required. But you shall now learn why I have brought youhither. Look along those streets," he added, pointing to thethoroughfares opening in different directions. "What see you?"

  "I see men piling heaps of wood and coals at certain distances, as ifthey were preparing bonfires," replied Leonard. "And yet it cannot be.This is no season for rejoicing."

  "It has been supposed that the lighting of many thousand fires at oncewill purify the air," replied Solomon Eagle; "and therefore the LordMayor has given orders that heaps of fuel shall be placed before everyhouse in every street in the city, and that all these heaps shall bekindled at a certain hour. But it will be of no avail. The weather isnow fine and settled, and the sky cloudless. But the offended Deity willcause the heaviest rain to descend, and extinguish their fires. No--theway to avert the pestilence is not by fire, but by prayer and penitence,by humiliation and fasting. Let this sinful people put on sackcloth andashes. Let them beseech God, by constant prayer, to forgive them, andthey may prevail, but not otherwise."

  "And when are these fires to be lighted?" asked the apprentice.

  "To-night, at midnight," replied Solomon Eagle.

  He then took Leonard by the hand, and led him back the same way he hadbrought him. On reaching the spiral staircase, he said, "If you desireto behold a sight, such as a man has seldom witnessed, ascend to thesummit of this tower an hour after midnight, when all these fires arelighted. A small door on the left of the northern entrance shall be leftopen. It will conduct you to the back of the choir, and you must thenfind your way hither as well as you can."

  Murmuring his thanks, Leonard hurried down the spiral staircase, andquitting the cathedral, proceeded in the direction of Wood-street.Preparations were everywhere making for carrying the Lord Mayor's ordersinto effect; and such was the beneficial result anticipated, that ageneral liveliness prevailed, on reaching his master's residence, hefound him at the shutter, curious to know what was going forward; andhaving informed him, the grocer immediately threw him down money toprocure wood and coal.

  "I have but little faith in the experiment," he said, "but the LordMayor's injunctions must be obeyed."

  With the help of Dallison, who had now arrived, Leonard Holt soonprocured a large heap of fuel, and placed it in the middle of thestreet. The day was passed in executing other commissions for thegrocer, and he took his meals in the hutch with the porter. Timeappeared to pass with unusual slowness, and not he alone, but anxiousthousands, awaited the signal to kindle their fires. The night wasprofoundly dark and sultry, and Leonard could not help thinking that theenthusiast's prediction would be verified, and that rain would fall. Butthese gloomy anticipations vanished as the hour of midnight was tolledforth by the neighbouring clocks of Saint Michael's and Saint Alban's.Scarcely had the strokes died away, when Leonard seized a light and setfire to the pile. Ten thousand other piles were kindled at the samemoment, and in an instant the pitchy darkness was converted into lightas bright as that of noonday.

  Anxious to behold this prodigious illumination at its best, Leonard Holtcommitted the replenishing of the pile and the custody of the house toDallison, and hastened to Saint Paul's. A great fire was burning at eachangle of the cathedral, but without pausing to notice the effect of theflames upon the walls of the building, he passed through the door towhich he had been directed, and hastening to the spiral staircase beyondthe choir, ascended it with swift steps. He did not pause till hereached the summit of the tower, and there, indeed, a wondrous spectacleawaited him. The whole city seemed on fire, and girded with a flamingbelt--for piles were lighted at certain distances along the whole lineof walls. The groups of dark figures collected round the fires added totheir picturesque effect; and the course of every street could be tracedby the reflection of the flames on the walls and gables of the houses.London Bridge was discernible from the fires burning upon it--and evenupon the river braziers were lighted on all the larger craft, which casta ruddy glow upon the stream.

  After gazing at this extraordinary sight for some time, Leonard began todescend. As yet he had seen nothing of Solomon Eagle, and searching forhim in vain in the belfry, he quitted the cathedral. From a knot ofpersons gathered round one of the fires he learnt that the enthusiastwas addressing the crowd at the west side of the building, andproceeding thither he perceived him standing on the edge of thebalustrade of the south-western tower, surmounting the little church ofSaint Gregory. His brazier was placed on one of the buttresses, andthrew its light on the mighty central tower of the fabric, and on alarge clock-face immediately beneath. Solomon Eagle was evidentlydenouncing the city, but his words were lost in the distance. As heproceeded, a loud clap of thunder pealed overhead.

  "It comes--it comes!" cried the enthusiast, in a voice that could bedistinctly heard in the death-like stillness that followed the thunder."The wrath of Heaven is at hand."

  As he spoke, a bright flash cut the air, and a bolt struck down, one ofthe pinnacles of the great tower. Flash after flash followed in quicksuccession, and the enthusiast, who seemed wrapped in flame, extendedhis arms towards Heaven, as if beseeching a further display of itsvengeance. Suddenly the lightning ceased to flash and the thunder toroll. A few heavy drops of rain fell. These were succeeded by a delugingshower of such violence, that in less than a quarter of an hour everyfire within the city was extinguished, and all was darkness and despair.

  The deepest gloom and despondency prevailed that night throughoutLondon. The sudden storm was regarded as a manifestation of thedispleasure of Heaven, and as an intimation that the arrows of its wrathwere not to be turned aside by any human efforts. So impressed were allwith this feeling, that when, in less than half an hour, the rainentirely ceased, the clouds cleared off, and the stars again poured downtheir lustre, no one attempted to relight the quenched embers, fearingto provoke the Divine vengeance. Nor was a monitor wanting to enforcethe awful lesson. Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, ranthrough the streets, calling on the inhabitants t
o take to heart whathad happened, to repent, and prepare for their doom.

  "The Lord will not spare you," he cried, as he stationed himself in theopen space before St. Stephen's, Walbrook. "He will visit your sins uponyou. Pray, therefore, that ye may not be destroyed, both body and soul.Little time is allowed you for repentance. Many that hear me shall notlive till tomorrow; few shall survive the year!"

  "Thou, thyself, shalt not survive the night, false prophet," cried avoice from a neighbouring window. And immediately afterwards the barrelof a gun was thrust forth and a shot fired at the enthusiast. But thoughSolomon Eagle never altered his position, he was wholly uninjured--theball striking a bystander, who fell to the ground mortally wounded.

  "You have shot your own son, Mr. Westwood," cried one of the spectators,rushing up to the fallen man. "Who will henceforth doubt that SolomonEagle is under the care of a special providence?"

  "Not I," replied another spectator. "I shall never disregard his wordsin future."

  Setting down his brazier, the enthusiast bent over the dead man--fordead he was--and noted the placid smile upon his features. By this timethe unfortunate father had joined the group, and, on seeing the body ofhis son, wrung his hands in a pitiable manner, and gave utterance to thewildest expression of despair. No one attempted to seize him, till atlength Solomon Eagle, rising from his kneeling posture, laid his handupon his arm, and regarding him sternly, said, "What wrong have I doneyou, that you should seek to slay me?"

  "What wrong?" rejoined Westwood--"such wrong as can never be repaired.Your fearful prophecies and denunciations so terrified my daughter, thatshe died distracted. My brokenhearted wife was not long in followingher; and now you have made me the murderer of my son. Complete thetragedy, and take my life."

  "I have no desire to do so," replied Solomon Eagle, in a tone ofcommiseration. "My wish is to save your soul, and the souls of all wholisten to me. I wonder not that your anger was at first stirred againstme; but if your heart had been properly directed, indignation would havesoon given way to better feelings. My mission is not to terrify, but towarn. Why will ye thus continue impenitent when ye are spoken to, not bymy voice alone, but by a thousand others?--by the thunder--by therain--by the pestilence!--and ye shall be spoken to, if ye continuesenseless, by fire and by famine. Look at these quenched embers--atthese flooded streets--they are types of your vain struggle with asuperior power. Now, mark me what you must do to free the city fromcontagion. You must utterly and for ever abandon your evil courses. Youmust pray incessantly for remission of your sins. You must resignyourselves without repining to such chastisement as you have provoked,and must put your whole trust and confidence in God. Do this, and do itheartily; it is possible that His wrath may be averted."

  "I feel the force of your words," faltered Westwood--"would I had feltit sooner!"

  "Repentance never comes too late," rejoined the enthusiast. "Let this bean example to you all."

  And snatching up his brazier, he continued his course at the samelightning speed as before. The unfortunate father was taken into his owndwelling, whither likewise the body of his son was conveyed. A strictwatch was kept over him during the night, and in the morning he wasremoved to Newgate, where he perished, in less than a week, of thedistemper.

  The aspect of the streets on the following day was deplorable enough.Not that the weather was unfavourable. On the contrary, it was brightand sunny, while the heated atmosphere, cooled, by the showers, felt nolonger oppressive. But the sight of the half-burnt fires struck a chillinto every bosom, and it was not until the heaps were removed, that themore timorous ventured forth at all. The result, too, of the experimentwas singularly unfortunate. Whether it was from the extraordinary heatoccasioned by the lighting of so many fires, or that the smoke did notascend, and so kept down the pestilential effluvia, or that the numberof persons who met together spread the contagion, certain it was thatthe pestilence was more widely extended than before, and the mortalityfearfully increased.

  On the commencement of the storm, Leonard Holt hurried back toWood-street, and reached his master's dwelling just as the rain began todescend in torrents. Mr. Bloundel was at the window, and a few wordsonly passed between him and the apprentice when the latter was compelledto take refuge in the hutch. Here he found Dallison the watchman, andthey listened in awe-struck silence to the heavy showers, and to thehissing of the blazing embers in their struggle against the hostileelement. By-and-by the latter sound ceased. Not a light could be seenthroughout the whole length of the street, nor was there any redreflection of the innumerable fires as heretofore in the sky. It wasevident all were extinguished; and the pitiless pelting of the rain, theroar of the water-spouts, and the rush of the over-filled kennels, nowconverted into rivulets, could alone be heard. After awhile the stormcleared off, and Leonard and his companion issued from their retreat,and gazed in silence at the drenched heap before them. While thusoccupied, the window above them opened, and the grocer appeared at it.

  "This is, indeed, a sad and striking lesson," he said, "and I hope willnot be lost upon those who have witnessed it. It shows the utterimpotency of a struggle against the Divine will, and that when a manrelies upon himself for preservation, he depends upon a broken reed. IfI did not place myself under Heaven's protection, I should be sure thatall my own precautions were unavailing. I am now about to call up myfamily to prayer. You can join us in our supplications, and I trust theywill not be unheard."

  Closing the window, the grocer retired, and Leonard returned to thehutch, where he fell upon his knees, and as soon as he supposed thefamily were gathered together, commenced his own prayers. He picturedthe whole group assembled--the fervour of the grocer excited to anunwonted pitch by what had just occurred--the earnest countenances ofhis wife and the younger children--and the exalted looks of Amabel. Hecould not see her--neither could he hear her voice--but he fancied howshe looked, and in what terms she prayed--and it was no slightsatisfaction to him to think that his own voice ascended to Heavencoupled with hers.

  On quitting the hutch, he found Dallison conversing with Doctor Hodges.The physician expressed great surprise at seeing him, and inquired howhe came to have left his master's house. Leonard related all that hadhappened, and besought his assistance in Nizza's behalf.

  "I will do all I can for her," replied Hodges, "for I feel greatlyinterested about her. But who is this Sir Paul Parravicin? I never heardof him."

  "I know nothing more of him than what I have told you, sir," repliedLeonard. "He is a friend of the Earl of Rochester."

  "It must be a feigned name," rejoined Hodges; "but I will speedily findhim out. You must lodge at my house tonight. It will be better for youthan sleeping in that damp shed. But, first, I must have a word or twowith your master. I have been abroad all night, and came hither toascertain what he thought of this plan of the fires, and what he haddone. How do you give the signal to him?"

  "There is a cord within the hutch by which you can sound a bell withinhis chamber," returned Leonard; "I will ring it."

  Accordingly, he did so, and the summons was almost instantly answered bythe grocer. A kindly greeting passed between the latter and Hodges, whoinquired whether all was going on satisfactorily within, and whetheranything could be done for the family.

  "I would not have disturbed you at this unseasonable hour," he said,"but chancing to be in your neighbourhood, and thinking it likely youwould be on the watch, I called to have a word with you. Though I couldnot foresee what would happen, I entirely disapproved of these fires aslikely to increase rather than check the pestilence."

  "The hand of Heaven has extinguished them because they were lighted inopposition to its decrees," replied Bloundel; "but you have asked mewhether all is going on well within. I should answer readily in theaffirmative, but that my wife expresses much anxiety respecting Amabel.We have no longer any apprehension of misconduct. She is all we coulddesire--serious and devout. But we have fears for her health. Theconfinement may be too much for her. What would you re
commend?"

  "I must see her to be able to speak confidently," replied Hodges.

  "I know not how that can be accomplished, unless you choose to ascend bya basket attached to the pulley," replied the grocer, with somehesitation, "and it is against my plan to admit you."

  "But your daughter's life, my good friend," rejoined Hodges; "think ofthat. If I choose to risk life and limb to visit her, you may surelyrisk the chance of contagion to admit me. But you need have no fear.Sprinkle your room with spirits of sulphur, and place a phial of vinegarso that I can use it on my first entrance into the house, and I willanswer for the safety of your family."

  These preparations made, Mr. Bloundel lowered the basket, into whichHodges got, and grasping the rope, not without some misgiving on hispart, he was drawn up. Leonard witnessed his ascent with a beatingheart, and could scarcely repress a feeling of envy when he saw him passthrough the window, and knew that he would soon be in the presence ofAmabel. But this feeling quickly changed into one of deep anxietyconcerning her. Her father's account of her had increased the uneasinesshe previously felt, and he was as anxious to know the doctor's opinionof her, as if his own fate had depended upon it. He was kept in thispainful state of suspense for nearly an hour, when voices were heard atthe window, and presently afterwards Hodges was carefully let down.Bidding the grocer farewell, he desired Leonard to follow him, and ledthe way towards Cheapside. They proceeded a short distance in silence,when the latter ventured to remark, "You say nothing about Amabel, sir?I fear you found her seriously indisposed."

  "Do not question me about her just now," rejoined the doctor, in asubdued emotion. "I would rather not discuss the subject."

  Nothing more was said; for though the apprentice would willingly havecontinued the conversation, his companion's evident disinclination topursue it compelled him to desist. In this way, they reached thedoctor's residence, where Leonard was immediately shown to a comfortablebed.

  It was late when he awoke next day, and as the doctor was gone forth, hepartook of a plentiful breakfast which was placed before him, andrepaired to Wood-street, but his master having no commissions for him toexecute, he went back again. By this time, Doctor Hodges had returned,and calling him into his library told him he wished to speak with him.

  "You were right last night," he said, "in construing my silence intoalarm for Amabel. In truth, I fear she is rapidly sinking into adecline, and nothing will arrest the progress of the insidious diseasebut instant removal to the country. To this she will not consent,neither do I know how it could be accomplished. It is pitiable to see solovely a creature dying, as I fear she is, of a broken heart."

  Leonard covered his face with his hands, and wept aloud.

  "We have not yet spoken of Nizza Macascree," said Hodges, after a pause,tapping him kindly on the shoulder. "I think I have discovered a traceof her."

  "I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard, rousing himself. "She isanother victim of these profligates. But I will be revenged upon themall."

  "I have before enjoined you to restrain your indignation, just though itbe," returned Hodges. "I have not yet found out whither she has beentaken. But I have a clue which, unless I am mistaken, will lead me toit. But I must now dismiss you, I have other affairs to attend to, andmust give a dangerous and difficult case, on which I have beenconsulted, undisturbed consideration. Make my house your home as long asyou think proper."

  Warmly thanking the doctor, Leonard then withdrew. Shortly after this,he walked forth, and ascertaining that he was not required by hismaster, determined to satisfy himself by actual observation of theextent of the ravages of the plague.

  With this view, he shaped his course along Lad-lane, and traversingCateaton-street, entered Lothbury. The number of houses which he herefound closed, with red crosses on the doors, and the fatal inscriptionabove them, convinced him that the deplorable accounts he had heard werenot exaggerated. In passing some of these habitations, he saw suchghastly faces at the windows, and heard such lamentable cries, that hewas glad to hurry on and get out of sight and hearing. InThrogmorton-street, nearly opposite Drapers' Hall, a poor wretchsuddenly opened a casement, and before his attendants could force himback, threw himself from a great height to the ground, and broke hisneck. Another incident, of an equally distressing nature, occurred. Ayoung and richly-dressed young man issued from a tavern in Broad-street,and with a wild and inflamed countenance, staggered along. He addressedsome insulting language to Leonard, but the latter, who desired noquarrel, disregarded his remarks, and let him pass. The next personencountered by the drunken man was a young female. Suddenly catching herin his arms, he imprinted a kiss upon her lips: and then, with afrightful laugh, shouted, "I have given you the plague! Look here!" andtearing aside the collar of his shirt, he exhibited a large tumour. Theyoung woman uttered a shriek of terror and fainted, while her ruthlessassailant took to his heels, and running as long as his strength lasted,fell down, and was taken to the pest-house, where he was joined thatsame night by his victim. And this was by no means an uncommonoccurrence. The distemper acted differently on different temperaments.Some it inflamed to an ungovernable pitch of madness, others it reducedto the depths of despair, while in many cases it brought out andaggravated the worst parts of the character. Wives conveyed theinfection intentionally to their husbands, husbands to their wives,parents to their children, lovers to the objects of their affection,while, as in the case above mentioned, many persons ran about like rabidhounds, striving to communicate it to all they met. Greatly shocked atwhat had occurred, and yet not altogether surprised at it, for his mindhad become familiarized with horrors, Leonard struck down Finch-lane,and proceeded towards Cornhill. On the way, he noticed two dead bodieslying at the mouth of a small alley, and hastening past, was stopped atthe entrance to Cornhill by a butcher's apprentice, who was wheeling awaythe body of an old man, who had just died while purchasing meat at astall at Stock's Market. Filled with unutterable loathing at thismiserable spectacle, Leonard was fain to procure a glass of canary torecruit his spirits.

  Accordingly he proceeded to the Globe Tavern at the corner ofBirchin-lane. As he entered the house, a lively strain of music caughthis ear, and glancing in the direction of the sound, he found itproceeded from the blind piper, Mike Macascree, who was playing to somehalf-dozen roystering youths. Bell lay at her master's feet; and asLeonard approached the party, she pricked up her ears, and being calledby name, instantly sprang towards him, and manifested the strongestdelight. The piper stopped playing to listen to what was going forwardbut the young men urged him to proceed, and again filled his glass.

  "Don't drink any more, Mike," said Leonard, "but step aside with me.I've something to say to you--something about your daughter."

  "My daughter!" exclaimed the piper, in a half-angry, half-sorrowfulvoice, while a slight moisture forced itself through his orbless lids."I don't want to hear anything about her, except that she is dead. Shehas deserted me, and disgraced herself."

  "You are mistaken," rejoined Leonard; "and if you will come with me, Iwill explain the truth to you."

  "I will listen to no explanation," rejoined the piper, furiously, "shehas given me pain enough already. I'm engaged with this jovial company.Fill my glass, my masters--there, fill it again," he added, draining iteagerly, and with the evident wish to drown all thought. "There, now youshall have such a tune, as was never listened to by mortal ears."

  A loud laugh from the young men followed this proposition, and the piperplayed away so furiously, that it added to their merriment. Touched withcompassion, Leonard walked aside, hoping, when the party broke up, to beable to have a word with the poor man. But the piper's excitementincreased. He played faster and drank harder, until it was evident hewas no longer in a condition to speak rationally. Leonard, therefore,addressed himself to the drawer, and desired him to look after thepiper, engaging to return before midnight to see how he went on. Thedrawer promising compliance, Leonard departed; and not feeling disposedto continue his walk, returned to
Wood-street.

  Nothing particular occurred during the evening. Leonard did not seeDoctor Hodges, who was engaged in his professional duties; and afterkeeping watch before the grocer's till nearly midnight, he againretraced his steps to the Globe. The drawer was at the door, and aboutto close the house.

  "You will be sorry to learn the fate of the poor piper," he said.

  "Why, what has happened to him?" cried Leonard.

  "He is dead of the plague," was the reply.

  "What, so suddenly!" exclaimed the apprentice. "You are jesting withme."

  "Alas! it is no jest," rejoined the drawer, in a tone that convinced theapprentice of his sincerity. "His entertainers quitted him about twohours ago, and in spite of my efforts to detain him, he left the house,and sat down on those steps. Concluding he would fall asleep, I did notdisturb him, and his dog kept careful watch over him. I forgot all abouthim till a short time ago, when hearing the pest-cart pass, I wentforth, and learnt that the drivers having found him dead, as theysupposed, of the pestilence, had placed their forks under his belt, andthrown him upon the other dead bodies."

  "And where is the dog?" cried Leonard.

  "She would not quit her master," replied the drawer, "so the men threwher into the cart with him, saying, they would bury her in theplague-pit, as all dogs were ordered to be destroyed."

  "This must be prevented," cried Leonard. "Which way did the dead-cartgo?"

  "Towards Moorgate," replied the drawer.

  Leonard heard no more; but dashing through a narrow passage opposite theConduit, passed Bartholomew-lane, and traversing Lothbury, soon reachedColeman-street and the old city gate, to which he had been directed.Here he learnt that the dead-cart had passed through it about fiveminutes before, and he hurried on towards Finsbury Fields. He had notproceeded far when he heard a sound as of a pipe at a distance,furiously played, and accompanied by the barking of a dog. These soundswere followed by cries of alarm, and he presently perceived two personsrunning towards him, with a swiftness which only could be occasioned byterror. One of them carried a lantern, and grasping his arm, theapprentice detained him.

  "What is the matter?" he asked.

  "The devil's the matter," replied the man--"the piper's ghost hasappeared in that cart, and is playing his old tunes again."

  "Ay, it's either his spirit, or he is come to life again," observed theother man, stopping likewise. "I tossed him into the cart myself, andwill swear he was dead enough then."

  "You have committed a dreadful mistake," cried Leonard. "You have tosseda living man into the cart instead of a dead one. Do you not hear thosesounds?" And as he spoke, the notes of the pipe swelled to a louderstrain than ever.

  "I tell you it is the devil--or a ghost," replied the driver; "I willstay here no longer."

  "Lend me your lantern, and I will go to the cart," rejoined Leonard.

  "Take it," replied the man; "but I caution you to stay where you are.You may receive a shock you will never survive."

  Paying no attention to what was said, Leonard ran towards the cart, andfound the piper seated upon a pile of dead bodies, most of them strippedof their covering, with Bell by his side, and playing away at aprodigious rate.

  III.

  THE DANCE OF DEATH.

  The condition of the prisons at this season was really frightful. InNewgate, in particular, where the distemper broke out at the beginningof June, it raged with such violence that in less than a week, more thanhalf the prisoners were swept off, and it appeared probable, that,unless its fury abated, not a soul would be left alive within it. At alltimes, this crowded and ill-kept prison was infested by the gaol-feverand other pestilential disorders, but these were mild in comparison withthe present terrible visitation. The atmosphere was noisome andmalignant; the wards were never cleansed; and many poor wretches, whodied in their cells, were left there till the attendants on thedead-cart chose to drag them forth. No restraint being placed upon thesick, and the rules of the prison allowing them the free use of anystrong liquors they could purchase, the scenes that occurred were toodreadful and revolting for description, and could only be paralleled bythe orgies of a pandemonium. Many reckless beings, conscious that theywere attacked by a fatal disorder, drank as long as they could raisethe' cup to their lips, and after committing the wildest and mostshocking extravagances, died in a state of frenzy.

  Newgate became thus, as it were, the very focus of infection, where theplague assumed its worst aspect, and where its victims perished far moreexpeditiously than elsewhere. Two of the turnkeys had already died ofthe distemper, and such was the alarm entertained, that no persons couldbe found to supply their places. To penetrate the recesses of theprison, was almost to insure destruction, and none but the attendants ofthe dead-cart and the nurses attempted it. Among the latter was Judith.Employed as a nurse on the first outburst of the plague, she willinglyand fearlessly undertook the office. The worse the disease became thebetter pleased she appeared; and she was so utterly withoutapprehension, that when no one would approach the cell where somewretched sufferer lay expiring, she unhesitatingly entered it. But itwas not to render aid, but to plunder, that she thus exercised herfunctions. She administered no medicine, dressed no tumours, and did notcontribute in the slightest degree to the comfort of the miserablewretches committed to her charge. All she desired was to obtain whatevervaluables they possessed, or to wring from them any secret that mightafterwards be turned to account. Foreseeing that Newgate must ere longbe depopulated, and having no fears for herself, she knew that she mustthen be liberated, and be able once more to renew her mischievouspractices upon mankind. Her marvellous preservation throughout all thedangers to which she was exposed seemed almost to warrant thesupposition that she had entered into a compact with the pestilence, toextend its ravages by every means in her power, on the condition ofbeing spared herself.

  Soon after the outbreak of the plague in Newgate, all the debtors wereliberated, and if the keepers had had their own way, the common felonswould have been likewise released. But this could not be, and they werekept to perish as before described. Matters, however, grew so serious,that it became a question whether the few miserable wretches left aliveought to be longer detained, and at last the turnkeys refusing to actany longer, and delivering their keys to the governor, the whole of theprisoners were set free.

  On the night of their liberation, Chowles and Judith proceeded to thevaults of Saint Faith's, to deposit within them the plunder they hadobtained in the prison. They found them entirely deserted. Neitherverger, sexton, nor any other person, was to be seen, and they took uptheir quarters in the crypt. Having brought a basket of provisions and afew bottles of wine with them, they determined to pass the night inrevelry; and, accordingly, having lighted a fire with the fragments ofold coffins brought from the charnel, they sat down to their meal.Having done full justice to it, and disposed of the first flask, theywere about to abandon themselves to unrestrained enjoyment, when theirglee was all at once interrupted by a strange and unaccountable noise inthe adjoining church. Chowles, who had just commenced chanting one ofhis wild melodies, suddenly stopped, and Judith set down the glass shehad raised to her lips untested. What could it mean? Neither of themcould tell. It seemed like strains of unearthly music, mixed withshrieks and groans as of tortured spirits, accompanied by peals of suchlaughter as might be supposed to proceed, from demons.

  "The dead are burst forth from their tombs," cried Chowles, in aquavering voice, "and are attended by a legion of evil spirits."

  "It would seem so," replied Judith, rising. "I should like to behold thesight. Come with me."

  "Not for the world!" rejoined Chowles, shuddering, "and I wouldrecommend you to stay where you are. You may behold your dead husbandamong them."

  "Do you think so?" rejoined Judith, halting.

  "I am sure of it," cried Chowles, eagerly. "Stay where you are--staywhere you are."

  As he spoke, there was another peal of infernal laughter, and thestrains of music grew lou
der each moment.

  "Come what may, I will see what it is," said Judith, emptying her glass,as if seeking courage from the draught. "Surely," she added, in ataunting tone, "you will come with me."

  "I am afraid of nothing earthly," rejoined Chowles--"but I do not liketo face beings of another world."

  "Then I will go alone," rejoined Judith.

  "Nay, that shall never be," replied Chowles, tottering after her.

  As they opened the door and crossed the charnel, such an extraordinarycombination of sounds burst upon their ears that they again paused, andlooked anxiously at each other. Chowles laid his hand on his companion'sarm, and strove to detain her, but she would not be stayed, and he wasforced to proceed. Setting down the lamp on the stone floor, Judithpassed into the subterranean church, where she beheld a sight thatalmost petrified her. In the midst of the nave, which was illumined by ablue glimmering light, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine,stood a number of grotesque figures, apparelled in fantastic garbs, andeach attended by a skeleton. Some of the latter grisly shapes wereplaying on tambours, others on psalteries, others on rebecs--everyinstrument producing the strangest sound imaginable. Viewed through themassive pillars, beneath that dark and ponderous roof, and by the mysticlight before described, this strange company had a supernaturalappearance, and neither Chowles nor Judith doubted for a moment thatthey beheld before them a congregation of phantoms. An irresistiblefeeling of curiosity prompted them to advance. On drawing nearer, theyfound the assemblage comprehended all ranks of society. There was a popein his tiara and pontifical dress; a cardinal in his cap and robes; amonarch with a sceptre in his hand, and arrayed in the habiliments ofroyalty; a crowned queen; a bishop wearing his mitre, and carrying hiscrosier; an abbot, likewise in his mitre, and bearing a crosier; a dukein his robes of state; a grave canon of the church; a knight sheathed inarmour; a judge, an advocate, and a magistrate, all in their robes; amendicant friar and a nun; and the list was completed by a physician, anastrologer, a miser, a merchant, a duchess, a pedler, a soldier, agamester, an idiot, a robber, a blind man, and a beggar--eachdistinguishable by his apparel.

  By-and-by, with a wild and gibbering laugh that chilled the beholders'blood, one of the tallest and grisliest of the skeletons sprang forward,and beating his drum, the whole ghostly company formed, two and two,into a line--a skeleton placing itself on the right of every mortal. Inthis order, the fantastic procession marched between the pillars, theunearthly music playing all the while, and disappeared at the furtherextremity of the church. With the last of the group, the mysteriouslight vanished, and Chowles and his companion were left in profounddarkness.

  "What can it mean?" cried Judith, as soon as she recovered her speech."Are they human, or spirits?"

  "Human beings don't generally amuse themselves in this way," returnedChowles. "But hark!--I still hear the music.--They are above--in SaintPaul's."

  "Then I will join them," said Judith. "I am resolved to see the end ofit."

  "Don't leave me behind," returned Chowles, following her. "I wouldrather keep company with Beelzebub and all his imps than be alone."

  Both were too well acquainted with the way to need any light. Ascendingthe broad stone steps, they presently emerged into the cathedral, whichthey found illumined by the same glimmering light as the lower church,and they perceived the ghostly assemblage gathered into an immense ring,and dancing round the tall skeleton, who continued beating his drum, anduttering a strange gibbering sound, which was echoed by the others. Eachmoment the dancers increased the swiftness of their pace, until at lastit grew to a giddy whirl, and then, all at once, with a shriek oflaughter, the whole company fell to the ground.

  Chowles and Judith, then, for the first time, understood, from theconfusion that ensued, and the exclamations uttered, that they were nospirits they had to deal with, but beings of the same mould asthemselves. Accordingly, they approached the party of masquers, for suchthey proved, and found on inquiry that they were a party of younggallants, who, headed by the Earl of Rochester--the representative ofthe tall skeleton--had determined to realize the Dance of Death, as oncedepicted on the walls of an ancient cloister at the north of thecathedral, called Pardon-churchyard, on the walls of which, says Stowe,were "artificially and richly painted the Dance of Macabre, or Dance ofDeath, commonly called the Dance of Paul's, the like whereof was paintedabout Saint Innocent's, at Paris. The metres, or poesy of this dance,"proceeds the same authority, "were translated out of French into Englishby John Lydgate, monk of Bury, and, with the picture of Death leadingall estates, painted about the cloister, at the special request andexpense of Jenkin Carpenter, in the reign of Henry the Sixth."Pardon-churchyard was pulled down by the Protector Somerset, in thereign of Edward the Sixth, and the materials employed in the erection ofhis own palace in the Strand. It was the discussion of these singularpaintings, and of the designs on the same subject ascribed to Holbein,that led the Earl of Rochester and his companions to propose thefantastic spectacle above described. With the disposition which thisreckless nobleman possessed to turn the most solemn and appallingsubjects to jest, he thought no season so fitting for such anentertainment as the present--just as in our own time the livelyParisians made the cholera, while raging in their city, the subject of acarnival pastime. The exhibition witnessed by Chowles and Judith was arehearsal of the masque intended to be represented in the cathedral onthe following night.

  Again marshalling his band, the Earl of Rochester beat his drum, andskipping before them, led the way towards the south door of thecathedral, which was thrown open by an unseen hand, and the processionglided through it like a troop of spectres. Chowles, whose appearancewas not unlike that of an animated skeleton, was seized with a strangedesire to join in what was going forward, and taking off his doublet,and baring his bony arms and legs, he followed the others, dancing roundJudith in the same manner that the other skeletons danced round theirpartners.

  On reaching the Convocation House, a door was opened, and the processionentered the cloisters; and here Chowles, dragging Judith into the areabetween him and the beautiful structure they surrounded, began a danceof so extraordinary a character that the whole troop collected round towitness it. Rochester beat his drum, and the other representatives ofmortality who were provided with musical instruments struck up a wildkind of accompaniment, to which Chowles executed the most grotesqueflourishes. So wildly excited did he become, and such extravagances didhe commit, that even Judith stared aghast at him, and began to think hiswits were fled. Now he whirled round her--now sprang high into theair--now twined his lean arms round her waist--now peeped over oneshoulder, now over the other--and at last griped her neck so forcibly,that he might perhaps have strangled her, if she had not broken fromhim, and dealt him a severe blow that brought him senseless to theground. On recovering, he found himself in the arched entrance of alarge octagonal chamber, lighted at each side by a lofty pointed windowfilled with stained glass. Round this chamber ran a wide stone bench,with a richly-carved back of the same material, on which the masquerswere seated, and opposite the entrance was a raised seat, ordinarilyallotted to the dean, but now occupied by the Earl of Rochester. Acircular oak table stood in the midst of the chamber, covered withmagnificent silver dishes, heaped with the choicest viands, which werehanded to the guests by the earl's servants, all of whom representedskeletons, and it had a strange effect, to behold these ghastly objectsfilling the cups of the revellers, bending obsequiously before someblooming dame, or crowding round their spectral-looking lord.

  At first, Chowles was so confused, that he thought he must have awakenedin another world, but by degrees he called to mind what had occurred,and ascertained from Judith that he was in the Convocation House.Getting up, he joined the train of grisly attendants, and acquittedhimself so well that the earl engaged him as performer in the masque. Hewas furthermore informed that, in all probability, the king himself,with many of his favourite nobles, and the chief court beauties, wouldbe present to witness the spec
tacle.

  The banquet over, word was brought that chairs and coaches were without,and the company departed, leaving behind only a few attendants, whoremained to put matters in order.

  While they were thus occupied, Judith, who had fixed her greedy eyesupon the plate, observed, in an under-tone, to Chowles, "There will befine plunder for us. We must manage to carry off all that plate whilethey are engaged in the masque."

  "You must do it yourself, then," returned Chowles, in the sametone--"for I shall have to play a principal part in the entertainment,and as the king himself will be present, I cannot give up such anopportunity of distinguishing myself."

  "You can have no share in the prize, if you lend no assistance," repliedJudith, with a dissatisfied look.

  "Of course not," rejoined Chowles; "on this occasion it is all yours.The Dance of Death is too much to my taste to be given up."

  Perceiving they were noticed, Chowles and Judith then left theConvocation House, and returned to the vault in Saint Faith's, nor didthey emerge from it until late on the following day.

  Some rumour of the masque having gone abroad, towards evening a crowd,chiefly composed of the most worthless order of society, collected underthe portico at the western entrance, and the great doors being opened byChowles, they entered the cathedral. Thus was this sacred building oncemore invaded--once again a scene of noise, riot, and confusion--itsvaulted roofs instead of echoing the voice of prayer, or the choralhymn, resounded with loud laughter, imprecations, and licentiousdiscourse. This disorder, however, was kept in some bounds by a strongbody of the royal guard, who soon afterwards arrived, and stationingthemselves in parties of three or four at each of the massive columnsflanking the aisles, maintained some show of decorum. Besides these,there were others of the royal attendants, bearing torches, who walkedfrom place to place, and compelled all loiterers in dark corners toproceed to the nave.

  A little before midnight, the great doors were again thrown open, and alarge troop of richly-attired personages, all wearing masks, wereadmitted. For a short time they paced to and fro between its shaftedpillars gazing at the spectators grouped around, and evidently, fromtheir jests and laughter, not a little entertained by the scene. As theclock struck twelve, however, all sounds were hushed, and the courtlyparty stationed themselves on the steps leading to the choir. At thesame moment, also, the torches were extinguished, and the whole of thebuilding buried in profound darkness. Presently after, a sound was heardof footsteps approaching the nave, but nothing could be discerned.Expectation was kept on the rack for some minutes, during which many astifled cry was heard from those whose courage failed them at thistrying juncture. All at once, a blue light illumined the nave, andpartially revealed the lofty pillars by which it was surrounded. By thislight the whole of the ghostly company could be seen drawn up near thewestern door. They were arranged two and two, a skeleton standing asbefore on the right of each character. The procession next marchedslowly and silently towards the choir, and drew up at the foot of thesteps, to give the royal party an opportunity of examining them. Afterpausing there for a few minutes, Rochester, in the dress of the largerskeleton, started off, and, beating his drum, was followed by the popeand his attendant skeleton. This couple having danced together for someminutes, to the infinite diversion of the spectators, disappeared behinda pillar, and were succeeded by the monarch and a second skeleton.These, in their turn, gave way to the cardinal and his companion, and soon till the whole of the masquers had exhibited themselves, when at asignal from the earl the party re-appeared, and formed a ring round him.The dance was executed with great spirit, and elicited tumultuousapplause from all the beholders. The earl now retired, and Chowles tookhis place. He was clothed in an elastic dress painted of a leaden andcadaverous colour, which fitted closely to his fleshless figure, anddefined all his angularities. He carried an hour-glass in one hand and adart in the other, and in the course of the dance kept continuallypointing the latter at those who moved around him. His feats of theprevious evening were nothing to his present achievements. His jointscreaked, and his eyes flamed like burning coals. As he continued, hisexcitement increased. He bounded higher, and his countenance assumed sohideous an expression, that those near him recoiled in terror, crying,"Death himself had broke loose among them." The consternation soonbecame general. The masquers fled in dismay, and scampered along theaisles scarcely knowing whither they were going. Delighted with thealarm he occasioned, Chowles chased a large party along the northernaisle, and was pursuing them across the transept upon which it opened,when he was arrested in his turn by another equally formidable figure,who suddenly placed himself in his path.

  "Hold!" exclaimed Solomon Eagle--for it was the enthusiast--in a voiceof thunder, "it is time this scandalous exhibition should cease. Knowall ye who make a mockery of death, that his power will be speedily andfearfully approved upon you. Thine not to escape the vengeance of theGreat Being whose temple you have profaned. And you, O king! who havesanctioned these evil doings by your presence, and who by your owndissolute life set a pernicious example to all your subjects, know thatyour city shall be utterly laid waste, first by plague and then by fire.Tremble! my warning is as terrible and true as the handwriting on thewall."

  "Who art thou who holdest this language towards me?" demanded Charles.

  "I am called Solomon Eagle," replied the enthusiast, "and am chargedwith a mission from on high to warn your doomed people of their fate. Bewarned yourself, sire! Your end will be sudden. You will be snatchedaway in the midst of your guilty pleasure, and with little time forrepentance. Be warned, I say again."

  With this he turned to depart.

  "Secure the knave," cried Charles, angrily. "He shall be soundlyscourged for his insolence."

  But bursting through the guard, Solomon Eagle ran swiftly up the choirand disappeared, nor could his pursuers discover any traces of him.

  "Strange!" exclaimed the king, when he was told of the enthusiast'sescape. "Let us go to supper. This masque has given me the vapours."

  "Pray Heaven it have not given us the plague," observed the fairStewart, who stood beside him, taking his arm.

  "It is to be hoped not," rejoined Charles; "but, odds fish! it is a mostdismal affair."

  "It is so, in more ways than one," replied Rochester, "for I have justlearnt that all my best plate has been carried off from the ConvocationHouse. I shall only be able to offer your majesty and your fair partnera sorry supper."

  IV.

  THE PLAGUE-PIT.

  On being made acquainted by Leonard, who helped him out of thepest-cart, with the danger he had run, the piper uttered a cry ofterror, and swooned away. The buriers, seeing how matters stood, andthat their superstitious fears were altogether groundless, now returned,and one of them, producing a phial of vinegar, sprinkled the faintingman with it, and speedily brought him to himself. But though so farrecovered, his terror had by no means abated, and he declared his firmconviction that he was infected by the pestilence.

  "I have been carried towards the plague-pit by mistake," he said. "Ishall soon be conveyed thither in right earnest, and not have the powerof frightening away my conductors on the road."

  "Pooh! pooh!" cried one of the buriers, jestingly. "I hope you willoften ride with us, and play us many a merry tune as you go. You shallalways be welcome to a seat in the cart."

  "Be of good cheer," added Leonard, "and all will be well. Come with meto an apothecary's shop, and I will procure a cordial for you, whichshall speedily dispel your qualms."

  The piper shook his head, and replied, with a deep groan, that he wascertain all was over with him.

  "However, I will not reject your kindness," he added, "though I feel Iam past the help of medicine."

  "With this, he whistled to Bell, who was skipping about Leonard, havingrecognised him on his first approach, and they proceeded towards thesecond postern in London-wall, between Moorgate and Cripplegate; whilethe buriers, laughing heartily at the adventure, took their way towardsthe plague-pit
, and discharged their dreadful load within it. Arrived inBasinghall-street, and looking round, Leonard soon discovered by thelinks at the door, as well as by the crowd collected before it--for dayand night the apothecaries' dwellings were besieged by the sick--theshop of which he was in search. It was long before they could obtainadmittance, and during this time the piper said he felt himself gettingrapidly worse; but, imagining he was merely labouring under the effectof fright, Leonard paid little attention to his complaints. Theapothecary, however, no sooner set eyes upon him, than he pronounced himinfected, and, on examination, it proved that the fatal tokens hadalready appeared.

  "I knew it was so," cried the piper. "Take me to the pest-house--take meto the pest-house!"

  "His desire had better be complied with," observed the apothecary. "Heis able to walk thither now, but I will not answer for his being able todo so two hours hence. It is a bad case," he added in an under-tone toLeonard.

  Feeing the apothecary, Leonard set out with the piper, and passingthrough Cripplegate, they entered the open fields. Here they paused fora moment, and the little dog ran round and round them, barkinggleefully.

  "Poor Bell!" cried the piper; "what will become of thee when I am gone?"

  "If you will entrust her to me, I will take care of her," repliedLeonard.

  "She is yours," rejoined the piper, in a voice hoarse with emotion. "Bekind to her for my sake, and for the sake of her unfortunate mistress."

  "Since you have alluded to your daughter," returned Leonard, "I musttell you what has become of her. I have not hitherto mentioned thesubject, fearing it might distress you."

  "Have no further consideration, but speak out," rejoined the piper. "Beit what it may, I will bear it like a man."

  Leonard then briefly recounted all that had occurred, describing Nizza'sdisguise as a page, and her forcible abduction by Parravicin. He wasfrequently interrupted by the groans of his hearer, who at last gavevent to his rage and anguish in words.

  "Heaven's direst curse upon her ravisher!" he cried. "May he endureworse misery than I now endure. She is lost for ever."

  "She may yet be preserved," rejoined Leonard. "Doctor Hodges thinks hehas discovered her retreat, and I will not rest till I find her."

  "No--no, you will never find her," replied the piper, bitterly; "or ifyou do, it will be only to bewail her ruin."

  His rage then gave way to such an access of grief, that, letting hishead fall on Leonard's shoulder, he wept aloud.

  "There is a secret connected with that poor girl," he said, at length,controlling his emotion by a powerful effort, "which must now go to thegrave with me. The knowledge of it would only add to her distress."

  "You view the matter too unfavourably," replied Leonard; "and if thesecret is of any moment, I entreat you to confide it to me. If yourworst apprehensions should prove well founded, I promise you it shallnever be revealed to her."

  "On that condition only, I will confide it to you," replied the piper;"but not now--not now--to-morrow morning, if I am alive."

  "It may be out of your power then," returned Leonard, "For yourdaughter's sake, I urge you not to delay."

  "It is for her sake I am silent," rejoined the piper. "Come along--comealong" he added, hurrying forward. "Are we far from the pest-house? Mystrength is failing me."

  On arriving at their destination, they were readily admitted to theasylum; but a slight difficulty arose, which, however, was speedilyobviated. All the couches were filled, but on examining them it wasfound that one of the sick persons had just been released from hissufferings, and the body being removed, the piper was allowed to takeits place. Leonard remained by him for a short time, but, overpowered bythe pestilential effluvia, and the sight of so many miserable objects,he was compelled to seek the open air. Returning, however, shortlyafterwards, he found the piper in a very perturbed state. On hearingLeonard's voice he appeared greatly relieved, and, taking his gown frombeneath his pillow, gave it to him, and desired him to unrip a part ofthe garment, in which it was evident something was sewn. The apprenticecomplied, and a small packet dropped forth.

  "Take it," said the piper; "and if I die,--and Nizza should happily bepreserved from her ravisher, give it her. But not otherwise--nototherwise. Implore her to forgive me--to pity me."

  "Forgive you--her father?" cried Leonard, in astonishment.

  "That packet will explain all," replied the piper in a troubled tone."You promised to take charge of poor Bell," he added, drawing forth thelittle animal, who had crept to the foot of the bed, "here she is.Farewell! my faithful friend," he added, pressing his rough lips to herforehead, while she whined piteously, as if beseeching him to allow herto remain; "farewell for ever."

  "Not for ever, I trust," replied Leonard, taking her gently from him.

  "And now you had better go," said the piper. "Return, if you can,to-morrow."

  "I will,--I will," replied Leonard; and he hurried out of the room.

  He was followed to the door by the young chirurgeon--the same who hadaccompanied Mr. Bloundel during his inspection of the pest-house,--andhe inquired of him if he thought the piper's case utterly hopeless.

  "Not utterly so," replied the young man. "I shall be able to speak morepositively in a few hours. At present, I think, with care and attention,there _is_ a chance of his recovery."

  Much comforted by this assurance, Leonard departed, and afraid to putBell to the ground lest she should run back to her master, he continuedto carry her, and endeavoured to attach her to him by caresses andendearments. The little animal showed her sense of his kindness bylicking his hands, but she still remained inconsolable, and ever andanon struggled to get free. Making the best of his way to Wood-street,he entered the hutch, and placing a little straw in one corner for Bell,threw himself on a bench and dropped asleep. At six o'clock he wasawakened by the barking of the dog, and opening the door beheldDallison. The grocer was at the window above, and about to let down abasket of provisions to them. To Leonard's eager inquiries after Amabel,Mr. Bloundel replied by a melancholy shake of the head, and soonafterwards withdrew. With a sad heart, the apprentice then broke hisfast,--not forgetting at the same time the wants of his littlecompanion,--and finding he was not required by his master, he proceededto Doctor Hodges' residence. He was fortunate enough to find thefriendly physician at home, and, after relating to him what hadoccurred, committed the packet to his custody.

  "It will be safer in your keeping than mine," he said; "and if anythingshould happen to me, you will, I am sure, observe the wishes of the poorpiper."

  "Rely upon it, I will," replied Hodges. "I am sorry to tell you I havebeen misled as to the clue I fancied I had obtained to Nizza's retreat.We are as far from the mark as ever."

  "Might not the real name of the villain who has assumed the name of SirPaul Parravicin be ascertained from the Earl of Rochester?" rejoinedLeonard.

  "So I thought," replied Hodges; "and I made the attempt yesterday, butit failed. I was at Whitehall, and finding the earl in the king'spresence, suddenly asked him where I could find his friend Sir PaulParravicin. He looked surprised at the question, glanced significantlyat the monarch, and then carelessly answered that he knew no suchperson."

  "A strange idea crosses me," cried Leonard. "Can it be the king who hasassumed this disguise?"

  "At one time I suspected as much," rejoined Hodges; "but setting asideyour description of the person, which does not tally with that ofCharles, I am satisfied from other circumstances it is not so. Afterall, I should not wonder if poor Bell," smoothing her long silky ears asshe lay in the apprentice's arms, "should help us to discover hermistress. And now," he added, "I shall go to Wood-street to inquireafter Amabel, and will then accompany you to the pest-house. From whatyou tell me the young chirurgeon said of the piper, I do not despair ofhis recovery."

  "Poor as his chance may appear, it is better, I fear, than Amabel's,"sighed the apprentice.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Hodges, in a sorrowful tone, "hers is slight indeed."

&n
bsp; And perceiving that the apprentice was greatly moved, he waited for amoment till he had recovered himself, and then, motioning him to followhim, they quitted the house together.

  On reaching Mr. Bloundel's habitation, Leonard pulled the cord in thehutch, and the grocer appeared at the window.

  "My daughter has not left her bed this morning," he said, in answer tothe doctor's inquiries, "and I fear she is much worse. My wife is withher. It would be a great satisfaction to me if you would see her again."

  After some little hesitation, Hodges assented, and was drawn up asbefore. He returned in about half an hour, and his grave countenanceconvinced Leonard that his worst anticipations were correct. Hetherefore forbore to question him, and they walked towards Cripplegatein silence.

  On emerging into the fields, Hodges observed to his companion, "It isstrange that I who daily witness such dreadful suffering should bepained by the gradual and easy decline of Amabel. But so it is. Her casetouches me more than the worst I have seen of the plague."

  "I can easily account for the feeling," groaned Leonard.

  "I am happy to say I have prevailed on her, if she does not improve in ashort time,--and there is not the slightest chance of it,--to try theeffect of a removal to the country. Her father also consents to theplan."

  "I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard. "But whither will she go, andwho will watch over her?"

  "That is not yet settled," rejoined Hodges.

  "Oh! that I might be permitted to undertake the office!" cried Leonard,passionately.

  "Restrain yourself," said Hodges, in a tone of slight rebuke. "Fittingattendance will be found, if needed."

  The conversation then dropped, and they walked briskly forward. Theywere now within a short distance of the pest-house, and Leonard, hearingfootsteps behind him, turned and beheld a closed litter, borne by twostout porters, and evidently containing a plague-patient. He steppedaside to let it pass, when Bell, suddenly pricking her ears, uttered asingular cry, and bursting from him, flew after the litter, leapingagainst it and barking joyfully. The porters, who were proceeding at aquick pace, tried to drive her away, but without effect, and shecontinued her cries until they reached the gates of the pest-house. Invain Leonard whistled to her, and called her back. She paid no attentionwhatever to him.

  "I almost begin to fear," said Hodges, unable to repress a shudder,"that the poor animal will, indeed, be the means of discovering for usthe object of our search."

  "I understand what you mean," rejoined Leonard, "and am of the sameopinion as yourself. Heaven grant we may be mistaken!"

  And as he spoke, he ran forward, and, followed by Hodges, reached thepest-house just as the litter was taken into it.

  "Silence that accursed dog," cried one of the porters, "and bid a nurseattend us. We have a patient for the women's ward."

  "Let me see her," cried Hodges. "I am a physician."

  "Readily, sir," replied the porter. "It is almost over with her, poorsoul! It would have saved time and trouble to take her to the plague-pitat once. She cannot last many hours. Curse the dog! Will it never ceasehowling?"

  Leonard here seized Bell, fearing she might do some mischief, and with asad foreboding beheld the man draw back the curtains of the litter. Hisfears proved well founded. There, stretched upon the couch, with herdark hair unbound, and flowing in wild disorder over her neck, lay NizzaMacascree. The ghastly paleness of her face could not, however, entirelyrob it of its beauty, and her dark eyes were glazed and lustreless. Atthe sight of her mistress, poor Bell uttered so piteous a cry, thatLeonard, moved by compassion, placed her on the pillow beside her, andthe sagacious animal did not attempt to approach nearer, but merelylicked her cheek. Roused by the touch, Nizza turned to see what was nearher, and recognising the animal, made a movement to strain her to herbosom, but the pain she endured was so intense that she sank back with adeep groan.

  "From whom did you receive this young woman?" demanded Hodges, of one ofthe porters.

  "She was brought to us by two richly-attired lacqueys," replied the man,"in this very litter. They paid us to carry her here without loss oftime."

  "You have an idea whose servants they were?" pursued Hodges.

  "Not the least," replied the fellow; "but I should judge, from therichness of their dress, that they belonged to some nobleman."

  "Did they belong to the royal household?" inquired Leonard.

  "No, no," rejoined the man. "I am certain as to that."

  "The poor girl shall not remain here," observed Hodges, to theapprentice. "You must convey her to my residence in GreatKnightrider-street," he added, to the porters.

  "We will convey her wherever you please," replied the men, "if we arepaid for our trouble."

  And they were about to close the curtains, when Nizza, having caughtsight of the apprentice, slightly raised herself, and cried, in a voiceof the utmost anxiety, "Is that you, Leonard?"

  "It is," he replied, approaching her.

  "Then I shall die happy, since I have seen you once more," she said."Oh, do not stay near me. You may catch the infection."

  "Nizza," said Leonard, disregarding the caution, and breathing the wordsin her ear; "allay my fears by a word. You have not fallen a victim tothe villain who carried you away?"

  "I have not, Leonard," she replied, solemnly, "I resisted hisimportunities, his threats, his violence, and would have slain myselfrather than have yielded to him. The plague, at length, came to myrescue, and I have reason to be grateful to it; for it has not onlydelivered me from him, but has brought me to you."

  "I must now impose silence upon you," interposed Hodges, laying hisfinger on his lips; "further conversation will be hurtful."

  "One question more, and I have done," replied Nizza. "How came Bell withyou--and where is my father? Nothing has happened to him?" shecontinued, observing Leonard's countenance change. "Speak! do not keepme in suspense. Your silence fills me with apprehension. Speak, Iimplore you. He is dead?"

  "No," replied Leonard, "he is not dead--but he is an inmate of thisplace."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Nizza, falling back senseless upon the pillow.

  And in this state she was conveyed with the greatest expedition to thedoctor's residence.

  Leonard only tarried to visit the piper, whom he found slightlydelirious, and unable to hold any conversation with him, and promisingto return in the evening, he set out after the litter. Nizza was placedin the best apartment of the doctor's house, and attended by anexperienced and trustworthy nurse. But Hodges positively refused to letLeonard see her again, affirming that the excitement was too much forher, and might militate against the chance of her recovery.

  "I am not without hopes of bringing her through," he said, "and thoughit will be a severe struggle, yet, as she has youth and a goodconstitution on her side, I do not despair. If she herself would secondme, I should be yet more confident."

  "How mean you?" inquired Leonard.

  "I think if she thought life worth a struggle--if, in short, shebelieved you would return her attachment, she would rally," answeredHodges.

  "I cannot consent to deceive her thus," rejoined Leonard, sadly. "Myheart is fixed elsewhere."

  "Your heart is fixed upon one who will soon be in her grave," repliedthe doctor.

  "And with her my affections will be buried," rejoined Leonard, turningaway to hide his tears.

  So well was the doctor's solicitude rewarded, that three days afterNizza had come under his care, he pronounced her out of danger. But theviolence of the attack left her so weak and exhausted, that he stillwould not allow an interview to take place between her and Leonard.During all this time Bell never left her side, and her presence was aninexpressible comfort to her. The piper, too, was slowly recovering, andLeonard, who daily visited him, was glad to learn from the youngchirurgeon that he would be able to leave the pest-house shortly. Havingascertained from Leonard that his daughter was under the care of DoctorHodges, and likely to do well, the piper begged so earnestly that thepacket might no
t be delivered to her, that, after some consultation withHodges, Leonard restored it to him. He was delighted to get it back,felt it carefully over to ascertain that the seals were unbroken, andsatisfied that all was safe, had it again sewn up in his gown, which heplaced under his pillow.

  "I would rather disclose the secret to her by word of mouth than in anyother way," he said.

  Leonard felt doubtful whether the secret would now be disclosed at all,but he made no remark.

  Night was drawing on as he quitted the pest-house, and he determined totake this opportunity of visiting the great plague-pit, which lay abouta quarter of a mile distant, in a line with the church ofAll-Hallows-in-the-Wall, and he accordingly proceeded in that direction.The pit which he was about to visit was about forty feet long, twentywide, and the like number deep. Into this tremendous chasm the dead werepromiscuously thrown, without regard to sex or condition, generallystripped of their clothing, and covered with a slight layer of earth andquick lime.

  The sun was setting as Leonard walked towards this dismal place, and hethought he had never witnessed so magnificent a sight. Indeed, it wasremarked that at this fatal season the sunsets were unusually splendid.The glorious orb sank slowly behind Saint Paul's, which formed aprominent object in the view from the fields, and threw out its centraltower, its massive roof, and the two lesser towers flanking the portico,into strong relief. Leonard gazed at the mighty fabric, which seemeddilated to twice its size by this light, and wondered whether it waspossible that it could ever be destroyed, as predicted by Solomon Eagle.

  Long after the sun had set, the sky was stained with crimson, and thegrey walls of the city were tinged with rosy radiance. The heat wasintense, and Leonard, to cool himself, sat down in the thick grass--for,though the crops were ready for the scythe, no mowers could befound--and, gazing upwards, strove to mount in spirit from the taintedearth towards heaven. After a while he arose, and proceeded towards theplague-pit. The grass was trampled down near it, and there were marks offrequent cart-wheels upon the sod. Great heaps of soil, thrown out ofthe excavation, lay on either side. Holding a handkerchief steeped invinegar to his face, Leonard ventured to the brink of the pit. But eventhis precaution could not counteract the horrible effluvia arising fromit. It was more than half filled with dead bodies; and through theputrid and heaving mass many disjointed limbs and ghastly faces could bediscerned, the long hair of women and the tiny arms of childrenappearing on the surface. It was a horrible sight--so horrible, that itpossessed a fascination peculiar to itself, and, in spite of hisloathing, Leonard lingered to gaze at it. Strange and fantastic thoughtspossessed him. He fancied that the legs and arms moved--that the eyes ofsome of the corpses opened and glared at him--and that the whole rottingmass was endowed with animation. So appalled was he by this idea that heturned away, and at that moment beheld a vehicle approaching. It was thedead-cart, charged with a heavy load to increase the already redundantheap.

  The same inexplicable and irresistible feelings of curiosity thatinduced Leonard to continue gazing upon the loathly objects in the pit,now prompted him to stay and see what would ensue. Two persons were withthe cart, and one of them, to Leonard's infinite surprise and disgust,proved to be Chowles. He had no time, however, for the expression of anysentiment, for the cart halted at a little distance from him, when itsconductors, turning it round, backed it towards the edge of the pit. Thehorse was then taken out, and Chowles calling to Leonard, the latterinvoluntarily knelt down to guide its descent, while the otherassistant, who had proceeded to the further side of the chasm, threw thelight of a lantern full upon the grisly load, which was thus shot intothe gulf below.

  Shovelling a sufficient quantity of earth and lime into the pit to coverthe bodies, Chowles and his companion departed, leaving Leonard alone.He continued there a few moments longer, and was about to follow them,when a prolonged and piercing cry smote his ear; and, looking in thedirection of the sound, he perceived a figure running with greatswiftness towards the pit. As no pursuers appeared, Leonard couldscarcely doubt that this was one of the distracted persons he had heardof, who, in the frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of theirsores, would often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and hetherefore resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt.Accordingly, he placed himself in the way of the runner, andendeavoured, with outstretched arms, to stop him. But the latter dashedhim aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit,uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, "She is here! she is here!--Ishall find her amongst them!"--flung himself into the abyss.

  As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this dreadfulaction, Leonard ran to the pit, and, gazing into it, beheld him by theimperfect light struggling in the horrible mass in which he waspartially immersed. The frenzied man had now, however, begun to repenthis rashness, and cried out for aid. But this Leonard found itimpossible to afford him; and, seeing he must speedily perish if left tohimself, he ran after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as itreached Moor-gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him toreturn.

  "There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, in a toneof indifference. "We shall have to take him back in a couple of hours.No, no--let him remain where he is. There is scarcely a night that somecrazy being does not destroy himself in the same way. We never concernourselves about such persons except to strip them of their apparel."

  "Unfeeling wretch!" cried Leonard, unable to restrain his indignation."Give me your fork, and I will pull him out myself."

  Instead of surrendering the implement, Chowles flourished it over hishead with the intention of striking the apprentice, but the latternimbly avoided the blow, and snatching it from his grasp, ran back tothe plague-pit. He was followed by Chowles and the burier, whothreatened him with loud oaths. Regardless of their menaces, Leonardfixed the hook in the dress of the struggling man, and exerting all hisstrength, drew him out of the abyss. He had just lodged him in safety onthe brink when Chowles and his companion came up.

  "Keep off!" cried Leonard, brandishing his fork as he spoke; "you shallneither commit robbery nor murder here. If you will assist thisunfortunate gentleman, I have no doubt you will be well rewarded. Ifnot, get hence, or advance at your peril."

  "Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something might be made ofthe matter, "if you think we should be rewarded, we would convey thegentleman back to his own home provided we can ascertain where it is.But I am afraid he may die on the way."

  "In that case you can apply to his friends," rejoined Leonard. "He mustnot be abandoned thus."

  "First, let us know who he is," returned Chowles. "Is he able to speak?"

  "I know not," answered Leonard. "Bring the lantern this way, and let usexamine his countenance."

  Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate person. Hisattire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied by the loathsomemass in which he had been plunged. He was in the flower of youth, andhis features must have been remarkable for their grace and beauty, butthey were now of a livid hue, and swollen and distorted by pain. StillLeonard recognised them.

  "Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed. "It is Sir Paul Parravicin."

  "Sir Paul Parravicin!" echoed Chowles. "By all that's wonderful, so itis! Here is a lucky chance! Bring the dead-cart hither, Jonas--quick,quick! I shall put him under the care of Judith Malmayns."

  And the burier hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

  "Had I known who it was," exclaimed Leonard, gazing with abhorrence atthe miserable object before him, "I would have left him to die the deathhe so richly merits!"

  A deep groan broke from the sufferer.

  "Have no fear, Sir Paul," said Chowles. "You are in good hands. Everycare shall be taken of you, and you shall be cured by Judith Malmayns."

  "She shall not come near me," rejoined Parravicin, faintly. "You willtake care of me?" he added in an imploring tone, to Leonard.

  "You appeal in vain to me," rejoined the apprentice, sternly. "Y
ou arejustly punished for your treatment of Nizza Macascree."

  "I am--I am," groaned Parravicin, "but she will be speedily avenged. Ishall soon join her in that pit."

  "She is not there," replied Leonard, bitterly, "She is fast recoveringfrom the plague."

  "Is she not dead?" demanded Parravicin, with frightful eagerness. "I wastold she was thrown into that horrible chasm."

  "You were deceived," replied Leonard. "She was taken to the pest-houseby your orders, and would have perished if she had not found a friend toaid her. She is now out of danger."

  "Then I no longer desire to die," cried Parravicin, desperately. "I willlive--live."

  "Do not delude yourself," replied Leonard, coldly; "you have littlechance of recovery, and should employ the short time left you in prayingto Heaven for forgiveness of your sins."

  "Tush!" exclaimed Parravicin, fiercely, "I shall not weary Heaven withineffectual supplications. I well know I am past all forgiveness. No,"he added, with a fearful imprecation, "since Nizza is alive, I will notdie."

  "Right, Sir Paul, right," rejoined Chowles; "put a bold face on it, andI will answer for it you will get over the attack. Have no fear ofJudith Malmayns," he added, in a significant tone. "However she maytreat others, she will cure _you_."

  "I will make it worth her while to do so," rejoined Parravicin.

  "Here is the cart," cried Chowles, seeing the vehicle approach. "I willtake you in the first place to Saint Paul's. Judith must see you as soonas possible."

  "Take me where you please," rejoined Parravicin, faintly; "and rememberwhat I have said. If I die, the nurse will get nothing--if I am cured,she shall be proportionately rewarded."

  "I will not forget it," replied Chowles. And with the help of Jonas heplaced the knight carefully in the cart. "You need not trouble yourselffurther about him," he added to Leonard.

  "Before be quits this place I must know who he is," rejoined the latter,placing himself at the horse's head.

  "You know his name as well as I do," replied Chowles.

  "Parravicin is not his real name," rejoined Leonard.

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Chowles, "this is news to me. But no matter who heis, he is rich enough to pay well. So stand aside, and let us go. Wehave no time to waste in further parleying."

  "I will not move till my question is answered," replied Leonard.

  "We will see to that," said Jonas, approaching him behind, and dealinghim so severe a blow on the head that he stretched him senseless on theground? "Shall we throw him into the pit?" he added to Chowles.

  The latter hesitated for a moment, and then said, "No, no, it is notworth while. It may bring us into trouble. We have no time to lose." Andthey then put the cart in motion, and took the way to Saint Paul's.

  On coming to himself, Leonard had some difficulty in recalling what hadhappened; and when the whole train of circumstances rushed upon hismind, he congratulated himself that he had escaped further injury. "WhenI think of the hands I have been placed in," he murmured, "I cannot butbe grateful that they did not throw me into the pit, where no discoverycould have been made as to how I came to an end. But I will not resttill I have ascertained the name and rank of Nizza's persecutor. I haveno doubt they have taken him to Saint Paul's, and will proceed thitherat once."

  With this view, he hastened towards the nearest city gate, and passingtowards it, shaped his course towards the cathedral. It was a finestarlight night, and though there was no moon, the myriad lustresglowing in the deep and cloudless vault rendered every object plainlydistinguishable. At this hour, little restraint was placed upon thesick, and they wandered about the streets uttering dismal cries. Somewould fling themselves upon bulks or steps, where they were notunfrequently found the next morning bereft of life. Most of those notattacked by the distemper kept close house; but there were some fewreckless beings who passed the night in the wildest revelry, braving thefate awaiting them. As Leonard passed Saint Michael's church, inBasinghall-street, he perceived, to his great surprise, that it waslighted up, and at first supposed some service was going on within it,but on approaching he heard strains of lively and most irreverent musicissuing from within. Pushing open the door, he entered the sacrededifice, and found it occupied by a party of twenty young men,accompanied by a like number of females, some of whom were playing atdice and cards, some drinking, others singing Bacchanalian melodies,others dancing along the aisles to the notes of a theorbo and spinet.Leonard was so inexpressibly shocked by what he beheld, that unable tocontain himself he mounted the steps of the pulpit, and called to themin a loud voice to desist from their scandalous conduct, and no longerprofane the house of God. But they treated his remonstrances withlaughter and derision, and some of the party forming themselves into agroup round the pulpit, entreated him to preach to them.

  "We want a little variety," said one of the group, a good-looking youngman, upon whom the wine had evidently made some impression--"we aretired of drinking and play, and may as well listen to a sermon,especially an original one. Hold forth to us, I say."

  "I would, hold forth till daybreak, if I thought it would produce anyimpression," returned Leonard. "But I perceive you are too hardened tobe aroused to repentance."

  "Repentance!" cried another of the assemblage. "Do you know whom youaddress? These gentlemen are the Brotherhood of Saint Michael, and I amthe principal. We are determined to enjoy the few days or hours we mayhave left--that is all. We are not afraid of the future, and areresolved to make the most of the present."

  "Ay, ay," cried the others, with a great shout of laughter, which,however, was interrupted by a cry of anguish from one of the party.

  "There is another person seized," said the principal; "take him away,brothers. This is owing to listening to a sermon. Let us return to ourwine."

  "Will you not accept this awful warning?" cried Leonard. "You will allshare your companion's fate."

  "We anticipate nothing else," returned the principal; "and are thereforeresolved to banish reflection. A week ago, the Brotherhood of SaintMichael consisted of forty persons. We are already diminished to halfthe number, but are not the less merry on that account. On the contrary,we are more jovial than ever. We have agreed that whoever shall beseized with the distemper, shall be instantly conveyed to thepest-house, so that the hilarity of the others shall not be interrupted.The poor fellow who has just been attacked has left behind him abeautiful mistress. She is yours if you choose to join us."

  "Ay, stop with us," cried a young and very pretty woman, taking his handand drawing him towards the company who were dancing beneath the aisles.

  But Leonard disengaged himself, and hurried away amid the laughter andhootings of the assemblage. The streets, despite their desolateappearance, were preferable to the spot he had just quitted, and heseemed to breathe more freely when he got to a little distance from thepolluted fane. He had now entered Wood-street, but all was as still asdeath, and he paused to gaze up at his master's window, but there was noone at it. Many a lover, unable to behold the object of his affections,has in some measure satisfied the yearning of his heart by gazing at herdwelling, and feeling he was near her. Many a sad heart has been cheeredby beholding a light at a window, or a shadow on its closed curtains,and such would have been Leonard's feelings if he had not been depressedby the thought of Amabel's precarious state of health.

  While thus wrapt in mournful thought, he observed three figures slowlyapproaching from the further end of the street, and he instinctivelywithdrew into a doorway. He had reason to congratulate himself upon theprecaution, as, when the party drew nearer, he recognised, with a pangthat shot to his heart, the voice of Rochester. A moment's observationfrom his place of concealment showed him that the earl was accompaniedby Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. They paused within a shortdistance of him, and he could distinctly hear their conversation.

  "You have not yet told us why you brought us here my lord," saidEtherege to Rochester, after the latter had gazed for a few moments insilence at the house. "Are you
resolved to make another attempt to carryoff the girl--and failing in it, to give her up for ever!"

  "You have guessed my purpose precisely," returned Rochester. "DoctorHodges has informed a friend of mine that the pretty Amabel has falleninto a decline. The poor soul is, doubtless, pining for me; and it wouldbe the height of inhumanity to let her perish."

  Leonard ground his teeth-with suppressed rage.

  "Then you mean to make her Countess of Rochester, after all," laughedEtherege. "I thought you had determined to carry off Mistress Mallett."

  "Old Bowley declares he will send me to the Tower if I do," repliedRochester; "and though his threats would scarcely deter me from actingas I think proper, I have no inclination for marriage at present. What apity, Etherege, that one cannot in these affairs have the money oneself,and give the wife to one's friend."

  "That is easily accomplished," replied Etherege, laughingly; "especiallywhere you have a friend so devoted as myself. But do you mean to carryoff Amabel to-night?"

  "Ay, now we come to business," interposed Pillichody. "Bolts andbarricadoes! your lordship has only to say the word, and I will breakinto the house, and bear her off for you."

  "Your former conduct is a good guarantee for your present success,truly," returned Rochester, with a sneer. "No, no; I shall postpone mydesign for the present. I have ascertained, from the source whence Iobtained information of Amabel's illness, that she is to be removed intothe country. This will exactly suit my purpose, and put her completelyin my power."

  "Then nothing is to be done to-night?" said Pillichody, secretlycongratulating himself on his escape. "By my sword! I feel equal to themost desperate attempt."

  "Your courage and dexterity must be reserved for some more favourableoccasion," replied Rochester.

  "If not to carry off the girl, I must again inquire why your lordshiphas come hither?" demanded Etherege.

  "To be frank with you, my sole motive was to gaze at the house thatcontains her," replied Rochester, in a voice that bespoke his sincerity."I have before told you that she has a strong hold upon my heart. I havenot seen her for some weeks, and during that time have endeavoured toobliterate her image by making love to a dozen others. But it will notdo. She still continues absolute mistress of my affections. I sometimesthink, if I can obtain her in no other way, I shall be rash enough tomarry her."

  "Pshaw! this must never be," said Etherege.

  "Were I to lose her altogether, I should be inconsolable," criedRochester.

  "As inconsolable as I am for the rich widow of Watling-street, who dieda fortnight ago of the plague, and left her wealth to her footman,"replied Pillichody, drawing forth his handkerchief and applying it tohis eyes--"oh! oh!"

  "Silence, fool!" cried Rochester: "I am in no mood for buffoonery. Ifyou shed tears for any one, it should be for your master."

  "Truly, I am grieved for him," replied Pillichody; "but I object to theterm 'master.' Sir Paul Parravicin, as he chooses to be called, is mypatron, not my master. He permits me a very close familiarity, not tosay friendship."

  "Well, then, your patron," rejoined Rochester, scornfully. "How is hegoing on to-night?"

  "I feared to tell your lordship," replied Pillichody, "lest it shouldspoil your mirth; but he broke out of his chamber a few hours ago, andhas not been discovered since. Most likely, he will be found in theplague-pit or the Thames in the morning, for he was in such aninfuriated state, that it is the opinion of his attendants he wouldcertainly destroy himself. You know he was attacked two days after NizzaMacascree was seized by the pestilence, and his brain has been runningupon the poor girl ever since."

  "Alas!" exclaimed Rochester, "it is a sad end. I am wearied of thisinfected city, and shall be heartily glad to quit it. A few months inthe country with Amabel will be enchanting."

  "_Apropos_ of melancholy subjects," said Etherege, "your masque of theDance of Death has caused great consternation at court. Mistress Stewartdeclares she cannot get that strange fellow who performed such fantastictricks in the skeleton-dance out of her head."

  "You mean Chowles," replied the earl. "He is a singular being,certainly--once a coffin-maker, and now, I believe, a burier of thedead. He takes up his abode in a crypt of Saint Faith's and leads anincomprehensible life. As we return we shall pass the cathedral, and cansee whether he is astir."

  "Readily," replied Etherege. "Do you desire to tarry here longer, orshall we proceed before you, while you indulge your tender meditationsundisturbed?"

  "Leave me," replied Rochester; "I shall be glad to be alone for a fewmoments."

  Etherege and Pillichody then proceeded slowly towards Cheapside, whilethe earl remained with his arms folded upon his breast, and his gazefixed upon the house. Leonard watched him with intense curiosity, andhad great difficulty in controlling himself. Though the earl was armed,while he had only his staff, he could have easily mastered him byassailing him unawares. But Leonard's generous nature revolted at theunworthy suggestion, and he resolved, if he attacked him at all, to givehim time to stand upon his guard. A moment's reflection, however,satisfied him that his wisest course would be to remain concealed. Hewas now in possession of the earl's plan, and, with the help of DoctorHodges, could easily defeat it; whereas if he appeared, it would beevident that he had overheard what had passed, and some other scheme, towhich he could not be privy, would be necessarily adopted. Influenced bythis consideration, he suffered the earl to depart unmolested, and whenhe had got to some distance followed him. Rochester's companions werewaiting for him in Cheapside, and, joining them, they all threeproceeded towards the cathedral. They entered the great northern door;and Leonard, who was now well acquainted with all the approaches, passedthrough the door at the north side of the choir, to which he had beendirected on a former occasion by Solomon Eagle. He found the partyguided by the old verger--the only one of its former keepers who stilllingered about the place--and preparing to descend to Saint Faith's.Leonard followed as near as he could without exposing himself, and, ongaining the subterranean church, easily contrived to screen himselfbehind the ponderous ranks of pillars.

  By this time they had reached the door of the charnel It was closed; butRochester knocked against it, and Chowles presently appeared. He seemedgreatly surprised at seeing the earl, nor was the latter less astonishedwhen he learnt that Parravicin was within the vault. He desired to beshown to his friend, and Chowles ushered him into the crypt. Leonardwould have followed them; but as Etherege and the others declinedentering the charnel, and remained at the door, he could not do so.

  Shortly after this the sick man was brought out, stretched upon apallet, borne by Chowles and Judith; and the party proceeded slowly, andoccasionally relieving each other, to the great western entrance, wherea coach being procured by Pillichody, Parravicin was placed within it,with Judith and Chowles; and orders being given in an under-tone to thedriver, he departed. The others then proceeded towards Ludgate, whileLeonard, again disappointed, retraced his steps to Wood-street.

  * * * * *

  V.

  HOW SAINT PATHOS WAS USED AS A PEST-HOUSE.

  The distemper had by this time increased to such a frightful extent,that the pest-houses being found wholly inadequate to contain the numberof sick persons sent to them, it was resolved by the civic authorities,who had obtained the sanction of the Dean and Chapter of Saint Paul'sfor that purpose, to convert the cathedral into a receptacle for theinfected. Accordingly, a meeting was held in the Convocation House tomake final arrangements. It was attended by Sir John Lawrence, the LordMayor; by Sir George Waterman, and Sir Charles Doe, sheriffs; by DoctorSheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury; by the Duke of Albemarle, the Earl ofCraven, and, a few other zealous and humane persons. Several members ofthe College of Physicians were likewise present, and, amongst others,Doctor Hodges; and the expediency of the measure being fully agreedupon, it was determined to carry it into immediate execution.

  The cloisters surrounding the Convocation House were crowded with s
ickpersons, drawn thither by the rumour of what was going forward; and whenthe meeting adjourned to the cathedral, these unfortunate beingsfollowed them, and were with some difficulty kept aloof from theuninfected by the attendants. A very earnest and touching address wasnext pronounced by the archbishop. Calling upon his hearers to look uponthemselves as already dead to the world,--to regard the presentvisitation as a just punishment of their sins, and to rejoice that theirsufferings would be so soon terminated, when, if they sincerely andheartily repented, they would at once be transported from the depths ofwretchedness and misery to regions of unfading bliss; he concluded bystating that he, and all those around him, were prepared to devotethemselves, without regard to their own safety, to the preservation oftheir fellow-citizens, and that they would leave nothing undone to stopthe ravages of the devouring scourge.

  It chanced that Leonard Holt was present on this occasion, and as helistened to the eloquent discourse of the archbishop, and gazed at thegroup around him, all equally zealous in the good cause, and equallyregardless of themselves, he could not but indulge a hope that theirexertions might be crowned with success. It was indeed a touching sightto see the melancholy congregation to whom his address wasdelivered--many, nay most of whom were on the verge of dissolution;--andLeonard Holt was so moved by the almost apostolic fervour of theprelate, that, but for the thought of Amabel, he might have followed theexample of several of the auditors, and devoted himself altogether tothe service of the sick.

  His discourse concluded, the archbishop and most of his companionsquitted the cathedral. Hodges, however, and three of the physicians,remained behind to superintend the necessary preparations. Shortlyafter, a large number of pallets were brought in, and ranged along thenave and aisles at short distances from each other; and, before night,the interior of the structure presented the complete appearance of anhospital. Acting under the directions of Doctor Hodges, Leonard Holtlent his assistance in arranging the pallets, in covering them withbedding and blankets, and in executing any other service required ofhim. A sufficient number of chirurgeons and nurses were then sent for,and such was the expedition used, that on that very night most of thepallets were occupied. Thus the cathedral underwent another afflictingchange. A blight had come over it, mildewing its holy walls, andtainting and polluting its altars. Its aisles, once trodden by grave andreverend ecclesiastics, and subsequently haunted by rufflers, bullies,and other worthless characters, were now filled with miserable wretches,stricken with a loathsome and fatal distemper. Its chapels and shrinesformerly adorned with rich sculptures and costly ornaments, but strippedof them at times when they were looked upon as idolatrous and profane,were now occupied by nurses, chirurgeons, and their attendants; whileevery niche and corner was filled with surgical implements, phials,drugs, poultices, foul rags, and linen.

  In less than a week after it had been converted into a pest-house, thecathedral was crowded to overflowing. Upwards of three hundred palletswere set up in the nave, in the aisles, in the transepts, and in thechoir, and even in the chapels. But these proving insufficient, manypoor wretches who were brought thither were placed on the cold flags,and protected only by a single blanket. At night the scene was reallyterrific. The imperfect light borne by the attendants fell on thecouches, and revealed the livid countenances of their occupants; whilethe vaulted roof rang with shrieks and groans so horrible andheart-piercing as to be scarcely endured, except by those whose nerveswere firmly strung, or had become blunted by their constant recurrence.At such times, too, some unhappy creature, frenzied by agony, wouldburst from his couch, and rend the air with his cries, until overtakenand overpowered by his attendants. On one occasion, it happened that apoor wretch, who had been thus caught, broke loose a second time, anddarting through a door leading to the stone staircase in the northerntransept gained the ambulatory, and being closely followed, to escapehis pursuers, sprang through one of the arched openings, and fallingfrom a height of near sixty feet, was dashed in pieces on the flaggedfloor beneath.

  A walk through this mighty lazar-house would have furnished a wholesomelesson to the most reckless observer. It seemed to contain all the sickof the city. And yet it was not so. Hundreds were expiring in their owndwellings, and the other pest-houses continued crowded as before. Still,as a far greater number of the infected were here congregated, and couldbe seen at one view, the picture was incomparably more impressive. Everypart of the cathedral was occupied. Those who could not find room insideit crouched beneath the columns of the portico on rugs or blankets, andimplored the chirurgeons as they passed to attend them. Want of roomalso drove others into Saint Faith's, and here the scene was, ifpossible, more hideous. In this dismal region it was found impossible toobtain a free circulation of air, and consequently the pestilentialeffluvia, unable to escape, acquired such malignancy, that it was almostcertain destruction to inhale it. After a time, few of the nurses andattendants would venture thither; and to take a patient to Saint Faith'swas considered tantamount to consigning him to the grave.

  Whether Judith Malmayns had succeeded or not in curing Sir PaulParravicin, it is not our present purpose to relate. Soon after thecathedral was converted into a lazar-house she returned thither, and, inspite of the opposition of Doctor Hodges, was appointed one of thenurses. It must not be supposed that her appointment was the result ofany ill design. Such was the difficulty of obtaining attendance, thatlittle choice was left, and the nurses being all of questionablecharacter, it was supposed she was only a shade worse than her fellows,while she was known to be active and courageous. And this was speedilyproved; for when Saint Faith's was deserted by the others, she remainedat her post, and quitted it neither night nor day. A large pit wasdigged in the open space at the north-east corner of the cathedral, andto this great numbers of bodies were nightly conveyed by Chowles andJonas. But it was soon filled, and they were compelled to resort, asbefore, to Finsbury Fields, and to another vast pit near Aldgate. Whennot engaged in this revolting employment, Chowles took up his quartersin the crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, heindulged himself in his customary revelry. He and Judith had amassed, inone way or other, a vast quantity of spoil, and frequently planned howthey would spend it when the pestilence ceased. Their treasure wascarefully concealed in a cell in one of the secret passages with whichthey were acquainted, leading from Saint Faith's to the upper structure.

  One night, on his return from Finsbury Fields, as Chowles was seated inthe crypt, with a pipe in his mouth, and a half-finished flask of winebefore him, he was startled by the sudden entrance of Judith, who,rushing up to him, seized him by the throat, and almost choked himbefore he could extricate himself.

  "What is the matter?--would you strangle me, you murderous harridan?" hecried.

  "Ay, that I would," replied Judith, preparing to renew the attack.

  "Stand off!" rejoined Chowles, springing back, and snatching up a spade,"or I will dash out your brains. Are you mad?" he continued, gazingfearfully at her.

  "I am angry enough to make me so," she replied, shaking her clenchedfists at him. "But I will be revenged--revenged, I tell you."

  "Revenged!" cried Chowles, in astonishment--"for what! What have Idone!"

  "You do well to affect ignorance," rejoined Judith, "but you cannotdeceive me. No one but you can have done it."

  "Done what!" exclaimed Chowles, in increased astonishment. "Has ourhoard been discovered?"

  "Ay, and been carried off--by you--you!" screamed Judith, with a lookworthy of a fury.

  "By my soul, you are wrong," cried Chowles. "I have never touchedit,--never even approached the hiding-place, except in your presence."

  "Liar!" returned Judith, "the whole hoard is gone;--the plunder Iobtained in Newgate,--the Earl of Rochester's plate,--all the rings,trinkets, and rich apparel I have picked up since,--everything isgone;--and who but you can be the robber?"

  "It is difficult to say," rejoined Chowles. "But I swear to you, yoususpect me wrongfully."

  "Restore it," repli
ed Judith, "or tell me where it is hidden. If not, Iwill be the death of you!"

  "Let us go to the hiding-place," replied Chowles, whose uneasiness wasnot diminished by the menace. "You may be mistaken, and I hope you are."

  Though he uttered the latter part of his speech with seeming confidence,his heart misgave him. To conceal his trepidation, he snatched up alamp, and passing through the secret door, hurried along the narrowstone passage. He was about to open the cell, when he perceived near itthe tall figure of the enthusiast.

  "There is the robber," he cried to Judith. "I have found him. It isSolomon Eagle. Villain! you have purloined our hoard!"

  "I have done so," replied Solomon Eagle, "and I will carry off all otherspoil you may obtain. Think not to hide it from me. I can watch you whenyou see me not, and track you when you suppose me afar off."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Chowles, trembling. "I begin to think he ispossessed of supernatural power," he added, in an undertone to Judith.

  "Go on," pursued Solomon Eagle, "continue to plunder and destroy. Pursueyour guilty career, and see what reward you will reap."

  "Restore what you have robbed us of," cried Judith in a menacing tone,"or dread the consequences."

  "Woman, you threaten idly," returned Solomon Eagle. "Your ill-gottentreasure is gone--whither, you will never know. Get hence!" he added, ina terrible tone, "or I will rid the earth of you both."

  So awed were they by his voice and gestures, that they slunk away with adiscomfited air, and returned to the crypt.

  "If we are always to be robbed in this manner," observed Chowles, "wehad better shift our quarters, and practise elsewhere."

  "He shall not repeat the offence with impunity," returned Judith. "Iwill speedily get rid of him."

  "Beware!" cried a voice, which they recognised as that of Solomon Eagle,though whence proceeding they could not precisely determine. The pairlooked at each other uneasily, but neither spoke a word.

  Meanwhile, Leonard Holt did not omit to pay a daily visit to thecathedral. It was a painful contemplation, and yet not without deepinterest, to behold the constant succession of patients, most of whomwere swept away by the scourge in the course of a couple of days, oreven in a shorter period. Out of every hundred persons attacked, fivedid not recover; and whether the virulence of the distemper increased,or the summer heats rendered its victims more easily assailable, certainit is they were carried off far more expeditiously than before. DoctorHodges was unremitting in his attentions, but his zeal and anxietyavailed nothing. He had to contend with a disease over which medicineexercised little control.

  One morning, as he was about to enter the cathedral, he met Leonardbeneath the portico, and as soon as the latter caught sight of him, hehurried towards him.

  "I have been in search of you," he said, "and was about to proceed toyour residence. Mr. Bloundel wishes to see you immediately. Amabel isworse."

  "I will go with you at once," replied the doctor.

  And they took the way to Wood-street.

  "From a few words let fall by my master, I imagine he intends sendingAmabel into the country to-morrow," said Leonard, as they proceeded.

  "I hope so," replied Hodges. "He has already delayed it too long. Youwill be glad to hear that Nizza Macascree is quite recovered. To-morrow,or the next day, she will be able to see you with safety."

  "Heaven knows where I may be to-morrow," rejoined Leonard. "WhereverAmabel goes, I shall not be far off."

  "Faithful to the last!" exclaimed Hodges. "Well, I shall not oppose you.We must take care the Earl of Rochester does not get a hint of ourproceeding. At this time a chance meeting (were it nothing more) mightprove fatal to the object of our solicitude."

  Leonard said nothing, but the colour fled his cheek, and his lipsslightly quivered. In a few seconds more they reached the grocer'shouse.

  They found him at the window anxiously expecting them; and DoctorHodges, being drawn up in the same way as before, was conducted toAmabel's chamber. She was reclining in an easy-chair, with the Bible onher knee; and though she was much wasted away, she looked more lovelythan ever. A slight hectic flush increased the brilliancy of her eyes,which had now acquired that ominous lustre peculiar to persons in adecline. There were other distressing symptoms in her appearance whichthe skilful physician well knew how to interpret. To an inexperiencedeye, however, she would have appeared charming. Nothing could exceed thedelicacy of her complexion, or the lovely mould of her features, which,though they had lost much of their fulness and roundness, had gained inexpression; while the pencilled brows clearly traced upon her snowyforehead, the long dark eyelashes shading her cheek, and the rich satintresses drooping over her shoulders, completed her attractions. Hermother stood by her side, and not far from her sat little Christiana,amusing herself with some childish toy, and ever and anon stealing ananxious glance at her sister. Taking Amabel's arm, and sighing tohimself to think how thin it was, the doctor placed his finger upon herpulse. Whatever might be his secret opinion, he thought fit to assume ahopeful manner, and looking smilingly at her, said, "You are better thanI expected, but your departure to the country must not be deferred."

  "Since it is my father's wish that I should do so," replied Amabel,gently, "I am quite willing to comply. But I feel it will be of noavail, and I would rather pass the rest of my life here than withstrangers. I cannot be happier than I am now."

  "Perhaps not," replied Hodges; "but a few weeks spent in some salubriousspot will remove all apprehensions as to your health. You will find yourstrength return, and with it the desire of life."

  "My life is in the hands of my Maker," replied Amabel, "and I am readyto resign it whenever it shall be required of me. At the same time,however anxious I may be to quit a world which appears a blank to me, Iwould make every effort, for the sake of those whose happiness is dearerto me than my own, to purchase a complete restoration to health. If myfather desires me to try a removal to the country, and you think it willhave a beneficial effect, I am ready to go. But do not urge it, unlessyou think there is a chance of my recovery."

  "I will tell you frankly," replied the doctor, "if you remain here, youhave not many weeks to live."

  "But if I go, will you promise me health?" rejoined Amabel. "Do notdeceive me. Is there a hope?"

  "Unquestionably," replied the doctor. "Change of air will work wonders."

  "I beseech you not to hesitate--for my sake do not, dearest daughter,"said Mrs. Bloundel, with difficulty repressing tears.

  "And for mine," added her father, more firmly, yet with deep emotion.

  "I have already expressed my readiness to accede to your wishes,"replied Amabel. "Whenever you have made arrangements for me, I will setout."

  "And now comes the question--where is she to go?" remarked Hodges.

  "I have a sister, who lives as housekeeper at Lord Craven's seat,Ashdown Park," replied Mr. Bloundel. "She shall go thither, and her auntwill take every care of her. The mansion is situated amid the Berkshirehills, and the air is the purest and best in England."

  "Nothing can be better," replied Hodges; "but who is to escort herthither?"

  "Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloundel. "He will gladly undertake theoffice."

  "No doubt," rejoined Hodges; "but cannot you go yourself?"

  "Impossible!" returned the grocer, a shade passing over his countenance.

  "Neither do I wish it," observed Amabel. "I am content to be under thesafeguard of Leonard."

  "Amabel," said her father, "you know not what I shall endure in thusparting with you. I would give all I possess to be able to accompanyyou, but a sense of duty restrains me. I have taken the resolution toremain here with my family during the continuance of the pestilence, andI must abide by it. I little thought how severely my constancy would betried. But hard though it be, I must submit I shall commit you,therefore, to the care of an all-merciful Providence, who will not failto watch over and protect you."

  "Have no fear for me, father," replied Amabel; "and do not weep, dearmo
ther," she added to Mrs. Bloundel, who, unable to restrain her grief,was now drowned in tears; "I shall be well cared for. If we meet no morein this world, our reunion is certain in that to come. I have given youmuch pain and uneasiness, but it will be an additional grief to me if Ithink you feel further anxiety on my account."

  "We do not, my dear child," replied Mr. Bloundel. "I am well assured allis for the best, and if it pleases Heaven to spare you, I shall rejoicebeyond measure in your return. If not, I shall feel a firm reliance thatyou will continue in the same happy frame, as at present, to the last,and that we shall meet above, where there will be no furtherseparation."

  "I cannot bear to part with her," cried Mrs. Bloundel, clasping her armsround her daughter--"I cannot--I cannot!"

  "Restrain yourself, Honora," said her husband; "you will do her aninjury."

  "She must not be over excited," interposed Hodges, in a low tone, andgently drawing the afflicted mother away. "The sooner," he added to Mr.Bloundel, "she now sets out the better."

  "I feel it," replied the grocer. "She shall start to-morrow morning."

  "I will undertake to procure horses," replied Hodges, "and Leonard willbe ready at any moment."

  With this, he took his leave, and descending by the pulley, communicatedto Leonard what had occurred.

  In spite of his fears on her account, the prospect of again beholdingAmabel so transported the apprentice that he could scarcely attend towhat was said respecting her. When he grew calmer, it was arranged thatall should be in readiness at an early hour on the following morning;that a couple of horses should be provided; and that Amabel should belet down fully equipped for the journey. This settled, Leonard, at thedoctor's request, accompanied him to his residence.

  They were scarcely out of sight, when a man, who had been concealedbehind the hutch, in such a position that not a word that had passedescaped him, issued from his hiding-place, and darting down the firstalley on the right, made the best of his way to Whitehall.

  Up to this time, Doctor Hodges had not judged it prudent to allow ameeting between Leonard and Nizza Macascree, but now, from reasons ofhis own, he resolved no longer to delay it. Accordingly, on reaching hisdwelling, he took the apprentice to her chamber. She was standing in apensive attitude, near a window which looked towards the river, and asshe turned on his entrance, Leonard perceived that her eyes were filledwith tears. Blushing deeply, she advanced towards him, and greeted himwith all the warmth of her affectionate nature. She had quite recoveredher good looks, and Leonard could not but admit that, had he seen herbefore his heart was plighted to another, it must have been given toher. Comparisons are ungracious, and tastes differ more perhaps as tobeauty than on any other point; but if Amabel and the piper's daughterhad been placed together, it would not have been difficult to determineto which of the two the palm of superior loveliness should be assigned.There was a witchery in the magnificent black eyes of the latter--in herexquisitely-formed mouth and pearly teeth--in her clear nut-browncomplexion--in her dusky and luxuriant tresses, and in her light elasticfigure, with which more perfect but less piquant charms could notcompete. Such seemed to be the opinion of Doctor Hodges, for as he gazedat her with unaffected admiration, he exclaimed, as if to himself--"I'faith, if I had to choose between the two, I know which it would be."

  This exclamation somewhat disconcerted the parties to whom it referred,and the doctor did not relieve their embarrassment by adding, "Well, Iperceive I am in the way. You must have much to say to each other thatcan in nowise interest me. Excuse me a moment, while I see that thehorses are ordered."

  So saying, and disregarding Leonard's expostulating looks, he hurriedout of the room, and shut the door after him.

  Hitherto, the conversation had been unrestrained and agreeable on bothsides, but now they were left alone together, neither appeared able toutter a word. Nizza cast her eyes timidly on the ground, while Leonardcaressed little Bell, who had been vainly endeavouring by her gamesometricks to win his attention.

  "Doctor Hodges spoke of ordering horses," said Nizza, at length breakingsilence. "Are you going on a journey?"

  "I am about to take Amabel to Ashdown Park, in Berkshire, to-morrowmorning," replied Leonard. "She is dangerously ill."

  "Of the plague?" asked Nizza, anxiously.

  "Of a yet worse disorder," replied Leonard, heaving a deep sigh--"of abroken heart."

  "Alas! I pity her from my soul!" replied Nizza, in a tone of the deepestcommiseration. "Does her mother go with her?"

  "No," replied Leonard, "I alone shall attend her. She will be placedunder the care of a near female relative at Ashdown."

  "Would it not be better,--would it not be safer, if she is in theprecarious state you describe, that some one of her own sex shouldaccompany her?" said Nizza.

  "I should greatly prefer it," rejoined Leonard, "and so I am sure wouldAmabel. But where is such a person to be found?"

  "I will go with you, if you desire it," replied Nizza, "and will watchover her, and tend her as a sister."

  "Are you equal to the journey?" inquired Leonard, somewhat doubtfully.

  "Fully," replied Nizza. "I am entirely recovered, and able to undergofar more fatigues than an invalid like Amabel."

  "It will relieve me from a world of anxiety if this can beaccomplished," rejoined Leonard. "I will consult Doctor Hodges on thesubject on his return."

  "What do you desire to consult me about?" cried the physician, who hadentered the room unobserved at this juncture.

  The apprentice stated Nizza's proposal to him.

  "I entirely approve of the plan," observed the doctor; "it will obviatemany difficulties. I have just received a message from Mr. Bloundel, byDallison, the porter, to say he intends sending Blaize with you. I willtherefore provide pillions for the horses, so that the whole party canbe accommodated."

  He then sat down and wrote out minute instructions for Amabel'streatment, and delivering the paper to Leonard, desired him to give itto the housekeeper at Ashdown Park.

  "Heaven only knows what the result of all this may be!" he exclaimed."But nothing must be neglected."

  Leonard promised that his advice should be scrupulously attended to; andthe discourse then turning to Nizza's father, she expressed the utmostanxiety to see him before she set out.

  Hodges readily assented. "Your father has been discharged as cured fromthe pest-house," he said, "and is lodged at a cottage, kept by my oldnurse, Dame Lucas, just without the walls, near Moorgate. I will sendfor him."

  "On no account," replied Nizza. "I will go to him myself."

  "As you please," returned Hodges. "Leonard shall accompany you. You willeasily find the cottage. It is about two hundred yards beyond the gate,on the right, near the old doghouses."

  "I know the spot perfectly," rejoined Leonard.

  "I would recommend you to put on a mask," observed the doctor to Nizza;"it may protect you from molestation. I will find you one below."

  Leading the way to a lower room, he opened a drawer, and, producing asmall loo mask, gave it her. The youthful pair then quitted the house,Nizza taking Bell under her arm, as she intended leaving her with herfather. The necessity of the doctor's caution was speedily manifested,for as they crossed Saint Paul's churchyard they encountered Pillichody,who, glancing inquisitively at Nizza, seemed disposed to push hisinquiries further by attempting to take off her mask; but the fiercelook of the apprentice, who grasped his staff in a menacing manner,induced him to abandon his purpose. He, however, followed them alongCheapside, and would have continued the pursuit along the Old Jewry, ifLeonard had not come to a halt, and awaited his approach. He then tookto his heels, and did not again make his appearance.

  As they reached the open fields and slackened their pace, Leonard deemedit prudent to prepare his companion for her interview with her father bymentioning the circumstance of the packet, and the important secretwhich he had stated he had to disclose to her.

  "I cannot tell what the secret can relate to, unless it is to
mymother," rejoined Nizza. "She died, I believe, when I was an infant. Atall events, I never remember seeing her, and I have remarked that myfather is averse to talking about her. But I will now question him. Ihave reason to think this piece of gold," and she produced the amulet,"is in some way or other connected with the mystery."

  And she then explained to Leonard all that had occurred in the vaultwhen the coin had been shown to Judith Malmayns, describing the nurse'ssingular look and her father's subsequent anger.

  By this time, they had entered a narrow footpath leading across thefields in the direction of a little nest of cottages, and pursuing it,they came to a garden-gate. Opening it, they beheld the piper seatedbeneath a little porch covered with eglantine and roses. He was playinga few notes on his pipe, but stopped on hearing their approach. Bell,who had been put to the ground by Nizza, ran barking gleefully towardshim. Uttering a joyful exclamation, the piper stretched out his arms,and the next moment enfolded his daughter in a strict embrace. Leonardremained at the gate till the first transports of their meeting wereover, and then advanced slowly towards them.

  "Whose footsteps are those?" inquired the piper.

  Nizza explained.

  "Ah, is it Leonard Holt?" exclaimed the piper, extending his hand to theapprentice. "You are heartily welcome," he added; "and I am glad to findyou with Nizza. It is no secret to me that she likes you. She has beenan excellent daughter, and will make an excellent wife. He who weds herwill obtain a greater treasure than he expects."

  "Not than he expects," said Leonard.

  "Ay, than he expects," reiterated the piper. "You will one day find outthat I speak the truth."

  Leonard looked at Nizza, who was blushing deeply at her father's remark.She understood him.

  "Father," she said, "I understand you have a secret of importance todisclose to me. I am about to make a long journey to-morrow, and may notreturn for some time. At this uncertain season, when those who part knownot that they shall meet again, nothing of this sort ought to bewithheld."

  "You cannot know it while I live," replied the piper, "but I will takesuch precautions that, if anything happens to me, it shall be certainlyrevealed to you."

  "I am satisfied," she rejoined, "and will only ask you one fartherquestion, and I beseech you to answer it. Does this amulet refer to thesecret?"

  "It does," replied her father, sullenly; "and now let the subject bedropped."

  He then led the way into the cottage. The good old dame who kept it, onlearning who they were, and that they were sent by Doctor Hodges, gavethem a hearty welcome, and placed refreshments before them. Leonardcommented upon the extreme neatness of the abode and its healthfulsituation, and expressed a hope that it might not be visited by theplague.

  "I trust it will not," rejoined the old woman, shaking her head; "butwhen I hear the doleful bell at night--when I catch a glimpse of thefatal cart--or look towards yon dreadful place," and she pointed in thedirection of the plague-pit, which lay only a few hundred yards to thewest of her habitation--"I am reminded that the scourge is not far off,and that it must needs reach me ere long."

  "Have no fear, Dame Lucas," said the piper; "you see it has pleased amerciful Providence to spare the lives of myself, my child, and thisyoung man, and if you should be attacked, the same benificent Being maypreserve you in like manner."

  "The Lord's will be done!" rejoined Dame Lucas. "I know I shall be wellattended to by Doctor Hodges. I nursed him when he was an infant, and hehas been like a son to me. Bless his kind heart!" she exclaimed, hereyes filling with tears of gratitude, "there is not his like in London."

  "Always excepting my master," observed Leonard, with a smile at herenthusiasm.

  "I except no one," rejoined Dame Lucas. "A worthier man never lived,than Doctor Hodges. If I die of the plague," she continued, "he haspromised not to let me be thrown into that horrible pit--ough!--but tobury me in my garden, beneath the old apple-tree."

  "And he will keep his word, dame, I am sure," replied Leonard. "I wouldrecommend you, however, as the best antidote against the plague, to keepyourself constantly employed, and to indulge as few gloomy notions aspossible."

  "I am seldom melancholy, and still more seldom idle," replied the gooddame. "But despondency will steal on me sometimes, especially when thedead-cart passes and I think what it contains."

  While the conversation was going forward, Nizza and the piper withdrewinto an inner room, where they remained closeted together for some time.On their re-appearance, Nizza said she was ready to depart, and takingan affectionate farewell of her father, and committing Bell to hischarge, she quitted the cottage with the apprentice.

  Evening was now advancing, and the sun was setting with the gorgeousnessalready described as peculiar to this fatal period. Filled with thepleasing melancholy inspired by the hour, they walked on in silence.They had not proceeded far, when they observed a man crossing the fieldwith a bundle in his arms. Suddenly, he staggered and fell. Seeing hedid not stir, and guessing what was the matter, Leonard ran towards himto offer him assistance. He found him lying in the grass with his lefthand fixed against his heart. He groaned heavily, and his features wereconvulsed with pain. Near him lay the body of a beautiful little girl,with long fair hair, and finely-formed features, though now disfiguredby purple blotches, proclaiming the disorder of which she had perished.She was apparently about ten years old, and was partially covered by alinen cloth. The man, whose features bore a marked resemblance to thoseof the child, was evidently from his attire above the middle rank. Hisframe was athletic, and as he was scarcely past the prime of life, theirresistible power of the disease, which could in one instant prostratestrength like his, was terribly attested.

  "Alas!" he cried, addressing the apprentice, "I was about to convey theremains of my poor child to the plague-pit. But I have been unable toaccomplish my purpose. I hoped she would have escaped the pollutingtouch of those loathly attendants on the dead-cart."

  "She _shall_ escape it," replied Leonard; "if you wish it, I will carryher to the pit myself."

  "The blessing of a dying man rest on your head," cried the sufferer;"your charitable action will not pass unrequited."

  With this, despite the agony he endured, he dragged himself to hischild, kissed her cold lips, smoothed her fair tresses, and covered thebody carefully with the cloth. He then delivered it to Leonard, whoreceived it tenderly, and calling to Nizza Macascree, who had witnessedthe scene at a little distance, and was deeply affected by it, to awaithis return, ran towards the plague-pit. Arrived there, he placed hislittle burden at the brink of the excavation, and, kneeling beside it,uttered a short prayer inspired by the occasion. He then tore hishandkerchief into strips, and tying them together, lowered the bodygently down. Throwing a little earth over it, he hastened to the sickman, and told him what he had done. A smile of satisfaction illuminedthe sufferer's countenance, and holding out his hand, on which avaluable ring glistened, he said, "Take it--it is but a poor reward forthe service you have rendered me;--nay, take it," he added, seeing thatthe apprentice hesitated; "others will not be so scrupulous."

  Unable to gainsay the remark, Leonard took the ring from his finger andplaced it on his own. At this moment, the sick man's gaze fell uponNizza, who stood at a little distance from him. He started, and made aneffort to clear his vision.

  "Do my eyes deceive me?" he cried, "or is a female standing there?"

  "You are not deceived," replied Leonard.

  "Let her come near me, in Heaven's name!" cried the sick man, staring ather as if his eyes would start from their sockets. "Who are you?" hecontinued, as Nizza approached.

  "I am called Nizza Macascree, and am the daughter of a poor piper," shereplied.

  "Ah!" exclaimed the sick man, with a look of deep disappointment. "Theresemblance is wonderful! And yet it cannot be. My brain is bewildered."

  "Whom does she resemble?" asked Leonard, eagerly.

  "One very dear to me," replied the sick man, with an expression ofremorse and a
nguish, "one I would not think of now." And he buried hisface in the grass.

  "Is there aught more I can do for you?" inquired Leonard, after a pause.

  "No," replied the sick man; "I have done with the world. With thatchild, the last tie that bound me to it was snapped. I now only wish todie."

  "Do not give way thus," replied Leonard; "a short time ago my conditionwas as apparently hopeless as your own, and you see I am now perfectlyrecovered."

  "You had something to live for--something to love," groaned the sickman. "All I lived for, all I loved, are gone."

  "Be comforted, sir," said Nizza, in a commiserating tone. "Muchhappiness may yet be in store for you."

  "That voice!" exclaimed the sick man, with a look denoting the approachof delirium. "It must be my Isabella. Oh! forgive me! sweet injuredsaint; forgive me!"

  "Your presence evidently distresses him," said Leonard. "Let us hastenfor assistance. Your name, sir?" he added, to the sick man.

  "Why should you seek to know it?" replied the other. "No tombstone willbe placed over the plague-pit."

  "Not a moment must be lost if you would save him," cried Nizza.

  "You are right," replied Leonard. "Let us fly to the nearestapothecary's."

  Accordingly, they set off at a quick pace towards Moorgate. Just as theyreached it, they heard the bell ring, and saw the dead-cart approaching.Shrinking back while it passed, they ran on till they came to anapothecary's shop, where Leonard, describing the state of the sick man,by his entreaties induced the master of the establishment and one of hisassistants to accompany him. Leaving Nizza in the shop, he then retracedhis steps with his companions. The sick man was lying where he had lefthim, but perfectly insensible. On searching his pockets, a purse ofmoney was found, but neither letter nor tablet to tell who he was.Leonard offered the purse to the apothecary, but the latter declined it,and desired his assistant, who had brought a barrow with him, to placethe sick man within it, and convey him to the pest-house.

  "He will be better cared for there than if I were to take charge ofhim," he observed. "As to the money, you can return it if he recovers.If not, it of right belongs to you."

  Seeing that remonstrance would be useless, Leonard did not attempt it,and while the assistant wheeled away the sick man, he returned with theapothecary to his dwelling. Thanking him for his kindness, he thenhastened with Nizza Macascree to Great Knightrider-street. He related tothe doctor all that had occurred, and showed him the ring. Hodgeslistened to the recital with great attention, and at its close said,"This is a very singular affair, and excites my curiosity greatly. Iwill go to the pest-house and see the sick man to-morrow. And now wewill proceed to supper; and then you had better retire to rest, for youwill have to be astir before daybreak. All is in readiness for thejourney."

  The last night (for such she considered it) spent by Amabel in herfather's dwelling, was passed in the kindliest interchanges ofaffection. Mr. Bloundel had much ado to maintain his firmness, and everand anon, in spite of his efforts, his labouring bosom and falteringtones proclaimed the struggle within. He sat beside his daughter, withher thin fingers clasped in his, and spoke to her on every consolatorytopic that suggested itself. This discourse, however, insensibly took aserious turn, and the grocer became fully convinced that his daughterwas not merely reconciled to the early death that to all appearanceawaited her, but wishful for it. He found, too, to his inexpressiblegrief, that the sense of the Earl of Rochester's treachery, combinedwith her own indiscretion, and the consequences that might have attendedit, had sunk deep in her heart, and produced the present sad result.

  Mrs. Bloundel, it will scarcely be supposed, could support herself sowell as her husband, but when any paroxysm of grief approached sherushed out of the room, and gave vent to her affliction alone. All therest of the family were present, and were equally distressed. But whatmost strongly affected Amabel was a simple, natural remark of littleChristiana, who, fixing her tearful gaze on her, entreated her "to comeback soon."

  Weak as she was, Amabel took the child upon her knee, and said to her,"I am going a long journey, Christiana, and, perhaps may never comeback. But if you attend to what your father says to you, if you neveromit, morning and evening, to implore the blessing of Heaven, we shallmeet again."

  "I understand what you mean, sister," said Christiana. "The place youare going to is the grave."

  "You have guessed rightly, Christiana," rejoined Amabel, solemnly. "Donot forget my last words to you, and when you are grown into a woman,think upon the poor sister who loved you tenderly."

  "I shall always think of you," said Christiana, clasping her arms roundher sister's neck. "Oh! I wish I could go to the grave instead of you!"

  Amabel pressed her to her bosom, and in a broken voice murmured ablessing over her.

  Mr. Bloundel here thought it necessary to interfere, and, taking theweeping child in his arms, carried her into the adjoining apartment.

  Soon after this, the household were summoned to prayers, and as thegrocer poured forth an address to Heaven for the preservation of hisdaughter, all earnestly joined in the supplication. Their devotionsended, Amabel took leave of her brothers, and the parting might havebeen painfully prolonged but for the interposition of her father. Thelast and severest trial was at hand. She had now to part from hermother, from whom, except on the occasion of her flight with the Earl ofRochester, she had never yet been separated. She had now to part withher, in all probability, for ever. It was a heart-breaking reflection toboth. Knowing it would only renew their affliction, and perhaps unfitAmabel for the journey, Mr. Bloundel had prevailed upon his wife not tosee her in the morning. The moment had, therefore, arrived when theywere to bid each other farewell. The anguish displayed in his wife'scountenance was too much for the grocer, and he covered his face withhis hands. He heard her approach Amabel--he listened to their mutualsobs--to their last embrace. It was succeeded by a stifled cry, anduncovering his face at the sound, he sprang to his feet just in time toreceive his swooning wife in his arms.

  VI.

  THE DEPARTURE.

  It struck four by Saint Paul's as Doctor Hodges, accompanied by Leonardand Nizza Macascree, issued from his dwelling, and proceeded towardsWood-street. The party was followed by a man leading a couple of horses,equipped with pillions, and furnished with saddle-bags, partly filledwith the scanty luggage which the apprentice and the piper's daughtertook with them. A slight haze, indicative of the intense heat about tofollow, hung round the lower part of the cathedral, but its topmostpinnacles glittered in the beams of the newly-risen sun. As Leonardgazed at the central tower, he descried Solomon Eagle on its summit, andpointed him out to Hodges. Motioning the apprentice, in a manner thatcould not be misunderstood, to halt, the enthusiast vanished, and inanother moment appeared upon the roof, and descended to the battlements,overlooking the spot where the little party stood. This was at thenorthwest corner of the cathedral, at a short distance from the portico.The enthusiast had a small sack in his hand, and calling to NizzaMacascree to take it, flung it to the ground. The ringing sound which itmade on its fall proved that it contained gold or silver, while its sizeshowed that the amount must be considerable. Nizza looked at it inastonishment, but did not offer to touch it.

  "Take it!" thundered Solomon Eagle; "it is your dowry." And perceivingshe hesitated to comply with the injunction, he shouted to Leonard."Give it her. I have no use for gold. May it make you and her happy!"

  "I know not where he can have obtained this money," observed Hodges;"but I am sure in no unlawful manner, and I therefore counsel Nizza toaccept the boon. It may be of the greatest use to her at some futuretime."

  His scruples being thus overcome, Leonard took the sack, and placed itin one of the saddle-bags.

  "You can examine it at your leisure," remarked Hodges to Nizza. "We haveno more time to lose."

  Solomon Eagle, meanwhile, expressed his satisfaction at the apprentice'scompliance by his gestures, and, waving his staff round his head,pointed towards
the west of the city, as if inquiring whether that wasthe route they meant to take. Leonard nodded an affirmative; and, theenthusiast spreading out his arms and pronouncing an audible benedictionover them, they resumed their course. The streets were silent anddeserted, except by the watchmen stationed at the infected dwellings,and a few sick persons stretched on the steps of some of the betterhabitations. In order to avoid coming in contact with these miserablecreatures, the party, with the exception of Doctor Hodges, kept in themiddle of the road. Attracted by the piteous exclamations of thesufferers, Doctor Hodges, ever and anon, humanely paused to speak tothem; and he promised one poor woman, who was suckling an infant, tovisit her on his return.

  "I have no hopes of saving her," he observed to Leonard, "but I maypreserve her child. There is an establishment in Aldgate for infantswhose mothers have died of the plague, where more than a hundred littlecreatures are suckled by she-goats, and it is wonderful how well theythrive under their nurses. If I can induce this poor woman to part withher child, I will send it thither."

  Just then, their attention was arrested by the sudden opening of acasement, and a middle-aged woman, wringing her hands, cried, with alook of unutterable anguish and despair--"Pray for us, good people! prayfor us!"

  "We _do_ pray for you, my poor soul!" rejoined Hodges, "as well as forall who are similarly afflicted. What sick have you within?"

  "There were ten yesterday," replied the woman. "Two have died in thenight--my husband and my eldest son--and there are eight others whoserecovery is hopeless. Pray for us! As you hope to be spared yourselves,pray for us!" And, with a lamentable cry, she closed the casement.

  Familiarized as all who heard her were with spectacles of horror andtales of woe, they could not listen to this sad recital, nor look uponher distracted countenance, without the deepest commiseration. Othersights had previously affected them, but not in the same degree. Aroundthe little conduit standing in front of the Old Change, at the westernextremity of Cheapside, were three lazars laving their sores in thewater; while, in the short space between this spot and Wood-street,Leonard counted upwards of twenty doors marked with the fatal red cross,and bearing upon them the sad inscription, "Lord have mercy upon us!"

  A few minutes' walking brought them to the grocer's habitation, and onreaching it, they found that Blaize had already descended. He wascapering about the street with joy at his restoration to freedom.

  "Mistress Amabel will make her appearance in a few minutes," he said toLeonard. "Our master is with her, and is getting all ready for herdeparture. I have not come unprovided with medicine," he added to DoctorHodges. "I have got a bottle of plague-water in one pocket, and a phialof vinegar in the other. Besides these, I have a small pot of Mayerne'selectuary in my bag, another of the grand antipestilential confection,and a fourth of the infallible antidote which I bought of the celebratedGreek physician, Doctor Constantine Rhodocanaceis, at his shop near theThree-Kings Inn, in Southampton-buildings. I dare say you have heard ofhim?"

  "I _have_ heard of the quack," replied Hodges. "His end was a justretribution for the tricks he practised on his dupes. In spite of hisinfallible antidote, he was carried off by the scourge. But what elsehave you got?"

  "Only a few trifles," replied Blaize, with a chap-fallen look. "Patiencehas made me a pomander-ball composed of angelica, rue, zedoary, camphor,wax, and laudanum, which I have hung round my neck with a string. Then Ihave got a good-sized box of rufuses, and have swallowed three of thempreparatory to the journey."

  "A proper precaution," observed Hodges, with a smile.

  "This is not all," replied Blaize. "By my mother's advice, I have eatentwenty leaves of rue, two roasted figs, and two pickled walnuts forbreakfast, washing them down with an ale posset, with pimpernel seethedin it."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Hodges. "You must be in a pretty condition for ajourney. But how could you bear to part with your mother and Patience?"

  "The parting from Patience _was_ heart-breaking," replied Blaize, takingout his handkerchief, and applying it to his eyes. "We sat up half thenight together, and I felt so much overcome that I began to waver in myresolution of departing. I am glad I did not give way now," he added, ina more sprightly tone. "Fresh air and bright sunshine are very differentthings from the close rooms in that dark house."

  "You must not forget that you were there free from the contagion,"rejoined Hodges; "while you are here exposed to its assaults."

  "True," replied Blaize; "that makes a vast difference. I almost wish Iwas back again."

  "It is too late to think of returning," said Hodges. "Mount your horse,and I will assist Nizza into the pillion."

  By the time that Blaize, who was but an indifferent horseman, had gotinto the saddle, and Nizza had taken her place behind him, the windowopened, and Mr. Bloundel appeared at it.

  Amabel had only retired to rest for a few hours during the night. Whenleft to herself in her chamber, she continued to pray till exhaustioncompelled her to seek some repose. Arising about two o'clock, sheemployed herself for more than an hour in further devotion, and thentook a last survey of every object in the room. She had occupied it fromher childhood; and as she opened drawer after drawer, and cupboard aftercupboard, and examined their contents, each article recalled somecircumstance connected with the past, and brought back a train oflong-forgotten emotions. While she was thus engaged, Patience tapped atthe door, and was instantly admitted. The tenderhearted kitchenmaidassisted her to dress, and to put together some few articles omitted tobe packed by her mother. During this employment she shed abundance oftears, and Amabel's efforts to console her only made matters worse. PoorPatience was forced at last to sit down, and indulge a hearty fit ofcrying, after which she felt considerably relieved. As soon as she wassufficiently recovered to be able to speak, she observed to Amabel,"Pardon what I am about to say to you, my dear young mistress, but Icannot help thinking that the real seat of your disease is in theheart."

  A slight blush overspread Amabel's pale features, but she made noanswer.

  "I see I am right," continued Patience, "and indeed I have longsuspected it. Let me entreat you, therefore, dear young lady, not tosacrifice yourself. Only say the word, and I will find means of makingyour retreat known to the Earl of Rochester. Blaize is devoted to you,and will do anything you bid him. I cannot wonder you fret after sohandsome, so captivating a man as the earl, especially when you areworried to death to marry a common apprentice like Leonard Holt, who isnot fit to hold a candle to your noble admirer. Ah! we women can neverblind ourselves to the advantages of rank and appearance. We are toogood judges for that. I hope you will soon be restored to your lover,and that the happiness you will enjoy will make amends for all themisery you have endured."

  "Patience," said Amabel, whose cheek, as the other spoke, had returnedto its original paleness--"Patience," she said, gravely, but kindly, "Ihave suffered you to proceed too far without interruption, and mustcorrect the very serious error into which you have fallen. I am so farfrom pining for an interview with the Earl of Rochester, that nothing inthe world should induce me to see him again. I have loved him deeply,"she continued in a tremulous tone; "nay, I will not attempt to disguisethat I feel strongly towards him still, while I will also freely confessthat his conduct towards me has so preyed upon my spirits, that it hasimpaired, perhaps destroyed, my health. In spite of this, I cannotsufficiently rejoice that I have escaped the earl's snares--I cannot besufficiently thankful to the merciful Being who, while he has thoughtfit to chastise me, has preserved me from utter ruin."

  "Since you are of this mind," returned Patience, in a tone ofincredulity, "you are more to be rejoiced with than pitied. But we arenot overheard," she added, almost in a whisper, and glancing towards thedoor. "You may entirely confide in me. The time is arrived when you canescape to your lover."

  "No more of this," rejoined Amabel, severely, "or I shall command you toleave the room."

  "This is nothing more than pique," thought Patience. "We women are allhypocrites, even
to ourselves. I will serve her whether she will or not.She _shall_ see the earl. I hope there is no harm in wishing you may behappy with Leonard Holt," she added aloud. "_He_ will make you a capitalhusband."

  "That subject is equally disagreeable--equally painful to me," saidAmabel.

  "I had better hold my tongue altogether," rejoined Patience, somewhatpertly. "Whatever I say seems to be wrong. It won't prevent me fromdoing as I would be done by," she added to herself.

  Amabel's preparations finished, she dismissed Patience, to whom she gavesome few slight remembrances, and was soon afterwards joined by herfather. They passed half an hour together, as on the former night, inserious and devout conversation, after which Mr. Bloundel left her for afew minutes to let down Blaize. On his return he tenderly embraced her,and led her into the passage. They had not advanced many steps when Mrs.Bloundel rushed forth to meet them. She was in her night-dress, andseemed overwhelmed with affliction.

  "How is this, Honora?" cried her husband, in a severe tone. "Youpromised me you would see Amabel no more. You will only distress her."

  "I could not let her go thus," cried Mrs. Bloundel. "I was listening atmy chamber door to hear her depart, and when I caught the sound of herfootsteps, I could no longer control myself." So saying, she rushed toher daughter, and clasped her in her arms.

  Affectionately returning her mother's embrace, Amabel gave her hand toher father, who conducted her to the little room overlooking the street.Nothing more, except a deep and passionate look, was exchanged betweenthem. Both repressed their emotion, and though the heart of each wasbursting, neither shed a tear. At that moment, and for the first time,they greatly resembled each other; and this was not surprising, forintense emotion, whether of grief or joy, will bring out lines in thefeatures that lie hidden at other times. Without a word, Mr. Bloundelbusied himself in arranging the pulley; and calling to those below toprepare for Amabel's descent, again embraced her, kissed her pale brow,and, placing her carefully in the basket, lowered her slowly to theground. She was received in safety by Leonard, who carried her in hisarms, and placed her on the pillion. The pulley was then drawn up, andher luggage lowered by Mr. Bloundel, and placed in the saddle-bags bythe apprentice. Every one saw the necessity of terminating this painfulscene. A kindly farewell was taken of Hodges. Amabel waved her hand toher father, when at this moment Patience appeared at the window, and,calling to Blaize, threw a little package tied in a handkerchief to him.Doctor Hodges took up the parcel, and gave it to the porter, who,untying the handkerchief, glanced at a note it enclosed, and, strikinghis horse with his stick, dashed off towards Cheapside.

  "Pursue him!" cried Amabel to Leonard; "he is flying to the Earl ofRochester."

  The intimation was sufficient for the apprentice. Urging his horse intoa quick pace, he came up with the fugitive, just as he had reachedCheapside. Blaize's mad career had been checked by Nizza Macascree, who,seizing the bridle, stopped the steed. Leonard, who was armed with aheavy riding-whip, applied it unsparingly to Blaize's shoulders.

  "Entreat him to hold his hand, dear, good Mistress Amabel," cried theporter; "it was for your sake alone I made this rash attempt. Patiencetold me you were dying to see the Earl of Rochester, and made me promiseI would ride to Whitehall to acquaint his lordship whither you weregoing. Here is her letter which I was about to deliver." And as hespoke, he handed her the note, which was tied with a piece ofpackthread, and directed in strange and almost illegible characters.

  "Do not hurt him more," said Amabel; "he was not aware of the mischiefhe was about to commit. And learn from me, Blaize, that, so far fromdesiring to see the Earl of Rochester, all my anxiety is to avoid him."

  "If I had known that," returned the porter, "I would not have stirred astep. But Patience assured me the contrary."

  By this time, Doctor Hodges had come up, and an explanation ensued. Itwas agreed, however, that it would be better not to alarm Mr. Bloundel,but to attribute the porter's sudden flight to mismanagement of hissteed. Accordingly, they returned to the residence of the grocer, whowas anxiously looking out for them; and after a brief delay, duringwhich the saddlebags were again examined and secured, they departed. Mr.Bloundel looked wistfully after his daughter, and she returned his gazeas long as her blinding eyes would permit her. So unwonted was the soundof horses' feet at this period, that many a melancholy face appeared atthe window to gaze at them as they rode by, and Nizza Macascreeshuddered as she witnessed the envious glances cast after them by thesepoor captives. As to Blaize, when they got into Cheapside, he was soterrified by the dismal evidences of the pestilence that met him atevery turn, that he could scarcely keep his seat, and it was not untilhe had drenched himself and his companion with vinegar, and stuffed hismouth with myrrh and zedoary, that he felt anything like composure.

  On approaching Newgate Market, they found it entirely deserted. Most ofthe stalls were removed, the shops closed, and the window-shuttersnailed up. It was never, in fact, used at all, except by a fewcountrymen and higglers, who ventured thither on certain days of theweek to sell fresh eggs, butter, poultry, and such commodities. Themanner of sale was this. The article disposed of was placed on a flag onone side of the market, near which stood a pump and a trough of water.The vendor then retired, while the purchaser approached, took thearticle, and put its price into the water, whence it was removed whensupposed to be sufficiently purified.

  As the party passed Grey Friars, the tramp of their horses was mistakenfor the dead-cart, and a door was suddenly opened and a corpse broughtforth. Leonard would have avoided the spectacle had it been possible,but they were now too close to Newgate, where they were detained for afew minutes at the gate, while their bills of health were examined andcountersigned by the officer stationed there. During this pause Leonardglanced at the grated windows of the prison, the debtors' side of whichfronted the street. But not a single face was to be seen. In fact, ashas already been stated, the prison was shut up.

  The gate was now opened to them, and descending Snow Hill they entered aregion completely devastated by the pestilence. So saddening was thesight, that Leonard involuntarily quickened his horse's pace, resolvedto get out of this forlorn district as speedily as possible. He was,however, stopped by an unexpected and fearful impediment. When within ashort distance of Holborn Bridge, he observed on the further side of ita large black vehicle, and, unable to make out what it was, though afearful suspicion crossed him, slackened his pace. A nearer approachshowed him that it was the pest-cart, filled with its charnel load. Thehorse was in the shafts, and was standing quite still. Rising in hisstirrups to obtain a better view, Leonard perceived that the driver waslying on the ground at a little distance from the cart, in an attitudethat proclaimed he had been suddenly seized by the pestilence, and hadprobably just expired.

  Not choosing to incur the risk of passing this contagious load, Leonardretraced his course as far as Holborn Conduit, then turning intoSeacole-lane, and making the best of his way to Fleet Bridge, crossedit, and entered the great thoroughfare with which it communicated. Hehad not proceeded far when he encountered a small party of the watch, towhom he showed his certificate, and recounted the fate of the driver ofthe dead-cart. At Temple Bar he was again obliged to exhibit hispassports; and while there detained, he observed three other horsemenriding towards them from the further end of Fleet-street.

  Though much alarmed by the sight, Leonard did not communicate hisapprehensions to his companions, but as soon as the guard allowed him topass, called out to Blaize to follow him, and urging his horse to aquick pace, dashed up Drury-lane. A few minutes' hard riding, duringwhich nothing occurred to give the apprentice further uneasiness,brought them to a road skirting the open fields, in which a pest-househad just been built by the chivalrous nobleman whose habitation inBerkshire they were about to visit. With a courage and devotion thatredound more to his honour than the brilliant qualities that won him sohigh a reputation in the court and in the field, Lord Craven not merelyprovided the present receptacle for the s
ick, but remained in Londonduring the whole continuance of the dreadful visitation; "braving," saysPennant, "the fury of the pestilence with the same coolness that hefought the battles of his beloved mistress, Elizabeth, titular Queen ofBohemia, or mounted the tremendous breach of Creutznach." The spot wherethis asylum was built, and which is the present site of Golden-square,retained nearly half a century afterwards, the name of the Pest-houseFields. Leonard had already been made acquainted by Doctor Hodges withthe earl's generous devotion to the public welfare, and warmlycommenting upon it, he pointed out the structure to Amabel. But thespeed at which she was borne along did not allow her time to bestow morethan a hasty glance at it. On gaining Hyde-park Corner, the apprenticecast a look backwards, and his apprehensions were revived by perceivingthe three horsemen again in view, and evidently using their utmostexertions to come up with them.

  While Leonard was hesitating whether he should make known their dangerto Amabel, he perceived Solomon Eagle dart from behind a wall on theleft of the road, and plant himself in the direct course of theirpursuers, and he involuntarily drew in the rein to see what would ensue.In another moment, the horsemen, who were advancing at full gallop, andwhom Leonard now recognised as the Earl of Rochester, Pillichody, andSir Paul Parravicin, had approached within a few yards of theenthusiast, and threatened to ride over him if he did not get of theway. Seeing, however, that he did not offer to move, they opened oneither side of him, and were passing swiftly by, when, with infinitedexterity, he caught hold of the bridle of Rochester's steed, andchecking him, seized the earl by the leg, and threw him to the ground.

  Sir Paul Parravicin pulled up as soon as he could, and, drawing hissword, rode back to assist his friend, and punish the aggressor; but theenthusiast, nothing daunted, met him in full career, and suddenlylifting up his arms, uttered a loud cry, which so startled the knight'shigh-spirited horse, that it reared and flung him. All this was the workof a few seconds. Pillichody had been borne forward by the impetuosityof his steed to within a short distance of the apprentice, and seeingthe fate of his companions, and not liking Leonard's menacing gestures,he chipped spurs into his horse, and rode up Park-lane.

  Overjoyed at his unexpected deliverance, Leonard, whose attention hadbeen completely engrossed by what was passing, now ventured to look atAmabel, and became greatly alarmed at her appearance. She was as pale asdeath, except a small scarlet patch on either cheek, which contrastedpowerfully with the death-like hue of the rest of her countenance. Herhands convulsively clasped the back of the pillion; her lips wereslightly apart, and her eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earlof Rochester. On finding they were pursued, and by whom, her firstimpulse had been to fling herself from the pillion, and to seek safetyby flight; but controlling herself, she awaited the result with forcedcomposure, and was now sinking from the exhaustion of the effort.

  "Thank Heaven! we are safe," cried the apprentice; "but I fear the shockhas been too much for you."

  "It has," gasped Amabel, falling against his shoulder. "Let us fly--oh!let us fly."

  Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left arm round herwaist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was utterly unable tosupport herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza Macascree, struck offon the right into the road skirting the Park, and in the direction ofTyburn, where there was a small inn, at which he hoped to procureassistance. Before reaching this place, he was beyond descriptionrelieved to find that Amabel had so far recovered as to be able to raiseher head.

  "The deadly faintness is passed," she murmured; "I shall be better soon.But I fear I am too weak to pursue the journey at present."

  Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached Tyburn, anddrew up at the little inn. But no assistance could be obtained there.The house was closed; there was a red cross on the door; and a watchman,stationed in front of it, informed him that all the family had died ofthe plague except the landlord--"and he will be buried beside them inPaddington churchyard before to-morrow morning," added the man; "for hisnurse tells me it is impossible he can survive many hours."

  As he spoke an upper window was opened, and a woman, thrusting forth herhead, cried, "Poor Master Sandys has just breathed his last. Come in,Philip, and help me to prepare the body for the dead-cart."

  "I will be with you in a minute," rejoined the watchman. "You maypossibly procure accommodation at the Wheatsheaf at Paddington," headded to Leonard; "it is but a short distance up the road."

  Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course indicated. Hehad not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by hearing a piteous cry of"Stop! stop!" proceeding from Blaize; and, halting, found that theporter had been so greatly terrified by the watchman's account of thefrightful mortality in the poor innkeeper's family, that he had appliedto his phial of plague-water, and in pulling it put had dropped his boxof rufuses, and the jar of anti-pestilential confection. He had justascertained his loss, and wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascreewould not permit. Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered theporter to come on; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his treasures,which he perceived at a little distance in the middle of the road, wascompelled to obey.

  At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them. The Wheatsheaf wasoccupied by two large families, who were flying from the infected city,and no accommodation could be obtained. Leonard looked wistfully atNizza Macascree, as if to ascertain what to do, and she was equallyperplexed; but the difficulty was relieved by Amabel herself, who saidshe felt much better, and able to proceed a little further. "Do notreturn to London," she continued with great earnestness. "I would ratherdie on the road than go home again. Some cottage will receive us. Ifnot, I can rest for a short time in the fields."

  Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the Harrow-road.Soon after crossing Paddington Green, he overtook a little train offugitives driving a cart filled with children, and laden with luggage.Further on, as he surveyed the beautiful meadows, stretching out oneither side of him, he perceived a line of small tents, resembling agipsy encampment, pitched at a certain distance from each other, andevidently occupied by families who had fled from their homes from fearof infection. This gave a singular character to the prospect. But therewere other and far more painful sights on the road, which could not failto attract attention. For the first half-mile, almost at every hundredyards might be seen some sick man, who, unable to proceed further, hadfallen against the hedge-side, and exhibited his sores to move the pityof the passers-by. But these supplications were wholly unheeded.Self-preservation was the first object with all, and the travellersholding handkerchiefs steeped in vinegar to their faces, and avertingtheir heads, passed by on the other side of the way.

  The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extraordinaryrigour the whole of the higher country at the west and north-west of themetropolis. The charmingly-situated, and, at other seasons, healthfulvillages of Hampstead and Highgate, suffered severely from the scourge;and it even extended its ravages as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which ithalf depopulated. This will account for the circumstance of a largepest-house being erected in the neighbourhood of Westbourne Green, whichthe party now approached. Two litters were seen crossing the fields inthe direction of the hospital, and this circumstance called Leonard'sattention to it. Shudderingly averting his gaze, he quickened his pace,and soon reached a small farmhouse on the summit of the hill rising fromKensal Green. Determined to seek a temporary asylum here for Amabel, heopened a gate, and, riding into the yard, fortunately met with owner ofthe house, a worthy farmer, named Wingfield, to whom he explained hersituation. The man at first hesitated, but, on receiving Leonard'ssolemn assurance that she was free from the plague, consented to receivethe whole party.

  Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her in his arms intothe house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her take care of her.The injunction was scarcely needed. The good dame, who was a middle-agedwoman, with pleasing features, which lost none of their interest fr
ombeing stamped with profound melancholy, gazed at her for a momentfixedly, and then observed in an under-tone, but with much emotion, toher husband, "Ah! Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles ourpoor Sarah!"

  "Hush! hush! dame," rejoined her husband, hastily brushing away themoisture that sprang to his eyes; "take her to your chamber, and seethat she wants nothing. There is another young woman outside, whom Iwill send to you."

  So saying, he returned to the yard. Meantime, the others had dismounted,and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, led the way to the barn,where the horses were tied up, and fodder placed before them. This done,he conducted his guests to the house, and placing cold meat, bread, anda jug of ale before them, desired them to fall to--an injunction whichBlaize, notwithstanding his previous repast of roasted figs and pickledwalnuts, very readily complied with. While they were thus employed, DameWingfield made her appearance. She said that the poor creature (meaningAmabel) was too ill to proceed on her journey that day, and begged herhusband to allow her to stop till the next morning, when she hoped shewould be able to undertake it.

  "To-morrow morning, say you dame?" cried Wingfield; "she may stop tillthe day after, and the day after that, if you desire it, or she wishesit. Go tell her so."

  And as his wife withdrew, well pleased at having obtained her request,Wingfield addressed himself to Leonard, and inquired the cause ofAmabel's illness; and as the apprentice saw no necessity for secresy,and felt exceedingly grateful for the kind treatment he had experienced,he acquainted him with the chief particulars of her history. The farmerappeared greatly moved by the recital.

  "She resembles my poor Sarah very strongly," he said. "My daughter washurried into an early grave by a villain who won her affections andbetrayed her. She now lies in Willesden churchyard, but her seducer isone of the chief favourites of our profligate monarch."

  "Do you mean the Earl of Rochester?" cried Leonard.

  "No, no," replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance had assumeda stern expression. "The villain I mean is worse, if possible, than theearl. He is called Sir Paul Parravicin."

  "Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; "what a strangecoincidence is this!"

  And he then proceeded to relate to Wingfield the persecution which NizzaMacascree had endured from the profligate knight The farmer listened tohis recital with breathless interest, and when it was ended arose, and,taking a hasty turn round the room, halted at the table and struck itforcibly with his clenched hand.

  "I hope that man will never cross my path," he said, all the bloodmounting to his face, and his eye kindling with fury. "As God shalljudge me, I will kill him if I meet him."

  "Then I hope you never will meet him," observed Leonard. "He has injuredyou enough already, without putting you out of the pale of Divinemercy."

  "These rascals have done us all an injury," observed Blaize. "Patiencehas never been like herself since Major Pillichody entered my master'sdwelling, and made love to her. I feel quite uneasy to think how thelittle hussy will go on during my absence. She can't get out of thehouse, that's one comfort."

  "You have mentioned another wretch, who was constantly with Sir Paul,"cried Wingfield. "Perdition seize them!"

  "Ay, perdition seize them!" echoed Blaize, striking the table in histurn--"especially Major Pillichody."

  "Did you ever suspect Sir Paul to be of higher rank than he pretends?"asked Leonard.

  "No," rejoined Wingfield; "what motive have you for the question?"

  Leonard then told him of the inquiries instituted by Doctor Hodgesrelative to Nizza's retreat, and how they had been baffled. "It isstrange," he continued, "that Nizza herself never heard the real name ofher persecutor; neither can she tell where the house to which she wasconveyed, when in a fainting condition, and from which she was removedwhen attacked with the plague, is situated."

  "It is strange indeed," observed the farmer, musingly.

  Soon after this, Nizza Macascree made her appearance, and informed themthat Amabel had fallen into a tranquil slumber, which, in allprobability, would completely renovate her.

  "I hope it will," said Wingfield. "But I shall not part with herto-day."

  He then entered into conversation with Nizza, and after a little time,proposed to her and Leonard to walk across the fields with him toWillesden, to visit his daughter's grave.

  "My wife will take charge of Amabel," he said; "you may safely trust herin her hands."

  Leonard could raise no objection, except the possibility that the Earlof Rochester and his companions might discover their retreat, and carryoff Amabel in his absence; but, after a little reflection, consideringthis altogether unlikely, he assented, and they set out. A pleasant walkacross the fields brought them to the pretty little village of Willesdenand its old and beautiful church. They proceeded to the grave of poorSarah Wingfield, which lay at the east of the church, beneath one of thetall elms, and Nizza, as she stood by the rounded sod covering theremains of the unfortunate girl, could not restrain her tears.

  "This might have been my own fate," she said. "What an escape I havehad!"

  "I did not bring you here to read you a lesson," said Wingfield, in atone of deep emotion, "but because you, who know the temptation to whichthe poor creature who lies there was exposed, will pity her. Not alonedid remorse for her conduct prey upon her spirits--not alone did shesuffer from self-reproach,--but the scoffs and jeers of her sex, whonever forgive an erring sister, broke her heart. She is now, however,beyond the reach of human malice, and, I trust, at peace."

  As he said this, he walked away to hide his emotion, and presentlyafterwards rejoining them, they quitted the churchyard together.

  As they recrossed the fields, Wingfield observed two men digging a holein the ground, and, guessing their object, paused for a few minutes towatch them. Having thrown out the earth to the depth of a couple offeet, one of them took a long hooked pole, and attaching it to the bodyof a victim to the pestilence, who had wandered into the fields and diedthere, dragged it towards the pit. As soon as the corpse was pushed intoits narrow receptacle, the clay was shovelled over it, and trodden down.

  "This is a sad mode of burial for a Christian," observed Wingfield. "Butit would not do to leave an infected body to rot in the fields, andspread the contagion."

  "Such a grave is better than the plague-pit," rejoined Leonard,recalling the frightful scenes he had witnessed there.

  On reaching Wingfield's dwelling, they found from the good dame, thatAmabel had awakened from her slumber greatly refreshed; but she gave itas her opinion that she had better remain undisturbed. Accordingly, noone went into the room to her except Nizza Macascree. A substantialdinner was provided for his guests by the hospitable farmer; and Blaize,who had been for some time confined to salt provisions at his master'shouse, did ample justice to the fresh meat and vegetables.

  The meal over, Leonard, who felt exceedingly curious to learn what hadbecome of the mysterious stranger whose child he had carried to theplague-pit, and who had appeared so strangely interested in NizzaMacascree, determined to walk to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields andinquire after him. On communicating his intention to his host, Wingfieldwould have dissuaded him; but as Leonard affirmed he had no fear ofinfection, he desisted from the attempt. Just as the apprentice wasstarting, Blaize came up to him, and said,--"Leonard, I have a greatcuriosity to see a pest-house, and should like to go with you, if youwill let me."

  The apprentice stared at him in astonishment.

  "You will never dare to enter it," he said.

  "I will go wherever you go," replied the porter, with a confidencemainly inspired by the hospitable farmer's strong ale.

  "We shall see," replied Leonard. "I shall keep you to your word."

  In less than an hour they reached Marylebone Fields (now the Regent'sPark), and, crossing them, entered a lane, running in pretty nearly thesame direction as the present New-road. It Drought them to Clerkenwell,whence they proceeded to Finsbury Fields, and soon came in
sight of thepest-house. When Blaize found himself so near this dreaded asylum, allhis courage vanished.

  "I would certainly enter the pest-house with you," he said to Leonard,"but I have used up all my vinegar, and you know I lost my box ofrufuses and the pot of anti-pestilential confection this morning."

  "That excuse shall not serve your turn," replied Leonard. "You can getplenty of vinegar and plague medicine in the pest-house."

  "But I have no money to pay for them," rejoined Blaize.

  "I will lend you some," said Leonard, placing a few pieces in his hand."Now, come along."

  Blaize would fain have run away, but, afraid of incurring theapprentice's anger, he walked tremblingly after him. They entered thegarden-gate, and soon reached the principal door, which, as usual, stoodopen. Scarcely able to support himself, the porter tottered into thelarge room; but as he cast his eyes around, and beheld the miserableoccupants of the pallets, and heard their cries and groans, he was soscared that he could not move another step, but stood like onetransfixed with terror. Paying little attention to him, Leonard walkedforward, and at the further extremity of the chamber found the youngchirurgeon whom he had formerly seen, and describing the stranger,inquired where he was placed.

  "The person you allude to has been removed," returned the chirurgeon."Doctor Hodges visited him this morning, and had him conveyed to his owndwelling."

  "Was he sensible at the time?" asked the apprentice.

  "I think not," replied the chirurgeon; "but the doctor appeared torecognise in him an old friend, though I did not hear him mention hisname; and it was on that account, I conclude, that he had him removed."

  "Is he likely to recover?" asked Leonard, whose curiosity was aroused bywhat he heard.

  "That is impossible to say," replied the young man. "But he cannot be inbetter hands than those of Doctor Hodges."

  Leonard perfectly concurred with him, and, after a few minutes' furtherconversation, turned to depart. Not seeing Blaize, he concluded he hadgone forth, and expected to find him in the garden, or, at all events,in the field adjoining. But he was nowhere to be seen. While wonderingwhat had become of him, Leonard heard a loud cry, in the voice of theporter, issuing from the barn, which, as has already been stated, hadbeen converted into a receptacle for the sick; and hurrying thither, hefound Blaize in the hands of two stout assistants, who had stripped himof his clothes, and were tying him down to a pallet. On seeing Leonard,Blaize implored him to deliver him from the hands of his persecutors;and the apprentice assuring the assistants that the poor fellow wasperfectly free from infection, they liberated him.

  It appeared, on inquiry, that Blaize had fallen against one of thepallets in a state almost of insensibility, and the two assistants,chancing to pass at the time, and taking him for a plague patient, hadconveyed him to the barn. On reaching it, he recovered, and besoughtthem to set him free, but they paid no attention to his cries, andproceeded to strip him, and bind him to the bed, as before related.

  Thus released, the porter lost no time in dressing himself; and Leonard,to allay his terrors, had a strong dose of anti-pestilential elixiradministered to him. After which, having procured him a box of rufuses,and a phial of plague-water, Blaize shook off his apprehension, and theyset out at a brisk pace for Kensal Green.

  VII.

  THE JOURNEY.

  Blaize was destined to experience a second fright. It has been mentionedthat the infected were sometimes seized with a rabid desire ofcommunicating the disorder to such as had not been attacked by it; andas the pair were making the best of their way along the Harrow-road, apoor lazar who was lying against the hedge-side, and had vainly imploredtheir assistance, suddenly started up, and with furious cries andgestures made towards the porter. Guessing his intention, Blaize took tohis heels, and, folding himself closely pressed, broke through the hedgeon the right, and speeded across the field. In spite of the alarmingnature of the occurrence, the apprentice could not help laughing at theunwonted agility displayed by the fat little porter, who ran so swiftlythat it appeared probable he would distance his pursuer. To preventmischief, however, Leonard set off after him, and was fast gaining uponthe lazar, whose strength was evidently failing, when the poor wretchuttered a loud cry, and fell to the ground. On coming up, Leonard foundhim lying with his face in the grass, and convulsed by the agonies ofdeath, and perceiving that all was over, hurried after the porter, whomhe found seated on a gate, at the further end of the field, solacinghimself with a draught of plague-water.

  "Oh, Leonard!" groaned the latter, "how little do we know what is forour good! I was delighted to quit my master's house this morning, but Inow wish with, all my heart I was back again. I am afraid I shall die ofthe plague after all. Pray what are the first symptoms?"

  "Pooh! pooh! don't think about it, and you will take no harm," rejoinedLeonard. "Put by your phial, and let us make the best of our way toFarmer Wingfield's dwelling."

  Being now in sight of the farm, which, from its elevated situation,could be distinguished at a distance of two miles in this direction,they easily shaped their course towards it across the fields. When abouthalfway up the hill, Leonard paused to look behind him. The view wasexquisite, and it was precisely the hour (just before sunset) at whichit could be seen to the greatest advantage. On the right, his gazewandered to the beautiful and well-wooded heights of Richmond andWimbledon, beyond which he could trace the long line of the Surreyhills, while nearer he perceived Notting Hill, now covered withhabitations, but then a verdant knoll, crowned by a few trees, butwithout so much as a cottage upon it. On the left stood Hampstead; atthat time a collection of pretty cottages, but wanting its present chiefornament, the church. At the foot of the hill rich meadows, borderedwith fine hedges, interspersed with well-grown timber, spread out as faras the eye could reach. Nothing destroyed the rural character of theprospect; nor was there any indication of the neighbourhood of a greatcity, except the lofty tower and massive body of Saint Paul's, whichappeared above the tops of the intervening trees in the distance.

  As on former occasions, when contemplating the surrounding country fromthe summit of the cathedral, Leonard could not help contrasting thebeauty of the scene before him with the horrible scourge by which it wasravaged. Never had the country looked so beautiful--never, therefore,was the contrast so forcible; and it appeared to him like a lovely maskhiding the hideous and ghastly features of death. Tinged by the sombrehue of his thoughts, the whole scene changed its complexion. The smilinglandscape seemed to darken, and the cool air of evening to become hotand noisome, as if laden with the deadly exhalations of the pestilence.Nor did the workings of his imagination stop here. He fancied even atthis distance--nearly seven miles--that he could discern Solomon Eagleon the summit of Saint Paul's. At first the figure looked like a smallblack speck; but it gradually dilated, until it became twice the size ofthe cathedral, upon the central tower of which its feet rested, whileits arms were spread abroad over the city. In its right hand thegigantic figure held a blazing torch, and in the left a phial, from themouth of which a stream of dark liquid descended. So vividly did thisphantasm present itself to Leonard, that, almost convinced of itsreality, he placed his hands before his eyes for a few moments, and, onwithdrawing them, was glad to find that the delusion was occasioned by ablack cloud over the cathedral, which his distempered fancy hadconverted into the colossal figure of the enthusiast.

  Blaize, who had taken the opportunity of his companion's abstraction tosip a little more plague-water, now approached, and told him thatWingfield was descending the hill to meet them. Rousing himself, Leonardran towards the farmer, who appeared delighted to see them back again,and conducted them to his dwelling. Owing to the tender and trulymaternal attention of Dame Wingfield, Amabel was so much better that shewas able to join the party at supper, though she took no share in themeal. Wingfield listened to the soft tones of her voice as she conversedwith his wife, and at last, unable to control his emotion, laid down hisknife and fork, and quitted the table.

/>   "What is the matter with your husband?" inquired Amabel of her hostess."I hope he is not unwell."

  "Oh! no," replied the good dame; "your voice reminds him of ourdaughter, whose history I have related to you--that is all."

  "Alas!" exclaimed Amabel, with a sympathizing look, "I will be silent,if it pains him to hear me speak."

  "On no account," rejoined Dame Wingfield. "The tears he has shed willrelieve him. He could not weep when poor Sarah died, and I feared hisheart would break. Talk to him as you have talked to me, and you will dohim a world of good."

  Shortly afterwards, the farmer returned to the table, and the mealproceeded to its close without further interruption. As soon as theboard was cleared, Wingfield took a chair by Amabel, who, in compliancewith his wife's request, spoke to him about his daughter, and in termscalculated to afford him consolation. Leonard was enraptured by herdiscourse, and put so little constraint upon his admiration, that NizzaMacascree could not repress a pang of jealousy. As to Blaize, who hadeaten as much as he could cram, and emptied a large jug of the farmer'sstout ale, he took his chair to a corner, and speedily fell asleep; hishoarse but tranquil breathing proving that the alarms he had undergoneduring the day did not haunt his slumbers. Before separating for thenight, Amabel entreated that prayers might be said, and her requestbeing readily granted, she was about to retire with Nizza, whenWingfield detained them.

  "I have been thinking that I might offer you a safe asylum here," hesaid. "If you like it, you shall remain with us till your health isfully reinstated."

  "I thank you most kindly for the offer," returned Amabel, gratefully;"and if I do not accept it, it is neither because I should not esteemmyself safe here, nor because I am unwilling to be indebted to yourhospitality, but that I have been specially advised, as my last chanceof recovery, to try the air of Berkshire. I have little hope myself, butI owe it to those who love me to make the experiment."

  "If such is the case," returned the farmer, "I will not attempt topersuade you further. But if at any future time you should need changeof air, my house shall be entirely at your service."

  Dame Wingfield warmly seconded her husband's wish, and, with renewedthanks, Amabel and her companion withdrew. As there was not sufficientroom for their accommodation within the house, Leonard and the portertook up their quarters in the barn, and, throwing themselves upon a heapof straw, slept soundly till three o'clock, when they arose and began toprepare for their journey. Wingfield was likewise astir, and, afterassisting them to feed and dress their horses, took them into the house,where a plentiful breakfast awaited them. At the close of the meal,Amabel and Nizza, who had breakfasted in their own room, made theirappearance. All being in readiness for their departure, Dame Wingfieldtook leave of her guests with tears in her eyes, and the honest farmerwas little less affected. Both gazed after them as long as theycontinued in sight.

  Having ascertained from Wingfield the route they ought to pursue,Leonard proceeded about a quarter of a mile along the Harrow-road, andthen turned off on the left into a common, which brought them to Acton,from whence they threaded a devious lane to Brentford. Here theyencountered several fugitives from the great city, and, as theyapproached Hounslow, learned from other wayfarers that a band ofhighwaymen, by whom the heath was infested, had become more than usuallydaring since the outbreak of the pestilence, and claimed a heavy taxfrom all travellers. This was bad news to Leonard, who becameapprehensive for the safety of the bag of gold given to Nizza by theenthusiast, and he would have taken another road if it had beenpracticable; but as there was no alternative except to proceed, he putall the money he had about him into a leathern purse, trusting that thehighwaymen, if they attacked them, would be content with this booty.

  When about halfway across the vast heath, which spread around them, in awild but not unpicturesque expanse, for many miles on either side,Leonard perceived a band of horsemen, amounting perhaps to a dozen,galloping towards them, and, not doubting they were the robbers inquestion, communicated his suspicions to his companions. Neither Amabelnor Nizza Macascree appeared much alarmed, but Blaize was so terrifiedthat he could scarcely keep his seat, and was with difficulty preventedfrom turning his horse's head and riding off in the opposite direction.

  By this time the highwaymen had come up. With loud oaths, two of theirnumber held pistols to the heads of Leonard and Blaize, and demandedtheir money. The apprentice replied by drawing forth his purse, andbesought the fellow to whom he gave it not to maltreat his companion.The man rejoined with a savage imprecation that he "would maltreat themboth if they did not instantly dismount and let him search thesaddle-bags;" and he was proceeding to drag Amabel from the saddle, whenLeonard struck him a violent blow with his heavy riding-whip, whichbrought him to the ground. He was up again, however, in an instant, andwould have fired his pistol at the apprentice, if a masked individual,who was evidently, from the richness of his attire, and the deferencepaid him by the others, the captain of the band, had not interfered.

  "You are rightly served, Dick Dosset," said this person, "for yourrudeness to a lady. I will have none of my band guilty of incivility,and if this young man had not punished you, I would have done so myself.Pass free, my pretty damsel," he added, bowing gallantly to Amabel; "youshall not be further molested."

  Meanwhile, Blaize exhibited the contents of his pockets to the otherhighwayman, who having opened the box of rufuses and smelt at the phialof plague-water, returned them to him with a look of disgust, and badehim follow his companions. As Leonard was departing, the captain of theband rode after him, and inquired whether he had heard at what hour theking meant to leave Whitehall.

  "The court is about to adjourn to Oxford," he added, "and the king andsome of his courtiers will cross the heath to-day, when I purpose tolevy the same tax from his majesty that I do from his subjects."

  Leonard replied, that he was utterly ignorant of the king's movements;and explaining whence he came, the captain left him. The intelligence hehad thus accidentally obtained was far from satisfactory to theapprentice. For some distance, their road would be the same as thatabout to be taken by the monarch and his attendants, amongst whom it wasnot improbable Rochester might be numbered; and the possibility that theearl might overtake them and discover Amabel filled him with uneasiness.Concealing his alarm, however, he urged his steed to a quicker pace, andproceeded briskly on his way, glad, at least, that he had not lostSolomon Eagle's gift to Nizza. Amabel's weakly condition compelled themto rest at frequent intervals, and it was not until evening was drawingin that they descended the steep hill leading to the beautiful villageof Henley-upon-Thames, where they proposed to halt for the night.

  Crossing the bridge, they found a considerable number of the inhabitantsassembled in the main street and in the market-place, in expectation ofthe king's passing through the town on his way to Oxford, intimation ofhis approach having been conveyed by avant-couriers. Leonard proceededto the principal inn, and was fortunate enough to procure accommodation.Having conducted Amabel and Nizza to their room, he was repairing to thestable with Blaize to see after their steeds, when a loud blowing ofhorns was heard on the bridge, succeeded by the tramp of horses and therattling of wheels, and the next moment four valets in splendid liveryrode up, followed by a magnificent coach. The shouts of the assemblageproclaimed that it was the king. The cavalcade stopped before the inn,from the yard of which six fine horses were brought and attached to theroyal carriage, in place of others which were removed. Charles waslaughing heartily, and desired his attendants, who were neither numerousnor well-armed, to take care they were not robbed again between thisplace and Oxford; "Though," added the monarch, "it is now of littleconsequence, since we have nothing to lose."

  "Is it possible your majesty can have been robbed?" asked the landlord,who stood cap in hand at the door of the carriage.

  "I'faith, man, it _is_ possible," rejoined the king. "We were stopped onHounslow Heath by a band of highwaymen, who carried off two largecoffers filled with gold, and would
have eased us of our swords andsnuff-boxes but for the interposition of their captain, who, as we live,is one of the politest men breathing--is he not, Rochester?"

  Leonard Holt, who was among the crowd of spectators, started at themention of this name, and he trembled as the earl leaned forward inanswer to the king's question. The eyes of the rivals met at thismoment, for both were within a few yards of each other, and Rochester,whose cheek was flushed with anger, solicited the king's permission toalight, but Charles, affirming it was getting late, would not permithim, and as the horses were harnessed, and the drivers mounted, heordered them to proceed without delay.

  Inexpressibly relieved by his rival's departure, Leonard returned to thehouse, and acquainted Amabel with what had occurred. Quitting Henleybetimes on the following morning, they arrived in about three hours atWallingford, where they halted for some time, and, then pursuing theirjourney, reached Wantage at four o'clock, where they tarried for anhour. Up to this hour, Leonard had doubted the possibility of reachingtheir destination that night; but Amabel assuring him she felt nofatigue, he determined to push on. Accordingly, having refreshed theirsteeds, they set forward, and soon began to mount the beautiful downslying on the west of this ancient town.

  Crossing these heights, whence they obtained the most magnificent andextensive views of the surrounding country, they reached in aboutthree-quarters of an hour the pretty little hamlet of Kingston Lisle.Here they again paused at a small inn at the foot of a lofty hill,denominated, from a curious relic kept there, the Blowing Stone. Thisrocky fragment, which is still in existence, is perforated by a numberof holes, which emit, if blown into, a strange bellowing sound. Unawareof this circumstance, Leonard entered the house with the others, and hadjust seated, himself, when they were, astounded by a strange unearthlyroar. Rushing forth, Leonard found Blaize with his cheeks puffed out andhis mouth applied to the stone, into which he was blowing with all hisforce, and producing the above-mentioned extraordinary noise.

  Shortly after this, the party quitted the Blowing Stone, and havingtoiled up the steep sides of the hill, they were amply repaid onreaching its summit by one of the finest views they had ever beheld. Infact, the hill on which they stood commanded the whole of the extensiveand beautiful vale of the White Horse, which was spread out before themas far as the eye could reach, like a vast panorama, disclosing athousand fields covered with abundant, though as yet immature crops. Itwas a goodly prospect, and seemed to promise plenty and prosperity tothe country. Almost beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffingtonovertopping the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous othertowers and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of trees, which,together with the scattered mansions and farmhouses surrounded bygranges and stacks of hay and beans, gave interest and diversity to theprospect. The two most prominent objects in the view were the woodedheights of Farringdon on the one hand, and those of Abingdon on theother.

  Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked out, andrunning along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, they arrivedat an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called Uffingham Castle,occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, who was tending a flock ofsheep which were browsing on the delicious herbage to be found withinthe vast circular space enclosed by the inner vallum of the camp,explained its purpose, and they could not but regard it with interest.He informed them that they were in the neighbourhood of the famous WhiteHorse, a figure cut out of the turf on the hillside by the Saxons, andvisible for many miles. Conducting them to a point whence they couldsurvey this curious work, their guide next directed them to AshdownLodge, which lay, he told them, at about four miles' distance. They hadwandered a little out of their course, but he accompanied them for amile, until they came in sight of a thick grove of trees clothing abeautiful valley, above which could be seen the lofty cupola of themansion.

  Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze blowing inthis healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon drew near themansion, which they found was approached by four noble avenues. They hadnot advanced far, when a stalwart personage, six feet two high, andproportionately stoutly made, issued from the covert. He had a gun overhis shoulder and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them hewas called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven's gamekeeper, heinquired their business, and, on being informed of it, changed his surlymanner to one of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs.Buscot--such was the name of Amabel's aunt--was at home, and would beheartily glad to see them.

  "I have often heard her speak of her brother, Mr. Bloundel," he said,"and am well aware that he is an excellent man. Poor soul! she has beenvery uneasy about him and his family during this awful dispensation,though she had received a letter to say that he was about to close hishouse, and hoped, under the blessing of Providence, to escape thepestilence. His daughter will be welcome, and she cannot come to ahealthier spot than Ashdown, nor to a better nurse than Mrs. Buscot."

  With this, he led the way to the court-yard, and, entering the dwelling,presently returned with a middle-aged woman, who Amabel instantly knew,from the likeness to her father, must be her aunt. Mrs. Buscot caughther in her arms, and almost smothered her with kisses. As soon as thefirst transports of surprise and joy had subsided, the good housekeepertook her niece and Nizza Macascree into the house, and desired JohnLutcombe to attend to the others.

  VIII.

  ASHDOWN LODGE.

  Erected by Inigo Jones, and still continuing in precisely the same stateas at the period of this history, Ashdown Lodge is a large squareedifice, built in the formal French taste of the seventeenth century,with immense casements, giving it the appearance of being all glass, ahigh roof lighted by dormer windows, terminated at each angle by a talland not very ornamental chimney, and surmounted by a lofty andlantern-like belvedere, crowned in its turn by a glass cupola. Thebelvedere opens upon a square gallery defended by a broad balustrade,and overlooking the umbrageous masses and lovely hills around it. Thehouse, as has been stated, is approached by four noble avenues, thetimber constituting which, is, of course, much finer now than at theperiod under consideration, and possesses a delightful old-fashionedgarden, and stately terrace. The rooms are lofty but small, and there isa magnificent staircase, occupying nearly half the interior of thebuilding. Among other portraits decorating the walls, is one ofElizabeth Stuart, daughter of James the First, and Queen of Bohemia, forwhom the first Earl of Craven entertained so romantic an attachment, andto whom he was supposed to be privately united. Nothing can be moresecluded than the situation of the mansion, lying as it does in themidst of a gentle valley, surrounded by a thick wood, and without havinga single habitation in view. Its chief interest, however, must always bederived from its connection with the memory of the chivalrous andhigh-souled nobleman by whom it was erected, and who made itoccasionally his retreat after the death of his presumed royal consort,which occurred about four years previous to the date of this history.

  Amabel was delighted with her new abode, and she experienced thekindness of a parent from her aunt, with whom, owing to circumstances,she had not hitherto been personally acquainted, having only seen herwhen too young to retain any recollection of the event. The widow of afarmer, who had resided on Lord Craven's estate near Kingston Lisle,Mrs. Buscot, after her husband's death, had been engaged as housekeeperat Ashdown Lodge, and had filled the situation for many years to theentire satisfaction of her employer. She was two or three years olderthan her brother, Mr. Bloundel; but the perfect health she enjoyed, andwhich she attributed to the salubrious air of the downs, combined withher natural cheerfulness of disposition, made her look much the youngerof the two. Her features, besides their kindly and benevolentexpression, were extremely pleasing, and must, some years ago, have beenbeautiful. Even now, what with her fresh complexion, her white teeth,and plump figure, she made no slight pretensions to comeliness. Shepossessed the same good sense and integrity of character as her brother,together with his strong religious feeling, but entirely unaccom
paniedby austerity.

  Having no children, she was able to bestow her entire affections uponAmabel, whose sad story, when she became acquainted with it, painfullyaffected her; nor was she less concerned at her precarious state ofhealth. For the first day or two after their arrival, Amabel sufferedgreatly from the effects of the journey; but after that time, she gainedstrength so rapidly, that Mrs. Buscot, who at first had well-nighdespaired of her recovery, began to indulge a hope. The gentle suffererwould sit throughout the day with her aunt and Nizza Macascree in thegallery near the belvedere, inhaling the pure breeze blowing from thesurrounding hills, and stirring the tree-tops beneath her.

  "I never expected so much happiness," she observed, on one occasion, toMrs. Buscot, "and begin to experience the truth of Doctor Hodges'assertion, that with returning health, the desire of life would return.I now wish to live."

  "I am heartily glad to hear you say so," replied Mrs. Buscot, "and holdit a certain sign of your speedy restoration to health. Before you havebeen a month with me, I expect to bring back the roses to those palecheeks."

  "You are too sanguine, I fear, dear aunt," rejoined Amabel, "but thechange that has taken place in my feelings, may operate beneficiallyupon my constitution."

  "No doubt of it, my dear," replied Mrs. Buscot; "no doubt."

  The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to introduce asubject very near her heart, but, feeling doubtful as to its reception,she checked herself. The devoted attachment of the apprentice to herniece had entirely won her regard, and she fondly hoped she would beable to wean Amabel from all thought of the Earl of Rochester, andinduce her to give her hand to her faithful lover. With this view, sheoften spoke to her of Leonard--of his devotion and constancy, his goodlooks and excellent qualities; and though Amabel assented to all shesaid, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to perceive that the impression she desiredwas not produced. It was not so with Nizza Macascree. Whenever Leonard'sname was mentioned, her eyes sparkled, her cheek glowed, and sheresponded so warmly to all that was said in his praise, that Mrs. Buscotsoon found out the state of her heart. The discovery occasioned her somelittle disquietude, for the worthy creature could not bear the idea ofmaking even her niece happy at the expense of another.

  As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier thanhe had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, and noted withunspeakable delight the gradual improvement which appeared to be takingplace in her health. The greater part of his time, however, was notpassed in her society, but in threading the intricacies of the wood, orin rambling over the neighbouring downs; and he not only derivedpleasure from these rambles, but his health and spirits, which had beennot a little shaken by the awful scenes he had recently witnessed, werematerially improved. Here, at last, he seemed to have got rid of thegrim spectre which, for two months, had constantly haunted him. Nogreater contrast can be conceived than his present quiet life offered tothe fearful excitement he had recently undergone. For hot and narrowthoroughfares reeking with pestilential effluvia, resounding withfrightful shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on every side marks ofthe destructive progress of the scourge--for these terrible sights andsounds--for the charnel horrors of the plague-pit--the scarcely lessrevolting scenes at the pest-house--the dismal bell announcing thedead-cart--the doleful cries of the buriers--for graves surfeited withcorruption, and streets filled with the dying and the dead--and, aboveall, for the ever-haunting expectation that a like fate might be hisown,--he had exchanged green hills, fresh breezes, spreading views, thesong of the lark, and a thousand other delights, and assurances ofhealth and contentment. Often, as he gazed from the ridge of the downsinto the wide-spread vale beneath, he wondered whether the destroyingangel had smitten any of its peaceful habitations, and breathed a prayerfor their preservation!

  But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected citywas trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety was lesthe should be sent back to London. Seldom straying further than the gatesof the mansion, though often invited by John Lutcombe to accompany himto some of the neighbouring villages; having little to do, and less tothink of, unless to calculate how much he could consume at the nextmeal,--for he had banished all idea of the plague,--he conceived himselfat the summit of happiness, and waxed so sleek and round, that his faceshone like a full moon, while his doublet would scarcely meet around hiswaist.

  One day, about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things were inthis happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the gallery at thesummit of the house, observed a troop of horsemen, very gallantlyequipped, appear at the further end of the northern avenue. Aninexpressible terror seized her, and she would have fled into the house,but her limbs refused their office.

  "Look there!" she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, presented herselfat the glass door. "Look there!" she said, pointing to the cavalcade;"what I dreaded has come to pass. The Earl of Rochester has found meout, and is coming hither to carry me off. But I will die rather thanaccompany him."

  "You may be mistaken," replied Nizza, expressing a hopefulness, whichher looks belied; "it may be the Earl of Craven."

  "You give me new life," rejoined Amabel; "but no--no--my aunt has toldme that the good earl will not quit the city during the continuance ofthe plague. And see! some of the horsemen have distinguished us, and arewaving their hats. My heart tells me the Earl of Rochester is amongstthem. Give me your arm, Nizza, and I will try to gain some place ofconcealment."

  "Ay, let us fly," replied the other, assisting her towards the door; "Iam in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parravicin is doubtlesswith them. Oh! where--where is Leonard?"

  "He must be below," cried Amabel "But he could not aid us at thisjuncture; we must depend upon ourselves."

  Descending a short staircase, they entered Amabel's chamber, andfastening the door, awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival of thehorsemen. Though the room whither they had retreated was in the upperpart of the house, they could distinctly hear what was going on below,and shortly afterwards the sound of footsteps on the stairs, blendedwith merry voices and loud laughter--amid which, Amabel coulddistinguish the tones of the Earl of Rochester--reached them.

  While both were palpitating with fright, the handle of the door wastried, and a voice announced that the apprentice was without.

  "All is lost!" he cried, speaking through the keyhole; "the king ishere, and is accompanied by the Earl of Rochester and otherprofligates."

  "The king!" exclaimed Amabel, joyfully; "then I am no longerapprehensive."

  "As yet, no inquiries have been made after you," continued Leonard,unconscious of the effect produced by his intelligence, "but it isevident they know you are here. Be prepared, therefore."

  "I _am_ prepared," rejoined Amabel. And as she spoke, she threw open thedoor and admitted Leonard. "Do not stay with us," she added to him. "Incase of need, I will throw myself on his majesty's protection."

  "It will avail you little," rejoined Leonard, distrustfully.

  "I do not think so," said Amabel, confidently. "I have faith in hisacknowledged kindness of heart."

  "Perhaps you are right," returned Leonard. "Mrs. Buscot is at presentwith his majesty in the receiving-room. Will you not make fast yourdoor?"

  "No," replied Amabel, firmly; "if the king will not defend me, I willdefend myself."

  Leonard glanced at her with admiration, but he said nothing.

  "Is Sir Paul Parravicin here?" asked Nizza Macascree, with greatanxiety.

  "I have not seen him," replied Leonard; "and I have carefully examinedthe countenances of all the king's attendants."

  "Heaven be praised!" exclaimed Nizza.

  At this juncture, Mrs. Buscot entered the room. Her looks bespoke greatagitation, and she trembled violently.

  "You have no doubt heard from Leonard that the king and his courtiersare below," she said. "His majesty inquired whether you were here, and Idid not dare to deceive him. He desires to see you, and has sent me foryou. W
hat is to be done?" she added, with a look of distraction. "Isuppose you must obey."

  "There is no alternative," replied Amabel; "I will obey his majesty'scommands as soon as I can collect myself. Take back that answer, dearaunt."

  "Has Leonard told you that the Earl of Rochester is here?" pursued Mrs.Buscot.

  Amabel replied in the affirmative.

  "God grant that good may come of it!" cried Mrs. Buscot, clasping herhands together, as she quitted the room; "but I am sorely afraid."

  A half-suppressed groan from the apprentice told that he shared in herapprehensions.

  "Leave us, Leonard," said Amabel; "I would prepare myself for theinterview."

  The apprentice obeyed, and closing the door after him, stationed himselfat the foot of the staircase. Left alone with Nizza, Amabel threwherself on her knees, and besought the support of Heaven on this tryingoccasion. She then arose, and giving her hand to Nizza, they went downstairs together. Leonard followed them at a little distance, and with abeating heart. Two gentlemen-ushers were posted, at the door of thechamber occupied by the king. Not far from them stood Mrs. Buscot, who,having made known her niece to the officials, they instantly admittedher, but ordered Nizza to remain outside.

  On entering the room, Amabel at once discovered the king. He was habitedin a magnificent riding-dress and was seated on a rich fauteuil, aroundwhich were grouped a dozen gaily-attired courtiers. Amongst these werethe Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege. As Amabel advanced,glances of insolent curiosity were directed towards her, and Rochester,stepping forward, offered to lead her to the king. She, however,declined the attention. Greatly mortified, the earl would have seizedher hand; but there was so much dignity in her deportment, so muchcoldness in her looks, that in spite of his effrontery, he felt abashed.Charles smiled at his favourite's rebuff, but, in common with theothers, he could not help being struck by Amabel's extraordinary beautyand natural dignity, and he observed, in an under-tone, to Etherege, "Isit possible this can be a grocer's daughter?"

  "She passes for such, my liege," replied Etherege, with a smile. "But Icannot swear to her parentage."

  "Since I have seen her, I do not wonder at Rochester's extravagantpassion," rejoined the monarch. "But, odds fish! she seems to carelittle for him."

  Having approached within a short distance of the king, Amabel would haveprostrated herself before him, but he prevented her.

  "Nay, do not kneel, sweetheart," he said, "I am fully satisfied of yourloyalty, and never exact homage from one of your sex, but, on thecontrary, am ever ready to pay it. I have heard much of yourattractions, and, what is seldom the case in such matters, find theyhave not been overrated. The brightest of our court beauties cannotcompare with you."

  "A moment ago, the fair Amabel might be said to lack bloom," observedEtherege; "but your majesty's praises have called a glowing colour toher cheek."

  "Would you deign to grant me a moment's hearing, my liege?" said Amabel,looking steadfastly at the king.

  "Not a moment's hearing merely, sweetheart," returned Charles; "but anhour's, if you list. I could dwell on the music of your tones for ever."

  "I thank your majesty for your condescension," she replied; "but I willnot long trespass on your patience. What I have to say concerns the Earlof Rochester."

  "Stand forward, my lord," said Charles to the earl, "and let us hearwhat complaint is to be made against you."

  Rochester advanced, and threw a passionate and half-reproachful glanceat Amabel.

  "It may be improper for me to trouble your majesty on so light amatter," said Amabel; "but your kindness emboldens me to speakunreservedly. You may be aware that this nobleman once entertained, orfeigned to entertain, an ardent attachment to me."

  "I need scarcely assure you, my liege," interposed Rochester, "that itwas no feigned passion. And it is needless to add, that however ardentlyI felt towards my fair accuser then, my passion has in nowise abated."

  "I should wonder if it had," rejoined Charles, gallantly. "I will notcontradict you, my lord," said Amabel; "it _is_ possible you may haveloved me, though I find it difficult to reconcile your professions ofregard with your conduct--but this is not to the purpose. Whether youloved me or not, I loved _you_--deeply and devotedly. There is nosacrifice I would not have made for him," she continued, turning to theking, "and influenced by these feelings, and deluded by false promises,I forgot my duty, and was rash enough to quit my home with him."

  "All this I have heard, sweetheart," replied Charles. "There is nothingvery remarkable in it. It is the ordinary course of such affairs. I amhappy to be the means of restoring your lover to you, and, in fact, camehither for that very purpose."

  "You mistake me, my liege," replied Amabel. "I do not desire to have himrestored to me. Fortunately for myself, I have succeeded in mastering mylove for him. The struggle has well-nigh cost me my life--but I _have_conquered."

  "I have yet to learn, sweetheart," observed Charles, with an incredulouslook, "that woman's love, if deeply fixed, _can_ be subdued."

  "If I had not been supported by religion, my liege, I could _not_ havesubdued it," rejoined Amabel "Night and day, I have passed insupplicating the Great Power that implanted this fatal passion in mybreast, and, at length, my prayers have prevailed."

  "Aha! we have a devotee here!" thought Charles. "Am I to understand,fair saint, that you would reject the earl, if he were to offer you hishand?" he asked.

  "Unquestionably," replied Amabel, firmly.

  "This is strange," muttered Charles. "The girl is evidently in earnest.What says your lordship?" he added to Rochester.

  "That she shall be mine, whether she loves me or not," replied the earl."My pride is piqued to the conquest."

  "No wonder!--the resistless Rochester flouted by a grocer's daughter.Ha! ha!" observed Charles, laughing, while the rest of the courtiersjoined in his merriment.

  "Oh! sire," exclaimed Amabel, throwing herself at the king's feet, andbursting into tears, "do not abandon me, I beseech you. I cannot requitethe earl's attachment--and shall die if he continues his pursuit.Command him--oh! command him to desist."

  "I fear you have not dealt fairly with me, sweetheart," said the king."There is a well-favoured youth without, whom the earl pointed out asyour father's apprentice. Have you transferred your affections to him?"

  "Your majesty has solved the enigma," observed Rochester, bitterly.

  "You wrong me, my lord," replied Amabel. "Leonard Holt is without. Lethim be brought into the royal presence and interrogated; and if he willaffirm that I have given him the slightest encouragement by look orword, or even state that he himself indulges a hope of holding a placein my regards, I will admit there is some foundation for the charge. Ipray your majesty to send for him."

  "It is needless," replied Charles, coldly. "I do not doubt yourassertion. But you will do the earl an injustice as well as yourself, ifyou do not allow him a fair hearing."

  "If you will allow me five minutes alone with you, Amabel, or will takea single turn with me on the terrace, I will engage to remove everydoubt," insinuated Rochester.

  "You would fail to do so, my lord," replied Amabel. "The time is gone bywhen those accents, once so winning in my ear, can move me."

  "At least give me the opportunity," implored the earl.

  "No," replied Amabel, decidedly, "I will never willingly meet you more;for though I am firm in my purpose, I do not think it right to exposemyself to temptation. And now that I have put your majesty in fullpossession of my sentiments," she added to the king; "now that I havetold you with what bitter tears I have striven to wash out my error,--Iimplore you to extend your protecting hand towards me, and to save mefrom further persecution on the part of the earl."

  "I shall remain at this place to-night," returned Charles. "Take tillto-morrow to consider of it, and if you continue in the same mind, yourrequest shall be granted."

  "At least, enjoin the earl to leave me unmolested till then," criedAmabel.

  "Hum!" excl
aimed the king, exchanging a look with Rochester.

  "For pity, sire, do not hesitate," cried Amabel, in a tone of such agonythat the good-natured monarch could not resist it.

  "Well, well," he rejoined; "it shall be as you desire. Rochester, youhave heard our promise, and will act in conformity with it."

  The earl bowed carelessly.

  "Nay, nay, my lord," pursued Charles, authoritatively, "my commands_shall_ be obeyed, and if you purpose otherwise, I will place you underrestraint."

  "Your majesty's wishes are sufficient restraint," rejoined Rochester; "Iam all obedience."

  "It is well," replied Charles. "Are you satisfied, fair damsel?"

  "Perfectly," replied Amabel. And making a profound and gratefulreverence to the king, she retired.

  Nizza Macascree met her at the door, and it was fortunate she did so, orAmabel, whose strength began to fail her, would otherwise have fallen.While she was thus engaged, Charles caught sight of the piper'sdaughter, and being greatly struck by her beauty, inquired her name.

  "Odds fish!" he exclaimed, when informed of it by Rochester, "a piper'sdaughter! She is far more beautiful than your mistress."

  "If I procure her for your majesty, will you withdraw your interdictionfrom me?" rejoined the earl.

  "No--no--that is impossible, after the pledge I have given," repliedCharles. "But you must bring this lovely creature to me anon. I amenchanted with her, and do not regret this long ride, since it hasbrought her under my notice."

  "Your majesty's wishes shall be obeyed," said Rochester. "I will notwait till to-morrow for an interview with Amabel," he added to himself.

  Supported by Nizza Macascree and her aunt, and followed by Leonard,Amabel contrived to reach her own chamber, and as soon as she wassufficiently recovered from the agitation she had experienced, detailedto them all that had passed in her interview with the king. While theparty were consulting together as to the course to be pursued in thisemergency, the tap of a wand was heard at the door, and the summonsbeing answered by Mrs. Buscot, she found one of the ushers without, whoinformed her it was the king's pleasure that no one should leave thehouse till the following day, without his permission.

  "To insure obedience to his orders," continued the usher, "his majestyrequires that the keys of the stables be delivered to the keeping of hischief page, Mr. Chiffinch, who has orders, together with myself, to keepwatch during the night."

  So saying, he bowed and retired, while Mrs. Buscot returned with thisnew and alarming piece of intelligence to the others.

  "Why should the mandate be respected?" cried Leonard, indignantly. "Wehave committed no crime, and ought not to be detained prisoners. Trustto me, and I will find some means of eluding their vigilance. If youwill remain here to-morrow," he added to Amabel, "you are lost."

  "Do not expect any rational advice from me, my dear niece," observedMrs. Buscot, "for I am fairly bewildered."

  "Shall I not forfeit the king's protection by disobeying hisinjunctions?" replied Amabel. "I am safer here than if I were to seek anew asylum, which would be speedily discovered."

  "Heaven grant you may not have cause to repent your decision!" criedLeonard, despondingly.

  "I must now, perforce, quit you, my dear niece," said Mrs. Buscot,"though it breaks my heart to do so. His majesty's arrival has throwneverything into confusion, and if I do not look after the supper, whichis commanded at an early hour, it will never be ready. As it is, therewill be nothing fit to set before him. What with my distress about you,and my anxiety about the royal repast, I am well-nigh beside myself."

  With this, she quitted the room, and Amabel signifying to Leonard thatshe desired to be left alone with Nizza Macascree, he departed at thesame time.

  As Mrs. Buscot had stated, the utmost confusion prevailed below. Theroyal purveyor and cook, who formed part of the king's suite, werebusily employed in the kitchen, and though they had the whole householdat their command, they made rather slow progress at first, owing to thewant of materials. In a short time, however, this difficulty wasremedied. Ducks were slaughtered by the dozen; fowls by the score, and acouple of fat geese shared the same fate. The store ponds were visitedfor fish by John Lutcombe; and as the country abounded with game, alarge supply of pheasants, partridges, and rabbits was speedily procuredby the keeper and his assistants. Amongst others, Blaize lent ahelping-hand in this devastation of the poultry-yard, and he had justreturned to the kitchen, and commenced plucking one of the geese, whenhe was aroused by a slap on the shoulder, and looking up, beheldPillichody.

  "What ho! my little Blaize, my physic-taking porter," cried the bully;"how wags the world with you? And how is my pretty Patience? How is thatpeerless kitchen-maiden? By the god of love! I am dying to behold heragain."

  "Patience is well enough, for aught I know," replied Blaize, in a surlytone. "But it is useless for you to think of her. She is betrothed tome."

  "I know it," replied Pillichody; "but do not suppose you are the solemaster of her affections. The little charmer has too good taste forthat. 'Blaize,' said she to me, 'will do very well for a husband, but hecannot expect me to continue faithful to him.'"

  "Cannot I?" exclaimed the porter reddening. "Fiends take her! but I do!When did she say this?"

  "When I last visited your master's house," replied Pillichody. "Sweetsoul! I shall never forget her tender looks, nor the kisses she allowedme to snatch from her honeyed lips when your back was turned. The veryrecollection of them is enchanting."

  "Zounds and fury!" cried Blaize, transported with rage. "If I am only aporter, while you pretend to be a major, I will let you see I am thebetter man of the two." And taking the goose by the neck, he swung itround his head like a flail, and began to batter Pillichody about theface with it.

  "S'death!" cried the bully, endeavouring to draw his sword, "if you donot instantly desist, I will treat you like that accursed bird--cut yourthroat, pluck, stuff, roast, and eat you afterwards." He was, however,so confounded by the attack, that he could offer no resistance, and inretreating, caught his foot against the leg of a table, and fellbackwards on the floor. Being now completely at the porter's mercy, andseeing that the latter was preparing to pursue his advantage with arolling-pin which he had snatched from the dresser, he besought himpiteously to spare him.

  "Recant all you have said," cried Blaize, brandishing the rolling-pinover him. "Confess that you have calumniated Patience. Confess that sherejected your advances, if you ever dared to make any to her. Confessthat she is a model of purity and constancy. Confess all this, villain,or I will break every bone in your body."

  "I do confess it," replied Pillichody, abjectly. "She is all youdescribe. She never allowed me greater freedom than a squeeze of thehand."

  "That was too much," replied the porter, belabouring him with therolling-pin. "Swear that you will never attempt such a liberty again, orI will pummel you to death. Swear it."

  "I swear," replied Pillichody.

  "Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you to prevent mischief,"cried Blaize. And kneeling down upon the prostrate bully, who groanedaloud, he drew his long blade from his side. "There, now you may getup," he added.

  So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do nothing forsome time but strut up and down the kitchen with the sword over hisshoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other domestics, andespecially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to make his appearance at thetime, laden with a fresh supply of game.

  "Why, Blaize, man," cried the keeper, approvingly, "I did not give youcredit for half so much spirit."

  "No man's courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried," rejoinedBlaize. "I would combat with you, gigantic John, if Patience's fidelitywere called in question."

  Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into a corner,where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter askance, as ifmeditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly apprehensive of this, andthinking it becoming to act with generosity towards his foe, Blaizemarched u
p to him, and extended his hand in token of reconciliation. Tothe surprise of all, Pillichody did not reject his overtures.

  "I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize," he said, "otherwise Ishould never rest till I had been repaid with terrible interest for theindignities I have endured."

  "Nay, heed them not," replied Blaize. "You must make allowances for thejealous feelings you excited. I love Patience better than my life."

  "Since you put it in that light," rejoined Pillichody, "I am willing tooverlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions! no man can be a greatermartyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three of my most intimatefriends for merely presuming to ogle the widow of Watling-street, whowould have been mine, if she had not died of the plague."

  "Don't talk of the plague, I beseech you," replied Blaize, with ashudder. "It is a subject never mentioned here."

  "I am sorry I alluded to it, then," rejoined Pillichody. "Give me backmy sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, and am willing todrown the remembrance of our quarrel in a bottle of sack."

  Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key of thecellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pillichody, theyseated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack and a couple of largeglasses on a stool between them.

  "I suppose you know why I am come hither?" observed the major, smackinghis lips after his second bumper.

  "Not precisely," replied Blaize. "But I presume your visit has somereference to Mistress Amabel."

  "A shrewd guess," rejoined Pillichody. "And this reminds me that we haveomitted to drink her health."

  "Her better health," returned Blaize, emptying his glass. "Heaven bepraised! she has plucked up a little since we came here."

  "She would soon be herself again if she were united to the Earl ofRochester," said Pillichody.

  "There you are wrong," replied Blaize. "She declares she has no longerany regard for him."

  "Mere caprice, believe me," rejoined Pillichody. "She loves him betterthan ever."

  "It may be so," returned Blaize; "for Patience, who ought to knowsomething of the matter, assured me she was dying for the earl; and ifshe had not told me the contrary herself, I should not have believedit."

  "Did she tell you so in the presence of Leonard?" asked Pillichody.

  "Why, now I bethink me, he _was_ present," replied Blaize, involuntarilyputting his hand to his shoulder, as he recalled the horsewhipping hehad received on that occasion.

  "I knew it!" cried Pillichody. "She is afraid to confess her attachmentto the earl. Is Leonard as much devoted to her as ever?"

  "I fancy so," replied Blaize, "but she certainly gives _him_ noencouragement."

  "Confirmation!" exclaimed Pillichody. "But fill your glass. We willdrink to the earl's speedy union with Amabel."

  "Not so loud," cried Blaize, looking uneasily round the cellar. "Ishould not like Leonard to overhear us."

  "Neither should I," returned Pillichody, "for I have something to say toyou respecting him."

  "You need not propose any more plans for carrying off Amabel," criedBlaize, "for I won't take any part in them."

  "I have no such intention," rejoined Pillichody. "The truth is," headded, mysteriously, "I am inclined to side with you and Leonard. But aswe have finished our bottle, suppose we take a turn in the court-yard."

  "With all my heart," replied Blaize.

  Immediately after Amabel's departure Charles proceeded with hiscourtiers to the garden, and continued to saunter up and down theterrace for some time, during which he engaged Rochester inconversation, so as to give him no pretext for absenting himself. Theking next ascended to the belvedere, and having surveyed the prospectfrom it, was about to descend when he caught a glimpse of NizzaMacascree on the great staircase, and instantly flew towards her.

  "I must have a word with you, sweetheart," he cried, taking her hand,which she did not dare to withdraw.

  Ready to sink with confusion, Nizza suffered herself to be led towardsthe receiving-room. Motioning to the courtiers to remain without,Charles entered it with his blushing companion, and after puttingseveral questions to her, which she answered with great timidity andmodesty, inquired into the state of her heart.

  "Answer me frankly," he said. "Are your affections engaged?"

  "Since your majesty deigns to interest yourself so much about me,"replied Nizza, "I will use no disguise. They are."

  "To whom?" demanded the king.

  "To Leonard Holt," was the answer.

  "What! the apprentice who brought Amabel hither!" cried the king. "Why,the Earl of Rochester seemed to intimate that he was in love withAmabel. Is it so?"

  "I cannot deny it," replied Nizza, hanging down her head.

  "If this is the case, it is incumbent on me to provide you with a newlover," replied Charles. "What will you say, sweetheart, if I tell you,you have made a royal conquest?"

  "I should tremble to hear it," replied Nizza. "But your majesty isjesting with me."

  "On my soul, no!" rejoined the king, passionately. "I have never seenbeauty equal to yours, sweetheart--never have been so suddenly, socompletely captivated before."

  "Oh! do not use this language towards me, my liege," replied Nizza,dropping on her knee before him. "I am unworthy your notice. My heart isentirely given to Leonard Holt."

  "You will speedily forget him in the brilliant destiny which awaits you,child," returned Charles, raising her. "Do not bestow another thought onthe senseless dolt who can prefer Amabel's sickly charms to your piquantattractions. By Heaven! you shall be mine."

  "Never!" exclaimed Nizza, extricating herself from his grasp, andrushing towards the door.

  "You fly in vain," cried the king, laughingly pursuing her.

  As he spoke the door opened, and Sir Paul Parravicin entered the room.The knight started on seeing how matters stood, and the king lookedsurprised and angry. Taking advantage of their embarrassment, Nizza madegood her retreat, and hurrying to Amabel's chamber, closed and boltedthe door.

  "What is the matter?" cried Amabel, startled by her agitated appearance.

  "Sir Paul Parravicin is here," replied Nizza. "I have seen him. But thatis not all. I am unlucky enough to have attracted the king's fancy. Hehas terrified me with his proposals."

  "Our persecution is never to end," rejoined Amabel; "you are asunfortunate as myself."

  "And there is no possibility of escape," returned Nizza, bursting intotears; we are snared like birds in the nets of the fowler."

  "You can fly with Leonard if you choose," replied Amabel.

  "And leave you--impossible!" rejoined Nizza.

  "There is nothing for it, then, but resignation," returned Amabel. "Letus put a firm trust in Heaven, and no ill can befall us."

  After passing several hours of the greatest disquietude, they were aboutto retire to rest, when Mrs. Buscot tapped at the door, and makingherself known, was instantly admitted.

  "Alas!" she cried, clasping her niece round the neck, "I tremble to tellyou what I have heard. Despite the king's injunctions, the wicked Earlof Rochester is determined to see you before morning, and to force youto compliance with his wishes. You must fly as soon as it is dark."

  "But how am I to fly, dear aunt?" rejoined Amabel. "You yourself knowthat the keys of the stable are taken away, and that two of the king'sattendants will remain on the watch all night. How will it be possibleto elude their vigilance?"

  "Leave Leonard to manage it," replied Mrs. Buscot. "Only prepare to setout. John Lutcombe will guide you across the downs to Kingston Lisle,where good Mrs. Compton will take care of you, and when the danger isover you can return to me."

  "It is a hazardous expedient," rejoined Amabel, "and I would rather runall risks, and remain here. If the earl should resort to violence, I canappeal to the king for protection."

  "If you have any regard for me, fly," cried Nizza Macascree. "I am lostif I remain here till to-morrow."

  "For _your_ sake I will go, then," returned Amabel. "But I have aforeb
oding that I am running into the teeth of danger."

  "Oh! say not so," rejoined Mrs. Buscot. "I am persuaded it is for thebest. I must leave you now, but I will send Leonard to you."

  "It is needless," replied Amabel. "Let him come to us at the propertime. We will be ready."

  To explain the cause of Mrs. Buscot's alarm, it will be necessary toreturn to the receiving-room, and ascertain what occurred after Nizza'sflight. Charles, who at first had been greatly annoyed by Parravicin'sabrupt entrance, speedily recovered his temper, and laughed at theother's forced apologies.

  "I find I have a rival in your majesty," observed the knight. "It isunlucky for me that you have encountered Nizza. Her charms were certainto inflame you. But when I tell you I am desperately enamoured of her, Iam persuaded you will not interfere with me."

  "I will tell you what I will do," replied the good-humoured monarch,after a moment's reflection. "I remember your mentioning that you onceplayed with a Captain Disbrowe for his wife, and won her from him. Wewill play for this girl in the same manner."

  "But your majesty is a far more skilful player than Disbrowe," repliedParravicin, reluctantly.

  "It matters not," rejoined the monarch; "the chances will be moreequal--or rather the advantage will be greatly on your side, for you areallowed to be the luckiest and best player at my court. If I win, she ismine. If, on the contrary, fortune favours you, I resign her."

  "Since there is no avoiding it, I accept the challenge," repliedParravicin.

  "The decision shall not be delayed an instant," cried Charles, "What,ho!--dice!--dice!"

  An attendant answering the summons, he desired that the other courtiersshould be admitted, and dice brought. The latter order could not be soeasily obeyed, there being no such articles at Ashdown; and theattendants were driven to their wits' ends, when Pillichody chancing tooverhear what was going forward, produced a box and dice, which wereinstantly conveyed to the king, and the play commenced. Charles, to hisinexpressible delight and Parravicin's chagrin, came off the winner, andthe mortification of the latter was increased by the laughter and tauntsof the spectators.

  "You are not in your usual luck to-day," observed Rochester to him, asthey walked aside.

  "For all this, do not think I will surrender Nizza," replied Parravicin,in a low tone, "I love her too well for that."

  "I cannot blame you," replied Rochester. "Step this way," he added,drawing him to the further end of the room. "It is my intention to carryoff Amabel to-night, notwithstanding old Rowley's injunctions to thecontrary, and I propose to accomplish my purpose in the followingmanner. I will frighten her into flying with Leonard Holt, and will thensecretly follow her. Nizza Macascree is sure to accompany her, and will,therefore, be in your power."

  "I see!" cried Parravicin. "A capital project!"

  "Pillichody has contrived to ingratiate himself with Blaize," pursuedthe earl, "and through him the matter can be easily managed. The keys ofthe stables, which are now intrusted to Chiffinch, shall be stolen--thehorses set free--and the two damsels caught in the trap prepared forthem, while the only person blamed in the matter will be Leonard."

  "Bravo!" exclaimed Parravicin. "I am impatient for the scheme to be putinto execution."

  "I will set about it at once," returned Rochester.

  And separating from Parravicin, he formed some excuse for quitting theroyal presence.

  About an hour afterwards, Pillichody sought out Blaize, and told him,with a very mysterious air, that he had something to confide to him.

  "You know my regard for the Earl of Rochester and Sir Paul Parravicin,"he said, "and that I would do anything an honourable man ought to do toassist them. But there are certain bounds which even friendship cannotinduce me to pass. They meditate the worst designs against Amabel andNizza Macascree, and intend to accomplish their base purpose beforedaybreak. I therefore give you notice, that you may acquaint LeonardHolt with the dangerous situation of the poor girls, and contrive theirescape in the early part of the night. I will steal the keys of thestable for you from Chiffinch, and will render you every assistance inmy power. But if you are discovered, you must not betray me."

  "Not for the world!" replied Blaize. "I am sure we are infinitelyobliged to you. It is a horrible design, and must be prevented. I wishall this flying and escaping was over. I desire to be quiet, and amquite sorry to leave this charming place."

  "There is no alternative now," rejoined Pillichody.

  "So it appears," groaned Blaize.

  The substance of Pillichody's communication was immediately conveyed toLeonard, who told Blaize to acquaint his informer that he should havetwo pieces of gold, if he brought them the keys. To obtain them was notvery difficult, and the bully was aided in accomplishing the task by theEarl of Rochester in the following manner. Chiffinch was an inordinatedrinker, and satisfied he could turn this failing to account, the earlwent into the ball where he was stationed, and after a littleconversation, called for a flask of wine. It was brought, and while theywere quaffing bumpers, Pillichody, who had entered unperceived,contrived to open a table-drawer in which the keys were placed, and slipthem noiselessly into his doublet. He then stole away, and delivered hisprize to Blaize, receiving in return the promised reward, and chucklingto himself at the success of his roguery. The keys were conveyed by theporter to Leonard, and the latter handed them in his turn to JohnLutcombe, who engaged to have the horses at the lower end of the southavenue an hour before midnight.

  IX.

  KINGSTON LISLE.

  About half-past ten, and when it was supposed that the king and hiscourtiers had retired to rest (for early hours were kept in those days),Mrs. Buscot and Leonard repaired to Amabel's chamber. The goodhousekeeper noticed with great uneasiness that her niece lookedexcessively pale and agitated, and she would have persuaded her toabandon all idea of flight, if she had not feared that her stay might beattended with still worse consequences.

  Before the party set out, Mrs. Buscot crept down stairs to see that allwas safe, and returned almost instantly, with the very satisfactoryintelligence that Chiffinch was snoring in a chair in the hall, and thatthe usher had probably retired to rest, as he was nowhere to be seen.Not a moment, therefore, was to be lost, and they descended the greatstaircase as noiselessly as possible. So far all had gone well; but ongaining the hall, Amabel's strength completely deserted her, and ifLeonard had not caught her in his arms, she must have fallen. He washurrying forward with his burden towards a passage on the right, whenChiffinch, who had been disturbed by the noise, suddenly started to hisfeet, and commanded him to stop. At this moment, a figure enveloped in acloak darted from behind a door, and extinguishing the lamp whichChiffinch had taken from the table, seized him with a powerful grasp.All was now buried in darkness, and while Leonard Holt was hesitatingwhat to do, he heard a voice, which he knew to be that of Pillichody,whisper in his ear, "Come with me--I will secure your retreat. Quick!quick!"

  Suffering himself to be drawn along, and closely followed by NizzaMacascree and Mrs. Buscot, Leonard crossed the dining-chamber, notwithout stumbling against some of the furniture by the way, and throughan open window into the court, where he found Blaize awaiting him.Without waiting for thanks, Pillichody then disappeared, and Mrs.Buscot, having pointed out the course he ought to pursue, bade himfarewell.

  Hurrying across the court, he reached the south avenue, but had notproceeded far when it became evident, from the lights at the windows, aswell as from the shouts and other noises proceeding from the court, thattheir flight was discovered. Encumbered as he was by his lovely burden,Leonard ran on so swiftly, that Nizza Macascree and Blaize couldscarcely keep up with him. They found John Lutcombe at the end of theavenue with the horses, and mounting them, set off along the downs,accompanied by the keeper, who acted as their guide. Striking off on theright, they came to a spot covered over with immense grey stones,resembling those rocky fragments used by the Druids in the constructionof a cromlech, and, as it was quite dark, it required some caut
ion inpassing through them. Guided by the keeper, who here took hold of thebridle of his horse, Leonard threaded the pass with safety; but Blaizewas not equally fortunate. Alarmed by the sounds in the rear, and notattending to the keeper's caution, he urged his horse on, and the animalcoming in contact with a stone, stumbled, and precipitated him and NizzaMacascree to the ground. Luckily, neither of them fell against thestone, or the consequences might have been fatal. John Lutcombeinstantly flew to their aid, but before he reached them, Nizza Macascreehad regained her feet. Blaize, however, who was considerably shaken andbruised by the fall, was not quite so expeditious, and his dilatorinessso provoked the keeper, that, seizing him in his arms, he lifted himinto the saddle. Just as Nizza Macascree was placed on the pillionbehind him, the tramp of horses was heard rapidly approaching. Inanother moment their pursuers came up, and the foremost, whose tonesproclaimed him the Earl of Rochester, commanded them to stop.Inexpressibly alarmed, Amabel could not repress a scream, and guided bythe sound, the earl dashed to her side, and seized the bridle of hersteed.

  A short struggle took place between him and Leonard, in which the hitterstrove to break away; but the earl, drawing his sword, held it to histhroat.

  "Deliver up your mistress instantly," he cried, in a menacing tone, "oryou are a dead man."

  Leonard returned a peremptory refusal.

  "Hold!" exclaimed Amabel, springing from the horse; "I will not be thecause of bloodshed. I implore you, my lord, to desist from this outrage.You will gain nothing by it but my death."

  "Let him touch you at his peril," cried John Lutcombe, rushing towardsthem, and interposing his stalwart person between her and the earl.

  "Stand aside, dog!" cried Rochester furiously, "or I will trample youbeneath my horse's hoofs."

  "You must first get near me to do it," rejoined the keeper. And as hespoke he struck the horse so violent a blow with a stout oaken cudgelwith which he was provided, that the animal became unmanageable, anddashed across the downs to some distance with his rider.

  Meanwhile, Parravicin having ridden up with Pillichody (for they provedto be the earl's companions) assailed Blaize, and commanded him todeliver up Nizza Macascree. Scared almost out of his senses, the porterwould have instantly complied, if the piper's daughter had not kept fasthold of him, and reproaching him with his cowardice, screamed loudly forhelp. Heedless of her cries, Parravicin seized her, and strove to dragher from the horse; but she only clung the closer to Blaize, and theother, expecting every moment to pay another visit to the ground, addedhis vociferations for assistance to hers.

  "Leave go your hold," he cried, to Pillichody, who had seized him on theother side by the collar. "Leave go, I say, or you will rend my jerkinasunder. What are you doing here? I thought you were to help us toescape."

  "So I have done," rejoined Pillichody, bursting into a loud laugh; "andI am now helping to catch you again. What a blind buzzard you must benot to perceive the net spread for you! Deliver up Nizza Macascreewithout more ado, or, by all the fiends, I will pay you off for yourdastardly assault upon me this morning."

  "I cannot deliver her up," cried Blaize; "she sticks to me as fast as aburr. I shall be torn asunder between you. Help! help!"

  Parravicin, having dismounted, now tore away Nizza Macascree, and wasjust about to transfer her to his own steed, when John Lutcombe, havingdriven away the earl in the manner before described, came to the rescue.One blow from his cudgel stretched the knight on the sod, and liberatedNizza Macascree, who instantly flew to her preserver. Finding howmatters stood, and that he was likely to be well backed, Blaize pluckedup his courage, and grappled with Pillichody. In the struggle they bothtumbled to the ground. The keeper rushed towards them, and seizingPillichody, began to belabour him soundly. In vain the bully imploredmercy. He underwent a severe chastisement, and Blaize added a few kicksto the shower of blows proceeding from the keeper, crying, as he dealtthem, "Who is the buzzard now, I should like to know?"

  By this time, Parravicin had regained his legs, and the Earl ofRochester having forced back his steed, both drew their swords, and,burning for vengeance, prepared to renew the charge. The affair mighthave assumed a serious aspect, if it had not chanced that at thisjuncture lights were seen hurrying along the avenue, and the nextmoment, a large party issued from it.

  "It is the king?" cried Rochester. "What is to be done?"

  "Our prey must be abandoned," rejoined Parravicin; "it will never do tobe caught here."

  With this he sprang upon his steed, and disappeared across the downswith the earl.

  John Lutcombe, on perceiving the approach of the torch-bearers,instantly abandoned Pillichody, and assisting Blaize to the saddle,placed Nizza behind him. Leonard, likewise, who had dismounted tosupport Amabel, replaced her in the pillion, and in a few seconds theparty were in motion. Pillichody, who was the only person now left, didnot care to wait for the king's arrival, but snatching the bridle of hissteed, which was quietly grazing at a little distance, mounted him, andgalloped off in the direction which he fancied had been taken by theearl and his companion.

  Guided by the keeper, who ran beside them, the fugitives proceeded for acouple of miles at a rapid pace over the downs, when, it not appearingthat they were followed, John Lutcombe halted for a moment to recoverbreath. The fresh air had in some degree revived Amabel, and thecircumstance of their providential deliverance raised the spirits of thewhole party. Soon after this, they reached the ridge of the downs, themagnificent view from which was completely hidden by the shades ofnight, and, tracking the old Roman road for about a mile, descended thesteep hill in the direction of the Blowing Stone. Skirting a thick groveof trees, they presently came to a gate, which the keeper opened, andled them through an orchard towards what appeared to be in the gloom amoderately-sized and comfortable habitation.

  "The owner of this house, Mrs. Compton," observed John Lutcombe toAmabel, "is a widow, and the kindest lady in Berkshire. A message hasbeen sent by your aunt to beg her to afford you an asylum for a fewdays, and I will answer for it you will be hospitably received."

  As he spoke, the loud barking of a dog was heard, and an old grey-headedbutler was seen advancing towards them with a lantern in his hand. Atthe same time a groom issued from the stable on the right, accompaniedby the dog in question, and, hastening towards them, assisted them todismount. The dog seemed to recognise the keeper, and leaped upon him,licked his hand, and exhibited other symptoms of delight.

  "What, Ringwood," cried the keeper, patting his head, "dost thou knowthy old master again? I see you have taken good care of him, Sam," headded to the groom. "I knew I was placing him into good hands when Igave him to Mrs. Compton."

  "Ay, ay, he can't find a better home, I fancy," said the groom.

  "Will it please you to walk this way, ladies?" interposed the butler."My mistress has been expecting you for some time, and had become quiteuneasy about you." So saying, he led the way through a garden, filledwith the odours of a hundred unseen flowers, and ushered them into thehouse.

  Mrs. Compton, an elderly lady, of very pleasing exterior, received themwith great kindness, and conducted them to a comfortable apartment,surrounded with book-shelves and old family portraits, whererefreshments were spread out for them. The good old lady seemedparticularly interested in Amabel, and pressed her, but in vain, topartake of the refreshments. With extreme delicacy, she refrained frominquiring into the cause of their visit, and seeing that they appeared,much fatigued, rang for a female attendant, and conducted them to asleeping-chamber, where she took leave of them for the night. Amabel wasdelighted with her kind hostess, and, contrary to her expectations andto those of Nizza Macascree, enjoyed undisturbed repose. She awoke inthe morning greatly refreshed, and, after attiring herself, gazedthrough her chamber window. It looked upon a trim and beautiful garden,with a green and mossy plot carved out into quaintly-fashioned beds,filled with the choicest flowers, and surrounded by fine timber, amidwhich a tall fir-tree appeared proudly conspicuous. Mrs. Compton, who,
it appeared, always arose with the sun, was busied in tending herflowers, and as Amabel watched her interesting pursuits, she couldscarcely help envying her.

  "What a delightful life your mistress must lead," she observed to afemale attendant who was present; "I cannot imagine greater happinessthan hers."

  "My mistress ought to be happy," said the attendant; "for there is noone living who does more good. Not a cottage nor a farm-house in theneighbourhood but she visits to inquire whether she can be of anyservice to its inmates; and wherever her services _are_ required, theyare always rendered. Mrs. Compton's name will never be forgotten inKingston Lisle."

  At this moment, Amabel caught sight of the benevolent countenance of thegood old lady looking up at the window, and a kindly greeting passedbetween them. Ringwood, who was a privileged intruder, was careeringround the garden, and though his mistress watched his gambols round herfavourite flower-beds with some anxiety, she did not check him. Amabeland Nizza now went down stairs, and Mrs. Compton returning from thegarden, all the household, including Leonard and Blaize, assembled inthe breakfast-room for morning prayers.

  Breakfast over, Mrs. Compton entered into conversation with Amabel, andascertained all the particulars of her history. She was greatlyinterested in it, but did not affect to conceal the anxiety it gave her.

  "Yours is really a very dangerous position," she said, "and I should beacting unfairly towards you if I told you otherwise. However, I willgive you all the protection in my power, and I trust your retreat maynot be discovered."

  Mrs. Compton's remark did not tend to dispel Amabel's uneasiness, andboth she and Nizza Macascree passed a day of great disquietude.

  In the mean time, Leonard and Blaize were treated with great hospitalityby the old butler in the servants' hall; and though the former was notwithout apprehension that their retreat might be discovered, he trusted,if it were so, to some fortunate chance to effect their escape. He didnot dare to confide his apprehensions to the butler, nor did the othermake any inquiries; but it being understood that their visit was to besecret, every precaution was taken to keep it so. John Lutcombe hadtarried no longer than enabled him to discuss a jug of ale, and then setout for Ashdown, promising to return on the following day; but he hadnot yet made his appearance. Evening arrived, and nothing alarminghaving occurred, all became comparatively easy; and Mrs. Comptonherself, who had looked unusually grave throughout the day, nowrecovered her wonted cheerfulness.

  Their satisfaction, however, was not long afterwards disturbed by thearrival of a large train of horsemen at the gate, and a statelypersonage alighted, and walked at the head of a gallant train, towardsthe house. At the sight of the new-comers, whom they instantly knew werethe king and his suite, Amabel and Nizza Macascree flew upstairs, andshutting themselves in their chamber, awaited the result in the utmosttrepidation. They were not kept long in suspense. Shortly after theking's arrival, Mrs. Compton herself knocked at the door, and in a toneof deep commiseration, informed Amabel that his majesty desired to seeher.

  Knowing that refusal was impossible, Amabel complied, and descended to aroom looking upon the garden, in which she found the king. He wasattended only by Chiffinch, and received her with a somewhat severeaspect, and demanded why she had left Ashdown contrary to his expressinjunctions?

  Amabel stated her motives.

  "What you tell me is by no means satisfactory," rejoined the king; "butsince you have chosen to trust to yourself, you can no longer look forprotection from me."

  "I beseech your majesty to consider the strait into which I was driven,"returned Amabel, imploringly.

  "Summon the Earl of Rochester to the presence," said the king, turningfrom her to Chiffinch.

  "In pity, sire," cried Amabel, throwing herself at his feet.

  "Let the injunction be obeyed," rejoined Charles, peremptorily.

  And the chief page departed.

  Amabel instantly arose, and drew herself proudly up. Soon afterwards,Rochester made his appearance, and on seeing Amabel, a flush oftriumphant joy overspread his features.

  "I withdraw my interdiction, my lord," said the king to him. "You are atliberty to renew your suit to this girl."

  "Hear me, Lord Rochester," said Amabel, addressing the earl; "I haveconquered the passion I once felt for you, and regard you only as onewho has sought my ruin, and from whom I have fortunately escaped. Whenyou learn from my own lips that my heart is dead to you, that I nevercan love you more, and that I only desire to be freed from youraddresses, I cannot doubt but you will discontinue them."

  "Your declaration only inflames me the more, lovely Amabel," replied theearl, passionately. "You must, and shall be mine."

  "Then my death will rest at your door," she rejoined.

  "I will take my chance of that," rejoined the earl, carelessly.

  Amabel then quitted the king's presence, and returned to her ownchamber, where she found Nizza Macascree in a state of indescribableagitation.

  "All has happened that I anticipated," said she to Nizza Macascree. "Theking will no longer protect me, and I am exposed to the persecutions ofthe Earl of Rochester, who is here."

  As she spoke, an usher entered, and informed Nizza Macascree that theking commanded her presence. The piper's daughter looked at Amabel witha glance of unutterable anguish.

  "I fear you must go," said Amabel, "but Heaven will protect you!"

  They then tenderly embraced each other, and Nizza Macascree departedwith the usher.

  Some time having elapsed, and Nizza not returning, Amabel becameseriously uneasy. Hearing a noise below, she looked forth from thewindow, and perceived the king and all his train departing. A terribleforeboding shot through her heart. She gazed anxiously after them, butcould not perceive Nizza Macascree. Overcome at last by her anxiety, sherushed down stairs, and had just reached the last step, when she wasseized by two persons. A shawl was passed over her head, and she wasforced out of the house.

  * * * * *