Chapter XIII: Book THE THIRD: June, 1665 (3)

"I would rather disclose the secret to her by word of mouth than in any other 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 to take this opportunity of visiting the great plague-pit, which lay about a quarter of a mile distant, in a line with the church of All-Hallows-in-the-Wall, and he accordingly proceeded in that direction. The pit which he was about to visit was about forty feet long, twenty wide, and the like number deep. Into this tremendous chasm the dead were promiscuously thrown, without regard to sex or condition, generally stripped of their clothing, and covered with a slight layer of earth and quick lime.

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

Long after the sun had set, the sky was stained with crimson, and the grey walls of the city were tinged with rosy radiance. The heat was intense, and Leonard, to cool himself, sat down in the thick grass--for, though the crops were ready for the scythe, no mowers could be found--and, gazing upwards, strove to mount in spirit from the tainted earth towards heaven. After a while he arose, and proceeded towards the plague-pit. The grass was trampled down near it, and there were marks of frequent cart-wheels upon the sod. Great heaps of soil, thrown out of the excavation, lay on either side. Holding a handkerchief steeped in vinegar to his face, Leonard ventured to the brink of the pit. But even this precaution could not counteract the horrible effluvia arising from it. It was more than half filled with dead bodies; and through the putrid and heaving mass many disjointed limbs and ghastly faces could be discerned, the long hair of women and the tiny arms of children appearing on the surface. It was a horrible sight--so horrible, that it possessed a fascination peculiar to itself, and, in spite of his loathing, Leonard lingered to gaze at it. Strange and fantastic thoughts possessed him. He fancied that the legs and arms moved--that the eyes of some of the corpses opened and glared at him--and that the whole rotting mass was endowed with animation. So appalled was he by this idea that he turned away, and at that moment beheld a vehicle approaching. It was the dead-cart, charged with a heavy load to increase the already redundant heap.

The same inexplicable and irresistible feelings of curiosity that induced Leonard to continue gazing upon the loathly objects in the pit, now prompted him to stay and see what would ensue. Two persons were with the 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 any sentiment, for the cart halted at a little distance from him, when its conductors, turning it round, backed it towards the edge of the pit. The horse was then taken out, and Chowles calling to Leonard, the latter involuntarily knelt down to guide its descent, while the other assistant, who had proceeded to the further side of the chasm, threw the light of a lantern full upon the grisly load, which was thus shot into the gulf below.

Shovelling a sufficient quantity of earth and lime into the pit to cover the 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 the direction of the sound, he perceived a figure running with great swiftness towards the pit. As no pursuers appeared, Leonard could scarcely doubt that this was one of the distracted persons he had heard of, who, in the frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of their sores, would often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and he therefore resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt. Accordingly, he placed himself in the way of the runner, and endeavoured, with outstretched arms, to stop him. But the latter dashed him aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit, uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, "She is here! she is here!--I shall find her amongst them!"--flung himself into the abyss.

As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this dreadful action, Leonard ran to the pit, and, gazing into it, beheld him by the imperfect light struggling in the horrible mass in which he was partially immersed. The frenzied man had now, however, begun to repent his rashness, and cried out for aid. But this Leonard found it impossible to afford him; and, seeing he must speedily perish if left to himself, he ran after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as it reached Moor-gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him to return.

"There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, in a tone of 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 some crazy being does not destroy himself in the same way. We never concern ourselves 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 his head with the intention of striking the apprentice, but the latter nimbly avoided the blow, and snatching it from his grasp, ran back to the plague-pit. He was followed by Chowles and the burier, who threatened him with loud oaths. Regardless of their menaces, Leonard fixed the hook in the dress of the struggling man, and exerting all his strength, drew him out of the abyss. He had just lodged him in safety on the brink when Chowles and his companion came up.

"Keep off!" cried Leonard, brandishing his fork as he spoke; "you shall neither commit robbery nor murder here. If you will assist this unfortunate gentleman, I have no doubt you will be well rewarded. If not, get hence, or advance at your peril."

"Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something might be made of the matter, "if you think we should be rewarded, we would convey the gentleman 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 must not 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 us examine his countenance."

Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate person. His attire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied by the loathsome mass in which he had been plunged. He was in the flower of youth, and his features must have been remarkable for their grace and beauty, but they were now of a livid hue, and swollen and distorted by pain. Still Leonard recognised them.

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

"Sir Paul Parravicin!" echoed Chowles. "By all that's wonderful, so it is! 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 at the miserable object before him, "I would have left him to die the death he so richly merits!"

A deep groan broke from the sufferer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right, Sir Paul, right," rejoined Chowles; "put a bold face on it, and I will answer for it you will get over the attack. Have no fear of Judith Malmayns," he added, in a significant tone. "However she may treat 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 will take you in the first place to Saint Paul's. Judith must see you as soon as possible."

"Take me where you please," rejoined Parravicin, faintly; "and remember what 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 he placed the knight carefully in the cart. "You need not trouble yourself further about him," he added to Leonard.

"Before he 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 he is, he is rich enough to pay well. So stand aside, and let us go. We have 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 dealing him so severe a blow on the head that he stretched him senseless on the ground? "Shall we throw him into the pit?" he added to Chowles.

The latter hesitated for a moment, and then said, "No, no, it is not worth while. It may bring us into trouble. We have no time to lose." And they 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 had happened; and when the whole train of circumstances rushed upon his mind, he congratulated himself that he had escaped further injury. "When I think of the hands I have been placed in," he murmured, "I cannot but be grateful that they did not throw me into the pit, where no discovery could have been made as to how I came to an end. But I will not rest till I have ascertained the name and rank of Nizza's persecutor. I have no doubt they have taken him to Saint Paul's, and will proceed thither at once."

With this view, he hastened towards the nearest city gate, and passing towards it, shaped his course towards the cathedral. It was a fine starlight night, and though there was no moon, the myriad lustres glowing in the deep and cloudless vault rendered every object plainly distinguishable. At this hour, little restraint was placed upon the sick, and they wandered about the streets uttering dismal cries. Some would fling themselves upon bulks or steps, where they were not unfrequently found the next morning bereft of life. Most of those not attacked by the distemper kept close house; but there were some few reckless beings who passed the night in the wildest revelry, braving the fate awaiting them. As Leonard passed Saint Michael's church, in Basinghall-street, he perceived, to his great surprise, that it was lighted up, and at first supposed some service was going on within it, but on approaching he heard strains of lively and most irreverent music issuing from within. Pushing open the door, he entered the sacred edifice, and found it occupied by a party of twenty young men, accompanied by a like number of females, some of whom were playing at dice 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 to contain himself he mounted the steps of the pulpit, and called to them in a loud voice to desist from their scandalous conduct, and no longer profane the house of God. But they treated his remonstrances with laughter and derision, and some of the party forming themselves into a group round the pulpit, entreated him to preach to them.

"We want a little variety," said one of the group, a good-looking young man, upon whom the wine had evidently made some impression--"we are tired 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 any impression," returned Leonard. "But I perceive you are too hardened to be aroused to repentance."

"Repentance!" cried another of the assemblage. "Do you know whom you address? These gentlemen are the Brotherhood of Saint Michael, and I am the principal. We are determined to enjoy the few days or hours we may have left--that is all. We are not afraid of the future, and are resolved 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 our wine."

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

"We anticipate nothing else," returned the principal; "and are therefore resolved to banish reflection. A week ago, the Brotherhood of Saint Michael consisted of forty persons. We are already diminished to half the 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 be seized with the distemper, shall be instantly conveyed to the pest-house, so that the hilarity of the others shall not be interrupted. The poor fellow who has just been attacked has left behind him a beautiful mistress. She is yours if you choose to join us."

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

But Leonard disengaged himself, and hurried away amid the laughter and hootings of the assemblage. The streets, despite their desolate appearance, were preferable to the spot he had just quitted, and he seemed to breathe more freely when he got to a little distance from the polluted fane. He had now entered Wood-street, but all was as still as death, and he paused to gaze up at his master's window, but there was no one 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 her dwelling, and feeling he was near her. Many a sad heart has been cheered by 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 depressed by the thought of Amabel's precarious state of health.

While thus wrapt in mournful thought, he observed three figures slowly approaching from the further end of the street, and he instinctively withdrew into a doorway. He had reason to congratulate himself upon the precaution, as, when the party drew nearer, he recognised, with a pang that shot to his heart, the voice of Rochester. A moment's observation from his place of concealment showed him that the earl was accompanied by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. They paused within a short distance of him, and he could distinctly hear their conversation.

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

"You have guessed my purpose precisely," returned Rochester. "Doctor Hodges has informed a friend of mine that the pretty Amabel has fallen into a decline. The poor soul is, doubtless, pining for me; and it would be 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," laughed Etherege. "I thought you had determined to carry off Mistress Mallett."

"Old Bowley declares he will send me to the Tower if I do," replied Rochester; "and though his threats would scarcely deter me from acting as I think proper, I have no inclination for marriage at present. What a pity, 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; "especially where you have a friend so devoted as myself. But do you mean to carry off Amabel to-night?"

"Ay, now we come to business," interposed Pillichody. "Bolts and barricadoes! your lordship has only to say the word, and I will break into 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 my design for the present. I have ascertained, from the source whence I obtained information of Amabel's illness, that she is to be removed into the country. This will exactly suit my purpose, and put her completely in my power."

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

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

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

"To be frank with you, my sole motive was to gaze at the house that contains 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 have not seen her for some weeks, and during that time have endeavoured to obliterate her image by making love to a dozen others. But it will not do. She still continues absolute mistress of my affections. I sometimes think, if I can obtain her in no other way, I shall be rash enough to marry her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feared to tell your lordship," replied Pillichody, "lest it should spoil your mirth; but he broke out of his chamber a few hours ago, and has not been discovered since. Most likely, he will be found in the plague-pit or the Thames in the morning, for he was in such an infuriated state, that it is the opinion of his attendants he would certainly destroy himself. You know he was attacked two days after Nizza Macascree was seized by the pestilence, and his brain has been running upon the poor girl ever since."

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

"_Apropos_ of melancholy subjects," said Etherege, "your masque of the Dance of Death has caused great consternation at court. Mistress Stewart declares she cannot get that strange fellow who performed such fantastic tricks 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 the dead. He takes up his abode in a crypt of Saint Faith's and leads an incomprehensible life. As we return we shall pass the cathedral, and can see whether he is astir."

"Readily," replied Etherege. "Do you desire to tarry here longer, or shall we proceed before you, while you indulge your tender meditations undisturbed?"

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

Etherege and Pillichody then proceeded slowly towards Cheapside, while the earl remained with his arms folded upon his breast, and his gaze fixed upon the house. Leonard watched him with intense curiosity, and had great difficulty in controlling himself. Though the earl was armed, while he had only his staff, he could have easily mastered him by assailing him unawares. But Leonard's generous nature revolted at the unworthy suggestion, and he resolved, if he attacked him at all, to give him time to stand upon his guard. A moment's reflection, however, satisfied him that his wisest course would be to remain concealed. He was now in possession of the earl's plan, and, with the help of Doctor Hodges, could easily defeat it; whereas if he appeared, it would be evident that he had overheard what had passed, and some other scheme, to which he could not be privy, would be necessarily adopted. Influenced by this consideration, he suffered the earl to depart unmolested, and when he had got to some distance followed him. Rochester's companions were waiting for him in Cheapside, and, joining them, they all three proceeded towards the cathedral. They entered the great northern door; and Leonard, who was now well acquainted with all the approaches, passed through the door at the north side of the choir, to which he had been directed on a former occasion by Solomon Eagle. He found the party guided by the old verger--the only one of its former keepers who still lingered about the place--and preparing to descend to Saint Faith's. Leonard followed as near as he could without exposing himself, and, on gaining the subterranean church, easily contrived to screen himself behind the ponderous ranks of pillars.

By this time they had reached the door of the charnel It was closed; but Rochester knocked against it, and Chowles presently appeared. He seemed greatly surprised at seeing the earl, nor was the latter less astonished when he learnt that Parravicin was within the vault. He desired to be shown to his friend, and Chowles ushered him into the crypt. Leonard would have followed them; but as Etherege and the others declined entering the charnel, and remained at the door, he could not do so.

Shortly after this the sick man was brought out, stretched upon a pallet, borne by Chowles and Judith; and the party proceeded slowly, and occasionally relieving each other, to the great western entrance, where a coach being procured by Pillichody, Parravicin was placed within it, with Judith and Chowles; and orders being given in an under-tone to the driver, he departed. The others then proceeded towards Ludgate, while Leonard, 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 number of 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's for that purpose, to convert the cathedral into a receptacle for the infected. Accordingly, a meeting was held in the Convocation House to make final arrangements. It was attended by Sir John Lawrence, the Lord Mayor; by Sir George Waterman, and Sir Charles Doe, sheriffs; by Doctor Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury; by the Duke of Albemarle, the Earl of Craven, and, a few other zealous and humane persons. Several members of the College of Physicians were likewise present, and, amongst others, Doctor Hodges; and the expediency of the measure being fully agreed upon, it was determined to carry it into immediate execution.

The cloisters surrounding the Convocation House were crowded with sick persons, drawn thither by the rumour of what was going forward; and when the meeting adjourned to the cathedral, these unfortunate beings followed them, and were with some difficulty kept aloof from the uninfected by the attendants. A very earnest and touching address was next pronounced by the archbishop. Calling upon his hearers to look upon themselves as already dead to the world,--to regard the present visitation as a just punishment of their sins, and to rejoice that their sufferings would be so soon terminated, when, if they sincerely and heartily repented, they would at once be transported from the depths of wretchedness and misery to regions of unfading bliss; he concluded by stating that he, and all those around him, were prepared to devote themselves, without regard to their own safety, to the preservation of their fellow-citizens, and that they would leave nothing undone to stop the ravages of the devouring scourge.

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

His discourse concluded, the archbishop and most of his companions quitted the cathedral. Hodges, however, and three of the physicians, remained behind to superintend the necessary preparations. Shortly after, a large number of pallets were brought in, and ranged along the nave and aisles at short distances from each other; and, before night, the interior of the structure presented the complete appearance of an hospital. Acting under the directions of Doctor Hodges, Leonard Holt lent his assistance in arranging the pallets, in covering them with bedding and blankets, and in executing any other service required of him. A sufficient number of chirurgeons and nurses were then sent for, and such was the expedition used, that on that very night most of the pallets were occupied. Thus the cathedral underwent another afflicting change. A blight had come over it, mildewing its holy walls, and tainting and polluting its altars. Its aisles, once trodden by grave and reverend 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 shrines formerly adorned with rich sculptures and costly ornaments, but stripped of them at times when they were looked upon as idolatrous and profane, were now occupied by nurses, chirurgeons, and their attendants; while every 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, the cathedral was crowded to overflowing. Upwards of three hundred pallets were set up in the nave, in the aisles, in the transepts, and in the choir, and even in the chapels. But these proving insufficient, many poor wretches who were brought thither were placed on the cold flags, and protected only by a single blanket. At night the scene was really terrific. The imperfect light borne by the attendants fell on the couches, and revealed the livid countenances of their occupants; while the vaulted roof rang with shrieks and groans so horrible and heart-piercing as to be scarcely endured, except by those whose nerves were firmly strung, or had become blunted by their constant recurrence. At such times, too, some unhappy creature, frenzied by agony, would burst from his couch, and rend the air with his cries, until overtaken and overpowered by his attendants. On one occasion, it happened that a poor wretch, who had been thus caught, broke loose a second time, and darting through a door leading to the stone staircase in the northern transept gained the ambulatory, and being closely followed, to escape his pursuers, sprang through one of the arched openings, and falling from a height of near sixty feet, was dashed in pieces on the flagged floor beneath.

A walk through this mighty lazar-house would have furnished a wholesome lesson to the most reckless observer. It seemed to contain all the sick of the city. And yet it was not so. Hundreds were expiring in their own dwellings, and the other pest-houses continued crowded as before. Still, as a far greater number of the infected were here congregated, and could be seen at one view, the picture was incomparably more impressive. Every part of the cathedral was occupied. Those who could not find room inside it crouched beneath the columns of the portico on rugs or blankets, and implored the chirurgeons as they passed to attend them. Want of room also drove others into Saint Faith's, and here the scene was, if possible, more hideous. In this dismal region it was found impossible to obtain a free circulation of air, and consequently the pestilential effluvia, unable to escape, acquired such malignancy, that it was almost certain destruction to inhale it. After a time, few of the nurses and attendants would venture thither; and to take a patient to Saint Faith's was considered tantamount to consigning him to the grave.

Whether Judith Malmayns had succeeded or not in curing Sir Paul Parravicin, it is not our present purpose to relate. Soon after the cathedral was converted into a lazar-house she returned thither, and, in spite of the opposition of Doctor Hodges, was appointed one of the nurses. It must not be supposed that her appointment was the result of any ill design. Such was the difficulty of obtaining attendance, that little choice was left, and the nurses being all of questionable character, it was supposed she was only a shade worse than her fellows, while she was known to be active and courageous. And this was speedily proved; for when Saint Faith's was deserted by the others, she remained at her post, and quitted it neither night nor day. A large pit was digged in the open space at the north-east corner of the cathedral, and to this great numbers of bodies were nightly conveyed by Chowles and Jonas. But it was soon filled, and they were compelled to resort, as before, to Finsbury Fields, and to another vast pit near Aldgate. When not engaged in this revolting employment, Chowles took up his quarters in the crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, he indulged himself in his customary revelry. He and Judith had amassed, in one way or other, a vast quantity of spoil, and frequently planned how they would spend it when the pestilence ceased. Their treasure was carefully concealed in a cell in one of the secret passages with which they were acquainted, leading from Saint Faith's to the upper structure.

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

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

"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, gazing fearfully at her.

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

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

"You do well to affect ignorance," rejoined Judith, "but you cannot deceive me. No one but you can have done it."

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

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

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

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

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

"Restore it," replied Judith, "or tell me where it is hidden. If not, I will be the death of you!"

"Let us go to the hiding-place," replied Chowles, whose uneasiness was not 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 a lamp, and passing through the secret door, hurried along the narrow stone passage. He was about to open the cell, when he perceived near it the tall figure of the enthusiast.

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

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

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

"Go on," pursued Solomon Eagle, "continue to plunder and destroy. Pursue your 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-gotten treasure is gone--whither, you will never know. Get hence!" he added, in a 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 a discomfited air, and returned to the crypt.

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

"He shall not repeat the offence with impunity," returned Judith. "I will 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 pair looked at each other uneasily, but neither spoke a word.

Meanwhile, Leonard Holt did not omit to pay a daily visit to the cathedral. It was a painful contemplation, and yet not without deep interest, to behold the constant succession of patients, most of whom were swept away by the scourge in the course of a couple of days, or even in a shorter period. Out of every hundred persons attacked, five did not recover; and whether the virulence of the distemper increased, or the summer heats rendered its victims more easily assailable, certain it is they were carried off far more expeditiously than before. Doctor Hodges was unremitting in his attentions, but his zeal and anxiety availed nothing. He had to contend with a disease over which medicine exercised little control.

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

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

"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 sending Amabel into the country to-morrow," said Leonard, as they proceeded.

"I hope so," replied Hodges. "He has already delayed it too long. You will 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. "Wherever Amabel 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 our proceeding. At this time a chance meeting (were it nothing more) might prove fatal to the object of our solicitude."

Leonard said nothing, but the colour fled his cheek, and his lips slightly quivered. In a few seconds more they reached the grocer's house.

They found him at the window anxiously expecting them; and Doctor Hodges, being drawn up in the same way as before, was conducted to Amabel's chamber. She was reclining in an easy-chair, with the Bible on her knee; and though she was much wasted away, she looked more lovely than ever. A slight hectic flush increased the brilliancy of her eyes, which had now acquired that ominous lustre peculiar to persons in a decline. There were other distressing symptoms in her appearance which the skilful physician well knew how to interpret. To an inexperienced eye, however, she would have appeared charming. Nothing could exceed the delicacy of her complexion, or the lovely mould of her features, which, though they had lost much of their fulness and roundness, had gained in expression; while the pencilled brows clearly traced upon her snowy forehead, the long dark eyelashes shading her cheek, and the rich satin tresses drooping over her shoulders, completed her attractions. Her mother stood by her side, and not far from her sat little Christiana, amusing herself with some childish toy, and ever and anon stealing an anxious glance at her sister. Taking Amabel's arm, and sighing to himself to think how thin it was, the doctor placed his finger upon her pulse. Whatever might be his secret opinion, he thought fit to assume a hopeful manner, and looking smilingly at her, said, "You are better than I 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 no avail, and I would rather pass the rest of my life here than with strangers. I cannot be happier than I am now."

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

"My life is in the hands of my Maker," replied Amabel, "and I am ready to 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, I would make every effort, for the sake of those whose happiness is dearer to me than my own, to purchase a complete restoration to health. If my father desires me to try a removal to the country, and you think it will have a beneficial effect, I am ready to go. But do not urge it, unless you think there is a chance of my recovery."

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

"But if I go, will you promise me health?" rejoined Amabel. "Do not deceive 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 set out."

"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 aunt will take every care of her. The mansion is situated amid the Berkshire hills, and the air is the purest and best in England."

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

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

"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 the safeguard of Leonard."

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

"Have no fear for me, father," replied Amabel; "and do not weep, dear mother," 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 more in this world, our reunion is certain in that to come. I have given you much pain and uneasiness, but it will be an additional grief to me if I think you feel further anxiety on my account."

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

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

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

"She must not be over excited," interposed Hodges, in a low tone, and gently 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 will be ready at any moment."

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

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

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

Up to this time, Doctor Hodges had not judged it prudent to allow a meeting between Leonard and Nizza Macascree, but now, from reasons of his own, he resolved no longer to delay it. Accordingly, on reaching his dwelling, he took the apprentice to her chamber. She was standing in a pensive attitude, near a window which looked towards the river, and as she turned on his entrance, Leonard perceived that her eyes were filled with tears. Blushing deeply, she advanced towards him, and greeted him with all the warmth of her affectionate nature. She had quite recovered her good looks, and Leonard could not but admit that, had he seen her before his heart was plighted to another, it must have been given to her. Comparisons are ungracious, and tastes differ more perhaps as to beauty than on any other point; but if Amabel and the piper's daughter had been placed together, it would not have been difficult to determine to 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 her exquisitely-formed mouth and pearly teeth--in her clear nut-brown complexion--in her dusky and luxuriant tresses, and in her light elastic figure, with which more perfect but less piquant charms could not compete. Such seemed to be the opinion of Doctor Hodges, for as he gazed at 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, I perceive I am in the way. You must have much to say to each other that can in nowise interest me. Excuse me a moment, while I see that the horses are ordered."

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

Hitherto, the conversation had been unrestrained and agreeable on both sides, but now they were left alone together, neither appeared able to utter a word. Nizza cast her eyes timidly on the ground, while Leonard caressed little Bell, who had been vainly endeavouring by her gamesome tricks to win his attention.

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

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

"Of the plague?" asked Nizza, anxiously.

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

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

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

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

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

"I will go with you, if you desire it," replied Nizza, "and will watch over 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 undergo far more fatigues than an invalid like Amabel."

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

"What do you desire to consult me about?" cried the physician, who had entered 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 obviate many difficulties. I have just received a message from Mr. Bloundel, by Dallison, the porter, to say he intends sending Blaize with you. I will therefore provide pillions for the horses, so that the whole party can be accommodated."

He then sat down and wrote out minute instructions for Amabel's treatment, and delivering the paper to Leonard, desired him to give it to 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; and the discourse then turning to Nizza's father, she expressed the utmost anxiety to see him before she set out.

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

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

"As you please," returned Hodges. "Leonard shall accompany you. You will easily 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 a small loo mask, gave it her. The youthful pair then quitted the house, Nizza taking Bell under her arm, as she intended leaving her with her father. 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 his inquiries further by attempting to take off her mask; but the fierce look of the apprentice, who grasped his staff in a menacing manner, induced him to abandon his purpose. He, however, followed them along Cheapside, and would have continued the pursuit along the Old Jewry, if Leonard had not come to a halt, and awaited his approach. He then took to his heels, and did not again make his appearance.

As they reached the open fields and slackened their pace, Leonard deemed it prudent to prepare his companion for her interview with her father by mentioning the circumstance of the packet, and the important secret which he had stated he had to disclose to her.

"I cannot tell what the secret can relate to, unless it is to my mother," rejoined Nizza. "She died, I believe, when I was an infant. At all events, I never remember seeing her, and I have remarked that my father is averse to talking about her. But I will now question him. I have 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 vault when the coin had been shown to Judith Malmayns, describing the nurse's singular look and her father's subsequent anger.

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