Chapter VIII: Book THE SECOND: May, 1665 (3)

It was not, however, the cathedral itself, but the magnificent view it commanded, that chiefly attracted the apprentice's attention. From the elevated point on which he stood, his eye ranged over a vast tract of country bounded by the Surrey hills, and at last settled upon the river, which in some parts was obscured by a light haze, and in others tinged with the ruddy beams of the newly-risen sun. Its surface was spotted, even at this early hour, with craft, while innumerable vessels of all shapes and sizes were moored, to its banks. On. the left, he noted the tall houses covering London Bridge; and on the right, traced the sweeping course of the stream as it flowed from Westminster. On this hand, on the opposite bank, lay the flat marshes of Lambeth; while nearer stood the old bull-baiting and bear-baiting establishments, the flags above which could be discerned above the tops of the surrounding habitations. A little to the left was the borough of Southwark, even then a large and populous district--the two most prominent features in the scene being Winchester House, and Saint Saviour's old and beautiful church.

Filled with wonder at what he saw, Leonard looked towards the east, and here an extraordinary prospect met his gaze. The whole of the city of London was spread out like a map before him, and presented a dense mass of ancient houses, with twisted chimneys, gables, and picturesque roofs--here and there overtopped by a hall, a college, an hospital, or some other lofty structure. This vast collection of buildings was girded in by grey and mouldering walls, approached by seven gates, and intersected by innumerable narrow streets. The spires and towers of the churches shot up into the clear morning air--for, except in a few quarters, no smoke yet issued from the chimneys. On this side, the view of the city was terminated by the fortifications and keep of the Tower. Little did the apprentice think, when he looked at the magnificent scene before him, and marvelled at the countless buildings he beheld, that, ere fifteen months had elapsed, the whole mass, together with the mighty fabric on which he stood, would be swept away by a tremendous conflagration. Unable to foresee this direful event, and lamenting only that so fair a city should be a prey to an exterminating pestilence, he turned towards the north, and suffered his gaze to wander over Finsbury-fields, and the hilly ground beyond them--over Smithfield and Clerkenwell, and the beautiful open country adjoining Gray's-inn-lane.

So smiling and beautiful did these districts appear, that he could scarcely fancy they were the chief haunts of the horrible distemper. But he could not blind himself to the fact that in Finsbury-fields, as well as in the open country to the north of Holborn, plague-pits had been digged and pest-houses erected; and this consideration threw such a gloom over the prospect, that, in order to dispel the effect, he changed the scene by looking towards the west. Here his view embraced all the proudest mansions of the capital, and tracing the Strand to Charing Cross, long since robbed of the beautiful structure from which it derived its name, and noticing its numerous noble habitations, his eye finally rested upon Whitehall: and he heaved a sigh as he thought that the palace of the sovereign was infected by as foul a moral taint as the hideous disease that ravaged the dwellings of his subjects.

At the time that Leonard Holt gazed upon the capital, its picturesque beauties were nearly at their close. In a little more than a year and a quarter afterwards, the greater part of the old city was consumed by fire; and though it was rebuilt, and in many respects improved, its original and picturesque character was entirely destroyed.

It seems scarcely possible to conceive a finer view than can be gained from the dome of the modern cathedral at sunrise on a May morning, when the prospect is not dimmed by the smoke of a hundred thousand chimneys--when the river is just beginning to stir with its numerous craft, or when they are sleeping on its glistening bosom--when every individual house, court, church, square, or theatre, can be discerned--when the eye can range over the whole city on each side, and calculate its vast extent. It seems scarcely possible, we say, to suppose at any previous time it could be more striking; and yet, at the period under consideration, it was incomparably more so. Then, every house was picturesque, and every street a collection of picturesque objects. Then, that which was objectionable in itself, and contributed to the insalubrity of the city, namely, the extreme narrowness of the streets, and overhanging stories of the houses, was the main source of their beauty. Then, the huge projecting signs with their fantastical iron-work--the conduits--the crosses (where crosses remained)--the maypoles--all were picturesque; and as superior to what can now be seen, as the attire of Charles the Second's age is to the ugly and disfiguring costume of our own day.

Satiated with this glorious prospect, Leonard began to recur to his own situation, and carefully scrutinizing every available point on the side of the Tower, he thought it possible to effect his descent by clambering down the gradations of one of the buttresses. Still, as this experiment would be attended with the utmost danger, while, even if he reached the roof, he would yet be far from his object, he resolved to defer it for a short time, in the hope that ere long seine of the bell-ringers, or other persons connected with the cathedral, might come thither and set him free.

While thus communing with himself, he heard a door open below; and hurrying down the stairs at the sound, he beheld, to his great surprise and joy, the piper's daughter, Nizza Macascree.

"I have searched for you everywhere," she cried, "and began to think some ill had befallen you. I overheard Judith Malmayns say she had shut you up in a cell in the upper part of the tower. How did you escape thence?"

Leonard hastily explained.

"I told you I should never forget the service you rendered me in preserving the life of poor Bell," pursued Nizza, "and what I have done will prove I am not unmindful of my promise I saw you search the cathedral last night with Judith, and noticed that she returned from the tower unaccompanied by you. At first I supposed you might have left the cathedral without my observing you, and I was further confirmed in the idea by what I subsequently heard."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Leonard. "What did you hear?"

"I followed Judith to the vaults of Saint Faith's," replied Nizza, "and heard her inform your companions that you had found the grocer's daughter, and had taken her away."

"And this false statement imposed upon them?" cried Leonard.

"It did," replied Nizza. "They were by this time more than half intoxicated by the brandy given them by Chowles, the coffin-maker, and they departed in high dudgeon with you."

"No wonder!" exclaimed Leonard.

"They had scarcely been gone many minutes," pursued Nizza, "when, having stationed myself behind one of the massive pillars in the north aisle of Saint Faith's--for I suspected something was wrong--I observed Judith and Chowles steal across the nave, and proceed towards the vestry. The former tapped at the door, and they were instantly admitted by Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon. Hastening to the door, which was left slightly ajar, I perceived two young gallants, whom I heard addressed as the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege, and a young female, who I could not doubt was Amabel. The earl and his companion laughed heartily at the trick Judith had played you, and which the latter detailed to them; but Amabel took no part in their merriment, but, on the contrary, looked very grave, and even wept."

"Wept, did she?" cried Leonard, in a voice of much emotion. "Then, there is hope for her yet."

"You appear greatly interested in her," observed Nizza, pausing, in her narration. "Do you love her?"

"Can you ask it?" cried Leonard, passionately.

"I would advise you to think no more of her, and to fix your heart elsewhere," returned Nizza.

"You know not what it is to love," replied the apprentice, "or you would not offer such a counsel."

"Perhaps not," replied Nizza; "but I am sorry you have bestowed your heart upon one who so little appreciates the boon."

And, feeling she had said too much, she blushed deeply, and cast down her eyes.

Unconscious of her confusion, and entirely engrossed by the thought of his mistress, Leonard urged her to proceed.

"Tell me what has become of Amabel--where I shall find her?" he cried.

"You will find her soon enough," replied Nizza. "She has not left the cathedral. But hear me to an end. On learning you were made a prisoner, I ran to the door leading to the tower, but found that Judith had locked it, and removed the key. Not daring to give the alarm--for I had gathered from what was said that the three vergers were in the earl's pay--I determined to await a favourable opportunity to release you. Accordingly I returned to the vestry door, and again played the eaves-dropper. By this time, another person, who was addressed as Major Pillichody, and who, it appeared, had been employed in the abduction, had joined the party. He informed the earl that Mr. Bloundel was in the greatest distress at his daughter's disappearance, and advised him to lose no time in conveying her to some secure retreat. These tidings troubled Amabel exceedingly, and the earl endeavoured to pacify her by promising to espouse her at daybreak, and, as soon as the ceremony was over, to introduce her in the character of his countess to her parents."

"Villain!" cried Leonard; "but go on."

"I have little more to tell," replied Nizza, "except that she consented to the proposal, provided she was allowed to remain till six o'clock, the hour appointed for the marriage, with Judith."

"Bad as that alternative is, it is better than the other," observed Leonard. "But how did you procure the key of the winding staircase?"

"I fortunately observed where Judith had placed it," replied Nizza, "and when she departed to the crypt near the charnel, with Amabel, I possessed myself of it. For some time I was unable to use it, because the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege kept pacing to and fro in front of the door, and their discourse convinced me that the marriage was meant to be a feigned one, for Sir George strove to dissuade his friend from the step he was about to take; but the other only laughed at his scruples. As soon as they retired, which is not more than half an hour ago, I unlocked the door, and hurried up the winding stairs. I searched every chamber, and began to think you were gone, or that Judith's statement was false. But I resolved to continue my search until I was fully satisfied on this point, and accordingly ascended to the belfry. You are aware of the result."

"You have rendered me a most important service," replied Leonard; "and I hope hereafter to prove my gratitude. But let us now descend to the choir, where I will conceal myself till Amabel appears. This marriage must be prevented."

Before quitting the belfry, Leonard chanced to cast his eyes on a stout staff left there, either by one of the bell-ringers or some chance visitant, and seizing it as an unlooked-for prize, he ran down the steps, followed by the piper's daughter.

On opening the lowest door, he glanced towards the choir, and there before the high altar stood Quatremain in his surplice, with the earl and Amabel, attended by Etherege and Pillichody. The ceremony had just commenced. Not a moment was to be lost. Grasping his staff, the apprentice darted along the nave, and, rushing up to the pair, exclaimed in a loud voice, "Hold! I forbid this marriage. It must not take place!"

"Back, sirrah!" cried Etherege, drawing his sword, and opposing the approach of the apprentice. "You have no authority to interrupt it. Proceed, Mr. Quatremain."

"Forbear!" cried a voice of thunder near them--and all turning at the cry, they beheld Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, issue from behind the stalls. "Forbear!" cried the enthusiast, placing himself between the earl and Amabel, both of whom recoiled at his approach. "Heaven's altar must not be profaned with these mockeries! And you, Thomas Quatremain, who have taken part in this unrighteous transaction, make clean your breast, and purge yourself quickly of your sins, for your hours are numbered. I read in your livid looks and red and burning eyeballs that you are smitten by the pestilence."

VII. PAUL'S WALK.

It will now be necessary to ascertain what took place at the grocer's habitation subsequently to Amabel's abduction. Leonard Holt having departed, Pillichody was preparing to make good his retreat, when he was prevented by Blaize, who, hearing a noise in the yard, peeped cautiously out at the back-door, and inquired who was there?

"Are you Mr. Bloundel?" rejoined Pillichody, bethinking him of a plan to turn the tables upon the apprentice.

"No, I am his porter," replied the other.

"What, Blaize!" replied Pillichody. "Thunder and lightning! don't you remember Bernard Boutefeu, the watchman?"

"I don't remember any watchman of that name, and I cannot discern your features," rejoined Blaize. "But your voice sounds familiar to me. What are you doing there?"

"I have been trying to prevent Leonard Holt from carrying off your master's daughter, the fair Mistress Amabel," answered Pillichody. "But he has accomplished his villanous purpose in spite of me."

"The devil he has!" cried Blaize. "Here is a pretty piece of news for my master. But how did you discover him?"

"Chancing to pass along the entry on the other side of that wall about a quarter of an hour ago," returned Pillichody, "I perceived a rope-ladder fastened to it, and wishing to ascertain what was the matter, I mounted it, and had scarcely got over into the yard, when I saw two persons advancing. I concealed myself beneath the shadow of the wall, and they did not notice me; but I gathered from their discourse who they were and what was their design. I allowed Amabel to ascend, but just as the apprentice was following, I laid hold of the skirt of his doublet, and, pulling him back, desired him to come with me to his master. He answered by drawing his sword, and would have stabbed me, but I closed with him, and should have secured him if my foot had not slipped. While I was on the ground, he dealt me a severe blow, and ran after his mistress."

"Just like him," replied Blaize. "He took the same cowardly advantage of me last night."

"No punishment will be too severe for him," rejoined Pillichody, "and I hope your master will make a terrible example of him."

"How fortunate I was not gone to bed!" exclaimed Blaize, "I had just taken a couple of rufuses, and was about to put on my nightcap, when, hearing a noise without, and being ever on the alert to defend my master's property, even at the hazard of my life, I stepped forth and found you."

"I will bear testimony to your vigilance and courage," returned Pillichody; "but you had better go and alarm your master, I will wait here."

"Instantly I-instantly!" cried Blaize, rushing upstairs.

On the way to Mr. Bloundel's chamber, he met Patience, and told her what he had heard. She was inclined to put a very different construction on the story; but as she bore the apprentice no particular good-will, she determined to keep her opinion to herself, and let affairs take their course. The grocer was soon aroused, and scarcely able to credit the porter's intelligence, and yet fearing something must be wrong, he hastily attired himself, and proceeded to Amabel's room. It was empty, and it was evident from the state in which everything was left, that she had never retired to rest. Confounded by the sight, Bloundel then hurried downstairs in search of the apprentice, but he was nowhere to be found. By this time, Mrs. Bloundel had joined him, and on hearing Blaize's story, utterly scouted it.

"It cannot be," she cried. "Leonard could have no motive for acting thus. He had our consent to the union, and the sole obstacle to it was Amabel herself. Is it likely he would run away with her?"

"I am sure I do not know," replied Patience, "but he was desperately in love, that's certain; and when people are in love, I am told they do very strange and unaccountable things. Perhaps he may have carried her off against her will."

"Very likely," rejoined Blaize. "I thought I heard a scream, and should have called out at the moment, but a rufus stuck in my throat and prevented me."

"Where is the person who says he intercepted them?" asked Bloundel.

"In the yard," answered Blaize.

"Bid him come hither," rejoined his master. "Stay, I will go to him myself."

With this, the whole party, including old Josyna and Stephen--the two boys and little Christiana not having been disturbed--proceeded to the yard, where they found Pillichody in his watchman's dress, who related his story more circumstantially than before.

"I don't believe a word of it," cried Mrs. Bloundel; "and I will stake my life it is one of the Earl of Rochester's tricks."

"Were I assured that such was the case," said the grocer, in a stern whisper to his wife, "I would stir no further in the matter. My threat to Amabel was not an idle one."

"I may be mistaken," returned Mrs. Bloundel, almost at her wit's end with anxiety. "Don't mind what I say. Judge for yourself. Oh dear! what _will_ become of her?" she mentally ejaculated.

"Lanterns and links!" cried Pillichody. "Do you mean to impeach my veracity, good mistress? I am an old soldier, and as tenacious of my honour as your husband is of his credit."

"This blustering will not serve your turn, fellow," observed the grocer, seizing him by the collar. "I begin to suspect my wife is in the right, and will at all events detain you."

"Detain me! on what ground?" asked Pillichody.

"As an accomplice in my daughter's abduction," replied Bloundel. "Here, Blaize--Stephen, hold him while I call the watch. This is a most mysterious affair, but I will soon get at the bottom of it."

By the grocer's directions, Pillichody, who very quietly entered the house, and surrendered his halberd to Blaize, was taken to the kitchen. Bloundel then set forth, leaving Stephen on guard at the yard door, while his wife remained in the shop, awaiting his return.

On reaching the kitchen with the prisoner, Blaize besought his mother, who, as well as Patience, had accompanied him thither, to fetch a bottle of sack. While she went for the wine, and the porter was stalking to and fro before the door with the halberd on his shoulder, Patience whispered to Pillichody, "I know who you are. You came here last night with the Earl of Rochester in the disguise of a quack doctor."

"Hush!" cried Pillichody, placing his finger on his lips.

"I am not going to betray you," returned Patience, in the same tone. "But you are sure to be found out, and had better beat a retreat before Mr. Bloundel returns."

"I won't lose a moment," replied Pillichody, starting to his feet.

"What's the matter?" cried Blaize, suddenly halting.

"I only got up to see whether the wine was coming," replied Pillichody.

"Yes, here it is," replied Blaize, as his mother reappeared; "and now you shall have a glass of such sack as you never yet tasted."

And pouring out a bumper, he offered it to Pillichody. The latter took the glass; but his hand shook so violently that he could not raise it to his lips.

"What ails you, friend?" inquired Blaize, uneasily.

"I don't know," replied Pillichody; "but I feel extremely unwell."

"He looks to me as if he had got the plague," observed Patience, to Blaize.

"The plague!" exclaimed the latter, letting fall the glass, which shivered to pieces on the stone floor. "And I have touched him. Where is the vinegar-bottle? I must sprinkle myself directly, and rub myself from head to foot with oil of hartshorn and spirits of sulphur. Mother! dear mother! you have taken away my medicine-chest. If you love me, go and fetch me a little conserve of Roman wormwood and mithridate. You will find them in two small jars."

"Oh yes, do," cried Patience; "or he may die with fright."

Moved by their joint entreaties, old Josyna again departed; and her back was no sooner turned, than Patience said in an undertone to Pillichody,--"Now is your time. You have not a moment to lose."

Instantly taking the hint, the other uttered a loud cry, and springing up, caught at Blaize, who instantly dropped the halberd, and fled into one corner of the room.

Pillichody then hurried upstairs, while Blaize shouted after him, "Don't touch him, Master Stephen. He has got the plague! he has got the plague!"

Alarmed by this outcry, Stephen suffered Pillichody to pass; and the latter, darting across the yard, mounted the rope-ladder, and quickly disappeared. A few minutes afterwards, Bloundel returned with the watch, and was greatly enraged when he found that the prisoner had got off. No longer doubting that he had been robbed of his daughter by the Earl of Rochester, he could not make up his mind to abandon her to her fate, and his conflicting feelings occasioned him a night of indescribable anxiety. The party of watch whom he had summoned searched the street for him, and endeavoured to trace out the fugitives,--but without success; and they returned before daybreak to report their failure.

About six o'clock, Mr. Bloundel, unable to restrain himself longer, sallied forth with Blaize in search of his daughter and Leonard. Uncertain where to bend his steps, he trusted to chance to direct him, resolved, if he were unsuccessful, to lay a petition for redress before the throne. Proceeding along Cheapside, he entered Paternoster-row, and traversed it till he came to Paul's Alley,--a narrow passage leading to the north-west corner of the cathedral. Prompted by an unaccountable impulse, he no sooner caught sight of the reverend structure, than he hastened, towards it, and knocked against the great northern door.

We shall, however, precede him, and return to the party at the altar. The awful warning of Solomon Eagle so alarmed Quatremain, that he let fall his prayer-book, and after gazing vacantly round for a few moments, staggered to one of the stalls, where, feeling a burning pain in his breast, he tore open his doublet, and found that the enthusiast had spoken the truth, and that he was really attacked by the pestilence. As to Amabel, on hearing the terrible denunciation, she uttered a loud cry, and would have fallen to the ground but for the timely assistance of the apprentice, who caught her with one arm, while with the other he defended himself against the earl and his companions.

But, in spite of his resistance, they would have soon compelled him to relinquish his charge, if Solomon Eagle, who had hitherto contented himself with gazing sternly on what was passing, had not interfered; and, rushing towards the combatants, seized Rochester and Etherege, and hurled them backwards with almost supernatural force. When they arose, and menaced him with their swords, he laughed loudly and contemptuously, crying, "Advance, if ye dare! and try your strength against one armed by Heaven, and ye will find how far it will avail."

At this juncture, Leonard Holt heard a musical voice behind him, and turning, beheld Nizza Macascree. She beckoned him to follow her; and, raising Amabel in his arms, he ran towards the door leading to Saint Faith's, through which his conductress passed. All this was the work of a moment, and when Rochester and Etherege, who rushed after him, tried the door, they found it fastened withinside.

Just then, a loud knocking was heard at the northern entrance of the cathedral, and a verger answering the summons, Mr. Bloundel and Blaize were admitted. On beholding the newcomers, Rochester and his companions were filled with confusion. Equally astonished at the recounter, the grocer grasped his staff, and rushing up to the earl, demanded, in a voice that made the other, despite his natural audacity, quail--"Where is my child, my lord? What have you done with her?"

"I know nothing about her," replied Rochester, with affected carelessness.--"Yes, I am wrong," he added, as if recollecting himself; "I am told she has run away with your apprentice."

Pillichody, who had changed his attire since his escape from the grocer's dwelling, thought he might now venture to address him without fear of discovery, and, setting his arms a-kimbo, and assuming a swaggering demeanour, strutted forward and said, "Your daughter has just been wedded to Leonard Holt, Mr. Bloundel."

"It is false," cried Bloundel, "as false as the character you just personated, for I recognise you as the knave who recently appeared before me as a watchman."

"I pledge you my word as a nobleman," interposed Rochester, "that your daughter has just descended to Saint Faith's with your apprentice."

"I can corroborate his lordship's assertion," said Etherege.

"And I," added Pillichody. "By the holy apostle to whom this fane is dedicated! it is so."

"To convince you that we speak the truth, we will go with you and assist you to search," said Rochester.

Attaching little credit to what he heard, and yet unwilling to lose a chance of recovering his daughter, the grocer rushed to the door indicated by his informant, but found it fastened.

"You had better go to the main entrance," said one of the vergers; "I have the keys with me, and will admit you."

"I will keep guard here till you return," said another verger

Accompanied by Rochester and Etherege, Bloundel then proceeded to the chief door of the subterranean church. It was situated at the south of the cathedral, between two of the larger buttresses, and at the foot of a flight of stone steps. On reaching it, the verger produced his keys, but they were of no avail, for the door was barred withinside. After many fruitless attempts to obtain admission, they were fain to give up the attempt.

"Well, if we cannot get in, no one shall get out," observed the verger. "The only key that opens this door is in my possession, so we have them safe enough."

The party then returned to the cathedral, where they found Blaize, Pillichody, and the two other vergers keeping watch at the door near the choir. No one had come forth.

Rochester then walked apart with his companions, while Bloundel, feeling secure so long as he kept the earl in view, folded his arms upon his breast, and determined to await the result.

By this time, the doors being opened, a great crowd was soon collected within the sacred structure. Saint Paul's Churchyard, as is well known, was formerly the great mart for booksellers, who have not, even in later times, deserted the neighbourhood, but still congregate in Paternoster-row, Ave-Maria-lane, and the adjoining streets. At the period of this history they did not confine themselves to the precincts of the cathedral, but, as has been previously intimated, fixed their shops against the massive pillars of its nave. Besides booksellers, there were seamstresses, tobacco-merchants, vendors of fruit and provisions, and Jews--all of whom had stalls within the cathedral, and who were now making preparations for the business of the day. Shortly afterwards, numbers who came for recreation and amusement made their appearance, and before ten o'clock, Paul's Walk, as the nave was termed, was thronged, by apprentices, rufflers, porters, water-carriers, higglers, with baskets on their heads, or under their arms, fish-wives, quack-doctors, cutpurses, bonarobas, merchants, lawyers, and serving-men, who came to be hired, and who stationed themselves near an oaken block attached to one of the pillars, and which was denominated, from the use it was put to, the "serving-man's log." Some of the crowd were smoking, some laughing, others gathering round a ballad-singer, who was chanting one of Rochester's own licentious ditties; some were buying quack medicines and remedies for the plague, the virtues of which the vendor loudly extolled; while others were paying court to the dames, many of whom were masked. Everything seemed to be going forward within this sacred place, except devotion. Here, a man, mounted on the carved marble of a monument, bellowed forth the news of the Dutch war, while another, not far from him, on a bench, announced in lugubrious accents the number of those who had died on the previous day of the pestilence. There, at the very font, was a usurer paying over a sum of money to a gallant--it was Sir Paul Parravicin--who was sealing a bond for thrice the amount of the loan. There, a party of choristers, attended by a troop of boys, were pursuing another gallant, who had ventured into the cathedral booted and spurred, and were demanding "spur-money" of him--an exaction which they claimed as part of their perquisites.

An admirable picture of this curious scene has been given by Bishop Earle, in his _Microcosmographia_, published in 1629. "Paul's Walk," he writes, "is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this--it is the whole world's map, which you may here discern in its perfectest motion, jostling and turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple not sanctified, nothing could be liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange humming, or buzzing, mixed of walking, tongues, and feet: it is a kind of still roar, or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no business whatsoever, but is here stirring and afoot. It is the synod of all parts politic, jointed and laid together in most serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the Parliament. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all famous lies, which are here, like the legends of Popery, first coined and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not a few pockets. The best sign of the Temple in it is that it is the thieves' sanctuary, who rob more safely in a crowd than a wilderness, while every pillar is a bush to hide them. It is the other expense of the day, after plays and taverns; and men have still some oaths to swear here. The visitants are all men without exceptions; but the principal inhabitants are stale knights and captains out of service, men of long rapiers and short purses, who after all turn merchants here, and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and travel for an appetite; but thirstier men make it their ordinary, and board here very cheap. Of all such places it is least haunted by hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk here, he could not."

Decker, moreover, terms Paul's Walk, or the "Mediterranean Isle," in his "Gull's Hornbook"--"the only gallery wherein the pictures of all your true fashionate and complimental gulls are, and ought to be, hung up." After giving circumstantial directions for the manner of entering the walk, he proceeds thus: "Bend your course directly in the middle line that the whole body of the church may appear to be yours, where in view of all, you may publish your suit in what manner you affect most, either with the slide of your cloak from the one shoulder or the other." He then recommends the gull, after four or five turns in the nave, to betake himself to some of the semsters' shops the new tobacco office, or the booksellers' stalls, "where, if you cannot read, exercise your smoke, and inquire who has written against the divine weed." Such, or something like it, was Paul's Walk at the period of this history.

The grocer, who had not quitted his post, remained a silent and sorrowful spectator of the scene. Despite his anxiety, he could not help moralizing upon it, and it furnished him with abundant food for reflection. As to Rochester and his companions, they mingled with the crowd--though the earl kept a wary eye on the door--chatted with the prettiest damsels--listened to the newsmongers, and broke their fast at the stall of a vendor of provisions, who supplied them with tolerable viands, and a bottle of excellent Rhenish. Blaize was soon drawn away by one of the quacks, and, in spite of his master's angry looks, he could not help purchasing one of the infallible antidotes offered for sale by the charlatan. Parravicin had no sooner finished his business with the usurer than he strolled along the nave, and was equally surprised and delighted at meeting with his friends, who briefly explained to him why they were there.

"And how do you expect the adventure to terminate?" asked Parravicin, laughing heartily at the recital.

"Heaven knows," replied the earl. "But what are you doing here?"

"I came partly to replenish my purse, for I have had a run of ill luck of late," replied the knight; "and partly to see a most beautiful creature, whom I accidentally discovered here yesterday."

"A new beauty!" cried Rochester. "Who is she?"

"Before I tell you, you must engage not to interfere with me," replied Parravicin. "I have marked her for my own."

"Agreed," replied Rochester. "Now, her name?"

"She is the daughter of a blind piper, who haunts the cathedral," replied Parravicin, "and her name is Nizza Macascree. Is it not charming? But you shall see her."

"We must not go too far from the door of Saint Faith's," rejoined Rochester. "Can you not contrive to bring her hither?"

"That is more easily said than done," replied Parravicin. "She is as coy as the grocer's daughter. However, I will try to oblige you."

With this, he quitted his companions, and returning shortly afterwards, said, "My mistress has likewise disappeared. I found the old piper seated at the entrance of Bishop Kempe's chapel, attended by his dog--but he missed his daughter when he awoke in the morning, and is in great trouble about her."

"Strange!" cried Etherege; "I begin to think the place is enchanted."

"It would seem so, indeed," replied Rochester.

While they were thus conversing, Pillichody, who was leaning against a column, with his eye fixed upon the door leading to Saint Faith's, observed it open, and the apprentice issue from it accompanied by two masked females. All three attempted to dart across the transept and gain the northern entrance, but they were Intercepted. Mr. Bloundel caught hold of Leonard's arm, and Rochester seized her whom he judged by the garb to be Amabel, while Parravicin, recognising Nizza Macascree, as he thought, by her dress, detained her.

"What is the meaning of all this, Leonard?" demanded the grocer, angrily.

"You shall have an explanation instantly," replied the apprentice; "but think not of me--think only of your daughter."

"My father!--my father!" cried the damsel, who had been detained by Parravicin, taking off her mask, and rushing towards the grocer.

"Who then have I got?" cried Rochester.

"The piper's daughter, I'll be sworn," replied Etherege.

"You are right," replied Nizza, unmasking. "I changed dresses with Amabel, and hoped by so doing to accomplish her escape, but we have been baffled. However, as her father is here, it is of little consequence."

"Amabel," said the grocer, repulsing her, "before I receive you again, I must be assured that you have not been alone with the Earl of Rochester."

"She has not, sir," replied the apprentice. "Visit your displeasure on my head. I carried her off and would have wedded her."

"What motive had you for this strange conduct?" asked Bloundel, incredulously.

Before Leonard could answer, Pillichody stepped forward, and said to the grocer, "Mr. Bloundel, you are deceived--on the faith of a soldier you are."

"Peace, fool!" said Rochester, "I will not be outdone in generosity by an apprentice. Leonard Holt speaks the truth."

"If so," replied Bloundel, "he shall never enter my house again. Send for your indentures to-night," he continued sharply, to Leonard, "but never venture to approach me more."

"Father, you are mistaken," cried Amabel. "Leonard Holt is not to blame. I alone deserve your displeasure."

"Be silent!" whispered the apprentice; "you destroy yourself. I care not what happens to me, provided you escape the earl."

"Come home, mistress," cried the grocer, dragging her through the crowd which had gathered round them.

"Here is a pretty conclusion to the adventure!" cried Parravicin; "but where is the apprentice--and where is the pretty Nizza Macascree? 'Fore heaven," he added, as he looked around for them in vain, "I should not wonder if they have eloped together."

"Nor I," replied Rochester. "I admire the youth's spirit, and trust he may be more fortunate with his second mistress than with his first."

"It shall be my business to prevent that," rejoined Parravicin. "Help me to search for her."

* * * * *

VIII. THE AMULET.

As the grocer disappeared with his daughter, Nizza Macascree, who had anxiously watched the apprentice, observed him turn deadly pale, and stagger; and instantly springing to his side, she supported him to a neighbouring column, against which he leaned till he had in some degree recovered from the shock. He then accompanied her to Bishop Kempe's beautiful chapel in the northern aisle, where she expected to find her father; but it was empty.

"He will be back presently," said Nizza. "He is no doubt making the rounds of the cathedral. Bell will take care of him. Sit down on that bench while I procure you some refreshment. You appear much in need of it."

And without waiting for a reply, she ran off, and presently afterwards returned with a small loaf of bread and a bottle of beer.

"I cannot eat," said Leonard, faintly. But seeing that his kind provider looked greatly disappointed, he swallowed a few mouthfuls, and raised the bottle to his lips. As he did so, a sudden feeling of sickness seized him, and he set it down untasted.

"What ails you?" asked Nizza, noticing his altered looks with uneasiness.

"I know not," he replied. "I have never felt so ill before."

"I thought you were suffering from agitation," she rejoined, as a fearful foreboding crossed her.

"I shall be speedily released from further trouble," replied the apprentice. "I am sure I am attacked by the plague."

"Oh! say not so!" she rejoined. "You may be mistaken."

But though she tried to persuade herself she spoke the truth, her heart could not be deceived.

"I scarcely desire to live," replied the apprentice, in a melancholy tone, "for life has lost all charms for me. But do not remain here, or you may be infected by the distemper."

"I will never leave you," she hastily rejoined; "that is," she added, checking herself, "till I have placed you in charge of some one who will watch over you."

"No one will watch over me," returned Leonard. "My master has dismissed me from his service, and I have no other friend left. If you will tell one of the vergers what is the matter with me, he will summon the Examiner of Health, who will bring a litter to convey me to the pest-house."

"If you go thither your fate is sealed," replied Nizza.

"I have said I do not desire to live," returned the apprentice.

"Do not indulge in these gloomy thoughts, or you are certain to bring about a fatal result," said Nizza. "Would I knew how to aid you! But I still hope you are deceived as to the nature of your attack."

"I cannot be deceived," replied Leonard, whose countenance proclaimed the anguish he endured. "Doctor Hodges, I think, is interested about me," he continued, describing the physician's residence--"if you will inform him of my seizure, he may, perhaps, come to me."

"I will fly to him instantly," replied Nizza; and she was about to quit the chapel, when she was stopped by Parravicin and his companions.

"Let me pass," she said, trying to force her way through them.

"Not so fast, fair Nizza," rejoined Parravicin, forcing her back, "I must have a few words with you. Have I overrated her charms?" he added to Rochester. "Is she not surpassingly beautiful?"

"In good sooth she is," replied the earl, gazing at her with admiration.

"By the nut-brown skin of Cleopatra!" cried Pillichody, "she beats Mrs. Disbrowe, Sir Paul."

"I have never seen any one so lovely," said the knight, attempting to press her hand to his lips.

"Release me, sir," cried Nizza, struggling to free herself.

"Not till I have told you how much I love you," returned the knight, ardently.

"Love me!" she echoed, scornfully.

"Yes, love you," reiterated Parravicin. "It would be strange if I, who profess myself so great an admirer of beauty, did otherwise. I am passionately enamoured of you. If you will accompany me, fair Nizza, you shall change your humble garb for the richest attire that gold can purchase, shall dwell in a magnificent mansion, and have troops of servants at your command. In short, my whole fortune, together with myself, shall be placed at your disposal."

"Do not listen to him, Nizza," cried Leonard Holt, in a faint voice.

"Be assured I will not," she answered. "Your insulting proposal only heightens the disgust I at first conceived for you," she added to the knight: "I reject it with scorn, and command you to let me pass."

"Nay, if you put on these airs, sweetheart," replied Parravicin, insolently, "I must alter my tone likewise. I am not accustomed to play the humble suitor to persons of your condition."

"Perhaps not," replied Nizza; "neither am I accustomed to this unwarrantable usage. Let me go. My errand is one of life and death. Do not hinder me, or you will have a heavy crime on your soul--heavier, it may be, than any that now loads it."

"Where are you going?" asked Parravicin, struck by her earnest manner.

"To fetch assistance," she replied, "for one suddenly assailed by the pestilence."

"Ah!" exclaimed the knight, trembling, and relinquishing his grasp. "My path is ever crossed by that hideous spectre. Is it your father who is thus attacked?"

"No," she replied, pointing to Leonard, "it is that youth."

"The apprentice!" exclaimed Rochester. "I am sorry for him. Let us be gone," he added to his companions. "It may be dangerous to remain here longer."

With this they all departed except Parravicin.

"Come with us, Nizza," said the latter; "we will send assistance to the sufferer."

"I have already told you my determination," she rejoined; "I will not stir a footstep with you. And if you have any compassion in your nature, you will not detain me longer."

"I will not leave you here to certain destruction," said the knight. "You shall come with me whether you will or not."

And as he spoke, he advanced towards her, while she retreated towards Leonard, who, rising with difficulty, placed himself between her and her persecutor.

"If you advance another footstep," cried the apprentice, "I will fling myself upon you, and the contact may be fatal."

Parravicin gazed, furiously at him, and half unsheathed his sword. But the next moment he returned it to the scabbard, and exclaiming, "Another time! another time!" darted after his companions.

He was scarcely gone, when Leonard reeled against the wall, and before Nizza could catch him, fell in a state of insensibility on the floor.

After vainly attempting to raise him, Nizza flew for assistance, and had just passed through the door of the chapel, when she met Judith Malmayns and Chowles. She instantly stopped them, and acquainting them with the apprentice's condition, implored them to take charge of him while she went in search of Doctor Hodges.

"Before you go," said Judith, "let me make sure that he is attacked by the plague. It may be some other disorder."

"I hope so, indeed," said Nizza, pausing; "but I fear the contrary."

So saying, she returned with them to the chapel. Raising the apprentice with the greatest ease, Judith tore open his doublet.

"Your suspicion is correct," she said, with a malignant smile. "Here is the fatal sign upon his breast."

"I will fetch Doctor Hodges instantly," cried Nizza.

"Do so," replied Judith; "we will convey him to the vaults in Saint Faith's, where poor Mr. Quatremain has just been taken. He will be better there than in the pest-house."

"Anything is better than that," said Nizza, shuddering.

As soon as she was gone, Chowles took off his long black cloak, and, throwing it over the apprentice, laid him at full length upon the bench, and, assisted by Judith, carried him towards the choir. As they proceeded, Chowles called out, "Make way for one sick of the plague!" and the crowd instantly divided, and gave them free passage. In this way they descended to Saint Faith's, and, shaping their course to the vault, deposited their burden on the very bed lately occupied by the unfortunate sexton.

"He has come here to die," observed Judith to her companion. "His attack is but a slight one, and he might with care recover. But I can bargain with the Earl of Rochester for his removal."

"Take heed how you make such a proposal to his lordship," returned Chowles. "From what I have seen, he is likely to revolt at it."

"Every man is glad to get rid of a rival," rejoined Judith.

"Granted," replied Chowles; "but no man will _pay_ for the riddance when the plague will accomplish it for him for nothing."

"With due attention, I would answer for that youth's recovery," said Judith. "It is not an incurable case, like Mr. Quatremain's. And so Doctor Hodges, when he comes, will pronounce it."

Shortly after this, Nizza Macaseree appeared with a countenance fraught with anxiety, and informed them that Doctor Hodges was from home, and would not probably return till late at night.

"That's unfortunate," said Judith. "Luckily, however, there are other doctors in London, and some who understand the treatment of the plague far better than he does--Sibbald, the apothecary of Clerkenwell, for instance."

"Do you think Sibbald would attend him?" asked Nizza, eagerly.

"To be sure he would," replied Mrs. Malmayns, "if he were paid for it. But you seem greatly interested about this youth. I have been young, and know what effect good looks and a manly deportment have upon our sex. He has won your heart! Ha! ha! You need not seek to disguise it. Your blushes answer for you."

"A truce to this," cried Nizza, whose cheeks glowed with shame and anger.

"You can answer a plain question, I suppose," returned Judith. "Is his life dear to you?"

"Dearer than my own?" replied Nizza.

"I thought as much," returned Judith. "What will you give me to save him?"

"I have nothing," rejoined Nizza, with a troubled look--"nothing but thanks to give you."

"Think again," said Judith. "Girls like you, if they have no money, have generally some trinket--some valuable in their possession."

"That is not my case," said Nizza, bursting into tears. "I never received a present in my life, and never desired one till now."

"But your father must have some money?" said Judith, inquisitively.

"I know not," replied Nizza, "but I will ask him. What sum will content you?"

"Bring all you can," returned Judith, "and I will do my best."

Nizza then departed, while Judith, with the assistance of Chowles, covered Leonard with blankets, and proceeded to light a fire. Long before this, the sick youth was restored to animation. But he was quite light-headed and unconscious of his situation, and rambled about Amabel and her father. After administering such remedies as she thought fit, and as were at hand, Judith sat down with the coffin-maker beside a small table, and entered into conversation with him.

"Well," said Chowles, in an indifferent tone, as he poured out a glass of brandy, "is it to be kill or cure?"

"I have not decided," replied Judith, pledging him.

"I still do not see what gain there would be in shortening his career," observed Chowles.

"If there would be no gain, there would be gratification," replied Judith. "He has offended me."

"If that is the case, I have nothing further to say," returned Chowles. "But you promised the piper's daughter to save him."

"We shall see what she offers," rejoined Judith; "all will depend upon that."

"It is extraordinary," observed Chowles, after a pause, "that while all around us are sick or dying of the pestilence, we should escape contagion."

"We are not afraid of it," replied Judith. "Besides, we are part of the plague ourselves. But I _have_ been attacked, and am, therefore, safe."

"True," replied Chowles; "I had forgotten that. Well, if I fall ill, you Sha'n't nurse me."

"You won't be able to help yourself then," returned Judith.

"Eh!" exclaimed Chowles, shifting uneasily on his seat.

"Don't be afraid," returned Judith, laughing at his alarm. "I'll take every care of you. We are necessary to each other."

"So we are," replied Chowles; "so we are; and if nothing else could, that consideration would make us true to each other."

"Of course," assented Judith. "Let us reap as rich a harvest as we can, and when the scourge is over, we can enjoy ourselves upon the spoils."

"Exactly so," replied Chowles. "My business is daily-hourly on the increase. My men are incessantly employed, and my only fear is that an order will be issued to bury the dead without coffins."

"Not unlikely," replied Mrs. Malmayns. "But there are plenty of ways of getting money in a season like this. If one fails, we must resort to another. I shall make all I can, and in the shortest manner."

"Right!" cried Chowles, with, an atrocious laugh. "Right! ha! ha!"

"I have found out a means of propagating the distemper," pursued Judith, in a low tone, and with a mysterious air, "of inoculating whomsoever I please with the plague-venom. I have tried the experiment on Mr. Quatremain and that youth, and you see how well it has answered in both instances."

"I do," replied Chowles, looking askance at her. "But why destroy the poor minor canon?"

"Because I want to get hold of the treasure discovered by the help of the Mosaical rods in Saint Faith's, which by right belonged to my husband, and which is now in Mr. Quatremain's possession," replied Judith.

"I understand," nodded Chowles.

While they were thus conversing, Nizza Macascree again returned, and informed them that she could not find her father. "He has left the cathedral," she said, "and will not, probably, return till nightfall."

"I am sorry for it, on your account," observed Judith, coldly.

"Why, you will not have the cruelty to neglect the poor young man till then--you will take proper precautions?" exclaimed Nizza.

"Why should I exert myself for one about whose recovery I am indifferent?" said Judith.

"Why?" exclaimed Nizza. "But it is in vain to argue with you. I must appeal to your avarice, since you are deaf to the pleadings of humanity. I have just bethought me that I have an old gold coin, which was given me years ago by my father. He told me it had been my mother's, and charged me not to part with it. I never should have done so, except in an emergency like the present."

As she spoke, she drew from her bosom a broad gold piece. A hole was bored through it, and it was suspended from her neck by a chain of twisted hair.

"Let me look at it," said Judith taking the coin. "Who gave you this?" she asked, in an altered tone.

"My father?" replied Nizza; "I have just told you so. It was my mother's."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Judith!

"Have you ever seen it before?" inquired Nizza, astonished at the change in the nurse's manner.

"I have," replied Judith, "and in very different hands."

"You surprise me," cried Nizza. "Explain yourself, I beseech you."

"Not now--not now," cried Judith, hastily returning the coin. "And this is to be mine in case I cure the youth?"

"I have said so," replied Nizza.

"Then make yourself easy," rejoined Judith; "he shall be well again in less than two days."

With this, she set a pan on the fire, and began to prepare a poultice, the materials for which she took from a small oaken chest in one corner of the vault. Nizza looked on anxiously, and while they were thus employed, a knock was heard at the door, and Chowles opening it, found the piper and one of the vergers.

"Ah! is it you, father?" cried Nizza, rushing to him.

"I am glad I have found you," returned the piper, "for I began to fear some misfortune must have befallen you. Missing you in the morning, I traversed the cathedral in search of you with Bell, well knowing, if you were in the crowd, she would speedily discover you."