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COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS 
 
 VOL. CCCLXXI. 
 
 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
ritlNTBD by" J. CMITH, 14 BIS, HUE FONTAINE-At-ROf. 
 
OLD SAINT PAULS: 
 
 A TALE OF 
 
 THE PLAGUE AND THE FIRE. 
 
 BY WILLIAM HARRISON AlNSWORTil, 
 
 AVTHOR OF 
 
 A dreadful Plague in London was 
 
 In the year Sixty Five, 
 Which swept an hundred thousand souls 
 
 Away,— ^e^ / alive." 
 
 Dbfob. Hittory'ofthe Gnat, Plague of London. 
 
 • Nor could thy Eibric, Paul's, defend thee long. 
 
 Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise 
 Though made immortal by a poet's song. 
 And poet's songs the Theban walls could raise. 
 
 ■ The daring flames pept in, and saw from fiir 
 
 The awful beauties of thy sacred quire : 
 But since it was profaned by Civil War, 
 
 Heaven thought it fit to have it purged by fire. " 
 
 Dbydbn. Annul ilirahiUt. 
 
 PARIS, 
 
 BAUDKY'S EUROPEAN LIBRAKY, 
 
 3, QUAI MALAQIAIS, NEAR THE PONT DES ARTS, 
 
 AVD STASSIV & XAVIER, RLE DU COQ NEAR THE LOUVRE. 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY AMYOT, RUE DE LA PAIX ; TRUCHY, BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS 
 
 BROCKHAtfS AND AVENAHIUS, RUE RICHELIEU; LEOPOLD MICHELSEX, LEIPZIG ; 
 
 AND BY ALL THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS ON THE CONTINENT. 
 
 1842. 
 

 •^' ^'^^W.^. Q, X/^. 
 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The portion of the ensuing tale relating to the Grocer 
 of Wood Street, and his manner of victualling his 
 house, and shutting up himself and his family within 
 it during the worst part of the pestilence of 1665. is 
 founded on a narrative, which I have followed pretty 
 closely in most of its details, contained in a very rare 
 little volume, entitled " Preparations against the 
 Plague, both of Soul and Body," the authorship of 
 which I have no hesitation in assigning to Defoe. 
 Indeed, I venture to pronounce it his master-piece. 
 It is strange that this matchless performance should 
 have hitherto escaped attention, and that it should not 
 have been reprinted with some one of the countless im- 
 pressions of the " History of the Plague of London," 
 to which it forms an almost necessary accompaniment. 
 The omission, I trust, will be repaired by Mr. Hazlitt 
 the younger, Defoe's last and best editor, in his valu- 
 able edition of the works of that great novelist and 
 political writei% now in the course of publication. It 
 may be^ added, that a case precisely similar to that of 
 
 K 
 
VI ADVERTISEMENN. 
 
 the Grocer, and attended with the same happy results; 
 occurred during the Plague of Marseilles in 1 720. 
 
 For my acquaintance with this narrative, as well as 
 for the suggestion of its application to the present pur- 
 pose, 1 am indebted to my friend, ]\Ir. James Crossley, 
 of Manchester. 
 
 Kensal Minor Hoise, Harrow Road, 
 November 30, 1841. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ADVERTSEMENT , V 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 APRIL, 1665. 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. THE GROCER OF WOOD STREET AND HJS FAMILY ... 1 
 
 II. THE COFFIN MAKER 12 
 
 III. THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY 24 
 
 IV. THE INTERVIEW 31 
 
 V, THE POMANDER-BOX 35 
 
 VI. THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED 42 
 
 VII. THE PLAGUE NURSE 47 
 
 VIII. THE MOSAICAL RODS . . . 53 
 
 IX. THE MINIATURE . . . . 5& 
 
 X. THE DUEL 66 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 MAY, 1665. 
 
 I. THE PROGRESS OP THE PESTILENCE 7\i 
 
 II. IN WHAT MANNER THE GROCER VICTUALLED HIS HOUSE . . 77 
 
 III. THE QUACK DOCTORS "83 
 
 IV. THE Two WATCHMEN 91 
 
 V. THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER 9/ 
 
 VI. OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S . . . . 104 
 
 VII. PAUL'S WALK 110 
 
 VIII. THE AMULET 118 
 
 IX. HOW LEONARD HOLT WAS CURED OP THE PLAGUE . . . 125 
 
 X. THE PEST HOUSE IN FINSBURY FIELDS 132 
 
 XI. HOW THE GROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE ...... 138 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 JtNE, 1665. 
 
 I. THE IMPRISONED FAMILY 146 
 
 II. HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS .... 153 
 
 III. THE DA^E OF DEATH . .167 
 
 IV. THR PLAGUE-PIT . . 174 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEK ' PAGE 
 
 V. HOW SAINT PAUL'S W\S USED AS A PEST HOUSE ... 188 
 
 VL THE DEPARTURE 202 
 
 VII. THE JOURNEY . . . . 216 
 
 Vni. ASHDOWN LODGE 222 
 
 IX. KINGSTON LISLE 237 
 
 ( 
 
 BOOK THE FOLRTH. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 16G5. 
 
 I, THE PLAGUE AT IT3 HEIGHT 243 
 
 II. THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT 253 
 
 III. THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE 266 
 
 IV. THE TRIALS OF AMABEL 283 
 
 V. THE MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 289 
 
 VI. THE CERTIFICATE , . . . 296 
 
 BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 DECEMBER, 1665. 
 
 I. THE DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE 
 II. THE MIDNIGHT MEETING 
 
 307 
 318 
 
 BOOK THE SIXTH. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 1666. 
 
 I. THE FIRE-BALL 
 
 II. THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE . 
 
 III. PROGRESS OF THE FIRE 
 
 IV. LEONARD'S INTERVIEW WITH THE KING 
 V. HOW LEONARD SAVED THE KING's LIFE 
 
 VI. HOW THE grocer's HOUSE WAS BURNT 
 VII. THE BURNING OP SAINT PAUL'S 
 VIII. HOW LEONARD RESCUED THE LADY ISABELLA 
 
 IX. WHAT BEFELL CHOWLES AND JUDITH IN THE VAULTS 
 
 FAITH'S ; 
 
 X. CONCLUSION . . 
 
 OF 
 
 325 
 331 
 338 
 345 
 352 
 358 
 3G5 
 373 
 
 377 
 S8i 
 
OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 APKIL, 1G68. 
 
 # 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE GROCER OF WOOD STREET AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 One night, at the latter end of April, 1665, the family of a citizen 
 of London, carrying on an extensive business as a grocer in Wood 
 Street, Cheapside, were assembled, according to custom, at prayer. 
 The grocer's name was Stephen Bloundel. His family consisted of 
 his wife, three sons, and two daughters. He had, moreover, an 
 apprentice; an elderly female serving as cook; her son, a young 
 man about five-and-twenty, filHng the place of porter to the shop 
 and general assistant ; and a kitchen-maid. The whole household 
 attended ; for the worthy grocer, being a strict observer of his re- 
 ligious duties, as well as a rigid disciphnarian in other respects, 
 suffered no one to be absent, on any plea whatever, except indis- 
 position, from morning and evening devotions; and these were al- 
 ways performed at stated times. In fact, the establishment was 
 conducted with the regularity of clock-work, it being the aim of its 
 master not to pass a single hour of the day unprofitably. 
 
 The ordinary prayers gone through, Stephen Bloundel offered 
 up a long and fervent supplication to the most High for protection 
 against the devouring pestilence with which the city was then 
 scourged. He acknowledged that this terrible visitation had been 
 justly brought upon it by the wickedness of its inhabitants ; that 
 they deserved their doom, dreadful though it was ; that, hke the 
 dwellers in Jerusalem before it was given up to ruin and desolation, 
 they "had mocked the messengers of God and despised his word ;" 
 that, in the language of the prophet, " they had refused to hearken, 
 and pulled away the shoulder, and stopped their ears that they 
 should not he^r ; yea, had made their heart Hke an adamant stone, 
 lest they should hear the law and the words which the Lord of Hosts 
 bad sent in his spirit by the former prophets." He admitted that 
 great sins require great chastisement, and that the sins of London 
 
 1 
 
2 OLD SAINT PALX S. 
 
 were enormous ; that it was filled with strifes, seditions, heresies, 
 murders, drunkenness, revellings, and every kind of abomination; 
 that the ordinances of God were neglected, and all manner of vice 
 openly practised ; that, despite repeated warnings and afflictions 
 less grievous than the present, these vicious practices had been 
 persisted in. All this he humbly acknowledged. But he implored 
 a gracious Providence, in consideration of his few faithful servants, 
 to spare the others yet a little longer, and give them a last chance 
 of repentance and amendment ; or, if this could not be, and their 
 utter extirpation was inevitable, that the habitations of the devout 
 might be exempted from the general destruction — might be places 
 of refuge, as Zoar was to Lot. He concluded by earnestly exhort- 
 ing those around him to keep constant watch upon themselves; 
 not to murmur at God's dealings and dispensations ; but so to com- 
 port themselves, that "they might be able to stand in the day of 
 wrath, in the day of death, and in the day of judgment." The ex- 
 hortation produced a powerful effect upon its hearers, and they 
 arose, some with serious, others with terrified looks. 
 
 Before proceeding farther, it may be desirable to show in what 
 manner the dreadful pestilence referred to by the grocer com- 
 menced, and how far its ravages had already extended. Two years 
 before, namely, in 1663, more than a third of the population of 
 Amsterdam was carried off by a desolating plague. Hamburgh was 
 also grievously afflicted about the same time, and in the same manner. 
 Notwithstanding every effort to cut off communication with tliese 
 states, the insidious disease found its way into England by means of 
 some bales of merchandise, as it was suspected, at the latter end of 
 the year 1664, when two personsdicd suddenly, with undoubted symp- 
 toms of the distemper, in Westminster. Its next appearance was 
 at a house in Long Acre, and its victims two Frenchmen, who had 
 brought goods from the Levant. Smothered for a short time, like 
 a fire upon which coals had been heaped, it broke out with fresh 
 fury in several places. 
 
 The consternation now began. The whole city was panic- 
 stricken : nothing was talked of but the plague — nothing planned 
 but means of arresting its progress — one grim and ghastly idea pos- 
 sessed the minds of all. Like a hideous phantom stalking the streets 
 at noonday, and scaring all in its path. Death took his course through 
 London, and selected his prey at pleasure. The alarm was further 
 increased by the predictions confidently made as to the vast numbers 
 who would be swept away by the visitation ; by the prognostications 
 of astrologers; by the prophesyings of enthusiasts; by the denun- 
 ciations of preachers, and by the portents and prodigies reported to 
 have occurred. During the long and frosty winter preceding this 
 fatal year, a comet appeared in the heavens, the sickly colour of 
 which was supposed to forebode the judgment about to Ibllow. 
 Blazing stars and other meteors, of a lurid hue and strange and 
 preternatural shape, were likewise seen. The SAin was saki to have 
 set in streams of blood, and the moon to have shone without veiled- 
 ing a shadow; grisly shapes appeared at night— strange clamours 
 and groaos wcie heard in the air — hearses, coffins, aiwl heaps of 
 
THE GBOCEK AND HIS FAMILY. 8 
 
 unburied dead were discovered in the sky, and great cakes and clots 
 of blood were found in the Tower moat ; while a marvellous double 
 tide occurred at London bridge. All these prodigies were currently 
 reported, and in most cases believed. 
 
 The severe frost, before noticed, did not break up till the end of 
 February, and with the thaw the plague frightfully increased in 
 violence. From Drury Lane it spread along Holborn, eastward as 
 far as Great Turnstile, and westward to Saint Giles's Pound, and so 
 along the Tyburn Road, Saint Andrew's Holborn was next in- 
 fected ; and as this was a much more populous parish than the 
 former, the deaths were more numerous within it. For awhile, 
 the disease was checked by Fleet Ditch ; it then leaped this narrow 
 boundary, and ascending the opposite hill, carried fearful devasta- 
 tion into Saint James's, Clerkenwell. At the same time, it attacked 
 Saint Bride's; thinned the ranks of the thievish horde haunting 
 Whitefriars, and proceeding in a westerly course, decimated Saint 
 Clement Danes. 
 
 Hitherto, the city had escaped. The destroyer had not passed 
 Ludgate or Newgate, but environed the walls like a besieging 
 enemy. A few days, however, before the opening of this history, 
 fine weather having commenced, the horrible disease began to grow 
 more rife, and, laughing all precautions and impediments to scorn, 
 broke out in the very heart of the stronghold — namely, in Bear- 
 binder Lane, near Stocks' Market, where nine persons died. 
 
 At a season so awful, it may be imagined how an impressive 
 address, like that delivered by the grocer, would be received by those 
 who saw in the pestilence, not merely an overwhelming scourge 
 from which few could escape, but a direct manifestation of the Di- 
 vine displeasure. Not a word was said. Blaize Shotterel, the 
 porter, and old Josyna, his mother, together with Patience, the 
 other woman-servant, betook themselves silently, and with troubled 
 countenances, to the kitchen. Leonard Holt, the apprentice, lin- 
 gered for a moment to catch a glance from the soft blue eyes of 
 Amabel, the grocer's eldest daughter, (for even the plague was a 
 secondary consideration with him when she was present,) and fail- 
 ing in the attempt, he heaved a deep sigh, which was luckily laid to 
 the account of the discourse he had just Hstened to by his sharp- 
 sighted master, and proceeded to the shop, where he busied him- 
 self in arranging matters for the night. 
 
 Having just completed his twenty-first year, and his apprentice- 
 ship being within a few months of its expiration, Leonard Holt 
 began to think of returning to his native town of Manchester, where 
 he intended to settle, and where he had once fondly hoped the fair 
 Amabel would accompany him, in the character of his bride. Not 
 that he had ever ventured to declare his passion, nor that he had 
 received sufficient encouragement to make it matter of certainty 
 that if he did so declare himself, he should be accepted ; but being 
 both "proper and tall," and having tolerable confidence in his good 
 looks, he had made himself, up to a short time prior to his intro- 
 i^uctlon to the reader, quite easy on the point. 
 
 His present misgivings were occasioned by Amabel's altered 
 
4 OLD SAINT PAUL S. 
 
 manner towards him, and by a rival, who, he had reason to fear, 
 had completely superseded him in her good graces. Brought up 
 together from an early age, the grocer's daughter and the young 
 apprentice had at first regarded each other as brother and sister. 
 By degrees, the feeling changed ; Amabel became more reserved, 
 and held little intercourse with Leonard, who, busied with his own 
 concerns, thought little about her. But as he grew towards man- 
 hood, he could not remain insensible to her extraordinary beauty 
 — for extraordinary it was, and such as to attract admiration 
 wherever she went, so that " the Grocer's Daughter" became the 
 toast among the ruffling gallants of the town, many of whom sought 
 to obtain speech with her. Her parents, however, were far too 
 careful to permit any such approach. Amabel's stature was lofty; 
 her limbs slight, but exquisitely symmetrical; her features small, 
 and cast in the most dehcate mould ; her eyes of the softest blue ; 
 and her hair luxuriant, and of the finest texture and richest brown. 
 Her other beauties must be left to the imagination ; but it ought 
 not to be omitted that she was barely eighteen, and had all the 
 freshness, the innocence, and vivacity of that most charming period 
 of woman's existence. No wonder she ravished every heart. No 
 wonder in an age when love-making was more general even than 
 now, that she was beset by admirers. No wonder her father's 
 apprentice became desperately enamoured of her, and propor- 
 tionately jealous. 
 
 And this brings us to his rival. On the 10th of April, two gal- 
 lants, both richly attired, and both young and handsome, dismounted 
 before the grocer's door, and, leaving their steeds to the care of 
 their attendants, entered the shop. They made sundry purchases 
 of conserves, figs, and other dried fruit, chatted familiarly with the 
 grocer, and tarried so long that at last he began to suspect they 
 must have some motive. All at once, however, they disagreed on 
 some sHght matter, — Bloundel could not tell what, nor, perhaps, 
 could the disputants, even if their quarrel was not preconcerted — 
 high words arose, and in another moment, swords were drawn, 
 and furious passes exchanged. The grocer called to his eldest son, 
 a stout youth of nineteen, and to Leonard Holt, to separate them. 
 The apprentice seized his cudgel, — no apprentice in those days 
 was without one, — and rushed towards the combatants, but before 
 he could interfere, the fray was ended. One of them had received 
 a thrust through the sword arm, and his blade dropping, his anta- 
 gonist declared himself satisfied, and with a grave salute walked 
 off. The wounded man wrapped a laced handkerchief round his 
 arm, but immediately afterwards complained of great faintness. 
 Pitying his condition, and suspecting no harm, the grocer led him 
 into the inner room, where restoratives were offered by Mrs. Bloun- 
 del and her daughter Amabel, both of whom had been alarmed by 
 the noise of the conflict. In a short time, the wounded man was 
 so far recovered as to be able to converse with his assistants, espe- 
 cially the younger one; and the grocer having returned to the shop, 
 his discourse became so very animated and tender that Mrs. Bloun- 
 del deemed it prudent to give her daughter a hint to retire. Araa- 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. 6 
 
 bel reluctantly obeyed, for the young stranger was so handsome, so 
 richly dressed, had such a captivating manner, and so distinguished 
 an air, that she was strongly prepossessed in his favour. A second 
 look from her mother, however, caused her to disappear, nor did 
 she return. After waiting with suppressed anxiety for some time, 
 the young gallant departed, overwhelming the good dame with his 
 thanks, and entreating permission to call again. This was peremp- 
 torily refused, but notwithstanding the interdiction he came on the 
 following day. The grocer chanced to be out at the time, and the 
 gallant, who had probably watched him go forth, deriding the re- 
 monstrances of the younger Bloundel and Leonard, marched 
 straight to the inner room, where he found the dame and her 
 daughter. They were much disconcerted at his appearance, and 
 the latter instantly rose with the intention of retiring, but the gal- 
 lant caught her arm and detained her. " Do not fly me, Amabel," 
 he cried, in an impassioned tone. " but suffer me to declare the 
 love I have for you. 1 cannot live without you." 
 
 Amabel, whose neck and cheeks were crimsoned with blushes, 
 cast down her eyes before the ardent regards of the gallant, and 
 endeavoured to withdraw her hand. 
 
 "One word only," he continued, "and I release you. Am I 
 wholly indifferent to you ? Answer me, — yes, or no ?" 
 
 "Do not answer him, Amabel," interposed her mother. "He 
 is deceiving you. He loves you not. He would ruin you. This is 
 the way with all these court butterflies. Tell him you hate him, 
 child, and bid him begone." 
 
 " But I cannot tell him an untruth, mother," returned Amabel 
 artlessly, " for I do not hate him." 
 
 " Then you love me," cried the young man, falling on his knees, 
 and pressing her hand to his lips. ' ' Tell me so, and make me the 
 happiest of men." 
 
 But Amabel had now recovered from the confusion into which 
 she had been thrown, and, alarmed at her own indiscretion, for- 
 cibly withdrew her hand, exclaiming in a cold tone, and with much 
 natural dignity, " Arise, sir. I will not tolerate these freedoms. 
 My mother is right, — you have some ill design." 
 
 '- ' By my soul, no !" cried the gallant passionately. "1 love you, 
 and would make you mine." 
 
 "No doubt," remarked Mrs. Bloundel, contemptuously, "but 
 not by marriage." 
 
 " Yes, by marriage," rejoined the gallant, rising. " If she will 
 consent, I will wed her forthwith." 
 
 Both Amabel and her mother looked surprised at the young 
 man's declaration, which was uttered with a fervour that seemed 
 to leave no doubt of its sincerity ; but the latter, fearing some ar- 
 tifice, rephed, " If what you say is true, and you really love my 
 daughter asjnuch as you pretend, this is not the way to win her; 
 for though she can have no pretension to wed with one of your 
 seeming degree, nor is it for her happiness that she should, yet, 
 were she sought by the proudest noble in the land, she shall never, 
 if 1 can help it, be lightly won. If your intentions are honourable, 
 
I 
 
 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 ou must address yourself, in the first place, to her father, and if 
 e agrees (which 1 much doubt) that you shall become her suitor, 
 I can make no objection. Till this is settled, I must pray you to 
 desist from further importunity." 
 
 " And so must I^" added Amabel. '^ I cannot give you a hope 
 till you have spoken to my father." 
 
 *' Be it so," rephed the gallant. ' ' I will tarry here till his return." 
 So saying, he was about to seat himself, but Mrs. Bloundel pre- 
 vented him. " I cannot permit this, sir," she cried. " Your tar- 
 rying here may, for aught I know, bring scandal upon my house ; 
 — I am sure it will be disagreeable to my husband. I am unac- 
 quainted with your name and condition. You may be a man of 
 rank. You may be one of the profligate and profane crew who 
 haunt the court. You may be the worst of them all, my Lord Ro- 
 chester himself. He is about your age, 1 have heard, and, though 
 a mere boy in years, is a veteran in libertinism. But, whoever you 
 are, and whatever your rank and station may be, unless your cha- 
 racter will bear the strictest scrutiny, 1 am certain Stephen Bloun- 
 del will never consent to your union with his daughter." 
 
 *' Nay, mother," observed Amabel, " you judge the gentleman 
 unjustly. I am sure he is neither a profligate gallant himself, nor 
 a companion of such — especially of the wicked Earl of Rochester." 
 *' I pretend to be no better than I am," rephed the young man, 
 repressing a smile that rose to his lips at Mrs. Bloundel's address : 
 " but I shall reform when I am married. It would be impossible 
 to be inconstant to so fair a creature as Amabel. For my rank, I 
 have none. My condition is that of a private gentleman, — my 
 name, Maurice Wyvil." 
 
 "What you say of yourself, Mr. Maurice Wyvil, convinces me 
 ou will meet with a decided refusal from my husband," returned 
 rs. Bloundel. 
 
 *' I trust not," replied Wyvil, glancing tenderly at Amabel. '^ If 
 I should be so fortunate as to gain his consent, have I pours P"* 
 
 ''It is too soon to ask that question," she rejoined, blushing 
 deeply. "And now, sir, you must go, — indeed you must. You 
 distress my mother." 
 
 " If I do not distress you, I will stay," resumed Wyvil, with an 
 imploring look. 
 
 " You do distress me," she answered, averting her gaze. 
 " Nay, then, I must tear myself away," he rejoined. "I shall 
 return shortly, and trust to find your father less flinty-hearted than 
 he is represented." 
 
 He would have clasped Amabel in his arms, and perhaps snatched 
 a kiss, if her mother had not rushed between them. "No more 
 familiarities, sir," she cried, angrily; "no court manners here. 
 If you look to wed my daughter, you must conduct yourself more 
 decorously : but I can teU you, you have no chance,— none what- 
 ever." 
 
 ' ' Time will show," replied Wyvil, audaciously. ' ' You had better 
 give her to me quietly, and save me the trouble of carrying her ofl', 
 — for have her 1 will." 
 
 M 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. 
 
 '* Mercy on us!" cried Mrs. Bloundel, in accents of alarm; " now 
 his wicked intentions are out." 
 
 *' Fear nothing, mother," observed Amabel, coldly. " He will 
 scarcely carry me off without my own consent ; and I am not likely 
 to sacrifice myself for one who holds me in such hght esteem." 
 
 " Forgive me, Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, in a voice so penitent 
 that it instantly effaced her displeasure; " I meant not to offend. 
 1 spoke only the language of distraction. Do not dismiss me thus, 
 or my death will lie at your door." 
 
 *' 1 should be sorry for that," she replied; " but, inexperienced 
 as I am, I feel this is not the language of real regard, but of furious 
 passion." 
 
 A dark shade passed over WyviPs handsome features, and the 
 almost feminine beauty by which they were characterised, gave 
 place to a fierce and forbidding expression. Controlling himself by 
 a powerful effort, he replied, with forced calmness, " Amabel, you 
 know not what it is to love. I will not stir hence till I have seen 
 your father." 
 
 " We will see that, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bloundel, angrily. 
 *' What, ho ! son Stephen ! Leonard Holt! 1 say. This gentleman 
 will stay here whether I like or not. Show him forth." 
 
 "That 1 will, right willingly," replied the apprentice, rushing 
 before the younger Bloundel, and flourishing his formidable cudgel. 
 *' Out with you, sir ! Out with you !" 
 
 " Not at your bidding, you saucy knave," rejoined Wyvil, laying 
 his hand upon his sword : " and if it were not for the presence of 
 your mistress and her lovely daughter, I would crop your ears for 
 your insolence." 
 
 " Their presence shall not prevent me from making my cudgel 
 and your shoulders acquainted, if you do not budge," replied the 
 apprentice sturdily. 
 
 Enraged by the retort, Wyvil would have drawn his sword, but 
 a blow on the arm disabled him. "Plague on you, fellow!" he 
 , exclaimed ; " you shall rue this to the last day of your existence." 
 
 '' Threaten those who heed you," rephed Leonard, about to re- 
 peat the blow. 
 
 " Do him no further injury!" cried Amabel, arresting his hand, 
 and looking with the greatest commiseration at Wyvil. ' ' You have 
 dealt with him far too rudely already." 
 
 '* Since I have your sympathy, sweet Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, 
 " I care not what rude treatment I experience from this churl. We 
 shall soon meet again." And bowing to her, he strode out of the 
 room. 
 
 Leonard followed him to the shop-door, hoping some further 
 pretext for quarrel would arise, but he was disappointed. Wyvil 
 jtook no notice of him, and proceeded at a slow pace towards 
 Cheapside.7 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, Stephen Bloundel came home. On 
 being informed of what had occurred he was greatly annoyed, 
 though he concealed his vexation, and highly applauded his daugh- 
 ter's conduct, Without furtlier comment, he proceeded about his 
 
8 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 business, and remained in Ihe shop till it was closed. Wyvil did 
 not return, and the grocer tried to persuade himself they should 
 see nothing more of him. Before Amabel retired to rest, he im- 
 printed a kiss on her snowy brow, and said in a tone of the utmost 
 kindness, "You have never yet deceived me, child, and I hope 
 never will. Tell me truly, do you take any interest in this vounff 
 gallant?" ^ 
 
 Amabel blushed deeply. " I should not speak the truth, father," 
 she rejoined, after a pause, " if I were to say I do not." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," repUed Bloundel, gravely. " But you would 
 not be happy with him. I am sure he is unprincipled and profligate : 
 you must forget him." 
 
 " I will try to do so, sighed Amabel. And the conversation 
 dropped. 
 
 On the following day, Maurice Wyvil entered the grocer's shop. 
 He was more richly attired than before, and there was a haughti- 
 ness in his manner which he had not hitherto assumed. What 
 passed between him and Bloundel was not known, for the latter 
 never spoke of it; but the result may be gathered from the fact that 
 the young gallant was not allowed an interview with the grocer's 
 daughter. 
 
 From this moment, the change previously noticed took place in 
 Amabel's demeanour towards Leonard. She seemed scarcely able 
 to endure his presence, and sedulously avoided his regards. From 
 being habitually gay and cheerful, she became pensive and reserved. 
 Her mother more than once caught her in tears ; and it was evident, 
 from many other signs, that Wyvil completely engrossed her 
 thoughts. Fully aware of this, Mrs. Bloundel said nothing of it to 
 her husband, because the subject was painful to him ; and not sup- 
 posing the passion deeply rooted, she hoped it would speedily wear 
 away. But she was mistaken — the flame was kept alive in Amabel's 
 breast in a manner of which she was totally ignorant. Wyvil found 
 means to deceive the vigilance of the grocer and his wife, but he 
 could not deceive the vigilance of a jealous lover. Leonard dis- 
 covered that his mistress had received a letter. He would not betray 
 her, but he determined to watch her narrowly. 
 
 Accordingly, when she went forth one morning in company with 
 her younger sister (a little girl of some five years old), he made an 
 excuse to follow them, and, keeping within sight, perceived them 
 enter Saint Paul's cathedral, the mid aisle of which was then con- 
 verted into a public walk, and generally thronged with town gal- 
 lants, bulHes, bona-robas, cut-purses, and rogues of every descrip- 
 tion. In short, it was the haunt of the worst of characters of the 
 metropolis. When, therefore, Amabel entered this structure, Leo- 
 nard felt certain it was to meet her lover. Bushing forward, he saw 
 her take her course through the crowd, and attract general atten- 
 tion from her loveliness — but he nowhere discerned Maurice Wyvil. 
 
 Suddenly, however, she struck off to the right, and halted near 
 one of the pillars, and the apprentice, advancing, detected his rival 
 behind it. He was whispering a few words in her ear, unperceived 
 by her sister. JVladdened by the sight, Leonard hurried towards 
 
THE GROCER AND HIS FAMILY. 9 
 
 them, but before he could reach the spot Wyvil was gone, and 
 Amabel, though greatly confused, looked at the same time so in- 
 dignant, that he almost regretted his precipitation. " You will, of 
 course, make known to my father what you have just seen?" she 
 said, in a low tone. 
 
 ' ' If you will promise not to meet that gallant again without my 
 knowledge, I will not," replied Leonard. 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Amabel gave the required promise, 
 and they returned to Wood Street together. Satisfied she would 
 not break her word, the apprentice became more easy, and as a 
 week elapsed, and nothing was said to him on the subject, he per- 
 suaded himself she would not attempt to meet her lover again. 
 
 Things were in this state at the opening of our Tale, but upon 
 the night in question, Leonard fancied he discerned some agitation 
 in Amabel's manner towards him, and in consequence of this notion, 
 he sought to meet her gaze, as before related, after prayers. While 
 trying to distract his thoughts by arranging sundry firkins of butter, 
 and putting other things in order, he heard a light footstep behind 
 him, and turning at the sound, beheld Amabel. "Leonard," she 
 whispered, " I promised to tell you when I should next meet Mau- 
 rice Wyvil. He will be here to-night." And without giving him 
 time to answer, she retired. 
 
 For awhile, Leonard remained in a state almost of stupefaction, 
 repeating to himself, as if unwilling to believe them, the words he 
 had just heard. He had not recovered when the grocer entered the 
 shop, and noticing his haggard looks, kindly inquired if he felt 
 unwell. The apprentice returned an evasive answer, and half 
 determined to relate all he knew to his master ; but the next mo- 
 ment he changed his intention, and, influenced by that chivalric 
 feeling which always governs those, of whatever condition, who 
 love profoundly, resolved not to betray the thoughtless girl, but to 
 trust to his own ingenuity to thwart the designs of his rival, and 
 preserve her. Acting upon this resolution, he said he had a shght 
 headache, and instantly resumed his occupation. 
 
 At nine o'clock, the whole family assembled at supper. The board 
 was plentifully though plainly spread, but the grocer observed, with 
 some uneasiness, that his apprentice, who had a good appetite in 
 ordinary, ate little or nothing. He kept his eye constantly upon 
 him, and became convinced from his manner that something ailed 
 him. Not having any notion of the truth, and being filled with 
 apprehensions of the plague, his dread was that Leonard was in- 
 fected by the disease. Supper was generally the pleasantest meal 
 of the day at the grocer's house, but on' this occasion it passed off 
 cheerlessly enough, and a circumstance occurred at its close which 
 threw all into confusion and distress. Before relating this, how- 
 ever, we must complete our description of the family under their 
 present aspect. 
 
 Tall, and of a spare frame, with good features, somewhat austere 
 in their expression, and of the cast which we are apt to term pre- 
 cise and puritanical, but tempered with great benevolence, Stephen 
 Bloundel had a keen deep-seated eye, overshadowed by thick brows, 
 
10 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 and suffered his long-flowing grey hair to descend over his shoul- 
 ders. His forehead was high and ample, his chin square and well- 
 defined, and his general appearance exceedingly striking. In age, 
 he was about fifty. His integrity and fairness of dealing, never once 
 called in question for a period of thirty years, had won him the 
 esteem of all who knew him; while his prudence and economy had 
 enabled him, during that time, to amass a tolerable fortune. His 
 methodical habits and strong religious principles have been already 
 nientioned. His eldest son was named after him, and resembled 
 him both in person and character, promising to tread in his foot- 
 steps. The younger sons require little notice at present. One was 
 twelve, and the other only half that age : but both appeared to 
 inherit many of their father's good qualities. Basil, the elder, was 
 a stout, well-grown lad, and had never known a day's ill health ; 
 while Hubert, the younger, was thin, delicate, and constantly aihng. 
 Mrs. Bloundel was a specimen of a city dame of the best kind. 
 She had a few pardonable vanities, which no arguments could over- 
 come — such as a little ostentation in dress — a little pride in the 
 neatness of her house — and a good deal in the beauty of her children, 
 especially in that of Amabel — as well as in the wealth and high 
 character of her husband, whom she regarded as the most perfect 
 of human beings. These slight failings allowed for, nothing but 
 good remained. Her conduct was exemplary in all the relations of 
 life. The tenderest of mothers, and the most affectionate of wives, 
 she had as much genuine piety and strictness of moral principles as 
 her husband. Short, plump, and well-proportioned — though some- 
 what, perhaps, exceeding the rules of symmetry — she had a rich 
 olive complexion, fine black eyes, beaming with good-nature, and 
 an ever-laughing mouth, ornamented by a beautiful set of teeth. 
 To wind up all, she was a few years younger than her husband. 
 
 Amabel has already been described. The youngest girl, Chris- 
 tiana, was a pretty little, dove-eyed, flaxen-haired child, between 
 four and five years old, and shared the fate of most younger children, 
 being very much caressed, and not a little spoiled by her parents. 
 
 The foregoing description of the grocer's family would be in- 
 complete without some mention of his household. Old Josyna 
 Shotterel, the cook, who had lived with her master ever since his 
 marriage, and had the strongest attachment for him, was a hale, 
 stout dame, of about sixty, with few infirmities for her years, and 
 with less asperity of temper than generally belongs to servants of 
 her class. She was a native of Holland, and came to England early 
 in life, where she married Blaize's father, who died soon after their 
 union. An excellent cook in a plain way, — indeed she had no 
 practice in any other, — she would brew strong ale and mead, or 
 mix a sack-posset, with any innkeeper in the city. Moreover, she 
 was a careful and tender nurse, if her services were ever i:equired 
 in that capacity. The children looked upon her as a second mother; 
 and her affection for them, which was unbounded, deserved their 
 regard. She was a perfect storehouse of what are termed "old 
 women's receipts;" and there were few complaints (except the 
 plague) for which she did not think herself quaUfied to prescribe and 
 
THfi 6R0CBR AMD HIS FAMILY. 
 
 11 
 
 able to cure. Her skill in the healing art was often tested by her 
 charitable mistress, who required her to prepare remedies, as well 
 as nourishing broths, for such of the poor of the parish as applied 
 to her for reUef at times of sickness. 
 
 Her son, Blaize, was a stout, stumpy fellow, about four feet ten, 
 with a head somewhat too large for his body, and extremely long 
 arms. Ever since the plague had broken out in Drury Lane, it 
 haunted him like a spectre, and scattered the few faculties he pos- 
 sessed. In vain, he tried to combat his alarm, — in vain, his mother 
 endeavoured to laugh him out of it. Nothing would do. He read 
 the bills of mortality daily -, ascertained the particulars of every case ; 
 dilated upon the agonies of the sufferers ; watched the progress of 
 the infection ; and calculated the time it would take to reach Wood 
 Street. He talked of the pestilence by day, and dreamed of it at 
 night ; and more than once alarmed the house by roaring for assist- 
 ance, under the idea that he was suddenly attacked. By his mo- 
 ther's advice, he steeped rue, wormwood, and sage in his drink, till 
 it was so abominably nauseous that he could scarcely swallow it, 
 and carried a small ball in the hollow of his hand, compounded of 
 wax, angelica, camphor, and other drugs. He hkewise chewed a 
 small piece of Virginian snake-root, or zedoary, if he approached 
 any place supposed to be iiifected. A dried toad was suspended 
 round his neck, as an amulet of sovereign virtue. Every nostrum, 
 sold by the quacks in the streets, tempted him; and a few days be- 
 fore, he had expended his last crown in the purchase of a bottle of 
 plague-water. Being of a superstitious nature, he placed full faith 
 in all the predictions of the astrologers, who foretold that London 
 should be utterly laid waste, that grass should grow in the streets, 
 and that the living should not be able to bury the dead. He quaked 
 at the terrible denunciations of the preachers, who exhorted their 
 hearers to repentance, telling them a judgment was at hand, and 
 shuddered at the wild and fearful prophesyings of the insane en- 
 thusiasts who roamed the streets. His nativity having been cast, and 
 it appearing that he would be in great danger on the 20th of June, 
 he made up his mind that he should die of the plague on that day. 
 Before he was assailed by these terrors, he had entertained a 
 sneaking attachment for Patience, the kitchen-maid, a young and 
 buxom damsel, who had no especial objection to him. But of late, 
 his love had given way to apprehension, and his whole thoughts 
 were centred in one idea, namely, self-preservation. 
 
 By this time, supper was over, and the family were about to se- 
 parate for the night, when Stephen, the grocer's eldest son, having 
 risen to quit the room, staggered, and complained of a strange dizzi- 
 ness and headache, which almost deprived him of sight, while his 
 heart palpitated frightfully. A dreadful suspicion seized his father. 
 He ran towards him, and assisted him to a seat. Scarcely had the 
 young mai^ reached it, when a violent sickness seized him ; a 
 greenish-coloured froth appeared at the mouth, and he began to 
 grow delirious. Guided by the convulsive efforts of the sufferer, 
 Bloundel tore off his clothes, and, after a moment's search, perceived 
 under the left arm a livid pustule. He uttered a cry of anguish. 
 
 His son was plague-stricken. 
 
 » f. 
 
12 OLD SAINT PA.UL*S. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ■^uA 
 
 :OPFIN-MAKER. 
 
 The first shock over, the grocer bore the affliction manfully, and 
 like one prepared lor it. Exhibiting little outward emotion, though 
 his heart was torn with anguish, and acting with the utmost calm- 
 ness, he forbade his wife to approach the sufferer, and desired her 
 instantly to retire to her own room with her daughters ; and not to 
 leave it on any consideration whatever, without his permission. Ac- 
 customed to regard her husband's word as law, Mrs. Bloundel, for 
 the first time in her life, disputed his authority, and, faUing on her 
 knees, besought him, with tears in her eyes, to allow her to nurse 
 her son. But he remained inflexible, and she was forced to com- 
 ply. He next gave similar directions to old Josyna respecting his 
 two younger sons, with this difference only, — that when they were 
 put to rest, and the door was locked upon them, she was to return 
 to the kitchen and prepare a posset-drink of canary and spirit of 
 sulphur, together with a poultice of mallows, lily-roots, figs, lin- 
 seed, and palm-oil, for the patient. These orders given and obeyed, 
 with Leonard Holt's assistance, — for Blaize, who had crept into a 
 corner, in extremity of terror, was wholly incapable of rendering 
 any, — he conveyed his son to an adjoining room on the ground- 
 floor, where there was a bed, and placing him within it, heaped 
 blankets upon him to promote profuse perspiration, while the ap- 
 prentice lighted a fire. 
 
 Provided with the most efficacious remedies for the distemper, 
 and acquainted with the mode of treating it prescribed by the Col- 
 lege of Physicians, Bloundel was at no loss how to act, but, rubbing 
 the part affected with a stimulating ointment, administered at the 
 same time doses of mithridate, Venice treacle, and other potent 
 alexipharmics. He had soon the satisfaction of perceiving that his 
 son became somewhat easier ; and after swallowing the posset-drink 
 prepared by old Josyna, who used all the expedition she could, a 
 moisture broke out upon the youth's skin, and appeared to relieve 
 him so much, that, but for the ghastly paleness of his countenance, 
 and the muddy look of his eye, his father would have indulged a 
 hope of his recovery. 
 
 Up to this time, ihe grocer had acted for himself, and felt confi- 
 dent he had acted rightly, but he now deemed it expedient to call in 
 advice, and, accordingly, commissioned his apprentice to fetch 
 Doctor Hodges, a physician, residing in Great Knightrider Street, 
 Doctor's Commons, who had recently acquired considerable reputa- 
 tion for his skilful treatment of those attacked by the plague, and 
 who (it may be incidentally mentioned) afterwards gave to the 
 medical world a curious account of the ravages of the disorder, as 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 13 
 
 well as of his own professional experiences during this terrible 
 period. He likewise told him, — and he could not repress a sigh as 
 he did so, — to give notice to the Examiner of Health ( there were 
 one or two officers, so designated, appointed to every parish, at 
 this awful season, by the City authorities) that his house was infected. 
 
 While preparing to set out, Leonard again debated with himself 
 whether he should acquaint his Master with Maurice Wyvil's medi- 
 tated visit. But conceiving it wholly impossible that Amabel could 
 leave her mother's room, even if she were disposed to do so, he 
 determined to let the affair take its course. On his way to the 
 shop, he entered a small room occupied by Blaize, and found him 
 seated near a table, with his hands upon his knees, and his eyes 
 fixed upon the ground, looking the very image of despair. The at- 
 mosphere smelt like that of an apothecary's shop, and was so over- 
 powering that Leonard could scarcely breathe. The table was 
 covered with pill-boxes and phials, most of which were emptied, and 
 a dim light was afforded by a candle with a most portentous crest of 
 snuff. "So you have been poisoning yourself, I perceive," observed 
 Leonard, approaching. 
 
 "Keep off!" cried the porter, springing suddenly to his feet. 
 
 "Don't touch me, I say. Poisoning myself! I have taken three 
 rufuses, or pestilential pills; two spoonfuls of alexiteral water ; the 
 same quantity of compound antipestilential decoction ; half as much 
 of Sir Theodore Mayerne's electuary ; and a large dose of orvietan. 
 Do you call that poisoning myself ? 1 call it taking proper precaution, 
 and would recommend you to do the same. Besides this, I have 
 sprinkled myself with vinegar, fumigated my clothes, and rubbed 
 my nose, inside and out, till it smarted so intolerably I was obhged 
 to desist, with balsam of sulphur." 
 
 "Well, well, if you don't escape the plague, it won't be your 
 fault," returned Leonard, scarcely able to refrain from smiling. 
 '^But I have something to tell you before I go." 
 
 "What is the matter?" demanded Blaize, in alarm. "Where 
 — where are you going?" 
 
 "To fetch the doctor," replied Leonard. 
 
 "Is Master Stephen worse?" rejoined the porter. 
 
 "On the contrary, I hope he is better," replied Leonard. "I 
 shall be back directly, but as I have to give notice to the Examiner 
 of Health that the house is infected, I may be detained a few minutes 
 longer than I anticipate. Keep the street door locked; I will fasten 
 the yard-gate, and do not, for your life, let any one in, except Doctor 
 Hodges, till I return. Do you hear? — do you understand what I 
 say?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear plain enough," groaned Blaize. "You say that 
 the house is infected, and that we shall all be locked up." 
 
 "Dolt !" exclaimed the apprentice, "1 said no such thing." And 
 he repeated his injunctions, but Blaize was too much terrified to 
 comprehend Ihem. At last, losing all patience, he cried in a me- 
 nacing tone, "If you do not attend to me, 1 will cudgel you within 
 an inch of your life, and you will find the thrashing harder to bear 
 even that the plague itself. Rouse yourself, fool, and follow me." 
 
14 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 Accompanied by the porter, he then hurried to the yard gate, 
 saw that it was bolted within-side, and returned to the shop, where, 
 having found his cap and cudgel, he directed Blaize to lock the 
 door after him, cautioning him, for the third time, not to admit any 
 one except the doctor. "If I find, on my return, that you have 
 neglected my injunctions," he concluded, "as sure as I now stand 
 before you, I'll break every bone in your body." 
 
 Blaize promised obedience, adding, in a supplicating tone, "Leo- 
 nard, if I were you, I would not go to the Examiner of Health. Poor 
 Stephen may not have the plague after all. It's a dreadful thing to 
 be imprisoned for a month, for that's the time appointed by the 
 Lord Mayor. Only a week ago I passed several houses in Holborn, 
 shut up on account of the plague, with a watchman at the door, and 
 I never shall forget the melancholy faces I saw at the w'lndows. It 
 was a dreadful spectacle, and has haunted me ever since." 
 
 " It cannot be helped," rejoined Leonard, with a sigh. *' If we 
 disobey the Lord Mayor's orders, and neglect giving information, 
 we shall all be sent to Newgate, while poor Stephen will be taken 
 to the pest-house. Besides, the searchers will be here before morn- 
 ing. They are sure to learn what has happened from Doctor Hodges." 
 " True, true," replied Blaize ; " I had forgotten that. Let me go 
 with you, dear Leonard. I dare not remain here longer." 
 
 " What! would you leave your kind, good master at a time like 
 this, when he most needs your services?" rejoined Leonard, re- 
 proachfully. "Out, cowardly houndl I am ashamed of you. 
 Shake off your fears, and be a man. You can but die once; and 
 what matters it whether you die of the plague or the cholic ?" 
 
 " It matters a great deal," replied Blaize. " I am afraid of no- 
 thing but the plague. I am sure I shall be its next victim in this 
 house. But you are right — I cannot desert my kind master, nor 
 my old mother. Farewell, Leonard. Perhaps we may never meet 
 again. I may be dead before you come back — I feel very ill already." 
 "No wonder, after all the stuff you have swallowed," returned 
 Leonard : "but pluck up your courage, or you will bring on the 
 very thing you are anxious to avoid. As many have died from fear 
 as from any other cause. — One word before I go. If any one should 
 get into the house by scaling the yard-wall, or through the window, 
 instantly alarm our master." 
 
 " Certainly," returned Blaize, with a look of surprise. " But do 
 you expect any one to enter the house in that way?" 
 
 " Ask no questions, but do as I bid you," rejoined Leonard, open- 
 ing the door, and about to go forth. 
 
 "Stop a moment," cried Blaize, detaining him, and drawing from 
 his pocket a handful of simples. ' ' Won't you take some of these 
 with you to guard against infection ? There's wormwood, wood- 
 sorrel, masterwort, zedoary, and angelica; and lastly, there's a 
 little bottle of the sovereign preservative against the plague, as 
 prepared by the great Lord Bacon, and approved by Queen Elizar- 
 beth. Won't you take ^M//" 
 
 " 1 have no fear," rephed Leonard, shutting the door in his face. 
 And as he lingered for a moment while it was locked, he heard 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. l5 
 
 Blaize say to himself, " I must go and take three more rufuses and 
 a large dose of diascordium." 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and as the apprentice turned to 
 depart, he perceived a figure hastily retreating on the other side of 
 the way. Making sure it was Maurice Wyvil, though he could not 
 distinguish the garb of the person — that side of the street being in 
 shade, — and stung by jealousy, he immediately started in pursuit. 
 The fugitive struck down Lad Lane, and ran on till he came to the 
 end of Lawrence Lane, where, finding himself closely pressed, he 
 suddenly halted, and pulling his hat over his brows to conceal his 
 features, fiercely confronted his pursuer. " Why do you follow me 
 thus, rascal?" he cried, drawing his sword. " Would you rob mjC? 
 Begone, or I will call the watch." 
 
 " It i5 his voice 1" cried the apprentice. " I have news for you, 
 Mr. Maurice Wyvil. You will not see Amabel to-night. The plague 
 is in her father's house." 
 
 "The plague!" exclaimed Wyvil, in an altered tone, and drop- 
 ping the point of his sword. " Is she smitten by it ?" 
 
 The apprentice answered by a bitter laugh, and without tarrying 
 longer to enjoy his rival's distress, set off towards Cheapside. Be- 
 fore reaching the end of Lawrence Lane, however, he half repented 
 his conduct, and halted to see whether Wyvil was following him ; 
 but as he could perceive nothing of him, he continued his course. 
 
 Entering Cheapside, he observed, to his surprise, a crowd of per- 
 sons collected near the Cross, then standing a little to the east of 
 Wood Street. This cross, which was of great antiquity, and had 
 undergone many mutilations and alterations since its erection in 
 I486, when it boasted, amongst other embellishments, images of 
 the Virgin and Saint Edward the Confessor, was still not without 
 some pretensions to architectural beauty. In form it was hexagonal, 
 and composed of three tiers, rising from one another like the divi- 
 sions of a telescope, each angle being supported by a pillar sur- 
 mounted by a statue, while the intervening niches were filled up 
 with sculptures, intended to represent some of the sovereigns of 
 England. The structure was of considerable height, and crowned 
 by a large gilt cross. Its base was protected by a strong wooden 
 raiUng. About a hundred yards to the east, ther^ stood a smaller 
 hexagonal tower, likewise ornamented with carvings, and having a 
 figure on its conical summit blowing a horn. This was the Conduit. 
 Midway between these buildings the crowd, alluded to above, was 
 collected. 
 
 As Leonard drew near, he found the assemblage was listening to 
 the exhortations of an enthusiast, whom he instantly recognised 
 from a description he had heard of him from Blaize. The name of 
 this half-crazed being was Solomon Eagle. Originally a quaker, 
 upon the outbreak of the plague he had abandoned his home and 
 friends, and roamed the streets at night, denouncing doom to the 
 city. He Was a tall gaunt man, with long jet-black hair, hanging in 
 disordered masses over his shoulders. His eyes were large and 
 black, and blazed with insane lustre, and his looks were so wild and 
 terrific, that it required no great stretch of imagination to convert 
 
16 OLD SAINT PALX'S. 
 
 him into the genius of the pestilence. Entirely stripped of apparel, 
 except that his loins were girt with a sheep-skin, in imitation of 
 Saint John in the Wilderness, he bore upon his head a brazier of 
 flaming coals, the lurid hght of which, falling upon his sable locks 
 and tawny skin, gave him an almost unearthly appearance. 
 
 Impelled by curiosity, Leonard paused for a moment to hsten to 
 him, and heard him thunder forth the following denunciation : — 
 *' And now, therefore, as the prophet Jeremiah saith, ' I have this 
 day declared it to you, but ye have not obeyed the voice of the Lord 
 
 ?our God, nor anything for the which he hath sent me unto you. 
 fow, therefore, know certainly that ye shall die by the sword, by 
 the famine, and by the pestilence.' Again, in the [words of the 
 prophet Amos, the Lord saith unto you by my mouth, ' 1 have sent 
 among you the pestilence after the manner of Egypt, yet have you 
 not returned unto me. Therefore, will I do this unto thee, Israel ; 
 and because I \\nll do this unto thee, prepare to meet thy God !' 
 Do you hear this, sinners ? God will proceed against you in the 
 day of his wrath, though he hath borne with you in the day of his 
 patience ? O how many hundred years hath he spared this city, 
 notwithstanding its great provocations and wickedness ! But now 
 he will no longer show it pity, but will pour out his wrath upon it ! 
 Plagues shall come upon it, and desolation ; and it shall be utterly 
 burnt with fire, — for strong is the Lord who judgeth it!" 
 
 His address concluded, he ran along at a swift pace, shrieking, 
 in a voice that caused many persons to throw open their windows 
 to listen to him, " Awake ! sinners, awake! — the plague is at your 
 doors! — the grave yawns for you! — awake, and repent!" And 
 followed by the crowd, many of whom kept up with him, he ran on 
 vociferating in this manner till he was out of hearing. 
 
 Hurrying forward in the opposite direction, Leonard glanced at 
 the ancient and picturesque houses on either side of the way, — now 
 bathed in the moonlight, and apparently hushed in repose and 
 security, — and he could not repress a shudder as he reflected that 
 an evil angel was, indeed, abroad, who might suddenly arouse their 
 slumbering inmates to despair and death. His thoughts took 
 another turn as he entered the precincts of Saint Paul's, and 
 surveyed the venerable and majestic fabric before him. His eyes 
 rested upon its innumerable crocketed pinnacles, its buttresses, its 
 battlements, and upon the magnificent rose-window terminating the 
 choir. The apprentice had no especisfl love for antiquity, but being 
 of an imaginative turn, the sight of this reverend structure conjured 
 up old recollections, and brought to mind the Collegiate Church of 
 his native town. '• Shall I ever see Manchester again?" he 
 sighed: — " shall I take Amabel with me there? Alas! I doubt it. 
 If I survive the plague, she, 1 fear, will never be mine." 
 
 Musing thus, he scanned the roof of the cathedral, and noticing its 
 stunted central tower, could not help thinking how much more striking 
 its effect must have been, when the lofty spire it once supported was 
 standing. The spire, it may be remarked, was twice destroyed by 
 lightning, first, in February, 1444; and subsequently in June, 1561, 
 when it was entirely burnt down, and never rebuilt. Passing the 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 17 
 
 Convocation House, which then stood at one side of the southern 
 transept, Leonard struck down Paul's Chain, and turning to the 
 right, speeded along Great Knightrider Street, until he reached an 
 old habitation at the corner of the passage leading to Doctors' 
 Commons. 
 
 Knocking at the door, an elderly servant presently appeared, 
 and in answer to his inquiries whether Doctor Hodges was at home, 
 stated that he had gone out, about half an hour ago, to attend 
 Mr. Fisher, a proctor, who had been suddenly attacked by the plague 
 at his residence in Bartholomew Close, near Smithfield. "lam 
 come on the same errand," said Leonard, "and must see your 
 master instantly." 
 
 " If you choose to go to Bartholomew Close," replied the servant, 
 *'you may possibly meet with him. Mr. Fisher's house is the last 
 but two, on the right, before you come to the area in front of the 
 church." 
 
 "I can easily find it," returned Leonard, **and will run there 
 as fast as 1 can. But if your master should pass me on the road, 
 beseech him to go instantly to Stephen Bloundel's, the grocer, in 
 Wood Street. 
 
 The servant assenting, Leonard hastily retraced his steps and 
 traversing Blow-bladder Street, and Saint Martin's-le-Grand, passed 
 through Aldersgate. He then shaped his course through the wind- 
 ings of Little Britain and entered Duck Lane. He was now in a 
 quarter fearfully assailed by the pestilence. Most of the houses had 
 the fatal sign upon their doors — a red cross, of a foot long, with 
 the piteous words above it, ^'Lord, have mercy upon us I" in 
 characters so legible that they could be easily distinguished by the 
 moonlight, while a watchman, with a halbert in his hand, kept 
 guard outside. 
 
 Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Leonard quickened his pace. 
 But he met with an unexpected and fearful interruption. Just as he 
 reached the narrow passage leading from Duck Lane to Bartholo- 
 mew Close, he heard the ringing of a bell, followed by a hoarse 
 voice, crying, "Bring out your dead — bring out your dead!" He 
 then perceived that a large, strangely-shaped cart stopped up the 
 further end of the passage, and heard a window open, and a voice 
 call out that all was ready. The next moment, a light was seen at 
 the door, and a coffin was brought out and placed in the cart. This 
 done, the driver, who was smoking a pipe, cracked his whip, and 
 put the vehicle in motion. 
 
 Shrinking into a door-way, and holding a handkerchief to his 
 face to avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that 
 there were other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by two 
 persons in long black cloaks. The vehicle itself, fashioned hke 
 an open hearse, and of the same sombre colour, reheved by fan- 
 tastical designs, painted in white, emblematic of the pestilence, 
 was drawn by a horse of the large black Flanders breed, and deco- 
 rated with funeral trappings. To Leonard's inexpressible horror, 
 the cart again stopped opposite him, and the driver, ringing his 
 bell, repeated his doleful cry. While another coffin was brought 
 
 2 
 
18 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next house was 
 opened, and a woman looking forth, screamed, ' ' Is Anselm Chowles, 
 the coffin-maker, there?" 
 
 "Yes, here lam, Mother Malmayns," replied one of the men in 
 black cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhihiting features so 
 hideous, and stamped with such a revolting expression, that Leo- 
 nard's blood curdled at the sight. " What do you want with me ?" 
 he added. 
 
 "I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough," rephed the 
 woman. 
 
 , "What, is the old miser gone at last?" exclaimed Chowles with 
 an atrocious laugh. "But how shall I get paid for a coffin ?" 
 
 "You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house," 
 replied Mother Malmayns; "or you may carry him to the grave 
 without one, if you prefer it." 
 
 " ]No, no, that won't do," returned Chowles. "I 've other cus- 
 tomers to attend to who will pay; and, besides, I want to ^et home. 
 I expect friends at supper. Good-night, Mother Malmayns. You 
 know where to find me, if you want me. Move on, Jonas, or 
 you 'II never reach Saint Sepulchre's." 
 
 The woman angrily expostulated with him, and some further 
 parley ensued, — Leonard did not tarry to hear what, but rushing 
 past them, gained Bartholomew Close. He soon reached the 
 proctor's house, and found it marked with the fatal cross. Address- 
 ing a watchman at the door, he learnt, to his great dismay, that 
 Doctor Hodges had been gone more than a quarter of an hour. 
 " He was too iate," said the man. " Poor Mr. Fisher had breathed 
 his last beiore he arrived ; and, after giving some directions to the 
 family as to the precautions they ought to observe, the doctor 
 departed." 
 
 "How unfortunate I" exclaimed Leonard. "1 have missed him 
 a second time. But 1 will run back to his house instantly." 
 
 "You will not find him at home," returned the watchman. " He 
 is gone to Saint Paul's, to attend a sick person." 
 
 " To Saint Paul's at this hour !" cried the apprentice, j '* Why no 
 one is there, except the vergers or the sexton." 
 
 " He is gone to visit the sexton, who is ill of the plague," replied 
 the watchman. "I have told you all I know about him. You can 
 do what you think best." 
 
 Determined to make another effort before giving in, 'Leonard 
 hurried back as fast as he could. While threading Duck Lane, he 
 heard the doleful bell again, and perceived the dead-cart standing 
 before a house, from which two small coffins were brought. Hur- 
 rying past the vehicle, he remarked that its load was fearfully in- 
 creased, but that the coffin-maker and his companion had left it* 
 Another minute had not elapsed before he reached Aldersgate, and, 
 passing through the postern, he beheld a light at the end of Saint 
 Anne's Lane, and heard the terrible voice of Solomon Eagle, caUing 
 to the sleepers to awake and repent. 
 
 Shutting his ears to the cry, Leonard did not halt till he reached 
 the great western door of the cathedral, against which he knocked. 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 19 
 
 His first summons remaining unanswered, he repeated it, and a 
 wicket was then opened by a grey-headed verger, with a lantern in 
 his hand, who at. first was very angry at being disturbed, but on 
 learning whom the applicant was in search of, and that the case 
 was one of urgency, he admitted that the doctor was in the cathe- 
 dral at the time. "Or rather I should say," he added, "he is in 
 Saint Faith's. I will conduct you to him, if you think proper. 
 Doctor Hodges is a good man, — a charitable man," he continued, 
 "and attends the poor for nothing. He is now with Matthew 
 Malmayns, the sexton, who was taken ill of the plague yesterday, 
 and will get nothing but thanks, — if he gets those, — for his fee. 
 But follow me, young man, follow me." 
 
 So saying, he shut the wicket, and led the way along the transept. 
 The path was uneven, many of the flags having been removed, and 
 the verger often paused to throw a light upon the ground, and 
 warn his companion of a hole. 
 
 On arriving at the head of the nave, Leonard cast his eyes down 
 it, and was surprised at the magical effect of the moonhght upon 
 its magnificent avenue of pillars; the massive shafts on the left 
 being completely illuminated by the silvery beams, while those on 
 the right lay in deep shadow. " Ay, it is a noble structure," 
 replied the old verger, noticing his look of wonder and admiration, 
 "and, like many a proud human being, has known better days. 
 It has seen sad changes in my time, for I recollect it when good 
 Queen Bess ruled the land. But, come along, young man, — you 
 have something else to think of now." 
 
 Bestowing a momentary glance upon the matchless choir, with 
 its groined roof, its clerestory windows, its arched openings, its 
 carved stalls, and its gorgeous rose-window, Leonard followed his 
 conductor through a small doorway on the left of the southern tran- 
 sept, and descending a flight of stone steps, entered a dark and 
 extensive vault, for such it seemed. The feeble light of the lantern 
 fell upon ranks of short heavy pillars, supporting a ponderous 
 arched roof. ' ' You are now in Saint Faith's," observed the verger, 
 "and above you is the choir of Saint Paul's." 
 
 Leonard took no notice of the remark, but silently crossing the 
 nave of this beautiful subterranean church (part of which still 
 exists), traversed its northern aisle. At length, the verger stopped 
 before the entrance of a small chapel, once dedicated to Saint John 
 the Baptist, but now devoted to a less sacred purpose. As they 
 advanced, Leonard observed a pile of dried sculls and bones in one 
 corner, a stone coffin, strips of woollen shrouds, fragments of 
 coffins, mattocks, and spades. It was evidently, half a charnel, — 
 half a receptacle for the sexton's tools. ' ' If you choose to open 
 that door," said the verger, pointing to one at the lower end of the 
 chamber, "you will find him you seek. I shall go no further." 
 
 Summoning up all his resolution, Leonard pushed open the door. 
 A frightful scene met his gaze. At one side of a deep low-roofed 
 vault, the architecture of which was of great antiquity, and showed 
 that it had been a place of burial, was stretched a miserable pallet, 
 
20 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 and upon it, covered by a single blanket, lay a wretch, whose 
 groans and struggles proclaimed the anguish he endured. A lamp 
 was burning on the floor, and threw a sickly light upon the agonized 
 countenance of the sufferer. He was a middle-aged man, with 
 features naturally harsh, but which now, contracted by pain, had 
 assumed a revolting expression An old crone, who proved to be 
 his mother, and a young man, who held him down in bed by main 
 force, tended him. He was rambling in a frightful manner ; and 
 as his ravings turned upon the most loathly matters, it required 
 some firmness to Hsten to them. 
 
 At a little distance from him, upon a bench, sat a stout, shrewd- 
 looking, but benevolent little personage, somewhere between forty 
 and fifty. This was Doctor Hodges. He had a lancet in his hand, 
 with which he had just operated upon the sufferer, and he was in 
 the act of wiping it on a cloth. As Leonard entered the vault, the 
 doctor observed to the attendants of the sick man, "He will re- 
 cover. The tumour has discharged its venom. Keep him as warm 
 as you can, and do not let him leave his bed for two days. All 
 depends upon that. I will send him proper medicines and some 
 blankets shortly. If he takes cold, it will be fatal." The young 
 man promised to attend to the doctor's injunctions, and the old 
 woman mumbled her thanks. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Malmayns?" asked Doctor Hodges. '' I am sur- 
 prised not to see her. Is she afraid of the distemper?" 
 
 "Afraid ofitl — not she," replied the old woman. '^ Since the 
 plague has raged so dreadfully, she has gone out as a nurse to the 
 sick, and my poor son has seen nothing of her." 
 
 Leonard then recollected that he had heard the woman, who 
 called out of the miser's house, addressed as Mother Malmayns by 
 the coffin-maker, and had no doubt she wasHhe sexton's wife. His 
 entrance having been so noiseless that it passed unnoticed, he now 
 stepped forward, and, addressing Doctor Hodges, acquainted him 
 with his errand. " What!" exclaimed the doctor, as soon as he 
 concluded, "a son of Stephen Bloundel, the worthy grocer of 
 Wood Street, attacked by the plague ! I will go with you instantly, 
 young man. I have a great regard for your master — a very great 
 regard. There is not a better man living. The poor lad must be 
 saved, if possible." And hastily repeating his instructions to the 
 attendants of the sick man, he left the vault with the apprentice. 
 
 They found the verger in the charnel, and before quitting it, the 
 doctor drew a small flask of canary from his pocket, and applied it 
 to his lips. *' This is my anti-pestilential drink," he remarked with 
 a smile, " and it has preserved me from contagion hitherto. You 
 must let us out of the south door, friend," he added to the verger, 
 *' for 1 shall be obhged to step home for a moment, and it will save 
 time. Come with me, young man, and tell me what has been done 
 for the grocer's son." 
 
 As they traversed the gloomy aisles of Saint Faith, and mounted 
 to the upper structure, Leonard related all that had taken place 
 since poor Stephen's seizure. The doctor strongly expressed his 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 21 
 
 approval of what had been done, and observed, ^' It could not be 
 better. With Heaven's help, 1 have no doubt we shall save him, 
 and I am truly glad of it for his father's sake." 
 
 By this time, they had reached the southern door, and the verger 
 having unlocked it, they issued forth. It was still bright moonlight, 
 and Leonard, whose mind was greatly reheved by the assurances of 
 the physician, felt in some degree reconciled to the delay, and kept 
 up his part in the conversation promoted by his companion. The 
 doctor, who was an extremely kind-hearted man, and appeared to 
 have a great regard for the grocer, made many inquiries as to his 
 family, and spoke in terms of the highest admiration of the beauty 
 of his eldest daughter. The mention of Amabel's name, while it 
 made Leonard's cheek burn, rekindled all his jealousy of Wyvil, 
 and he tried to make some excuse to get away, but his companion 
 would not hear of it. "I tell you there is no hurry," said the doc- 
 tor ; all is going on as well as possible. I will make your excuses 
 to vour master." 
 
 On reaching the doctor's house they were ushered into a large 
 room, surrounded with book-shelves and cases of anatomical pre- 
 parations. Hodges seated himself at a table, on which a shaded 
 lamp was placed, and writing out a prescription, desired his servant 
 to get it made up at a neighbouring apothecary's, and to take it, 
 with a couple of blankets, to the sexton of Saint Paul's. He then 
 produced a bottle of medicated canary, and pouring out a large glass 
 for the apprentice, drained another himself. '* I will answer for 
 its virtue," he said : " it is a sure preservative against the plague." 
 Having furnished himself with several small packets of simples, a 
 few pots of ointment, one or two phials, and a case of surgical 
 instruments, he told Leonard he was ready to attend him. '* We 
 will go round by Warwick Lane," he added. " I must call upon 
 Chowles, the coffin-maker. It will not detain us a moment ; and I 
 have an order to give him." 
 
 The mention of this name brought to Leonard's mind the hideous 
 attendant on the dead-cart, and he had no doubt he was the person 
 in question. It did not become him, however, to make a remark, 
 and they set out. 
 
 Mounting Addle Hill, and treading Ave-Maria Lane, they entered 
 Warwick Lane, and about half way up the latter thoroughfare the 
 doctor stopped before a shop, bearing on its immense projecting 
 sign the representation of a coffin lying in state, and covered with 
 scutcheons, underneath which was written, " Anselm Chowles, 
 Coffin-Maker." 
 
 "I do not think you will find Mr. Chowles at home," observed 
 Leonard; " for I saw him with the dead-cart not half an hour ago." 
 " Veij likely," returned the doctor; " but I shall see one of his 
 men. The coffin-maker's business is now carried on in the night- 
 time," he added, with a sigh; " and he drives a flourishing trade. 
 These sad times will make his fortune." 
 
 As he spoke, he rapped with his cane at the door, which, after 
 a little delay, was opened by a young man in a carpenter's dress, 
 with a hammer in his hand. On seeing who it was, this person 
 
22 OLD SAINT PAUL*S. 
 
 exhibited great confusion, and would have retired; but the doctor, 
 pushing him aside, asked for his master. " You cannot see him 
 just now, sir," replied the other, evidently considerably embarrassed. 
 ''He is just come home greatly fatigued, and is about to retire 
 to rest." 
 
 " No matter," returned the doctor, entering a room, in which 
 three or four other men were at work, hastily finishing coffins ; '* I 
 must see him." 
 
 No farther opposition being offered, Hodges, followed by the 
 apprentice, marched towards an inner room. Just as he reached 
 the door, a burst of loud laughter, evidently proceeding from a 
 numerous party, arose from within, and a harsh voice was heard 
 chanting the following strains : — 
 
 SONG OF THE PLAGUE. 
 
 To others the plapne a foe may be, *" 
 
 To me 'tis a friend, — not an enemy ; 
 My coffins and coffers alike it fills, v 
 
 And the richer I grow, the more it kills. 
 
 Drink the pluQue ! Drink the plagtie ! 
 
 For months, for years, may it spend its rage 
 
 On lusty manhood and trembling age : " • 
 
 Though half mankind of the scourge should die, 
 
 My coffins will sell, — so what care I ? 
 
 Drink the plague 1 Drink the plague i 
 
 Loud acclamations followed the song, and the doctor, who was 
 filled with disgust and astonishment, opened the door. He abso- 
 lutely recoiled at the scene presented to his gaze. In the midst of a 
 large room, the sides of which were crowded with coffins piled to 
 the very ceiHng, sat about a dozen personages, with pipes in their 
 mouths, and flasks and glasses before them. Their seats were 
 coffins, and their table was a coffin set upon a bier. Seated on a 
 pyramid of coffins, gradually diminishing in size as the pile ap- 
 proached its apex, Chowles was waving a glass in one hand, and a 
 bottle in the other, when the doctor made his appearance. 
 
 A more hideous personage cannot be imagined than the coffin- 
 maker. He was clothed in a suit of rusty black, which made his 
 skeleton limbs look yet more lean and cadaverous. His head was 
 perfectly bald, and its yellow skin, divested of any artificial cov^ing, 
 ghstened like polished ivory. His throat was long and scraggy, and 
 supported a head unrivalled for ugliness. His nose had been broken 
 in his youth, and was almost compressed flat with his face. His 
 few remaining teeth were yellow and discoloured, with large gaps 
 between them. His eyes were bright, and set in deep cavernous 
 recesses, and, now that he was more than half intoxicated, gleamed 
 with unnatural lustre. The friends by whom he was surrounded 
 were congenial spirits, — searchers, watchmen, buriers, apothe- 
 caries, and other wretches, who, like himself, rejoiced in the pesti- 
 lence, because it was a source of profit to them. 
 
 At one corner of the room, with a part-emptied glass before her, 
 
THE COFFIN-MAKER. 23 
 
 and several articles in her lap, which she hastily pocketed on the 
 entrance of the doctor, sat the plague-nurse. Mother Malmayns; 
 and Leonard thought her, if possible, more villanous-looking than 
 her companions. She was a rough, raw-boned woman, with sandy 
 hair and light brows, a sallow, freckled complexion, a nose with 
 wide nostrils, and a large, thick-lipped mouth. She had, moreover, 
 a look of mingled cunning and ferocity inexpressibly revolting. 
 
 Sharply rebuking Chowles, who, in springing from his ibfty seat, 
 upset several of the topmost coffins, the doctor gave him some di- 
 rections, and, turning to the nurse, informed her of her husband's 
 condition, and ordered her to go to him immediately. Mother Mal- 
 mayns arose, and glancing significantly at the coffin-maker, took 
 her departure. 
 
 Repeating his injunctions to Chowles in a severe tone, the doctor 
 followed ; and seeing her take the way towards Saint Paul's, pro- 
 ceeded at a brisk pace along Paternoster Row with the apprentice. 
 In a few minutes, they reached Wood Street, and knocking at the 
 door, were admitted by Rlaize. " Heaven be praised, you are come 
 at last ! " exclaimed the porter. "Our master began to think some- 
 thing had happened to you. " 
 
 " It is all my fault," returned Doctor Hodges ; "but how is the 
 young man?" 
 
 "Retter, much better, as I understand," replied Rlaize; " but I 
 have not seen him." 
 
 " Come, that's well," rejoined Hodges. — "Lead me to his room." 
 
 "Leonard will show you the way," returned the porter, holding 
 back. 
 
 Glancing angrily at Rlaize, the apprentice conducted the doctor 
 to the inner room, where they found the grocer, with the Rible on 
 his knee, watching by the bed-side of his son. He was delighted at 
 their appearance, but looked inquisitively at his apprentice for some 
 explanation of his long absence. This Hodges immediately gave ; 
 and, having examined the sufferer, he relieved the anxious father 
 by declaring, that, with due care, he had little doubt of his son's re- 
 covery. " God be praised!" exclaimed Rloundel, falling on his 
 knees. 
 
 Hodges then gave minute directions to the grocer as to how he 
 was to proceed, and told him it would be necessary for some time 
 to keep his family separate. To this Rloundel readily agreed. The 
 doctor's next inquiries were whether notice had been given to the 
 Examiner of Health, and the grocer referring to Leonard, the latter 
 acknowledged that he had forgotten it, but undertook to repair his 
 omission at once. 
 
 With this view, he quitted the room, and was hastening towards 
 the shop, when he observed a figure on the back-stairs. Quickly 
 mounting them, he overtook on the landing Maurice Wyvil. 
 
24 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 
 
 Before proceeding further, it will be necessary to retrace our 
 steps for a short time, and see what was done by Maurice Wyvil 
 after the alarming announcement made to him by the apprentice. 
 Of a selfish nature and ungovernable temper, and seeking only in 
 the pursuit of the grocer's daughter the gratification of his lawless 
 desires, he was filled, in the first instance, with furious disappoint- 
 ment at being robbed of the prize, at the very moment he expected 
 it to fall into his hands. But this feehng was quickly effaced by an- 
 xiety respecting his mistress, whose charms, now that there was 
 every probabiHty of losing her ( for Leonard's insinuation had led 
 him to beheve she was assailed by the pestilence), appeared doubly 
 attractive to him ; and scarcely under the governance of reason, he 
 hurried towards Wood Street, resolved to force his way into the 
 house, and see her again at all hazards. His wild design, however, 
 was fortunately prevented. As he passed the end of the court lead- 
 ing to the ancient inn (for it was ancient even at the time of this his- 
 tory), the Swan-with-two-Necks, in Lad Lane, a young man, as 
 richly attired as himself, and about his own age, who had seen him 
 approaching, suddenly darted from it, and grasping his cloak, de- 
 tained him. "I thought it must be you, Wyvil," cried this person. 
 *' Where are you running so quickly? I see neither angry father, 
 nor jealous apprentice, at your heels. What has become of the 
 girl ? Are you tired of her already? " 
 
 " Let me go, Lydyard," returned AVyvil, trying to extricate him- 
 self from his companion's hold, who was no other than the gallant 
 that had accompanied him on his first visit to the grocer's shop, 
 and had played his part so adroitly in the scheme devised between 
 them to procure an interview with Amabel, — "let me go, I say. 
 I am in no mood for jesting." 
 
 " Why, what the plague is the matter ?" rejoined Lydyard. " Has 
 your mistress played you false ? Have you lost your wager?" ** 
 
 "The plague i^the matter," replied Wyvil, sternly. "Amabel 
 is attacked by it. I must see her instantly." 
 
 "The devd 1" exclaimed Lydyard. " Here is a pretty termina- 
 tion to the affair. But if this is really the case, you must not see 
 her. It is one thing to be run through the arm, — which you must 
 own I managed as dexterously as the best master of fence could 
 have done, — and lose a few drops of blood for a mistress, br.t it is 
 another, to brave the plague on her account." 
 
 "1 care for nothing," replied Wyvil ; "I will see her." 
 
 "This is madness!" remonstrated Lydyard, still maintaining his 
 grasp. "What satisfaction will it afford you to witness her suffer- 
 ings — to $ec the frightful ravages made upon her charms by this 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BLLLY. 25 
 
 remorseless disease, — to throw her whole family into consterna- 
 tion, and destroy the little chance she may have of recovery, by 
 your presence ? What good will this do ? No. You must pay your 
 wager to Sedley, and forget her." 
 
 "I cannot forget her," replied Wyvil. "My feehngs have un- 
 dergone a total change. If I am capable of real love, it is for her." 
 
 "Real love!" exclaimed Lydyard, in an incredulous tone. "If 
 the subject were not too serious, I should laugh in your face. No 
 doubt you would marry her, and abandon your design upon the 
 rich heiress, pretty Mistress Mallet, whom old Rowley recommended 
 to your attention, and whom the fair Stewart has more than half 
 won for you ?" 
 
 "I would," replied the other, energetically. 
 
 " Nay, then, you are more insane than I thought you," rejoined 
 Lydyard, relinquishing his hold; "and the sooner you take the 
 plague, the better. It may cure your present brain fever. I shall 
 go back to Parravicin, and the others. You will not require my 
 assistance further." 
 
 "I know not," replied Wyvil, distractedly; "I have not yet 
 given up my intention of carrying off the girl." 
 
 " If you carry her off in this state," rejoined the other, *'it must 
 be to the pest-house. But who told you she was attacked by the 
 plague ?" 
 
 "Her father's apprentice," replied Wyvil. 
 
 " And you believed him?" demanded Lydyard, with a derisive 
 laugh. 
 
 '^ Undoubtedly," replied Wyvil. "Why not?" 
 
 "Because it is evidently a mere trick to frighten you from the 
 house," rejoined Lydyard. "1 am surprised so shallow a device 
 should succeed with?/<92^." 
 
 " I wish I could persuade myself it was a trick," returned Wyvil. 
 
 " But the fellow's manner convinced me he was in earnest." 
 
 "Well, I will not dispute the point, though I am sure I am right," 
 returned Lydyard. "But do not be too precipitate. Since the 
 apprentice has seen you, some alteration may be necessary in your 
 plans. Come with me into the house. A few minutes can make 
 no difference." 
 
 Wyvil suffered himself to be led up the court, and passing 
 through a door on the left, they entered a spacious room, across 
 which ran a long table, furnished at one end with wine and re- 
 freshments, and at the other with cards and dice. 
 
 Three persons were seated at the table, the most noticeable of 
 whom was a dissipated-looking young man, dressed in the extre- 
 mity of the prevailing mode, with ruffles of the finest colbertine, 
 three inches in depth, at his wrists ; a richly-laced cravat round 
 his throat ; white silk hose, adorned with gold clocks ; velvet shoes, 
 of the same ^olour as the hose, fastened with immense roses ; a 
 silver-hilted sword, supported by a broad embroidered silk band ; 
 and a cloak and doublet of carnation-coloured velvet, woven with 
 gold, and decorated with innumerable ghttering points and ribands. 
 
26 
 
 He had a flowing wig of flaxen hair, and a broad-leaved hat, looped 
 with a diamond buckle, and placed negligently on the left side of 
 his head. His figure was slight, but extremely well formed ; and 
 his features might have been termed handsome, but for their 
 reckless and licentious expression. He was addressed by his com- 
 panion as Sir Paul Parravicin. 
 
 The person opposite him, whose name was Disbrowe, and who 
 was likewise a very handsome young man, though his features 
 were flushed and disturbed, partly by the wine he had drunk, and 
 partly by his losses at play, was equipped in the splendid accou- 
 trements of a captain in the King's body-guard. His left hand con- 
 vulsively clutched an empty purse, and his eyes were fixed upon a 
 large sum of money, which he had just handed over to the Knight, 
 and which the latter was carelessly transferring to his pocket. 
 
 The last of the three, whose looks betrayed his character, — that 
 of a sharper and a bully, — called himself Major Pilhchody, his pre- 
 tensions to military rank being grounded upon his service, (so ran 
 his own statement, though it was never clearly substantiated,) in 
 the King's army during the civil wars. Major Pillichody was a 
 man of remarkably fierce exterior. Seamed with many scars, and 
 destitute of the left eye, the orifice of which was covered with a 
 huge black patch; his face was of a deep mulberry colour, clearly 
 attesting his devotion to the bottle ; while his nose, which was none 
 of the smallest, was covered with ' ' bubukles, and whelks, and 
 knobs, and flames of fire." He was of the middle size, stoutly 
 built, and given to corpulency, though not so much so as to impair 
 his activity. His attire consisted of a cloak and doublet of scarlet 
 cloth, very much stained and tarnished, and edged with gold lace, 
 likewise the worse for wear; jackboots, with hug^ funnel tops; 
 spurs with enormous rowels, and a rapier of preposterous length. 
 He wore his own hair, which was sv/art and woolly, like that of 
 a negro; and had beard and moustaches to match. His hat was 
 fiercely cocked; his gestures swaggering and insolent ; and he was 
 perpetually racking his brain to invent new and extraordinary oaths. 
 *' So soon returned !" cried Parravicin, asWyvil appeared. ** Accept 
 my congratulations!" 
 
 * ' And mine? " cried Pillichody. ' ' We wild fellows have but to be 
 seen to conquer. Sugar and spice, and all that's nice!" he added, 
 smacking his lips, as he filled a glass from a long-necked bottle on 
 the table ; *' may the grocer's daughter prove sweeter than her 
 father's plums, and more melting than his butter! Is she without? 
 Are we to see her ?" 
 
 Wyvil made no answer, but, walking to the other end of the 
 room, threw himself into a chair, and covering his face with his 
 hands, appeared wrapped in thought. Lydyard took a seat beside 
 him, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation. But, finding 
 his efforts fruitless, he desisted. Something is wrong," observed 
 Parravicin to the Major. '* He has been foiled in his attempt to 
 carry off the girl. Sedley has won his wager, and it is a heavy sum. 
 Shall we resume our play?" he added, to Disbrowe. 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BLLLY. 27 
 
 '*I have nothing more to lose," observed the young man, filling 
 a large goblet to the brim, and emptying it at a draught. ' ' You are 
 master of every farthing I possess." 
 
 "Hum I" exclaimed Parravicin, taking up a pack of cards, and 
 snapping them between his finger and thumb. ' ' You are married, 
 Captain Disbrowe?" 
 
 ''What if I am? cried the young man, becoming suddenly pale ; 
 "what if I am?" he repeated. 
 
 "I am told your wife is beautiful," replied Parravicin. 
 
 '* Beautiful !" ejaculated Pillichody : "by the well-filled coffers of 
 the widow of Watling Street! she is an angel. Beautiful is not 
 the word. Mrs. Disbrowe is divine !" 
 
 "You have never seen her," said the young man, sternly. 
 ^ "Ha ! — fire and fury I my word doubted," cried the Major, fierce- 
 ly. *' I have seen her at the play-houses, at the Mulberry-garden, 
 at court, and at church. Not seen her ! By the one eye of a Cyclops 
 but I have ! You shall hear my description of her, and judge of its 
 correctness. Imprhnis^ she has a tall and majestic figure, and 
 might be a queen for her dignity." 
 
 "Go on," said Disbrowe, by no means displeased with the com- 
 mencement. 
 
 "Secondly," pursued Pillichody, "she has a clear olive com- 
 plexion, bright black eyes, hair and brows to match, a small foot, 
 a pretty turn-up nose, a dimpling cheek, a mole upon her throat, 
 the rosiest lips imaginable, an alluring look — " 
 
 "No more," interrupted Disbrowe. "It is plain you have never 
 seen her." 
 
 "Unbeheving Pagan I" exclaimed the Major, clapping his hand 
 furiously upon his sword. "I have done more — I have spoken 
 with her." 
 
 "A lie 1" replied Disbrowe, hurling a dice-box at his head. 
 
 "Hal" roared Pillichody, in a voice of thunder, and pushing 
 back his chair till it was stopped by the wall. "Death and fiends I 
 I will make minced-meat of your heart, and send it as a love-offer- 
 ing to your wife." 
 
 And, whipping out his long rapier, he would have assaulted 
 Disbrowe, if Sir Paul had not interposed, and commanded him au- 
 thoritatively to put up his blade. "You shall have your revenge 
 in a safer way," he whispered. 
 
 "Well, Sir Paul," rejoined the bully, with affected reluctance, 
 " as you desire it, I will spare the young man's life. I must wash 
 away the insult in burgundy, since I cannot do so in blood." With 
 Ibis, he emptied the flask next him, and called to a drawer, who 
 was in attendance, in an im_perious tone, to bring two more bottles. 
 
 Parravicin, meanwhile, picked up the dice-box, and, seating him- 
 self, spread a large heap of gold on the table. "I mentioned your 
 wife. Captain Disbrowe," he said, addressing the young officer, who 
 anxiously watched his movements, "not with any intention of 
 giving you offence, but to show you that, although you have lost 
 your money, you have still a valuable stake left." 
 
 7 . 
 
28 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 "I do not understand you, Sir Paul," returned Disbrowe, with a 
 look of indignant surprise. 
 
 "To be plain, then," replied Parravicin, "1 have won from you 
 two hundred pounds, — all you possess. You are a ruined man, and 
 as such will run any hazard to retrieve your losses. I give you a 
 last chance. I will stake all my winnings, nay double the amount, 
 against your wife. You have a key of the house you inhabit, by 
 which you admit yourself at all hours; so at least the Major informs 
 me. If I win, that key shall be mine. I will take my chance for 
 the rest. Do you understand me now ?" 
 
 *' I do,^^ replied the young man, with concentrated fury. "I un- 
 derstand that you are a villain. You have robbed me of my money, 
 and would rob me of my honour." 
 
 "These are harsh words, sir," replied the Knight calmly, " but 
 let them pass. We will play first, and fight afterwards. But you 
 refuse my challenge ?" 
 
 "It is false!" replied Disbrowe, fiercely, "I accept it." And 
 producing a key, he threw it on the table. "My life is, in truth, 
 set on the die," he added, with a desperate look, — "for if I lose, 
 I will not survive my shame." 
 
 "You will not forget our terms," observed Parravicin. " I am 
 to be your representative to-night. You can return home to mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Throw, sir, — throw," cried the young man, fiercely. 
 
 " Pardon me," replied the Knight; " the first cast is with you. A 
 single main decides it." 
 
 "Beit so," returned Disbrowe, seizing the box. And as he 
 shook the dice with a frenzied air, the Major and Lydyard drew 
 near the table, and even Wyvil roused himself to watch the result. 
 
 "Twelve!" cried Disbrowe, as he removed the box. "My 
 honour is saved! My fortune retrieved — Huzza I" 
 
 "Not so fast," returned Parravicin, shaking the box in his turn. 
 " You were a Httle too hasty," he added, uncovering the dice, " I 
 am twelve, too. We must throw again." 
 
 "This to decide," cried the young officer, again ratthng the dice 
 —"Six!" 
 
 Parravicin smiled, took the box, and threw ten. "Perdition I " 
 ejaculated Disbrowe, striking his brow with his clenched hand. 
 "What devil tempted me to my imdoing? — My wife trusted to this* 
 profligate. Horror ! it must not be !" 
 
 "It is too late to retract," replied Parravicin, taking up the key, 
 and turning with a triumphant look to his friends. Disbrowe no- 
 ticed the smile, and stung beyond endurance, drew his sword, and 
 called to the Knight to defend himself. 
 
 In an instant, passes were exchanged. But the conflict wds brief. 
 Fortune, as before, declared herself in favour of Parravicin. He 
 disarmed his assailant, who rushed out of the room, uttering the 
 wildest ejaculations of rage and despair. "I told you you should 
 have your revenge," observed the Knight to Pillichody, as soon as 
 Disbrowe was gone. "Is his wife really as beautiful as you repre- 
 sent her ?" 
 
THE GAMESTER AND THE BULLY. 29 
 
 "Words are too feeble to paint her charms," replied the Major. 
 " Shafts of Cupid ! she must be seen to be appreciated." 
 
 " Enough 1 returned Parravicin. ' ' I have not made a bad night's 
 work of it, so far. I'faith, Wyvil, I pity you. To lose a heavy 
 wager is provoking enough— but to lose a pretty mistress is the 
 devil." 
 
 "I have lost neither j^et," replied Wyvil, who had completely 
 recovered his spirits, and joined in the general merriment occasioned 
 by the foregoing occurrence. "I have been baffled, not defeated. 
 What say you to an exchange of mistresses? I am so diverted with 
 your adventure, that I am half inclined to give you the grocer's 
 daughter for Disbrowe's wife. She is a superb creature — languid 
 as a Circassian, and passionate as an Andalusian." 
 
 " I can't agree to the exchange, especially after your rapturous de- 
 scription," returned Parravicin, "but Til stake Mrs Disbrowe against 
 Amabel. The winner shall have both. A single cast shall decide, 
 as before." 
 
 "No," replied Wyvil, "I could not resign Amabel if I lost. And 
 the luck is all on your side to-night." 
 
 "As you please," rejoined the Knight, sweeping the glittering 
 pile into his pocket. "Drawer, another bottle of burgundy. A 
 health to our mistresses!" he added, quaffing a brimmer. 
 
 "A health to the grocer's daughter!" cried Wyvil, with difficulty 
 repressing a shudder, as he uttered the pledge, 
 
 " A health to the rich widow of Watling Street," cried Pillichody, 
 draining a bumper, "and may I soon call her mine!" 
 
 " I have no mistress to toast," said Lydyard; "and I have drunk 
 wine enough. Do not forget, gentlemen, that the plague is abroad." 
 
 " You are the death's-head at the feast, Lydyard," rejoined Par- 
 ravicin, setting down his glass. " I hate the idea of the plague. It 
 poisons all our pleasures. We must meet at noon to morrow, at the 
 Smyrna, to compare notes as to our successes. Before we separate, 
 can I be of any further service to you, Wyvil ? I came here to enjoy 
 your triumph ; but, egad, I have found so admirable a bubble in 
 that hot-headed Disbrowe, whom I met at the Smyrna, and brought 
 here to while away the time, that I must demand your congratula- 
 tions upon mine.'''' 
 
 "You have certainly achieved an easy victory over the husband," 
 returned Wyvil ; "and I trust your success with the wife will be 
 commensurate. I require no further assistance. What 1 have to 
 do must be done alone. Lydyard will accompany me to the house, 
 and then I must shift for myself." 
 
 "Nay, we will all see you safe inside," returned Parravicin. 
 *' We shall pass by the grocer's shop. I know it well, having passed 
 it a hundred times, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of its 
 lovely inmate." 
 
 " I am glad it mas a vain hope," replied Wyvil. " But I must 
 scale a wall to surprise the garrison." 
 
 "In that case, you will need the rope-ladder," replied Lydyard; 
 " it is in readiness." 
 
 "I will carry it," said PiUichody, picking up the ladder, which 
 
30 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 was lying in a corner of the room, and throwing it over his shoulder. 
 *' Bombs and batteries ! I like to be an escalader when the forts of 
 love are stormed." 
 
 The party then set out. As they proceeded, Parravicin ascer- 
 tained from the Major that Disbrowe's house was situated in a small 
 street leading out of Piccadilly, but as he could not be quite sure 
 that he understood his informant aright, he engaged him to ac- 
 company him and point it out. 
 
 By this time, they had reached Wood Street, and, keeping in the 
 shade, reconnoitred the house. But though Wyvil clapped his 
 hands, blew a shrill whistle, and made other signals, no answer 
 was returned, nor was a light seen at any of the upper windows. 
 On the contrary, all was still and silent as death. 
 
 The grocer's was a large old-fashioned house, built about the 
 middle of the preceding century, or perhaps earlier, and had four 
 stories, each projecting over the other, till the pile seemed com- 
 pletely to overhang the street. The entire front, except the upper 
 story, which was protected by oaken planks, was covered with 
 panels of the same timber, and the projections were supported by 
 heavy beams, embellished with grotesque carvings. Three deeply- 
 embayed windows, having stout wooden bars, filled with minute 
 diamond panes, set in leaden frames, were allotted to each floor : 
 while the like number of gables, ornamented with curiously carved 
 coignes, and long-moulded leaden spouts, shooting far into the 
 street, finished the roof. A huge sign, with the device of Noah's 
 Ark and the owner's name upon it, hung before the door. 
 
 After carefully examining the house, peeping through the chinks 
 in the lower shutters, and discovering the grocer seated by the bed- 
 side of his son, though he could not make out the object of his soli- 
 citude, Wyvil decided upon attempting an entrance by the back- 
 yard. To reach it, a court and a narrow alley, leading to an open 
 space surrounded by high walls, had to be traversed. Arrived at 
 this spot, Wyvil threw one end of the rope-ladder over the wall, 
 which was about twelve feet high, and speedily succeeding in se- 
 curing it, mounted, and drawing it up after him, waved his hand to 
 his companions, and disappeared on the other side. After waiting 
 for a moment to listen, and hearing a window open, they concluded 
 he had gained admittance, and turned to depart. '* And now for 
 Mrs. Disbrowe!" cried Parravicin. "We shall find a coach, or a 
 chair, in Cheapside. Can 1 take you westward, Lydyard ?" 
 
 But the other declined the offer, saying, " I will not desert Wyvil. 
 I feel certain he will get into some scrape, and may need me to help 
 him out of it. Take care of yourself, Paravicin. Beware of the 
 plague, and of what is worse than the plague, an injured husband. 
 Good-night, Major." 
 
 *' Farewell, sir," returned Pillichody, raising his hat. " A merry 
 watching, and a good catching, as the sentinels were wont to say, 
 when I served King Charles the First. Sir Paul, 1 attend you." 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 Maurice Wyvil, as his friends conjectured, had found his way 
 into the house. Creeping through the window, and entering a pas- 
 sage, he moved noiselessly along till he reached the head of the 
 kitchen stairs, where, hearing voices below, and listening to what 
 was said, he soon ascertained from the discourse of the speakers, 
 who were no other than old Josyna and Patience, that it was not the 
 grocer's daughter, but one of his sons, who was attacked by the 
 plague, and that Amabel was in perfect health, though confined in 
 her mother's bed-room. 
 
 Overjoyed at the information he had thus acquired, he retired as 
 noiselessly as he came, and, after searching about for a short time, 
 discovered the main staircase, and ascended it on the points of his 
 feet. He had scarcely, however, mounted a dozen steps, when a 
 door opened, and Blaize crawled along the passage, groaning to 
 himself, and keeping his eyes bent upon the ground. Seeing he 
 was unnoticed, Wyvil gained the landing, and, treading softly, 
 placed his ear at every door, until at last the musical accents of 
 Amabel convinced him he had hit upon the right one. 
 
 His heart beat so violently, that, for a few seconds, he was unable 
 to move. Becoming calmer, he tried the door, and finding it locked, 
 rapped with his knuckles against it. The grocer's wife demanded 
 who was there. But Wyvil, instead of returning an answer, re- 
 peated his application. The same demand followed, and in a louder 
 key. Still, no answer. A third summons, however, so alarmed 
 Mrs. Bloundel, that, forgetful of her husband's injunctions, she 
 opened the door, and looked out ; but, as Wyvil had hastily retired 
 into a recess, she could see no one. 
 
 Greatly frightened and perplexed, Mrs. Bloundel rushed to the 
 head of the stairs to see whether there was any one below; and, as 
 she did so, Wyvil slipped into the room, and locked the door. The 
 only object he beheld, — for he had eyes for nothing else, — was 
 Amabel, who, seeing him, uttered a faint scream. Clasping her in 
 his arms, Wyvil forgot, in the defirium of the moment, the jeopardy 
 in which he was placed. ' ' Do you know what has happened ?" 
 cried Amabel, extricating herself from his embrace. 
 
 "I know all," repHed her lover ; •' I would risk a thousand deaths 
 for your sake. You must fly with me," 
 
 ' ' Fly !" exclaimed Amabel ; "at such a time as this ? — my brother 
 dying, — the whole house, perhaps, infected ! How can you ask me 
 to fly? Why have you come hither? You will destroy me." 
 
 "Not so, sweet Amabel," rephed Wyvil, ardently. " I would 
 bear you from the reach of this horrible disease. I am come to save 
 you, and will not stir without you." 
 
32 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 ''What shall I do?" cried Amabel, distractedly. "But I am 
 rightly punished for my disobedience and ingratitude to my dear 
 father. Oh! Wyvil, I did not deserve this from you." 
 
 "Hear me, Amabel," cried her lover; "I implore your for- 
 giveness. What I have done has been from irresistible passion, and 
 from no other cause. You promised to meet me to-night. Nay, you 
 half consented to fly with me. 1 have prepared all for it. 1 came 
 hither burning with impatience for the meeting. I received no 
 signal, but, encountering your father's apprentice, was informed 
 that you were attacked by the plague. Imagine my horror and dis- 
 tress at the intelligence. I thought it would have killed me. I de- 
 termined, however, at all risks, to see you once more, — to clasp you 
 in my arms before you died, — to die with you, if need be. I ac- 
 comphshed my purpose. I entered the house unobserved. I over- 
 heard the servants say it was your brother who was ill, not you. I 
 also learnt that you were in your mother's room. I found the door, 
 and by a fortunate device obtained admittance. Now you know all, 
 and will you not fly with me ?" 
 
 "How can 1 fly?" cried Amabel, gazing wildly round the room, 
 as if in search of some place of refuge or escape, and, noticing her 
 little sister, Christiana, who was lying asleep in the bed, — "Oh I 
 how I envy that innocent 1" she murmured. 
 
 "Think of nothing but yourself," rejoined Wyvil, seizing her 
 hand. " If you stay here, it will be to perish of the plague. Trust 
 to me, and I will secure your flight." 
 
 " I cannot, — 1 dare not," cried Amabel, resisting him with all her 
 force. 
 
 "You 7nust come," cried Wyvil, dragging her along. 
 As he spoke, Mrs. Bloundel, who had been down to Blaize's 
 room to ascertain what was the matter, returned. Trying the door, 
 and finding it fastened, she became greatly alarmed, and called to 
 Amabel to open it directly. 
 
 " It is my mother," cried Amabel, " Pity me, Heaven ! I shall 
 die with shame. " 
 
 "Heed her not," replied Wyvil, in a deep whisper; "in her sur- 
 prise and confusion at seeing me, she will not be able to stop us. Do 
 not hesitate. There is not a moment to lose." 
 
 "What is the the matter, child? cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Why 
 have you fastened the door? Is there any one in the room with yon?" 
 " She hears us," whispered Amadel. " What shall I do? You 
 must not be seen. " 
 
 "There is no use in further concealment," cried Wyvil. " You 
 are mine, and twenty mothers should not bar the way." 
 
 "Holdl" cried Amabel, disengaging herself by a sudden effort. 
 " I have gone too far, — but not so far as you imagine. I am not 
 utterly lost." 
 
 And before she could be prevented, she rushed to the door, threw 
 it open, and flung herself into her mother's arms, who uttered an 
 exclamation of terror at beholding Wyvil. The latter, though filled 
 with rage and confusion, preserved an unmoved exterior, and folded 
 his arms upon his breast. "And so it was you who knocked at the 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 33 
 
 door!" cried Mrs. Bloundel, regarding the gallant with a look of fury 
 — "it was you who contrived to delude me into opening it ! I do not 
 ask why you have come hither like a thief in the night, because I re- 
 quire no information on the subject. You are come to dishonour 
 my child — to carry her away from those who love her, and cherish 
 her, and would preserve her from such mischievous serpents as you. 
 But, Heaven be praised ! I have caught you before your wicked de- 
 sign could be effected. Oh! Amabel, my child, my child!" she 
 added, straining her to her bosom, " I had rather — far rather — see 
 you stricken with the plague, like your poor brother, though I felt 
 there was not a hope of your recovery, than you should fall into the 
 hands of this Satan ! " 
 
 "I have been greatly to blame, dear mother," returned Amabel, 
 bursting into tears ; ' ' and I shall neither seek to exculpate myself, 
 nor conceal what I have done. I have deceived you and my father. 
 I have secretly encouraged the addresses of this gentleman. Nay, if 
 the plague had not broken out in our house to-night, I should have 
 flown from it with him. " 
 
 " You shock me greatly, child," returned Mrs. Bloundel, "but 
 you relieve me at the same time. Make a clean breast, and hide 
 nothing from me. " 
 
 "I have nothing m^ore to tell, dear mother," replied Amabel, 
 * ' except that Maurice Wy vil has been in the room ever since you left 
 it, and might, perhaps, have carried me off, in spite of my resist- 
 ance, if you had not returned when you did." 
 
 "It was, indeed, a providentialinterference," rejoined Mrs. Bloun- 
 del. ' ' From what a snare of the Evil One — from what a pitfall have 
 you been preserved ! " 
 
 "I feel I have had a narrow escape, dear mother," replied Ama- 
 bel. "Pardon me, I do not deserve your forgiveness. But I will 
 never offend you more." 
 
 "I forgive you from my heart, child, and will trust you," returned 
 Mrs. Bloundel, in a voice broken by emotion. 
 
 "That is more than I would," thought Maurice Wyvil. "A wo- 
 man who has once deceived those she holds dear, will not fail to do 
 so a second time. The fairest promises are forgotten when the 
 danger is past." 
 
 "Mr. Wyvil, if you have a particle of regard for me, you will 
 instantly leave the house," said Amabel, turning to him. 
 
 "If I had my own way, he should leave it through the window," 
 said Mrs. Bloundel; "and if he tarries a minute lunger I will give 
 the alarm." 
 
 "You hear this, sir," cried Amabel : — "go, I entreat you." 
 
 "I yield to circumstances, Amabel," replied Wyvil; "but think 
 not I resign you. Come what will, and however I may be foiled, 
 I will not desist till I make you mine." 
 
 "I tremble to hear him," cried Mrs. Bloundel, "and could not 
 have behevedsuch depravity existed. Quit the house, sir, directly, 
 or I will have you turned out of it. " 
 
 " Do not remain another moipent," implored Amabel. "Do 
 not, do not!" 
 
34 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 '' Since I have no other way of proving my love, I must perforce 
 obey," returned Wyvil, trying to snatch her hand and press it to 
 his lips, but she withdrew it, and clung more closely to her mother. 
 *' We part," he added significantly, " only for a time." 
 
 Quitting the room, he was about to descend the stairs, when 
 Mrs. Bloundel, who had followed to see him safely off the premises, 
 hearing a noise below, occasioned by the return of Leonard with 
 the doctor, cautioned him to wait. A further delay was caused by 
 Blaize, who, stationing himself at the foot of the stairs with a light 
 in his hand, appeared unwilling to move. Apprehensive of a dis- 
 covery, Mrs. Bloundel then directed the gallant to the back stair- 
 case, and he had got about half-way down, when he was sur- 
 prised by Leonard Holt, as before related. 
 
 At the very moment that Wyvil was overtaken on the landing by 
 the apprentice, Amabel appeared at the door of her chamber with 
 a light. The different emotions of each party at this unexpected 
 rencontre may be imagined. Leonard Holt, with a breast boiUng 
 with jealous rage, prepared to attack his rival. He had no weapon 
 about him, having left his cudgel in the shop, but he doubled his 
 fists, and, nerved by passion, felt he had the force of Hercules in 
 his arm. Wyvil, in his turn, kept his hand upon his sword, and 
 glanced at his mistress, as if seeking instructions how to act. At 
 length, Mrs. Bloundel, who formed one of the group, spoke. 
 *' Leonard Holt," she said, "show this person out at the door. 
 Do not lose sight of him for an instant; and, as soon as he is gone, 
 try to find out how he entered the house." 
 
 " He entered it like a robber," returned Leonard, looking fiercely 
 at the gallant, ' ' and if 1 did my strict duty, 1 should seize him and 
 give him in charge to the watch. He has come here for the pur- 
 pose 01 stealing my master's chief valuable — his daughter.'* 
 
 " I am aware of it," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "and nothing but con- 
 sideration for my husband prevents me from delivering him to 
 justice. As it is, he may go free. But should he return — " 
 
 " If I catch him here again," interrupted Leonard, '^ 1 will shoot 
 him as 1 would a dog, though 1 should be hanged for the deed. 
 Have you considered well what you are doing, madam ? I would 
 not presume beyond my station, but there are seasons when an in- 
 ferior may give wholesome advice. Are you certain you are acting 
 as your worthy husband would approve, in allowing this person to 
 depart! If you have any doubt, speak. Fear nothing. Unarmed 
 as I am, I am a match for him, and will detain him." 
 
 "Do not heed what Leonard says, dear mother," interposed Am*- 
 bel. " For my sake,- let Mr. Wyvil go." 
 
 " I haxe considered the matter, Leonard," returned Mrs. Bloun- 
 del, " and trust 1 am acting rightly. At all events, 1 am sure I am 
 sparing my husband pain." 
 
 "It is mistaken tenderness," rejoined Leonard, "and Heaven 
 grant you may not have cause to repent it. If 1 had your permis- 
 sion, 1 would so deal with this audacious intruder, that he should 
 never venture to repeat his visit." 
 
 '' You know that you speak safely, fellow," rejoined Wyvil, "and 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 35 
 
 you, therefore, give full licence to your scurril tongue. But a time 
 will come when I will chastise your insolence." 
 
 "No more of this," cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Do as I bid you, 
 Leonard; and, as you value my regard, say nothing of what has 
 Occurred to your master. " Sullenly acquiescing, the apprentice 
 preceded Wyvil to the shop, and opened the door. 
 
 As the other past through it, he said, "You spoke of chastising 
 me just now. If you have courage enough — which I doubt, — to 
 make good your words, and will wait for me for five minutes near 
 Saint Alban's Church in this street, you shall have the opportunity." 
 
 Wyvil did not deign a reply, but wrapping his cloak around him, 
 strode away. He had not proceeded far, when it occurred to him 
 that, possibly, notwithstanding his interdiction, some of his compa- 
 nions might be waiting for him, and hurrying down the passage 
 leading to the yard, he found Lydyard, to whom he recounted his 
 ill-success. '*I shall not, however, abandon my design," he said. 
 " These failures are only incentives to further exertion." 
 
 "In the meantime you must pay your wager to Sedley," laughed 
 Lydyard, "and as the house is really infected with the plague, 
 it behoves you to call at the first apothecary's shop we find open, and 
 get your apparel fumigated. You must not neglect due precautions." 
 
 " True," replied Wyvil, "and as I feel too restless to go home 
 at present, suppose we amuse ourselves by calling on some astro- 
 loger, to see whether the stars are favourable to my pursuit of this 
 girl." 
 
 ''A good idea," replied Lydyard. " There are plenty of the 
 *Sons of Urania,' as they term themselves, hereabouts." 
 
 "A mere juggler will not serve my turn," returned Wyvil. 
 *' William Lilly, the Almanack-maker, who predicted the plague, 
 and who, if old Rowley is to be believed, has gjreat skill in the 
 occult sciences, fives somewhere in Friday Street, not a stone's 
 throw from this place. Let us go and find him out." 
 
 " Agreed," replied Lydyard. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE POMANDER-BOX. 
 
 Any doubts entertained by Leonard Holt as to the manner in 
 which his rival entered the house, were removed by discovering 
 the open window in the passage, and the rope-ladder hanging to the 
 yard wall. Taking the ladder away, and making all as secure as 
 he could, he next seized his cudgel, and proceeded to Blaize's room, 
 with the intention of inflicting upon him the punishment he had 
 threatened; for he naturally enough attributed to the porter's care- 
 lessness all the mischief that had just occurred. Not meeting with 
 
36 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 him, however, and concluding he was in the kitchen, he descended 
 thither, and found him in such a pitiable plight, that his wrath was 
 instantly changed to compassion. 
 
 Stretched upon the hearth before a blazing sea-coal fire, which 
 seemed large enough to roast him, with his head resting upon the 
 lap of Patience, the pretty kitchen-maid, and his left hand upon his 
 heart, the porter loudly complained of a fixed and burning pain in 
 that region ; while his mother, who was kneeling beside him, hav- 
 ing just poured a basin of scalding posset-drink down his throat, 
 entreated him to let her examine his side to see whether he had any 
 pestilential mark upon it, but he vehemently resisted her efforts. 
 
 " Do you feel any swelling, myn lief zoon?" asked old Josyna, 
 trying to remove his hand. 
 
 " SweUing !" ejaculated Blaize, — " there's a tumour as big as an 
 
 " Is id possible !" exclaimed Josyna, in great alarm. " Do led 
 me look ad id." 
 
 " No, no, leave me alone," rejoined Blaize. '^ Don't disturb me 
 further. You will catch the distemper if you touch the sore." 
 
 " Dad wond hinder me from drying to zaave you," replied his 
 mother affectionately. " I musd see vad is de madder vid you, or 
 I cannod cure you." 
 
 *' I am past your doctoring, mother," groaned Blaize. " Leave 
 me alone, 1 say. You hurt me shockingly!" 
 
 "Poor child!" cried Josyna soothingly, " I '11 be as dender as 
 possible. I '11 nod give you de leasd pain — nod de leasd bid." 
 
 " But I tell you, you do give me a great deal," rejoined Blaize. 
 " I can't bear it. Your fingers are like iron nails. Keep them 
 away." 
 
 " Bless us! did I ever hear de like of dad !" exclaimed Josyna, 
 *' Iron nailz ! if you think so, myn arm zoon, you musd be very ill 
 indeed." 
 
 "I am very ill," groaned her son. " I am not long for this 
 world." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say so, dear Blaize," sobbed Patience, letting fall a 
 plentiful shower of tears on his face. " Don't say so. I can't bear 
 to part with you." 
 
 *' Then don't survive me," returned Blaize. " But there's little 
 chance of your doing so. You are certain to take the plague." 
 
 " I care not what becomes of myself, if I lose you, Blaize," re- 
 sponded Patience, bedewing his countenance with another shower; 
 '' but I hope you won't die yet." 
 
 " Ah ! it 's all over with me, — all over," rejoined Blaize. *' I told 
 Leonard Holt how it would be. 1 said I should be the next victim. 
 And my words are come true." 
 
 "You are as clever as a conjuror," sobbed Patience; ^'butl 
 wish you hadn't been right in this instance. However, comfort 
 yourself. 1 '11 die with you. We '11 be carried to the grave in the 
 same plague-cart." 
 
 " That's cold comfort," returned Blaize, angrily. "I beg you '11 
 never mention the plague-cart again. The thought of it makes me 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. ^ 37 
 
 shiver all over — oh!" And he uttered a dismal and prolonged 
 groan. 
 
 At this juncture, Leonard thought it time to interfere. " If you 
 are really attacked by the plague, Blaize," he said, advancing, "you 
 must have instant advice. Doctor Hodges is still up stairs with our 
 master. He must see you." 
 
 " On no account," returned the porter, in the greatest alarm, 
 and springing to his feet. " I am better, — much better. I don't 
 think I am ill at all." 
 
 " For the first time, I suspect the contrary," repHed the appren- 
 tice, " since you are afraid of owning it. But this is not a matter 
 to be trifled with. Doctor Hodges will soon settle the point." And 
 he hurried out of the room to summon the physician. 
 
 " Oh ! mother! — dear Patience!" roared Blaize, capering about 
 in an ecstasy of terror ; " don't let the doctor come near me. Keep 
 me out of his sight. You don't know what horrid things are done»« 
 to those afflicted with my complaint. But I do, — for I have informed 
 myself on the subject. Their skins are scarified, and their sores 
 .^^ blistered, lanced, cauterized, and sometimes burned away with a 
 knob of red-hot iron, called ' the button.' " 
 
 " Bud iv id is necessary, myn goed Blaize, you musd submid," 
 replied his mother. " Never mind de hod iron, or de lance, or de 
 ^ blisder, iv dey make you well. Never mind de pain. It will soon 
 be over." 
 
 " Soon over!" bellowed Blaize, sinking into a chair. "Yes, I 
 feel it will. But not in the way you imagine. This Doctor Hodges 
 will kill me. He is fond of trying experiments, and will make me 
 ;^bis subject. Don't let him, — for pity's sake, don't." 
 
 "But I musd, myn lief jonger," replied his mother, " I musd." 
 
 " Oh, Patience !" supplicated Blaize, '' you were always fond of 
 me. My mother has lost her natural affection. She wishes to get 
 rid of me. Don't take part with her. My sole dependence is upon 
 you." 
 
 "I will do all 1 can for you, dear Blaize," blubbered the kitchen- 
 maid. " But it is absolutely necessary you should see the doctor." 
 
 " Then I won't stay here another minute," vociferated Blaize. 
 " I '11 die in the street rather than under his hands." And bursting 
 from them, he would have made good his retreat, but for the en- 
 trance of Leonard and Hodges. 
 
 At the sight of the latter, Blaize ran back, and endeavoured to 
 screen himself behind Patience. " Is this the sick man?" remarked 
 Hodges, scarcely able to refrain from laughing. " I don't think he 
 can be in such imminent danger as you led me to suppose." 
 
 "No, I am better — much better, thank you," returned Blaize, 
 still keeping Patience between him and the doctor. ' ' The very sight 
 of you has frightened away the plague." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Hodges, smiling, "then it is the most 
 marvellous cure I ever yet effected. But, come forward, young 
 man, and let us see what is the matter with you ?" 
 
 " You neither lance, nor cauterize, an incipient tumour, do you, 
 doctor?" demanded Blaize, without abandoning his position. 
 
38 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 *' Eh, dayl" exclaimed Hodges, "have we one of the faculty 
 here? I see how it is, friend. You have been reading some silly 
 book about the disease, and have frightened yourself into the belief 
 that you have some of its symptoms. I hope you haven't been 
 doctoring yourself, likewise. What have you taken ?" 
 
 '* It would be difficult to say what he has not taken," remarked 
 Leonard. " His stomach must be like an apothecary's shop." 
 
 " I have only used proper precautions," rejoined Blaize, testily. 
 
 " And what may those be — eh?" inquired the doctor. "lam 
 curious to learn." 
 
 "Come from behind Patience," cried Leonard, "and don't act 
 the fool longer, or I will see whether your disorder will not yield 
 to a sound application of the cudgel." 
 
 " Don't rate him thus, good Master Leonard," interposed Pa- 
 tience. " He is very ill, — he is, indeed." 
 
 " Then let him have a chance of getting better," returned the 
 apprentice. " If he Is ill, he has no business near you. Come from 
 behind her, Blaize, I say. Now speak,", he added, as the porter 
 crept tremblingly forth, " and let us hear what nostrums you have 
 swallowed. I know you have dosed yourself with pills, electuaries, 
 balsams, tinctures, conserves, spirits, elixirs, decoctions, and every 
 other remedy, real or imaginary. What else have you done?" 
 
 "What Dr. Hodges, lam sure, will approve," replied Blaize, 
 confidently. " I have rubbed myself with vinegar, oil of sulphur, 
 extract of tar, and spirit of turpentine." 
 
 " What next?" demanded Hodges. 
 
 "I placed saltpetre, brimstone, amber, and juniper upon a chafing- 
 dish, to fumigate my room," replied Blaize; " but the vapour was 
 so overpowering, I could not bear it." 
 
 " I should be surprised if you could," replied the doctor. 
 " Indeed, it is astonishing to me, if you have taken half the remedies 
 Leonard says you have, — and which, taken in this way, are no re- 
 medies at ail, since they counteract each other, — that you are still 
 alive. But let us see what is the matter with you. What ails you 
 particularly?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Blaize, trembhng; " I am quite well." 
 
 " He complains of a fixed pain near de haard, docdor," inter- 
 posed his mother, ' ' and says he has a large dumour on his side. 
 But he won'd led me examine id." 
 
 " That's a bad sign," observed Hodges, shaking his head. " I 
 am afraid it 's not all fancy, as I at first supposed. Have you felt 
 sick of late, young man ?" 
 
 " Not of late," replied Blaize, becoming as white as ashes; " but 
 I do now." 
 
 " Another bad symptom," rejoined the doctor. " Take off your 
 doublet, and open your shirt." 
 
 " Do as the doctor bids you," said Leonard, seeing that Blaize 
 hesitated, " or I apply the cinlgel." 
 
 " Ah! bless my life! what 's this?" cried Hodges, running his 
 hand down the left side of the porter, and meeting with a large 
 lump. " Can it be a carbuncle?" 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 39 
 
 ** Yes it 's a terrible carbuncle," replied Blaize; "but don't cau- 
 terize it, doctor." 
 
 " Let me look at it," cried Hodges, " and I shall then know how 
 to proceed." And as he spoke, he tore open the porter's shirt, and 
 a silver ball, about as large as a pigeon's egg, fell to the ground. 
 Leonard picked it up, and found it so hot, that he could scarcely 
 hold it. " Here is the terrible carbuncle," he cried, with a laugh, 
 in which all the painty, except Blaize, joined. 
 
 *^ It's my pomander-box," said the latter. *' I filled it with a 
 mixture of citron-peel, angelica seed, zedoary, yellow saunders, 
 aloes, benzoin, camphor, andgum-tragacanth, moistened with spirit 
 of roses ; and after placing it on the chafing-dish to heat it, hung it 
 by a string round my neck, next my dried toad. I suppose, by 
 some means or other, it dropped through my doublet, and found 
 its way to my side. I felt a dreadful burning there, and that made 
 me fancy I was attacked by the plague." 
 
 " A very satisfactory solution of the mystery," repHed the doctor, 
 laughing; " and you may think yourself well off with the blister 
 which your box has raised. It will be easier to bear than the cata- 
 plasm I should have given you, had your apprehensions been well 
 founded. As yet, you are free from infection, young man; but if 
 you persist in this silly and pernicious practice of quacking yourself, 
 you will infallibly bring on some fatal disorder, — perhaps the plague 
 itself. If your mother has any regard for you, she will put all your 
 medicines out of your reach. There are few kiiown remedies 
 against this frightful disease; and what few there are, must be 
 adopted cautiously. My own specific is sack." 
 
 " Sack!" exclaimed Blaize, in astonishment. ''Henceforth, I will 
 drink nothing else. I like the remedy amazingly." 
 
 " It must be taken in moderation," said the doctor : " otherwise, 
 it is as dangerous as too much physic." 
 
 " I have a boddle or doo of de liquor you commend, docdor, in 
 my privade cupboard," observed Josyna. " Will you dasde id?" 
 
 " With great pleasure," replied Hodges, " and a drop of it will 
 do your son no harm." The wine was accordingly produced, and 
 the doctor pronounced it excellent, desiring that a glass might 
 always be brought him when he visited the grocer's house. 
 
 " You may rely upon id, mynheer, as long as my small sdore 
 lasds," replied Josyna. 
 
 Blaize, who, in obedience to the doctor's commands, had drained 
 a large glass of sack, felt so much inspirited by it, that he ventured, 
 when his mother's back was turned, to steal a kiss from Patience, 
 and to whisper in her ear, that if he escaped the plague he would 
 certainly marry her, — an assurance that seemed to give her no slight 
 satisfaction. His new-born courage, however, was in some degree 
 damped by Leonard, who observed to him in an under-tone, "You 
 have neglected my injunctions, sirrah, and allowed the person I 
 warned you of to enter the house. When a fitting season arrives, 
 I will not fail to pay off old scores." 
 
 Blaize would have remonstrated, and asked for some explana- 
 tion, but l^e apprentice instantly left him, and set out upon his 
 
40 ^ 
 
 errand to the Examiner of Health. Accompanied by his mother, 
 who would not even allow him to say good-night to Patience, the 
 porter then proceeded to his own room, where the old woman, to 
 his infinite regret, carried off his stores of medicine in a basket 
 which she brought with her for that purpose, and locked the door 
 upon him. " This has escaped her," said Blaize, as soon as she was 
 gone, opening a secret drawer in the cupboard. "How fortunate 
 that I kept this reserve. I have still a tolerable supply in case of 
 need. Let me examine my stock. First of all, there are plague- 
 lozenges, composed of angelica, liquorice, flower of sulphur, myrrh, 
 and oil of cinnamon. Secondly, an electuary of bole-ammoniac, 
 hartshorn-shavings, saffron, and syrup of wood-sorrel. 1 long to 
 taste it. But then, it would be running in the doctor's teeth. 
 Thirdly, there is a phial, labelled Aqua Theriacalis SliUatitia^ — in 
 plain English, distilled treacle- water. A spoonful of this couldn't 
 hurt me. Fourthly, a packet of powders, entitled Manus Christi, — 
 an excellent mixture. Fifthly, a small pot of diatesseron, composed 
 of gentian, myrrh, bayberries, and round aristolochia. I must just 
 taste it. Never mind the doctor ! He does not know what agrees 
 with my constitution as well as I do myself. Physic comes as 
 naturally to me as mother's milk. Sixthly, there is Aqua Epi- 
 demical commonly called the Plague-Water of Matthias — delicious 
 stuff! — I will only just sip it. What a fine bitter it has! I'm 
 sure it must be very wholesome. Next, for Pve lost my count, 
 comes salt of vipers, — next, powder of unicorn's horn, — next, oil 
 of scorpions from Naples, — next, dragon-water, — all admirable. 
 Then there are cloves of garhc, — sovereign fortifiers of the stomach, 
 — and, lastly, there is a large box of my favourite rufuses. How 
 many pills have I taken ? Only half-a-dozen ! Three more may as 
 well go to keep the others company." And hastily swallowing 
 them, as if afraid of detection, he carefully shut the drawer, and 
 then crept into bed, and, covering himself with blankets, endea- 
 voured to compose himself to slumber. 
 
 Doctor Hodges, meantime, returned to the grocer, and acquainted 
 him that it was a false alarm, and that the porter was entirely free 
 from infection. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Bloundel; *' I expected as much. 
 Blaize is like the shepherd's boy in the fable ; he has cried * wolf 
 so often, that when the danger really arrives, no one will heed him." 
 *' I must now take my leave, Mr. Bloundel," said Hodges. " 1 
 will be with you the first thing to-morrow, and have little doubt I 
 shall find your son going on well. But you must not merely take 
 care of him, but of yourself, and your household. It will be well 
 to set a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, and scatter some of 
 these perfumes occasionally upon it ;" and producing several small 
 packets, he gave them to the grocer. " If you ever smoke a pipe, 
 I would advise you to do so now." 
 
 " 1 never do smoke," replied Bloundel, *' and hold it a filthy and 
 mischievous habit, which nothing but necessity should induce me to 
 practise." 
 
 '* It is advisable now," returned Hodges, " and you should 
 
THE POMANDER-BOX. 41 
 
 neglect no precaution. Take my word for it, Mr. Bloiindel, the 
 plague is only beginning. When the heats of summer arrive, its 
 ravages will be frightful. Heaven only knows what will become of 
 us all !" 
 
 " If my poor son is spared, and we escape contagion," returned 
 Bloundel, " I will put into execution a scheme which has occurred 
 to me, and which (under Providence !) will, 1 trust, secure my family 
 from further hazard." 
 
 " Ah, indeed! what is that?" inquired Hodges. 
 
 " We must talk of it some other time," returned Bloundel. 
 '' Good-night, doctor, and accept my thanks for your attention. 
 To-morrow, at as early an hour as you can make convenient, I shall 
 hope to see you." And with a friendly shake of the hand, and a 
 reiteration of advice and good wishes, Hodges departed. 
 
 Soon after this, the apprentice returned, and, by his master's 
 directions, placed a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, supply- 
 ing it with the drugs and herbs left by the doctor. About four 
 o'clock, a loud knocking was heard. Instantly answering the sum- 
 mons, Leonard found four men at the shop-door, two of whom he 
 knew, by red wands they carried, were searchers; while their 
 companions appeared to be undertakers, from their sable habits and 
 long black cloaks. 
 
 Marching unceremoniously into the shop, the searchers desired to 
 see the sick man ; and the apprentice then perceived that one of 
 the men in black cloaks was the coffin-maker, Chowles. He could 
 not, however, refuse him admittance, and led the way to the grocer's 
 chamber. As they entered it, Bloundel arose, and placing his finger 
 to his lips in token of silence, raised the blankets, and exhibited the 
 blotch, which had greatly increased in size, under the arm of his 
 slumbering son. The foremost of the searchers, who kept a phial 
 of vinegar to his nose all the time he remained in the room, then 
 demanded in a low tone whether there were any other of the 
 household infected? The grocer replied in the negative. Upon 
 this, Chowles, whose manner showed he was more than half intox- 
 icated, took off his hat, and bowing obsequiously to the grocer, said, 
 " Shall I prepare you a coffin, Mr. Bloundel? You are sure to 
 want one, and had better give the order in time, for there is a great 
 demand for such articles just now. If you like, I will call with it 
 to-morrow night. I have a plague-cart of my own, and bury all 
 my customers." 
 
 " God grant I may not require your services, sir!" replied the 
 grocer, shuddering. " But 1 will give you timely notice." 
 
 " If you are in want of a nurse, 1 can recommend an expe- 
 rienced one," added Chowles. " Her last employer is just dead." 
 " I may need assistance," replied the grocer, after a moment's 
 reflection. " Let her call to-morrow." 
 
 " She understands her business perfectly, and will save you a 
 world of trouble," replied Chowles, " besides securing me the sale 
 of another coffin," he added to himself. He then quitted the room 
 with the searchers, and Leonard felt inexpressibly relieved by their 
 departure. ^ 
 
4'<2 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 As soon as the party gained the street, the fourth person, who 
 was provided with materials for the task, painted a red cross of the 
 prescribed size, — namely, a foot's length — in the middle of the 
 door ; tracing above it, in large characters, the melancholy for- 
 mula — " Lord, have mercy lpon is I" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LIBERTINE FINISHED. 
 
 Sir Pail Parravicin and Major Pillichody arrived without any 
 particular adventure at the top of the Haymarket, where the former 
 dismissed the coach he had hired in Cheapside, and they proceeded 
 towards Piccadilly on foot. Up to this time, the Major had been in 
 very high spirits, boasting what he would do, in case they encoun- 
 tered Disbrowe, and offering to keep guard outside the door while 
 the knight remained in the house. But he now began to alter his 
 tone, and to frame excuses to get away. He had noticed, with 
 some uneasiness, that another coach stopped lower down in the 
 Haymarket, at precisely the same time as their own ; and though 
 he could not be quite certain of the fact, he fancied he perceived a 
 person, greatly resembling Captain Disbrowe, alight from it. Men- 
 tioning the circumstance to his companion, he pointed out a tall 
 figure following them at some distance; but the other only laughed 
 at him, and said, " It may possibly be Disbrowe — but what if it is ? 
 He cannot get into the house without the key ; and if he is inclined 
 to measure swords with me a second time, he shall not escape so 
 lightly as he did the first." 
 
 ''Right, Sir Paul, right," returned PiUichody, " exterminate him 
 — spare him not. By Bellerophon ! that 's my way. My only ap- 
 prehension is lest he should set upon us unawares. The bravest 
 are not proof against the dagger of an assassin." 
 
 "There you wrong Disbrowe, Major, I am persuaded," returned 
 Parravicin. " He is too much a man of honour to stab a foe behind 
 his back." 
 
 "It may be," replied Pillichody, "but jealousy will sometimes 
 turn a man's brain. By the snakes of Tisiphone ! I have known 
 an instance of it myself. I once made love to a tailor's wife, and 
 the rascal coming in unawares, struck me to the ground with his 
 goose, and well nigh murdered me." 
 
 "After such a mischance, I am surprised you should venture to 
 carry on so many hazardous intrigues," laughed the Knight. "But 
 you proposed just now to keep watch outside the house. If it is 
 Disbrowe who is following us, you had better do so." 
 
 "Why, Sir Paul — you see," — stammered the Major, "1 have just 
 bethought me of an engagement." 
 
 "An engagement at this hour — impossible!" cried Parravicin. 
 
 " An assignation, I ought to say," returned Pillichody. "Couches 
 
THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 43 
 
 of Cytheraea ! — an affair like your own. You would not have me 
 keep a lady waiting." 
 
 "It is strange you should not recollect it till this moment," re- 
 plied Parravicin. "But he your inamorata whom she may — even 
 the rich widow of Wathng Street, of whom you prate so much, — 
 you must put her off to-night." 
 
 "But, Sir Paul— " 
 
 'M will have no denial," replied the Knight, peremptorily. "If 
 you refuse, you will find me worse to deal with than Disbrowe. 
 You must remain at the door till I come out. And now let us lose 
 no more time. I am impatient to behold the lady." 
 
 "Into what a cursed scrape have I got myself!" thought the 
 Major, as he walked by the side of his companion, ever and anon 
 casting wistful glances over his shoulder, "I am fairly caught on the 
 horns of a dilemma. I instinctively feel that Disbrowe is dogging 
 us. What will become of me? The moment this hair-brained 
 coxcomb enters the house, I will see whether a hght pair of heels 
 cannot bear me out of harm's way." 
 
 By this time, they had reached a passage known as Bear Alley, 
 (all traces of which have been swept away by modern improve- 
 ments,) and threading it, they entered a narrow thoroughfare, 
 called Castle Street. Just as they turned the corner, Pillichody 
 again noticed the figure at the further end of the alley, and, but 
 for his fears of the Knight, would have instantly scampered off. 
 "Are we far from the house?" inquired Parravicin. 
 
 "No," replied the Major, scarcely able to conceal his trepidation. 
 "It is close at hand, — and so is the lady's husband." 
 
 "So much the better," replied the Knight; "it will afford you 
 some amusement to beat him off. You may affect not to know 
 him, and may tell him the lady's husband is just come home — her 
 husband/ — do you take, Pillichody?" 
 
 "I do — ha! ha! I do," replied the Major, in a quavering tone. 
 
 " But you don't appear to relish the jest," rejoined Parravicin, 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I relish it exceedingly," rephed Pillichody: "her hus- 
 band — ha ! — ha ! — and Disbrowe is the disappointed lover — capital ! 
 But here we are — and I wish we were anywhere else," he added to 
 himself. 
 
 "Are you sure you are right?" asked Parravicin, searching for 
 the key. 
 
 "Quite sure," returned Pillichody. "Don't vou see someone 
 behind that wall?" 
 
 "I see nothing," rejoined the Knight. "You are afraid of 
 shadows, Major." 
 
 ' ' Afraid ! " ejaculated Pillichody. ' ' Thousand thunders ! I am 
 afraid of nothing." 
 
 "In that case, I shall expect to find you have slain Disbrowe on 
 my return," rejoined Parravicin, unlocking the door. 
 
 "The night is chilly," observed the Major, " and ever since my 
 campaigns in the Low Countries, I have been troubled with rheuma- 
 tism. I should prefer keeping guard inside." 
 
44 OLD SAINT PACL'S. 
 
 "No, no, you must remain where you are," replied the Knight, 
 shutting the door. 
 
 Pillichody was about to take to his heels, when he felt himself 
 arrested by a powerful arm. He would have roared for aid, but a 
 voice, which he instantly recognised, commanded him to keep si- 
 lence, if he valued his hfe. ' ' Is your companion in the house ?" de- 
 manded Disbrowe, in a hollow tone. 
 
 "I am sorry to say he is. Captain Disbrowe," replied the bully. 
 '' I did my best to prevent him, but remonstrance was in vain." 
 
 "Liar!" cried Disbrowe, striking him with his clenched hand. 
 " Do you think to impose upon me by such a pitiful fabrication? It 
 was you who introduced me to this heartless hbertine, — you who 
 encouraged me to play with him, teUing me I should easily strip 
 him of all he possessed, — you who excited his passion for my wife 
 by praising her beauty, — and it was you who put it into his head to 
 propose that fatal stake to me." 
 
 "There you are wrong, Captain Disbrowe," returned Pillichody 
 in a supplicatory tone. " On my soul you are! I certainly praised 
 your wife, (as who would not?) but I never advised Parravicin to 
 play for her. That was his own idea entirely. 
 
 ' ' The excuse shall not avail you," cried Disbrowe, fiercely. " To 
 you I owe all my misery. Draw and defend yourself." 
 
 "Be not so hasty, Captain," cried PiUichody, abjectly. "I have 
 injured you sufficiently already. I would not have your blood on 
 my head. On the honour of a soldier, I am sorry for the wrong I 
 have done you, and will strive to repair it." 
 
 " Repair it!" shrieked Disbrowe. " It is too late." And, seizing 
 the Major's arm, he dragged him by main force into the alley. 
 
 "Help! help!" roared Pillichody. "Would you murder me?" 
 
 "I will assuredly cut your throat, if you keep up this clamour," 
 rejoined Disbrowe, snatching the other's long rapier from his side. 
 "Coward !" he added, striking him with the flat side of the weapon, 
 "this will teach you to mix yourself up in such infamous affairs for 
 the future." And heedless of the Major's entreaties and vociferations, 
 he continued to belabour him, until compelled by fatigue to desist ; 
 when the other, contriving to extricate himself, ran offasfastashis 
 legs could carry him. Disbrowe looked after him for a moment, as if 
 uncertain whether to follow, and then hurrying to the house, station- 
 ed himself beneath the porch. " I will stab him as he comes forth," 
 he muttered, drawing his sword, and hiding it beneath his mantle. 
 
 Parravicin, meanwhile, having let himselfinto the house, marched 
 boldly forward, though the passage was buried in darkness, and he 
 was utterly unacquainted with it. Feeling against the wall, he 
 presently discovered a door, and opening it, entered a room lighted 
 by a small silver lamp, placed on a marble slab. The room was 
 empty, but its furniture and arrangements proclaimed it the fa- 
 vourite retreat of the fair mistress of the abode. Paravicin gazed cu- 
 riously round, as if anxious to gather from what he saw some idea 
 of the person he so soon expected to encounter. Everything be- 
 lokened a refined and luxurious taste. A few French romances, the 
 last plays of Etherege, Dryden, and Shad well, a volume of Cowley, 
 
THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED. 45 
 
 and some amorous songs, lay on the table ; and not far from them 
 were a loo-mask, a pulvil purse, a pair of scented gloves, a richly- 
 laced mouchoir, a manteau girdle, palatine tags, and a golden 
 bodkin for the hair. 
 
 Examining all these things, and drawing his own conclusions as 
 to the character of their owner, Paravicin turned to a couch on 
 which a cittern was thrown, while beside it, on a cushion, were a 
 pair of tiny, embroidered, velvet sHppers. A pocket-mirror, or 
 sprunking-glass, as it was then termed, lay on a side table, and near 
 it stood an embossed silver chocolate-pot, and a small porcelain cup 
 with a golden spoon inside it, showing what the lady's last repast 
 had been. On another small table, covered with an exquisitely 
 white napkin, stood a flask of wine, a tall-stemmed glass, and a few 
 cakes on a China dish, evidently placed there for DisJ3rowe's return. 
 
 As Parravicin drew near this table, a slip of paper, on which a 
 few lines were traced, attracted his attention, and taking it up, he 
 read as follows : — 
 
 "It is now midnight, and yon promised to return early. I have 
 felt your absence severely, and have been suffering from a violent 
 headache, which has almost distracted me. 1 have also been troubled 
 with strange and unaccountable misgivings respecting you. I am a 
 little easier now, but still far from well, and about to retire to rest. 
 At what hour will this meet your eye ? Margauet." 
 
 *' Charming creature!" exclaimed Parravicin, as the paper drop- 
 ped from his hand; " she little dreamed, when she wrote it, who 
 would read her billet. Disbrowe does not deserve such a treasure. 
 I am sorry she is unwell. I hope she has not taken the plague. 
 Pshaw! what could put such an idea into my head? Lyd yard's 
 warning, I suppose. That fellow, who is the veriest rake among 
 us, is always preaching. Confound him! I wish he had not men- 
 tioned it. A glass of wine may exhilarate me." And pouring out 
 a bumper, he swallowed it at a draught. " And so the fond fool is 
 pining for her husband, and has some misgivings about him. 
 Egad ! it is well for her she does not know what has really taken 
 place. She '11 learn that soon enough. What's this?" he added, 
 glancing at a picture on the wall. ' ' Her miniature ! It must be ; 
 for it answers exactly to Pillichody's description. A sparkling bru- 
 nette, with raven hair, and eyes of night. I am on fiie to behold 
 her : but I must proceed with prudence, or I may ruin all. Is there 
 nothing of Disbrowe's that I could put on for the nonce? 'Fore 
 Heaven ! the very thing I want!" The exclamation was occasioned 
 by his observing a loose silken robe lying across a chair. Wrap- 
 ping it round him, and throwing down his hat, he took the lamp, 
 and went up stairs. 
 
 Daring as he was, Parravicin felt his courage desert him, as having 
 found the door of Mrs. Disbrowe's chamber, he cautiously opened it. 
 A single glance showed him that the room was more exquisitely, 
 more luxuriously furnished, than that he had jwst quitted. Articles 
 of feminine?attire, of the richest kind, were hung against the walls, 
 
46 OLD SAINT PAtL's. 
 
 or disposed on the chairs. On one side stood the toilette-table, 
 with its small mirror then in vogue, and all its equipage of silver 
 flasks, filigree cassets, japan patch-boxes, scent-bottles, and po- 
 matum-pots. 
 
 As he entered the room, a faint voice, issuing from behind the 
 rich damask curtains of the bed, demanded, " Is it you, Disbrowe?" 
 
 " It is, Margaret," replied Parravicin, setting down the lamp, 
 and speaking with a handkerchief at his mouth, to disguise his voice 
 and conceal his features. 
 
 " You are late — very late," she rejoined, " and I have been ill. 
 I fancied myself dying." 
 
 " What has been the matter with you, sweet Meg?" asked Parra- 
 vicin, approaching the bed, and seating himself behind the curtains. 
 
 "I know not," she replied. "1 was seized with a dreadful 
 head-ache about an hour ago. It has left me ; but I have a strange 
 oppression at my chest, and breathe with difficulty." 
 
 ,*'You alarm me, my love," rejoined Parravicin. ''Were you 
 ever attacked thus before?" 
 
 " Never," she replied. ' ' Oh ! Disbrowe ! if you knew how I have 
 longed for your return, you would blame yourself for your absence. 
 You have grown sadly neglectful of late. I suspect you love some 
 one else. If I thought so — " 
 
 " What if you thought so, Margaret?" demanded Parravicin. 
 
 " W^hat!" cried Mrs. Disbrowe, raising herself in the bed. " I 
 would requite your perfidy, — terribly requite it ! " 
 
 " Then learn that Captain Disbrowe is faithless," cried Parra- 
 vicin, throwing back the curtains, and disclosing himself. " Learn, 
 that he loves another, and is with her now. Learn, that he cares 
 so httle for you, that he has surrendered you to me." 
 
 '* What do I hear?" exclaimed Mrs. Disbrowe. " Who are you, 
 and what brings you here?" 
 
 "You may guess my errand from my presence," replied the 
 Knight. " I am called Sir Paul Parravicin, and am the most devoted 
 of your admirers." 
 
 " My husband surrender me to a stranger ! It cannot be ! " cried 
 the lady, distractedly. 
 
 " You see me here, and may judge of the truth of my statement," 
 rejoined the Knight. '* Your husband gave me this key, with 
 which I introduced myself to the house." 
 
 " What motive could he have for such unheard-of baseness, — 
 such barbarity?" cried Mrs. Disbrowe, bursting into tears. 
 
 '* Shall I tell you, Madam?" replied Parravicin. " He is tired of 
 you, and has taken this means of ridding himself of you." 
 
 Mrs. Disbrowe uttered a loud scream, and fell back in the bed. 
 Parravicin waited for a moment; but not hearing her move, 
 brought the lamp, to see what was the matter. She had fainted, 
 and was lying across the pillow, with her night-dress partly open, 
 so as to expose her neck and shoulders. 
 
 The Knight was at first ravished with her beauty; but his coun- 
 tenance suddenly fell, and an expression of horror and alarm took 
 possession of it. He appeared rooted to the spot, and instead of at- 
 
THE PLAGUE NURSE. 4^ 
 
 tempting to render her any assistance, remained with his gaze fixed 
 upon her neck. 
 
 Rousing himself at length, he rushed out of the room, hurried 
 down stairs, and without pausing for a moment, threw open the 
 street-door. As he issued from it, his throat was forcibly griped, 
 and the point of a sword was placed at his breast. ' " You are now 
 in my power, villain," cried Disbrowe; " and shall not escape my 
 vengeance." 
 
 *' You are already avenged," replied Parravicin, shaking off his 
 assailant. "Your wife has the plague." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PLAGUE NURSE. 
 
 " And SO my husband has got the plague," muttered Mother 
 Malmayns, as she hastened towards Saint Paul's, after the reproof ^ 
 she had received from Doctor Hodges. " Well, it 's a disorder 
 that few recover from, and I don't think he stands a better chance 
 than his fellows. I 've been troubled with him long enough. I 've 
 borne his ill-usage and savage temper for twenty years, vainly hop- 
 ing something would take him off; but though he tried his constitu- • 
 tion hard, it was too tough to yield. However, he 's likely to go 
 now. If 1 find him better than I expect, I can easily make all sure. 
 That 's one good thing about the plague. You may get rid of a 
 patient without any one being the wiser. A wrong mixture — a pil- 
 low removed — a moment's chill during the fever — a glass of cold 
 water — the slightest thing will do it. Matthew Malmayns, you will 
 die of the plague, that 's certain. But I must be careful how I pro- 
 ceed. That cursed doctor has his eye upon me. As luck would 
 have it, I 've got Sibbald's ointment in my pocket. That is sure to 
 do its business, — and safely." 
 
 Thus ruminating, she shaped her course towards the south-west 
 corner of the cathedral, and passing under the shrowds and clois- 
 ters near the Convocation House, raised the latch of a small wooden 
 shed fixed in the angle of a buttress. Evidently well acquainted 
 with the place, she was not long in finding a lantern, and materials 
 to light it, and inserting her fingers in a crevice of the masonry 
 from which the mortar had been removed, she drew forth a key. 
 
 " It has not been stirred since I left it here a month ago," she 
 muttered. " I must take care of this key, for if Matthew should 
 die, 1 may not be able to enter the vaults of Saint Faith's without 
 it; and as I know all their secret places and passages, which nobody 
 else does, except my husband, I can make them a storehouse for the 
 plunder I may obtain during the pestilence. If it rages for a year, 
 or only halfrthat time, and increases in violence (as GckI grant it 
 
48 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 may!) I will fill every hole in those walls with gold." With this, 
 she took up the lantern, and crept along the side of the cathedral, 
 until she came to a flight of stone steps. Descending them, she 
 unlocked a small but strong door, cased with iron, and fastening it 
 after her, proceeded along a narrow stone passage, which brought 
 her to another door, opening upon the south aisle of Saint Faith's. 
 Pausing for a moment to listen whether any one was within the 
 sacred structure, — for such was the dead and awful silence of the 
 place, that the slightest whisper or footfall, even at its farthest ex- 
 tremity, could be distinguished, — she crossed to the other side, 
 glancing fearfully around her as she threaded the ranks of pillars, 
 whose heavy and embrowned shafts her lantern feebly illumined, 
 and entering a recess, took a small stone out of the wall, and de- 
 posited the chief part of the contents of her pocket behind it, after 
 which she carefully replaced the stone. This done, she hurried to 
 the charnel, and softly opened the door of the crypt. 
 
 Greatly reheved by the operation he had undergone, the sexton 
 had sunk into a slumber, and was, therefore, unconscious of the 
 entrance of his wife, who, setting down the lantern, advanced to- 
 wards the pallet. His mother and the young man were still in 
 attendance, and the former, on seeing her daughter-in-law, ex- 
 claimed in low but angry accents, " What brings you here, Judith ? 
 I suppose you expected to find my son dead. But he will disappoint 
 you. Doctor Hodges said he would recover — did he not, Kerrich ?" 
 she added, appealing to the young man, who nodded acquiescence. 
 *'He will recover, I tell you." 
 
 "Well, well." replied Judith, in the blandest tones she could 
 assume; "I hope he will. And if the doctor says so, I have no 
 doubt of it. I only heard of his illness a few minutes ago, and 
 came instantly to nurse him." 
 
 '* You nurse him ! " cried the old woman ; "if you show him any 
 |iffection now, it will be for the first time since your wedding-day." 
 "How long has he been unwell ?" demanded Judith, with difficulty,, 
 repressing her anger. 
 
 *' He was seized the night before last," rephed the old woman ; 
 " but he didn't know what was the matter with him when it began. 
 I saw him just before he went to rest, and he complained of a 
 slight illness, but nothing to signify. He must have passed a fright- 
 ful night, for the vergers found him in the morning running about 
 Saint Faith's like a madman, and dashing his spades and mattocks 
 against the walls and pillars. They secured him, and brought him 
 here, and on examination he proved to have the plague." 
 
 " You surprise me by what you say," rephed Judith. " During 
 the last month, 1 have nursed more than a dozen patients, and 
 never knew any of them so violent. 1 must look at his sore." 
 " The doctor has just dressed it," observed the old woman. 
 " I don't mind that," rejoined Judith, turning down the blanket, 
 and examining her husband's shoulder. "You are right," she 
 added, " he is doing as well as possible." 
 
 ''I suppose 1 shan't be wanted any more," observed Kerrich. 
 " now you are come back to nurse your husband, Mrs. Malmaynsi 
 
THE PLAGUE NURSE. 49 
 
 I shall be glad to get home to my own bed, for I don't feel well at 
 all." 
 
 '' Don't alarm yourself," replied Judith. " There's a bottle of 
 plague- vinegar for you. Dip a piece of linen in it, and smell at it, 
 and I '11 insure you against the pestilence." Kerrick took the phial, 
 and departed. But the remedy was of little avail. Before daybreak, 
 he was seized with the distemper, and died two days afterwards. 
 
 ' ' I hope poor Kerrick hasn't got the plague ?" said the old wo- 
 man, in a tremulous tone. 
 
 " I am afraid he has," rephed the daughter-in-law. *'but I didn't 
 like to alarm him." 
 
 " Mercy on us !" cried the other, getting up. "What a dread- 
 ful scourge it is." 
 
 " You would say so, if you had seen whole families swept off by 
 it, as I have," rephed Judith. "But it mostly attacks old persons 
 and children." 
 
 " Lord help us 1" cried the crone. " I hope it will spare me. I 
 thought my age secured me." 
 
 ' ' Quite the reverse," replied Judith, desirous of exciting her 
 mother-in-law's terrors ; " quite the reverse. You must take care 
 of yourself." 
 
 " But you don't think I'm ill, do you?" asked the other, anxiously. 
 
 " Sit down, and let me look at you," returned Judith. And the 
 old woman trembhngly obeyed. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of me — what's the matter?" she 
 asked, as her daughter-in-law eyed her for some minutes in silence. 
 " What's the matter, I say?" But Judith remained silent. 
 
 "I insist upon knowing," continued the old woman. 
 
 " Are you able to bear the truth ?" returned her daughter-in-law. 
 
 " You need say no more," groaned the old woman. " I know 
 what the truth must be, and will try to bear it. I will get home as 
 fast as I can, and put my few affairs in order, so that if I am carried 
 off, I may not go unprepared." 
 
 " You had better do so," replied her daughter-in-law. 
 
 "You will take care of my poor son, Judith," rejoined the old 
 woman shedding a flood of tears." " I would stay with him, if I 
 thought I could do him any good, but if 1 really am infected, I might 
 only be in the way. Don't neglect him — as you hope for mercy 
 hereafter, do not." 
 
 "Make yourself easy, mother," replied Judith. "I will take 
 every care of him." 
 
 " Have you no fears of the disorder yourself?" inquired the old 
 woman. ♦ 
 
 "None whatever," replied Judith. "I am a safe woman.'''* 
 
 "I do not understand you," replied her mother-in-law, in surprise. 
 
 "I have had the plague," replied Judith; "and those who have 
 had it once, never take it a second time." This opinion, enter- 
 tained at the commencement of the pestilence, it may be incidentally 
 remarked, was afterwards found to be entirely erroneous ; — some 
 persons being known to have the distemper three or four times. 
 
 "You never^let us know you were ill," said the old woman. 
 
 4 
 
50 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 ** I could not do so," replied Judith, " and I don't know that I 
 should have done, if I could. I was nursing two sisters at a small 
 house in Clerkenwell Close, and they both died in the night-time, 
 within a few hours of each other. The next day, as I was prepar- 
 ing to leave the house, I was seized myself, and had scarcely strength 
 to creep up stairs to bed. An old apothecary, named Sibbald, who 
 had brought drugs to the house, attended me, and saved my hie. 
 In less than a week, I was well again, and able to move about, and 
 should have returned home, but the apothecary told me, as I had 
 had the distemper once, I might resume my occupation with safety. 
 I did so, and have found plenty of employment." 
 
 " rjo doubt," rejoined the old woman ; " and you will find plenty 
 more — plenty more. " 
 
 ' ' I hope so," replied the other. 
 
 " Oh ! do not give utterance to such a dreadful wish, Judith," re- 
 joined her mother-in-law. "Do not let cupidity steel your heart to 
 every better feeling." A slight derisive smile passed over the harsh 
 features of the plague-nurse. '*You heed me not," pursued the 
 old woman. ' ' But a time will come when you will recollect my 
 words." 
 
 *' I am content to wait till then," rejoined Judith. 
 
 " Heaven grant you a better frame of mind 1" exclaimed the old 
 woman. " I must take one last look of my son, for it is not likely I 
 shall see him again." 
 
 "Not in this world," thought Judith. 
 
 " I conjure you, by all that is sacred, not to neglect him,'' said 
 the old woman. 
 
 "I have already promised to do so," repHed Judith, impatiently. 
 "Goodnight, mother." 
 
 '*It will be a long good night to me, I fear," returned the dame. 
 "Doctor Hodges promised to send some blankets and medicine for 
 poor Matthew. The doctor is a charitable man to the poor, and if 
 he learns 1 am sick, he may. perhaps, call and give me advice. " 
 
 " I am sure he will," replied Judith. " Should the man bring 
 the blankets, I will tell him to acquaint his master with your condi- 
 tion. And now take this lantern, mother, and get home as fast as 
 you can." So saying, she almost pushed her out of the vault, and 
 closed the door after her. 
 
 ' ' At last I am rid of her," she muttered. ' ' She would have been 
 a spy over me. I hope I have frightened her into the plague. But 
 if she dies of fear, it will answer my purpose as well. And now for 
 my husband." 
 
 Taking up the lamp, and shading it with her hand, she gazed at 
 his ghastly countenance. "He slumbers tranquilly," she muttered, 
 after contemplating him for some time, adding, with a chuckling 
 laugh, "it would be a pity to waken him."— And seating herself on 
 a stool near the pallet, she turned over in her mind in what way she 
 could best execute her diabolical purpose. 
 
 While she was thus occupied, the messenger from Doctor Hodges 
 arrived with a bundle of blankets and several phials and pots of oint- 
 ment. The man offered to place the blankets on the pallet, but Ju- 
 
THE PLAGUE NURSE. 51 
 
 dith would not let him. "I can doit better myself, and without 
 disturbing the poor sufferer," she said. "Give my dutiful thanks to 
 your master. Tell him my husband's mother, old widow Malmayns, 
 fancies herself attacked by the plague, and if he will be kind enough 
 to visit her, she lodges in the upper attic of a baker's house, at the 
 sign of the Wheatsheaf, in Little Distaff Lane, hard by. " 
 
 "I will not fail to deliver your message to the doctor," rephed 
 the man, as he took his departure. 
 
 Left alone with her husband a second time, Judith waited till she ^ 
 thought the man had got out of the cathedral; and then rising and 
 taking the lamp, she repaired to the charnel, to make sure it was 
 untenanted. Not content with this, she stole out into Saint Faith's, 
 and gazing round as far as the feeble light of her lamp would per- 
 mit, called out, in a tone that even startled herself, "Is any one 
 lurking there?" But receiving no other answer than was afforded 
 by the deep echoes of the place, she returned to the vault. Just as 
 she reached the door, a long cry burst upon her ear, and rushing 
 forward, she found that her husband had wakened. "Ah! roared 
 Malmayns, raising himself in bed as he perceived her, ' - are you 
 come back again, you she-devil? Where is my mother? Where is 
 Kerrich ? What have you done with them ? " 
 
 *'They have both got the plague," replied his wife. "They caught 
 it from you. But never mind them. I will watch over you as long 
 as you live." 
 
 "And that will be for years, you accursed jade," replied the sex- 
 ton. ' ' Doctor Hodges says I shall recover. " 
 
 "You have got worse since he left you," replied Judith. *'Lie 
 down, and let me throw these blankets over you." 
 
 "Off!" cried the sick man, furiously. "You shall not approach 
 me. You want to smother me." 
 
 "I want to cure you," replied his w^fe, heaping the blankets 
 upon the pallet. ' ' The doctor has sent some ointment for your 
 sore." • 
 
 "Then let him apply it himself," cried Malmayns, shaking his 
 fist at her. "You shall not touch" me. I will strangle you, if 
 you come near me." 
 
 "Matthew," replied his wife, "I have had the plague myself, 
 and know how to treat it better than any doctor in London. I will 
 cure you, if you will let me." 
 
 "I have no faith in you," replied Malmayns, "but I suppose I 
 must submit. Take heed what you do to me, for if I have but five 
 minutes to live, it will be long enough to revenge myself upon you." 
 
 " I will anoint your sore with this salve," rejoined Judith, pro- 
 ducing a pot of dark-coloured ointment, and rubbing his shoulder 
 with it. "It was given me by Sibbald, the apothecary of Clerken- 
 well. He is a friend of Chowles, the coffin-maker. You know 
 Chowles, Matthew." 
 
 "I know him for as great a rascal as ever breathed," replied her 
 husband gruffly. " He has always cheated me out of my dues, and 
 his coffins are the worst 1 ever put under ground," 
 
52 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 *' He is making his fortune now," said Judith. 
 
 ''By the plague, eh?" repUed Matthew. "I dont't envy him. 
 Money so gained won't stick to him. He will never prosper." 
 
 "I wish yon had his money, Matthew," replied his wife, in a 
 coaxing tone. 
 
 '' If the plague hadn't attacked me when it did, I should have 
 been richer than Chowles will ever he," replied the Sexton. "Nay, 
 I am richer as it is." 
 
 . "You surprise me," replied Judith, suddenly pausing in her task. 
 "How have you obtained your wealth?" 
 
 "I have discovered a treasure," replied the sexton, with a mock- 
 ing laugh ; "a secret hoard — a chest of gold — ha! hal" 
 
 "Where — where?" demanded his wife, eagerly. 
 
 "That 's a secret," replied Matthew. 
 
 " I must have it from him before he dies," thought his wife. 
 "Had we not better secure it without delay?" she added, aloud. 
 " Some other person may find it." 
 
 "Oh, it 's safe enough," replied Matthew. "It has remained 
 undiscovered for more than a hundred years, and will continue so 
 for a hundred to come, unless I bring it forth." 
 
 "But you icill bring it forth, won't you ?" said Judith. 
 
 ''Undoubtedly," replied Matthew, "if I get better. But not 
 otherwise. Money would be of no use to me in the grave." 
 
 " But it would be of use to m^," rephed his wife. 
 
 "Perhaps it might," replied the sexton: "but if I die, the 
 "•^knowledge of the treasure shall die with me." 
 
 "He is deceiving me," thought Judith, beginning to rub his 
 shoulder afresh. 
 
 "I suspect you have played me false, you jade," cried Malmayns, 
 writhing with pain. "The stuff you have applied burns like caustic, 
 and eats into my flesh." ^ 
 
 "It is doing its duty,' repUed his wife, calmly watching his 
 agonies. "You will soon^be easier." 
 
 "Perhaps I shall — in death," groaned the sufferer. " I am 
 parched with thirst. Give me'a glass of water." 
 
 "You shall have wine, Matthew, if you prefer it. I have a flask 
 in ray pocket," she replied. "But what of the treasure — where 
 is it?" 
 
 " Peace !" he cried. "I will baulk your avaricious hopes. You 
 shall never know where it is." 
 
 ' ' I shall know as much as you do," she rejoined in a tone of in- 
 credulity. " 1 don't believe a word you tell me. You have found 
 no treasure." 
 
 " If this is the last word I shall ever utter, I 7^ay^," he returned ; 
 — "a mighty treasure. But you shall never possess it. Never — 
 ha! hal" 
 
 "Nor shall you have the wine," she replied ; "there is water for 
 you," she added, handing him a jug, which he drained with frantic 
 eagerness. " He is a dead man," she muttered. 
 
 "lam chilled to the heart," gasped the sexton, shivering from 
 
THE MOSAICAL RODS. 53 
 
 head to foot, while chill damps gathered on his brow. "I have 
 done wrong in drinking the water, and you ought not to have given 
 it me." 
 
 "You asked for it," she replied. "You should have had wine, 
 but for your obstinacy. But I will save you yet, if you will tell me 
 where to find the treasure." 
 
 " Look for it in my grave," he returned, with a hideous grin. 
 
 Soon after this, he fell into a sort of stupor. His wife could now 
 have easily put a period to his existence, but she still hoped to 
 wrest the secret from him. She was assured, moreover, that his 
 recovery was hopeless. At the expiration of about two hours, he 
 was aroused by the excruciating anguish of his sore. He had again 
 become dehrous, and raved as before about coffins, corpses, graves, 
 and other loathsome matters. Seeing, from his altered looks, and 
 the livid and gangrenous appearance which the tumour had as- 
 sumed, that his end was not far off, Judith resolved not to lose a 
 moment, but to try the effect of a sudden surprise. Accordingly, 
 she bent down her head, and shouted in his ear, "What has 
 become of your treasure, Matthew?" 
 
 The plan succeeded to a miracle. The dying man instantly 
 raised himself. " My treasure !" he echoed, with a yell that made 
 the vault ring again. " Well thought on ! I have not secured it. 
 They are carrying it off. I must prevent them." And, throwing 
 off the coverings, he sprang out of bed. 
 
 "I shall have it now," thought his wife. "You are right," she 
 added, " they are carrying it off. The vergers have discovered it. 
 They are digging it up. We must instantly prevent them." 
 
 " We must," shrieked Malmayns. "Bring the light ! bring the 
 light !" And bursting open the door, he rushed into the adjoining 
 aisle. 
 
 ''He will kill himself, and discover the treasure into the bargain," 
 cried Judith, following him. " Ah ! what do I see! People in the 
 church. Curses on them! — they have ruined my hopes." 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 
 THE MOSAICAL RODS. 
 
 In pursuance of their design of seeking out an astrologer, Mau- 
 rice Wyvil and Lydyard crossed Cheapside and entered Friday 
 Street. They had not proceeded far, when they perceived a 
 watchman standing beneath a porch with a lantern in his hand, 
 and thinking it an intimation that the house was attacked by the 
 plague, they hurried to the opposite side of the street, and called to 
 the watchman to inquire whether he knew where Mr. Lilly lived. 
 
 Ascertaining that the house they sought was only a short distance 
 off, they repaired thither, and knocking at the door, a small wicket, 
 
54 OLD SAINT PALL*S. 
 
 protected by a grating, was opened within it, and a sharp female 
 voice inquired their business. 
 
 " Give this to your master, sweetheart," replied Wyvil, slipping 
 a purse through the grating; "and tell him that two gentlemen 
 desire to consult him." 
 
 " He is engaged just now," replied the woman, in a much softer 
 tone ; " but I will take your message to him." 
 
 "You have more money than wit," laughed Lydyard. "You 
 should have kept back your fee till you had got the information." 
 
 " In that case I should never have received any," replied Wyvil. 
 "I have taken the surest means of obtaining admission to the 
 house." 
 
 As he spoke, the door was unbolted by the woman, who proved 
 to be young and rather pretty. She had a light in her hand, and 
 directing them to follow her, led the way to a sort of ante-room, 
 divided, as it appeared, from a larger room by a thick black curtain. 
 Drawing aside the drapery, their conductress ushered them into 
 the presence of three individuals, who were seated at a table 
 strewn with papers, most of which were covered with diagrams and 
 astrological calculations. 
 
 One of these persons immediately arose on their appearance, and 
 gravely but courteously saluted them. He was a tall man, some- 
 what advanced in life, being then about sixty-three, with an aqui- 
 hne nose, dark eyes, not yet robbed of their lustre, grey hair 
 waving over his shoulders, and a pointed beard and moustache. 
 The general expression of his countenance was shrewd and pene- 
 trating, and yet there were certain indications of credulity about it, 
 showing that he was as likely to be imposed upon himself, as to de- 
 lude others. It is scarcely necessary to say that this was Lilly. 
 
 The person on his right, whose name was John Booker, and who 
 like himself was a proficient in astrology, was so buried in calcu- 
 lation that he did not raise his eyes from the paper on the approach 
 of the strangers. He was a stout man, with homely but thoughtful 
 features, and though not more than a year older than Lilly, looked 
 considerably his senior. With the exception of a few silver curls 
 hanging down the back of his neck, he was completely bald ; but 
 his massive and towering brow seemed to indicate the possession 
 of no ordinary intellectual qualities. He was a native of Man- 
 chester, and was born in 1601, of a good family. *' His excellent 
 verses upon the twelve months," says Lilly, in his autobiography, 
 " framed according to the configurations of each month, being 
 blessed with success according to his predictions, procured him 
 much reputation all over England. He was a very honest man," 
 continues the same authority, " abhorred any deceit in the art he 
 studied; had a curious fancy in judging of thefts ; and was suc- 
 cessful in resolving love-questions. He was no mean proficient in 
 astronomy; understood much in physic; was a great admirer of 
 the antimonial cup; and not unlearned in chemistry, which he 
 loved well, but did not practise." At the period of this history, 
 he was clerk to Sir Hugh Hammersley, alderman. 
 
 The third person, — a minor canon of St. Paul's, named Thomas 
 
THE MOSAICAL RODS. 55 
 
 Quatremain, — was a grave, sallow-complexioned man, with a 
 morose and repulsive physiognomy. He was habited in the cassock 
 of a churchman of the period, ana his black velvet cap lay beside 
 him on the table. Like Booker, he was buried in calculations, 
 and though he looked up for a moment as the others entered the 
 room, he instantly resumed his task, without regard to their 
 presence. 
 
 After looking earnestly at his visitors for a few moments, and 
 appearing to study their features, Lilly motioned them to be seated. 
 But they declined the offer. " I am not come to take up your 
 time, Mr. Lilly," said Wyvil, '^ but simply to askyour judgment in 
 a matter in which I am much interested." 
 
 " First, permit me to return you your purse, sir, since it is from 
 you, I presume, that I received it," replied the astrologer. " No 
 mformation that I can give, deserves so large a reward as this." 
 Wyvil would have remonstrated. But seeing the other resolute, 
 he was fain to concede the point, 
 
 ** What question do you desire to have resolved, sir?" pursued 
 Lilly. 
 
 '* Shall I be fortunate in my hopes?" rejoined Wyvil. 
 
 '^ You must be a little more precise," returned the astrologer. 
 '* To what do your hopes relate? — to wealth, dignity, or love?" 
 
 " To the latter," rephed Wyvil. 
 
 " So I inferred from your appearance, sir," rejoined Lilly, 
 smiling. ^* Venus was strong in your nativity, though well-digni- 
 fied ; and I should, therefore, say you were not unfrequently en- 
 tangled in love affairs. Your inamorata, I presume, is young, 
 perhaps fair, — blue-eyed, brown-haired, tall, slender, and yet 
 perfectly proportioned." 
 
 '' She is all you describe," rephed Wyvil. 
 
 " Is she of your own rank?" asked Lilly. 
 
 " Scarcely so," rephed Wyvil, hesitating before he answered 
 the question. 
 
 " I will instantly erect a scheme," replied the astrologer, rapidly 
 tracing a figure on a sheet of paper. " The question refers to 
 the seventh house. I shall take Yenus as the natural significatrix 
 of the lady. The moon is in trine with the lord of the ascendant, — 
 so far, good ; but there is a cross aspect from Mars, who darts forth 
 malicious rays upon them. Your suit will probably be thwarted. 
 But what Mars bindeth, Venus dissolveth. It is not wholly hope- 
 less. I should recommend you to persevere." 
 
 " Juggler I" exclaimed Wyvil, between his teeth. 
 
 "I am no juggler!" replied Lilly, angrily; "and to prove lam 
 not, I will tell you who you are who thus insult me, though you 
 have not announced yourself, and are desirous of preserving your 
 incognito. You are the Earl of Rochester, and your companion is 
 Sir George Etherege." 
 
 "'Fore Heaven! we are discovered," cried the Earl; "but 
 whether by art magic, or from previous acquaintanceship with our 
 features, 1 pretend not to determine." 
 
 '* In either case, my lord, — for it is useless, since you have 
 
56 OLD SAINT PAIX*S. 
 
 avowed yourself, to address you longer as Wyvil," replied Etherege, 
 — *' you owe Mr. Lilly an apology for the insult you have offered 
 him. It was as undeserved as uncalled for ; for he described your 
 position with Amabel exactly." 
 
 " I am sorry for what I said," replied the Earl, with great frank- 
 ness, "and entreat Mr. Lilly to overlook it, and impute it to its 
 real cause, — disappointment at his judgment!" 
 
 '' I wish I could give you better hopes, my lord," replied Lilly; 
 *' but I readily accept your apology. Have you any further ques- 
 tions to ask me ? " 
 
 '^ Not to-night," replied the Earl ; " except that I would gladly 
 learn whether it is your opinion that the plague will extend its 
 ravages." 
 
 " It will extend them so far, my lord, that there shall neither 
 be buriers for the dead, nor sound to look after the sick," replied 
 Lilly. " You may have seen a little tract of mine, published in 
 1651, — some fourteen years ago, — called ' Monarchy or no Mo- 
 narchy in England^'' in which, by an hieroglyphic, I foretold this 
 terrible calamity." 
 
 ' ' I heard his Majesty speak of the book no later than yesterday," 
 replied Rochester. " He has the highest opinion of your skill, 
 Mr. Lilly, as he cannot Wind himself to the fact, that you foretold 
 his father's death. But this is not the only visitation with which 
 you threaten our devoted city." 
 
 " It is threatened by Heaven, not by me, my lord," replied 
 Lilly. " London will be devoured by plague, and consumed by 
 fire." 
 
 " In our time?" asked Etherege. 
 
 *' Before two years have passed over our heads," returned the 
 astrologer. " The pestilence originated in the conjunction of 
 Saturn and Jupiter in Sagittarius, on the 10th of last October, and 
 the conjunction of Saturn and Mars, in the same sign, on the 
 twelfth of November. It was harbingered also by the terrible 
 comet of January, which appeared in a cadent and obscure house, 
 denoting sickness and death ; and another and yet more terrible 
 comet, which will be found in the fiery triplicity of Aries, Leo, and 
 Sagittarius, will be seen before the conflagration." 
 
 " My calculations are that the plague will be at its worst in August 
 and September, 'and will not cease entirely till the beginning of 
 December," observed Booker, laying aside his pen. ^ 
 
 "And I doubt not you are right, sir," said Lilly; " for your cal- 
 culations are ever most exact." 
 
 " My labour is not thrown away, Mr. Lilly," cried Quatremain, 
 who had finished his task at the same time. " I have discovered 
 what I have long suspected, that treasure is hidden in Saint Paul's 
 cathedral. Mercury is posited in the north angle of the fourth 
 house ; the Dragon's tail is likewise within it ; and as Sol is the 
 significator, it must be gold." 
 
 *' True," replied Lilly. 
 
 " Furthermore," proceeded Quatremain, " as the sign is earthy, 
 the treasure must be buried in the vaults." 
 
THE MOSAICAL RODS. 57 
 
 "Undoubtedly," replied Booker. 
 
 " I am all impatience to search for it," said Quatremain. " Let 
 lis go there at once, and make trial of the mosaical rods." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Lilly. " My lord," he added to 
 Rochester, " I must pray you to excuse me. You have heard what 
 claims my attention." 
 
 " I have," returned the Earl, "and should like to accompany 
 you in the quest, if you will permit me." 
 
 " You must address yourself to Mr. Quatremain," rejoined Lilly. 
 " If he consents, I can make no objection." 
 
 The minor canon, on being appealed to, signified his acquiescence, 
 and after some shght preparation, Lilly produced two hazle rods, 
 and the party set out. 
 
 A few minutes' walking brought them to the northern entrance 
 of the cathedral, where they speedily aroused the poor verger, who 
 began to fancy he was to have no rest that night. On learning 
 their purpose, however, he displayed the utmost alacrity, and by 
 Quatremain's directions went in search of his brother verger, and 
 a mason, who, being employed at the time in making repairs in the 
 chantries, lodged within the cathedral. 
 
 This occasioned a delay of a few minutes, during which Rochester 
 and Etherege had an opportunity, like that enjoyed a short time 
 before by Leonard Holt, of beholding the magnificent effect of the 
 columned aisles by moonlight. By this time, the other verger, who 
 was a young and active man, and the mason, arrived, and mat- 
 tocks, spades, and an iron bar, being procured, and a couple of 
 torches lighted, they descended to Saint Faith's. 
 
 Nothing more picturesque can be conceived than the effect of the 
 torchlight on the massive pillars and low-browed roof of the subter- 
 ranean church. Nor were the figures inappropriate to the scene. 
 Lilly, with the mosaical rods in his hand, which he held at a short 
 distance from the floor, moving first to one point, then to another; 
 now lingering within the gloomy nave, now within the gloomier 
 aisles; the grave minor canon, who kept close beside him, and 
 watched his movements with the most intense anxiety ; Booker, with 
 his venerable head uncovered, and his bald brow reflecting the 
 gleam of the torches ; the two court gallants in their rich attire ; 
 and the vergers and their comrade, armed with the implements for 
 digging; — all constituted a striking picture. And as Rochester 
 stepped aside to gaze at it, he thought he had never beheld a more 
 singular scene. 
 
 Hitherto, no success* had attended the searchers. The mosaical 
 rods continued motionless. At length, however, Lilly reached a 
 part of the wall where a door appeared to have been stopped up, 
 and playing the rods near it, they turned one over the other. " The 
 treasure is here ! " he exclaimed. ' ' It is hidden beneath this flag." 
 
 Instantly, all were in action. Quatremain called to his assistants 
 to bring their mattocks and the iron bar. Rochester ran up, and 
 tendered his aid ; Etherege did the same ; and in a few moments, the 
 flag was forced from its position. 
 
 On examination, it seemed as if the ground beneath it had been 
 
58 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 recently disturbed, though it was carefully trodden down. But 
 without stopping to investigate the matter, the mason and the 
 younger verger commenced digging. When they were tired, Lilly 
 and Quatremain took their places, and in less than an hour, they 
 had got to a depth of upwards of four feet. Still nothing had been 
 found, and Lilly was just about to relinquish his spade to the mason, 
 when, plunging it more deeply into the ground, it struck against 
 some hard substance. "It is here — we have it!" he cried, re- 
 newing his exertions. 
 
 Seconded by Quatremain, they soon cleared off the soil, and 
 came to what appeared to be a coffin, or a large chest. Both then 
 got out of the pit to consider how they should remove the chest ; 
 and the whole party were discussing the matter, when a tremendous 
 crash, succeeded by a terrific yell, was heard at the other end of the 
 church, and a ghastly and half-naked figure, looking hke a corpse 
 broken from the tomb, rushed forward with lightning swiftness, and 
 shrieking — "My treasure! — my treasure! — you shall not have it!" 
 — thrust aside the group, and plunged into the excavation. 
 
 When the bystanders recovered sufficient courage to drag the 
 unfortunate sexton out of the pit, they found him quite dead. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MINIATURE. 
 
 According to his promise, Doctor Hodges visited the grocer's 
 house early on the following day, and the favourable opinion he 
 had expressed respecting Stephen Bloundel was confirmed by the 
 youth's appearance. The pustule had greatly increased in size ; 
 but this the Doctor looked upon as a good sign : and after applying 
 fresh poultices, and administering a hot posset-drink, he covered 
 the patient with blankets, and recommending as much tranquillity 
 as possible, he proceeded, at Bloundel's request, to ascertam the 
 state of health of the rest of the family. Satisfied that all the house- 
 hold, (including Blaize, who, being a little out of order from the 
 quantity of medicine he had swallowed, kept his bed), were unin- 
 fected, he went up stairs, and finding the two boys quite well, and 
 playing with their little sister Christiana, in the happy unconscious- 
 ness of childhood, he tapped at the door of Mrs. Bloundel's chamber, 
 and was instantly admitted. Amabel did not raise her eyes at his 
 entrance, but continued the employment on which she was en- 
 gaged. Her mother, however, overwhelmed him with inquiries as 
 to the sufferer, and entreated him to prevail upon her husband to 
 let her take his place at the sick bed. 
 
 ** I cannot accede to your request, madam," replied Hodges, 
 " because I think the present arrangement the best that could be 
 adopted." 
 
THE MINIATURE. fi^ 
 
 ** And am I not to see poor Stephen again?" cried Mrs. Bloundel 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 " I hope you will soon see him again, and not lose sight of him 
 for many years to come," replied the doctor. " As far as I can 
 judge, the danger is over, and, aided by your husband's care and 
 watchfulness, I have Httle doubt of bringing the youth round." 
 
 " You reconcile me to the deprivation, Doctor," rejoined Mrs. 
 Bloundel : ^' but can you ensure my husband against the dis- 
 temper?" 
 
 " I can ensure no one against contagion," replied Hodges; " but 
 there is much in his favour. He has no fear, and takes every needful 
 precaution. You must hope for the best. I think it right to tell 
 you, that you will be separated from him for a month." 
 
 *' Separated from my husband for a month, doctor!" cried 
 Mrs. Bloundel. ''I must see him to-day. I have something of 
 importance to say to him." 
 
 At this point of the conversation Amabel for the first time looked 
 up. Her eyes were red and inflamed with weeping, and her looks 
 betrayed great internal suffering " You cannot see my father, 
 mother," she said, in a broken and supplicatory tone. 
 
 " But she can write to him, or send a message by me," rejoined 
 Hodges. " I will deliver it when I go down stairs." 
 
 *' What my mother has to say cannot be confided to a third 
 party, sir," returned Amabel. 
 
 '* Better defer it, then," said the doctor; who, as he looked 
 hard at her, and saw the colour mount to her cheeks, began to 
 suspect something of the truth. " Whatever you have to say, 
 Mrs. Bloundel, may be very well delayed ; for the house is now 
 closed, with a watchman at the door, and will continue so for a 
 month to come. No one can quit it, except members of our pro- 
 fession, searchers, nurses, and other authorized persons, during 
 that time." 
 
 " But can no one enter it, do you think?" asked Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " No one would desire to do so, I should, conceive, except a 
 lover," replied Hodges, with a sly look at Amabel, who instantly 
 averted her gaze. '* Where a pretty girl is concerned the plague 
 itself has no terrors." 
 
 ** Precisely my opinion, doctor," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel; " and 
 as I cannot consult my husband, perhaps you will favour me with 
 your advice as to how I ought to act, if such a person as you de- 
 scribe should get into the house." 
 
 "• I seldom meddle with family matters," rejoined Hodges ; '* but 
 I feel so much interest in all that relates to Mr. Bloundel, that I am 
 induced to depart from my rule on the present occasion. It is 
 evident you have lost your heart," he added, to Amabel, whose 
 blushes told him he was right ; "but not, I hope, to one of those 
 worthless court-gallants, who, as I learn from common report, are 
 in the habit of toasting you daily. If it is so, you must subdue your 
 passion ; for it cannot lead to good. Be not dazzled by a brilliant 
 exterior, which often conceals a treacherous heart ; but try to fix 
 your affections on some person of little pretension, but of solid 
 
eO OLD SAINT PAtx's. 
 
 worth. Never, I grieve to say, was there a season when such uni- 
 versal profligacy prevailed as at present. Never was it so neces- 
 sary for a young maiden, possessed of beauty like yours, to act with 
 discretion. Never was a court so licentious as that of our sove- 
 reign, Charles the Second, whose corrupt example is imitated by 
 every one around him, while its baneful influence extends to all 
 classes. Were I to echo the language of the preachers, I should 
 say it was owing to the wickedness and immorahty of the times, 
 that this dreadful judgment of the plague has been inflicted upon 
 us ; but I merely bring it forward as an argument to prove to you, 
 Amabel, that if you would escape the moral contagion by which you 
 are threatened, you must put the strictest ^uard upon your conduct." 
 
 Amabel faintly murmured her thanks. 
 
 " You speak as my husband himself would have spoken," said 
 Mrs. Bloundel. " Ah ! we Httle thought when we prayed that the 
 pestilence might be averted from us, that a worse calamity was 
 behind, and that one of the most profligate of the courtiers you 
 have mentioned would find his way to our house." 
 
 " One of the most profligate of them?" cried Hodges. '* Who, 
 in Heaven's name ?" 
 
 " He calls himself Maurice Wyvil," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I never heard of such a person," rejoined the doctor. " It 
 must be an assumed name. Have you no letter, or token, that 
 might lead to his discovery?" he added, turning to Amabel. 
 
 " I have his portrait," she repHed, drawing a small miniature 
 from her bosom. 
 
 " I am glad 1 have seen this," said the doctor, slightly starting 
 as he cast his eyes upon it. "I hope it is not too late to save you, 
 Amabel," he added, in a severe tone. *' I hope you are free irom 
 contamination ?" 
 
 " As I live, I am," she replied. '' But you recognise the like- 
 ness?" 
 
 " I do," returned Hodges. '' It is the portrait of one whose 
 vices and depravity are the town's cry, and whose name, coupled 
 with that of a woman, is sufficient to sully her reputation." 
 
 " It is the Earl of Rochester," said Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 ** You have guessed aright," replied the doctor; " it is." Ut- 
 tering an exclamation of surprise and terror, Amabel fell back in 
 her chair. 
 
 *' I thought it must be that wicked nobleman," cried Mrs. Bloun- 
 del. " Would you believe it, doctor, that he forced himself into 
 the house — nay, into this room, last night, and would have carried 
 off my daughter, in spite of her resistance, if I had not prevented 
 him." 
 
 *' I can believe anything of him," replied Hodges. " But your 
 husband, of course, knows nothing of the matter?" 
 
 " Not as yet," replied Mrs. Bloundel. " But I authorize you to 
 tell him all.^' 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," cried Amabel, flinging herself on her 
 knees before her, ' ' I implore you not to add to my father's present 
 distress. 1 might not have been able to conquer my attachment 
 
THE MINIATURE. 61 
 
 to Maurice Wyvil, but now that I find he is the Earl of Rochester, I 
 regard him with abhorrence." 
 
 '* If I could believe you sincere," said Mrs. Bloundel, ** I might 
 be induced to spare your father the pain which the knowledge of 
 this unfortunate affair will necessarily inflict." 
 
 "I am sincere, — indeed I am," replied Amabel. 
 
 "To prove that the Earl could not have had honourable inten- 
 tions towards you, Amabel," said the doctor, "I may mention that 
 he is at this moment urging his suit with Mistress Mallet, — a young 
 heiress. " 
 
 ' ' Ah ! " exclaimed Amabel. 
 
 "I was in attendance upon Mistress Stewart, the King's present 
 favourite, the day before yesterday," continued Hodges, "and heard 
 his Majesty entreat her to use her influence with Mistress Mallet in 
 ^Hochester's behalf. After this, you cannot doubt the nature of his 
 intentions towards yourself." 
 
 "I cannot — I cannot," rejoined Amabel. "He is perfidy itself. But 
 is Mistress Mallet very beautiful, doctor? " 
 
 *' Very beautiful, and very rich," he replied, "and the Earl is 
 desperately in love with her. I heard him declare laughingly to the 
 King, that if she would not consent to marry him, he would carry 
 her off." 
 
 " Just what he said to me," exclaimed Amabel — "perjured and 
 faithless that he is ! " 
 
 " Harp on that string, doctor," whispered Mrs. Bloundel. "You 
 understand her feelings exactly. " 
 
 '' Strangely enough, " pursued the doctor, who, having carefully 
 examined the miniature, had opened the back of the case, and could 
 not repress a smile at what he beheld — strangely enough, this very 
 picture will convince you of the Earl's inconstancy. It was evident- 
 ly designed for Mistress Mallet, and as she would not accept it, trans- 
 ferred to you." 
 
 "How do you know this, sir?" inquired Amabel, in a mortified 
 tone. 
 
 "Hear what is written within it," answered Hodges, laying the 
 open case before her, and reading as follows: — "' To the sole pos- 
 sessor of his heart, the fair Mistress Mallet, this portrait is offered 
 by her devoted slave — Rochester.' 'The sole possessor of his 
 heart 1' So you have no share in it, you perceive, Amabel. ' Her 
 devoted slave 1 ' Is he your ' slave' likewise ? Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " It is his writing," cried Amabel. "This note," she added, pro- 
 ducing a billet, "is in the same hand. My eyes are, indeed, 
 opened to his treachery." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Hodges, '' and if I can preserve 
 you from the snares of this noble libertine, I shall rejoice as much 
 as in curing your brother of the plague. But can you rely upon 
 yourself, in case the Earl should make another attempt to see you ?" 
 
 '' I can," she averred confidently. 
 
 " In that case, there is nothing to apprehend," rejoined Hodges ; 
 " and I think it better on many accounts not to mention the subject 
 to your father. It would only distract his mind, and prevent him 
 
62 OLD SAINT PAULAS. 
 
 from duly discharging the painful task he has undertaken. Were I 
 in your place, Amabel, I would not only forget my present per- 
 fidious lover, but would instantly bestow my affections on some 
 worthy person." 
 
 "■ It would gladden me if she would do so," said Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " There is your father's apprentice, Leonard Holt, a good-look- 
 ing, well-grown lad," pursued the doctor; " and I much mistake if 
 he is insensible to your attractions." 
 
 " I am sure he loves her dearly, doctor," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 " He is as well-principled as well-looking. 1 have never had a 
 fault to find with him since he came to live with us. It would 
 rejoice me, and I am sure would not displease my husband, to see 
 our child united to Leonard Holt." 
 
 " Well, what say you, Amabel?" asked Hodges. " Can you 
 give him a hope ?" 
 
 *' Alas, no!" replied Amabel, '' I have been deceived once, but 1 
 will not be deceived a second time. I will never wed." 
 
 " So every woman says, after her first disappointment," observed 
 Hodges; " but not one in ten adheres to the resolution. When 
 you become calmer, I would recommend you to think seriously of 
 Leonard Holt." 
 
 At this moment, a tap was heard at the door, and opening it, 
 the doctor beheld the person in question. ' ' What is the matter ?" 
 cried Hodges. ^' I hope nothing is amiss." 
 
 ** Nothing whatever," replied Leonard, *' but my master wishes 
 to see you before you leave the house." 
 
 " 1 will go to him at once," rephed the doctor. " Good day, 
 Mrs. Bloundel. Take care of your daughter, and I hope she will 
 take care of herself. We have been talking about you, young man," 
 he added, in a low tone, to the apprentice, " and I have recom- 
 mended you as a husband to Amabel." 
 
 "There was a time, sir," rejoined Leonard, in a tone of deep 
 emotion, " when I hoped it might be so, but that time is past." 
 
 "No such thing," replied the doctor. "Now is the time to make 
 an impression. Her heart is on the rebound. She is satisfied of 
 her lover's treachery. Her mother is on your side. Do not neg- 
 lect the present opportunity, for another may not arrive." With 
 this, he pushed Leonard into the room, and shutting the door upon 
 him, hurried down stairs. 
 
 "You have arrived at a seasonable juncture, Leonard," observed 
 Mrs. Bloundel, noticing the apprentice's perplexity, and anxious to 
 relieve it. "We have just discovered that the perspn calling him- 
 self Maurice Wyvil is no other than the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 "Indeed ! " exclaimed Leonard. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," returned Mrs. Bloundel. "But this is not all. 
 Amabel has promised to forget him, and I have urged her to think 
 of you." 
 
 " Amabel," said Leonard, advancing towards her, and taking 
 her hand, "I can scarcely credit what I hear. Will you confirm 
 your mother's words?" 
 
 ' ' Lepnavd," returned Amabel, " I am not insensible to your good 
 
THE MINIATLRE. 63 
 
 qualities, and no one can more truly esteem you than I do. Nay, 
 till I unfortunately saw the Earl of Rochester, whom I knew not 
 as such, I might have loved you. But now I cannot call my heart 
 my own. I have not the affection you deserve, to bestow upon 
 you. If I can obliterate this treacherous man's image from my 
 memory — and Heaven, 1 trust, will give me strength to do so — I 
 will strive to replace it with your own." 
 
 *' That is all I ask," cried Leonard, dropping on his knee before 
 her, and pressing his hps to her hand. 
 
 "Nothing would make me happier than to see you united, my 
 children," said Mrs. Bloundel, bending affectionately over them. 
 
 "And I would do anything to make you happy, dear mother,^* 
 rephed Amabel, gently withdrawing her hand from that of the ap- 
 prentice. 
 
 "Before I leave you," said Leonard, rising, "I must give you 
 this note. I found it lying before your chamber-door as I passed 
 this morning. How it came there I know not, but I can give a 
 shrewd guess as to the writer. I ought to tell you, that but for 
 what has just occurred, I should not have delivered it to you." 
 
 *'It is from Wyvil — I mean Rochester," said Amabel, taking the 
 note with a trembling hand. 
 
 "Let me see it, child," cried Mrs. Bloundel, snatching it from 
 her, and breaking the seal. "Insolent!" she exclaimed, as she 
 cast her eyes over it. ''I can scarcely contain my indignation. 
 But let him cross my path again, and he shall find whether I cannot 
 resent such shameful usage." 
 
 "What does he say, dear mother?" asked Amabel. 
 "You shall hear," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "though I blush to 
 repeat his words : — ' Amabel, you are mine. No one shall keep you 
 from me. Love like mine will triumph over all obstacles ! ' — Love 
 hke his, forsooth I" she remarked ; "let him keep such stuff as that 
 for Mistress Mallet, or his other mistresses. But I will go on : 'I 
 may be foiled ninety-nine times, but the hundredth will succeed. 
 We shall soon meet again. — M.u rice Wyvil.'" 
 
 "Never," cried Amabel. '^ We will never meet again. If 
 he holds me thus cheaply, I will let him see that he is mistaken. 
 Leonard Holt, I have told you the exact state of my feelings. I do 
 not love you now, but I regard you as a true friend, and love may 
 come hereafter. If in a month's time, you claim my hand — If my 
 father consents to our union, for you are aware that my mother will 
 not oppose it — I am yours." Leonard attempted to speak, but his 
 voice was choked with emotion, and the tears started to his eyes. 
 '^ Farewell," said Amabel. " Do not let us meet till the appointed 
 time. Rest assured, I will think of you as you deserve." 
 
 "We could not meet till that time, even if you desired it," said 
 Leonard, "for your father has forbidden any of the household, 
 except old Josyna, to approach you till all fear of contagion is at 
 an end, and 1 am now trangressing his commands. But your 
 mother, I am sure, will acquit me of intentional disobedience." 
 
 "I do," replied Mrs. Bloundel; "it was the doctor who forced 
 you into the room. But I am heartily glad he did so," 
 
64 OLD SAINT PAtL*S. 
 
 *' Farewell, Amabel," said Leonard. '' Though I shall not see 
 you, I will watch carefully over you." And gazing at her with un- 
 utterable affection, he quitted the chamber. 
 
 " You must now choose between the heartless and depraved 
 nobleman, who would desert you as soon as won," observed Mrs. 
 Bloundel, "and the honest apprentice, whose hfe would be devoted 
 to your happiness." 
 
 " I have chosen," replied her daughter. 
 
 Doctor Hodges found the grocer writing at a small table, close to 
 the bedside of his son. " 1 am happy to tell you, Mr. Bloundel," 
 he said, in a low tone, as he entered the room, ' ' that all your family 
 are still free from infection, and with due care will, I hope, continue 
 so. But I entirely approve of your resolution of keeping apart from 
 them till the month has expired. If your son goes on as he is doing 
 now, he will be as strong as ever in less than a fortnight. Still, 
 as we cannot foresee what may occur, it is better to err on the 
 cautious side." 
 
 "Pray be seated for a moment," rejoined the grocer, motioning 
 the other to the chair. "I mentioned to you last night that in case 
 my son recovered, I had a plan which I trusted ( under Providence ! ) 
 would preserve my family from the further assaults of the pesti- 
 lence." 
 
 " I remember your alluding to it," rephed Hodges, " and should 
 be glad to know what it is." 
 
 " I must tell it you in confidence," rejoined Bloundel, " because 
 I think secrecy essential to its entire accomplishment. My plan is 
 a very simple one, and only requires firmness in its execution, — 
 and that quality, I think, I possess. It is your opinion, 1 know, as 
 it is my own, that the plague will increase in violence, and endure 
 for months, — probably till next winter. My intention is to store 
 my house with provisions, as a ship is victualled for a long voyage, 
 and then to shut it up entirely till the scourge ceases." 
 
 " If your project is practicable," said Hodges, after a moment's 
 reflection, " I have no doubt it will be attended with every good 
 result you can desire. This house, which is large and roomy, is 
 well adapted for your purpose. But you must consider well whether 
 your family will submit to be imprisoned during the long period you 
 propose." 
 
 " They shall remain close prisoners, even if the pestilence lasts 
 for a twelvemonth," replied the grocer. " Whoever quits the 
 house, when it is once closed, and on whatever plea, be it wile, 
 son, or daughter, returns not. That is my fixed resolve." 
 
 " And you are right," rejoined Hodges, " for on that determi- 
 nation the success of your scheme entirely depends." 
 
 While they were thus conversing, Leonard entered the chamber, 
 and informed his master that Chowles, the coffin-maker, and Mrs. 
 Malmayns, the plague-nurse, desired to see him. " Mrs. Mal- 
 mayns ! " exclaimed Hodges, in surprise, "I heard that something 
 very extraordinary occurred last night in Saint Faith's. With your 
 permission, Mr. Bloundel, she shall be admitted. I want to ask 
 her a few questions. You had better hesitate about engaging her,'* 
 
THE MINIATURE. 65 
 
 he observed to the grocer, as Leonard departed, '^ for she is a 
 woman of very indifferent character, though she may ( for aught 
 I know) be a good and fearless nurse." 
 
 " If there is any doubt about her, I cannot hesitate," returned 
 Bloundel. 
 
 As he said this, the door was opened by Leonard, and Chowles 
 and Judith entered the room. The latter, on seeing the doctor, 
 looked greatly embarrassed. " I have brought you the nurse I 
 spoke of, Mr. Bloundel," said Chowles, bowing, " and am come 
 to inquire whether you want a coffin to-night." 
 
 " Mr. Bloundel is not likely to require a coffin at present, 
 Chowles," returned the doctor, severely; " neither does his son 
 stand in need of a nurse. How is your husband, Mrs. Malmayns?" 
 
 " He is dead, sir," replied Judith. 
 
 " Dead ! " echoed the doctor. ' ' When I left him, at one o'clock 
 this morning, he was doing well. Your attendance seems to have 
 accelerated his end." 
 
 " His death was occasioned by an accident, sir," replied Judith. 
 
 ' ' He became delirious about three o'clock, and in spite of all my 
 efforts to detain him, started out of bed, rushed into Saint Faith's, 
 and threw himself into a pit, which Mr. Lilly and some other per- 
 sons had digged in search of treasure." 
 
 " This is a highly improbable story, Mrs. Malmayns," returned 
 Hodges, " and I must have the matter thoroughly investigated be- 
 fore I lose sight of you." 
 
 " I will vouch for the truth of Mrs. Malmayns's statement," 
 interposed Chowles. 
 
 " You I" cried Hodges, contemptuously. 
 
 *' Yes, I," replied the coffin-maker. " It seems that the sexton 
 had found a chest of treasure buried in Saint Faith's, and being 
 haunted by the idea that some one was carrying it off, he suddenly 
 sprang out of bed, and rushed to the church, where, sure enough, 
 Mr. Lilly, Mr. Quatremain, the Earl of Bochester, and Sir George 
 Etherege, having, by the help of mosaical rods, discovered this 
 very chest, were digging it up. Poor Matthew instantly plunged 
 into the grave, and died of the sudden chill." 
 
 ' ' That is not impossible," observed Hodges, after a pause. ' ' But 
 what has become of the treasure ? " 
 
 " It is in the possession of Mr. Quatremain, who has given notice 
 of it to the proper authorities," replied Chowles. " It consists, as 
 I understand, of gold pieces struck in the reign of Philip and Mary, 
 images of the same metal, crosses, pyxes, chalices, and other 
 Popish and superstitious vessels, buried, probably, when Queen 
 Ehzabeth came to the throne, and the religion changed." 
 
 ^' Not unlikely," replied Hodges. "Where is your husband's 
 body, Mrs. Malmayns?" 
 
 " It has been removed to the vault which he usually occupied," 
 replied Judith. ^' Mr. Chowles has undertaken to bury it to- 
 night." 
 
 '' I must see it first," replied Hodges, ^' and be sure that he has 
 not met with foul play." 
 
 ^ 5 
 
^ OLD gAlNT PADL*S. 
 
 " And I will accompany you," said Chowles. "So you do not 
 want a coffin, Mr. Bloundel?"— The grocer shook his head. 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Bloundel," said Hodges. " I shall visit you 
 to-morrow, and hope to find your son as well as I leave him. 
 Chowles, you will be answerable for the safe custody of Mrs. Mai- 
 mayns." 
 
 "I have no desire to escape, sir," replied the nurse. " You 
 will find everything as I have represented." 
 
 " We shall see," replied the doctor. " If not, you will have to 
 tend the sick in Newgate." 
 
 The trio then proceeded to Saint Paulas, and descended to the 
 yaults. Hodges carefully examined the body of the unfortunate 
 sexton, but though he entertained strong suspicions, he could not 
 pronounce positively that he had been improperly treated ; and as 
 the statement of Mrs. Malmayns was fully borne out by the vergers 
 and others, he did not think it necessary to pursue the investigation 
 further. As soon as he was gone, Judith accompanied the coffin- 
 maker to his residence, where she remained till the evening, when 
 she was suddenly summoned in a case of urgency, by a messenger 
 from Sibbald, the apothecary of Clerkenwell. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DLi;L. 
 
 After Parravicin's terrible announcement, Disbmwe offered him 
 no further violence, but flinging down his sword, burst open the 
 door, and rushed up stairs. His wife was still insensible, but the 
 fatal mark that had betrayed the presence of the plague to the knight 
 manifested itself also to him, and he stood like one entranced, until 
 Mrs. Disbrowe, recovering from her swoon, opened her eyes, and 
 gazing at him, cried, — "You here! — Oh! Disbrowe, I dreamed 
 you had deserted me — had sold me to another." 
 
 " Would it were a dream?" replied her husband. 
 
 "And was it not?" she rejoined, pressing her hand to her tem- 
 ples. " It is true ! Oh ! yes, 1 feel it is. Every circumstance rushes 
 upon me plainly and distinctly. I see the daring libertine before 
 me. He stood where you stand, and told me what you had done." 
 
 "What did he tell you, Margaret?" asked Disbrowe, in a hoUow 
 voice. 
 
 "He told me you were false —^ that you loved another, and had 
 abandoned me." 
 
 ' ' He lied !" exclaimed Disbrowe, in a voice of uncontrollable fury. 
 " It is true that, in a moment of frenzy, I was tempted to set you 
 — yes, yon, Margaret — against all I had lost at play — and wascom- 
 peiled to yield up the key of my house to the winner. But \ have 
 never been faithless to you — never." 
 
THE DUEL. 
 
 6t 
 
 ^* Faithless or not,'* replied his wife, bitterly, '*it is plain you 
 value me less than play, or you would not have acted thus." 
 
 "Reproach me not, Margaret," replied Disbrowe. "I would 
 give worlds to undo what I have done." 
 
 "Who shall guard me against the recurrence of such conduct?" 
 said Mrs. Disbrowe, coldly. " But you have not yet informed me 
 how I was saved?" Disbrowe averted his head. 
 
 " What mean you ?" she cried, seizing his arm. "What has 
 happened ? Do not keep me in suspense. Were you my preserver ?" 
 
 "Your preserver was the plague," rejoined Disbrowe, in a sombre 
 (one. 
 
 The unfortunate lady then, for the first time, perceived that she 
 was attacked by the pestilence, and a long and dreadful pause 
 ensued, broken only by exclamations of anguish from both. " Dis- 
 browe !" cried Margaret, at length, raising herself in bed, " you 
 have deeply — irrecoverably injured me. But promise me one thing." 
 
 "I swear to do whatever you may desire," he replied. 
 
 "I know not, after what 1 have heard, whether you have cou- 
 rage for the deed," she continued. " But I would have you kill this 
 man." 
 
 "I will do it," replied Disbrowe. 
 
 "Nothing but his blood can wipe out the wrong he has done me," 
 she rejoined. " Challenge him to a duel — a mortal duel. If he sur- 
 vives, by my soul, t will give myself to him." 
 
 " Margaret !" exclaimed Disbrowe. 
 
 "I swear it," she rejoined, "and you know my passionate nature 
 too well to doubt I will keep my word." 
 
 "But you have the plague?" 
 
 "What does that matter? I may recover." 
 
 "Not so," muttered Disbrowe. "If I fall, I will take care you do 
 not recover. I will fight him to-morrow," he added, aloud. 
 
 He then summoned his servants, but when they found their 
 mistress was attacked by the plague, they framed some excuse to 
 leave the room, and instantly fled the house. Driven almost to his 
 wits' end, Disbrowe went in search of other assistance, and was for 
 a while unsuccessful, until a coachman, to whom he applied, offered, 
 for a suitable reward, to drive to Clerkenweli — to the shop of an 
 apothecary, named Sibbald (with whose name the reader is already 
 familiar), who was noted for his treatment of plague-patients, and 
 to bring him to the other's residence. Disbrowe immediately closed 
 with the man, and in less than two hours Sibbald made his ap- 
 pearance. He was a singular and repulsive personage, with an im- 
 mense hooked nose, dark, savage-looking eyes, a skin like parchment, 
 and high found shoulders, which procured him the nickname of 
 ^sop among his neighbours. He was under the middle size, 
 of a spare figure, and in age might be about sixty-five. 
 
 On seeing Mrs. Disbrowe, he at once boldly asserted that he could 
 cure her, and proceeded to apply his remedies. Finding the servants 
 fted, he offered to procure a nurse for Disbrowe, and the latter 
 thanking him, eagerly embraced the offer. Soon after this, he de- 
 parted. ?n the evening, the nurse, who (as may be surmised) was 
 
68 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 no other than Judith Malmayns, arrived, and immediately com- 
 menced her functions. 
 
 Disbrowe had no rest that night. His wife slept occasionally for 
 a few minutes, but apparently engrossed by one idea, never failed 
 when she awoke, to urge him to slay Parravicin; repeating her oath 
 to give herself to the Knight if he came off victorious. Worn out 
 at length, Disbrowe gave her a terrible look, and rushed out of the 
 room. 
 
 He had not been alone many minutes when he was surprised by 
 the entrance of Judith. He eagerly inquired whether his wife was 
 worse, but was informed she had dropped into a slumber. "Hear- 
 ing what has passed between you," said the nurse, "and noticing 
 your look when you left the room, I came to tell you, that if you 
 fall in this duel, your last moments need not be embittered by any 
 thoughts of your* wife. I will take care she does not recover." 
 
 A horrible smile hghted up Disbrowe's features. " You are the 
 very person I want," he said. "When I would do evil, the fiend 
 rises to my bidding. If I am slain, you know what to do. How 
 shall I requite the service ?" 
 
 "Do not concern yourself about that. Captain," rejoined Judith. 
 "I will take care of myself." 
 
 About noon, on the following day, Disbrowe, without venturing' 
 to see his wife, left the house, and proceeded to the Smyrna, where, 
 as he expected, he found Parravicin and his companions. The 
 Knight instantly advanced towards him, and laying aside for the 
 moment his reckless air, inquired, with a look of commiseration, 
 after his wife. 
 
 "She is better," replied Disbrowe, fiercely. "I am come to settle 
 accounts with you." 
 
 " I thought they were settled long ago," returned Parravicin, in- 
 stantly resuming his wonted manner. " But I am glad to find you 
 consider the debt unpaid." 
 
 Disbrowe lifted the cane he held in his hand and struck the Knight 
 with it forcibly on the shoulder. "Be that my answer," he said. 
 "1 will have your hfe first, and your wife afterwards," replied 
 Parravicin furiously. 
 
 "You shall have her if you slay me, but not otherwise," retorted 
 Disbrowe. "It must be a mortal duel." 
 
 "It must," rephed Parravicin. "I will not spare you this time." 
 "Spare him !" cried Pillichody. "Shield of Agamemnon! I should 
 hope not. Spit him as you would a wild boar." 
 
 * ' Peace, fool !" cried Parravicin. ' ' Captain Disbrowe, I shall in- 
 stantly proceed to the west side of Hyde Park, beneath the trees. I 
 shall expect you there. On my return, I shall call on your wife." 
 **I pray you do so, sir," rephed Disbrowe, disdainfully. Both 
 then quitted the coffee-house, Parravicin attended by Rochester and 
 Pillichody, and Disbrowe accompanied by a military friend, whom 
 he accidentally encountered. Each party taking a coach, they soon 
 reached the ground, — a retired spot, completely screened from 
 observation by trees. The preliminaries were soon arranged, for 
 neither would admit of delay. The conflict then commenced with 
 
 1 
 
THE DUEL. ^ 69 
 
 great fury on both sides ; but Parravicin, in spite of his passion, ob- 
 served far more caution than his antagonist; and, taking advantage 
 of an unguarded movement occasioned by the other's impetuosity, 
 passed his sword through his body. 
 
 Disbrowe fell. "You are again successful," he groaned. " But 
 save my wife, — save her." 
 
 " What mean you ?" cried Parravicin, leaning over him, as he 
 wiped his sword. But Disbrowe could make no answer. His utte- 
 rance was choked by a sudden effusion of blood on the lungs, and 
 he instantly expired. Leaving the body in care of the second, Parra- 
 vicin and his friends returned to the coach, where the Major rejoiced 
 greatly at the issue of the duel ; but the Knight looked grave, and 
 pondered upon the words of the dying man. After a time, however, 
 he recovered his spirits, and dined with his friends at the Smyrna; 
 but they observed that he drank more deeply than usual. His ex- 
 cesses did not, however, prevent him from playing with his usual 
 skill, and he won a large sum from Bochester at hazard. 
 
 Flushed with success, and heated with wine, he walked up to 
 Disbrowe's residence, about an hour after midnight. As he ap- 
 proached the house, he observed a strangely-shaped cart at the 
 door, and halting for a moment, saw a body, wrapped in a shroud, 
 brought out. Could it be Mrs. Disbrowe? Bushing forward to 
 one of the assistants in black cloaks, — and who was no other than 
 Chowles, — he asked who he was about to inter ? 
 
 "It is a Mrs. Disbrowe," replied the coffin-maker. "She died 
 of grief, because her husband was killed this morning in a duel ; but 
 as she had the plague, it must be put down to that. We are not 
 particular in such matters, and shall bury her and her husband to- 
 gether; and as there is no money left to pay for coffins, they must go 
 to the grave without them. What, ho ! Mother Malmayns, let Jonas 
 have the captain as soon as you have stripped him. I must be 
 starting." And as the body of his victim was brought forth, Parra- 
 vicin fell against the wall in a state almost of stupefaction. 
 
 At this moment, Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, 
 suddenly turned the corner of the street, and stationing himself be- 
 fore the dead-cart, cried in a voice of thunder, "Woe to the liber- 
 tine ! Woe to the homicide ! for he shall perish in everlasting fire ! 
 Woe! woe!" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 MAY, 166S. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 V THE PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 Towards the middle of May, the Bills of Mortality began to 
 swell greatly in amount, and though but few were put down to the 
 plague, and a large number to the spotted fever (another frightful 
 disorder raging at the period), it was well known that the bulk had 
 died of the former disease. The rigorous measures adopted by the 
 authorities (whether salutary or not has been questioned) , in shut- 
 ting up houses and confining the sick and sound within them for 
 forty days, were found so intolerable, that most persons were dis- 
 posed to run any risk rather than be subjected to such a grievance, 
 and every artifice was resorted to for conceahng a case when it oc- 
 curred. Hence, it seldom happened, unless by accident, that a dis- 
 covery was made. Quack doctors were secretly consulted, instead 
 of the regular practitioners ; the searchers were bribed to silence ; 
 and large fees were given to the undertakers and buriers to lay the 
 deaths to the account of some other disorder. All this, however, did 
 not Wind the eyes of the officers to the real state of things. Redou- 
 bling their vigilance, they entered houses on mere suspicion ; inflicted 
 punishments where they found their orders disobeyed or neglected ; 
 sent the sound to prison, — the sick to the pest-house ; and replaced 
 the faithless searchers by others upon whom they could place reliance. 
 Many cases were thus detected ; but in spite of every precaution, the 
 majority escaped; and the vent was no sooner stopped in one quar- 
 ter, than it broke out with additional violence in another. 
 
 By this time, the alarm had become general. All whose business 
 or pursuits permitted it, prepared to leave London, which they re- 
 garded as a devoted city, without delay. As many houses were, 
 therefore, plosed from the absence of the inhabitants as from the 
 presence of the plague, and this added to the forlorn appearance 
 of the streets, which in some quarters were almost deserted. For 
 a while, nothing was seen at the great outlets of the city, but carts, 
 carriages, and other vehicles, filled with goods and moveables, on 
 their way to the country ; and, as may be supposed, the departure 
 of their friends did not tend to abate the dejection of those whose 
 affairs compelled them to remain behind. 
 
 One circumstance must not pass unnoticed, namely, the con- 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. > tl 
 
 iinued fineness and beauty of the weather. No rain had fallen for 
 upwards of three weeks. The sky was bright and cloudless ; the 
 atmosphere, apparently, pure and innoxious ; while the heat was 
 as great as is generally experienced in the middle of summer. But 
 instead of producing its usual enlivening effect on the spirits, the 
 fine weather added to the general gloom and apprehension, inas- 
 much as it led to the belief (afterwards fully confirmed), that if the 
 present warmth was so pernicious, the more sultry seasons, which 
 were near at hand, would aggravate the fury of the pestilence. 
 Sometimes, indeed, when the deaths were less numerous, a hope 
 began to be entertained that the distemper was abating, and con- 
 fidence was for a moment restored ; but these anticipations were 
 speedily checked by the reappearance of the scourge, which seemed 
 to baffle and deride all human skill and foresight. 
 
 London now presented a lamentable spectacle. INot a street but 
 had a house in it marked with a red cross — some streets had many 
 such. The bells were continually tolling for burials, and the dead- 
 carts went their melancholy rounds at night, and were constantly 
 loaded. Fresh directions were issued by the authorities; and as 
 domestic animals were considered to be a medium of conveying the 
 infection, an order, which was immediately carried into effect, was 
 given to destroy all dogs and cats. But this plan proved prejudicial 
 rather than the reverse, as the bodies of the poor animals, most of 
 which were drowned in the Thames, being washed ashore, pro- 
 duced a horrible and noxious effluvium, supposed to contribute 
 materially to the propagation of the distemper. 
 
 No precautionary measure was neglected ; but it may be doubted 
 whether any human interference could have averted the severity of 
 the scourge, which, though its progress might be checked for a few 
 days by attention, or increased in the same ratio by neglect, would, 
 in the end, have unquestionably fulfilled its mission. The College 
 of Physicians, by the King's command, issued simple and intelligible 
 directions, in the mother tongue, for the sick. Certain of their 
 number, amongst whom was the reader's acquaintance, Doctor 
 Hodges, were appointed to attend the infected ; and two out of the 
 Court of Aldermen were required to see that they duly executed 
 their dangerous office. Public prayers and a general fast were like- 
 wise enjoined. But Heaven seemed deaf to the supplications of the 
 doomed inhabitants, — their prayers being followed by a fearful in- 
 crease of deaths. A vast crowd was collected within Saint Paulas 
 to hear a sermon preached by Doctor Sheldon, Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, — a prelate greatly distinguished, during the whole course 
 of the visitation, by his unremitting charity and attention to the 
 sick ; and before the discourse was concluded, several fell down 
 within the sacred walls, and, on being conveyed to their own homes, 
 were found to be infected. On the following day, too, many others 
 who had been present were seized with the disorder. 
 
 A fresh impulse was given to the pestilence from an unlooked-for 
 cause. It has been mentioned that the shutting up of houses and 
 seclusion of the sick was regarded as an intolerable grievance ; and 
 though mosi wel-e compelled to submit to it, some few resisted, and 
 
72 OLD SAINT PAIX'S. 
 
 tumults and disturbances ensued. As the plague increased, these 
 disturbances became more frequent, and the mob always taking part 
 against the officers, they were frequently interrupted in the execu- 
 tion of their duty. 
 
 About this time, a more serious affray than usual occurred, at- 
 tended with loss of hfe, and other unfortunate consequences, which 
 it may be worth while to relate, as illustrative of the peculiar state 
 of the times. The wife of a merchant, named Barcroft, residing in 
 Lothbury, being attacked by the plague, the husband, fearing his 
 house would be shut up, withheld all information from the exa- 
 miners and searchers. His wife died, and immediately afterwards 
 one of his children was attacked. Still, he refused to give notice. 
 The matter, however, got wind. The searchers arrived at night, 
 and being refused admittance, broke into the house. Finding un- 
 doubted evidence of infection, they ordered it to be closed, stationed 
 a watchman at the door, and marked it with the fatal sign. Bar- 
 croft remonstrated against their proceedings, but in vain. They 
 told him he might think himself well off that he was not carried 
 before the Lord Mayor, who would undoubtedly send him to Lud- 
 gate; and with other threats to the like effect, they departed. 
 
 The unfortunate man's wife and child were removed the fol- 
 lowing night in the dead-cart, and, driven half mad by grief and 
 terror, he broke open the door of his dwelling, and, plunging a 
 sword in the watchman's breast, who opposed his flight, gained 
 the street. A party of the watch happened to be passing at the 
 time, and the fugitive was instantly secured. He made a great 
 clamour, however, — calling to his neighbours and the by-standers 
 to rescue him, and in another moment the watch was beaten off, 
 and Barcroft placed on a post, whence he harangued his preservers 
 on the severe restraints imposed upon the citizens, urging them to 
 assist him in throwing open the doors of all infected houses, and 
 allowing free egress to their inmates. 
 
 Greedily listening to this insane council, the mob resolved to act 
 upon it. Headed by the merchant, they ran down Threadneedle 
 Street, and crossing Stock's Market, burst open several houses in 
 Bearbinder Lane, and drove away the watchmen. One man, more 
 courageous than the others, tried to maintain his post, and was 
 so severely handled by his assailants, that he died a few days after- 
 wards of the injuries he had received. Most of those who had 
 been imprisoned within their dweUings immediately issued forth, 
 and joined the mob, which received fresh recruits each moment, 
 started on the same errand. 
 
 Loud shouts were now raised of — " Open the doors ! No plague 
 prisoners ! No plague prisoners !" and the mob set off all along the 
 Poultry. They halted, however, before the Great Conduit, near 
 the end of Bucklersbury, and opposite Mercer's Hall, because they 
 perceived a company of the Train-bands advancing to meet them. 
 A council of war was held, and many of the rabble were disposed 
 to fly ; but Barcroft again urged them to proceed, and they were 
 unexpectedly aided by Solomon Eagle, who, bursting through their 
 ranks with his brazier on his head, crying, "Awake! sleepers 
 
THE PROGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. . 73 
 
 awake! the plague is at your doors! awake!" speeded towards the 
 Train-bands, scattering sparks of fire as he pursued his swift 
 career. The mob instantly followed, and adding their shouts to 
 his outcries, dashed on with such fury that the Train-bands did not 
 dare to oppose them, and, after a slight and ineffectual resistance, 
 were put to rout. 
 
 Barcroft, who acted as leader, informed them that there was a 
 house in Wood Street shut up, and the crowd accompanied him 
 thither. In a few minutes, they had reached Bloundel's shop, but 
 finding no one on guard, — for the watchman, guessing their errand, 
 had taken to his heels, — they smeared over the fatal cross and in- 
 scription with a pail of mud gathered from the neighbouring kennel, 
 and then broke open the door. The grocer and his apprentice 
 hearing the disturbance, and being greatly alarmed at it, hurried 
 to the shop, and found it full of people. " You are at liberty, Mr. 
 Bloundel," cried the merchant, who was acquainted with the 
 grocer. " We are determined no longer to let our families be 
 imprisoned at the pleasure of the Lord Mayor and aldermen. We 
 mean to break open all the plague houses, and set free their 
 inmates." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, consider what you are about, Mr. Barcroft," 
 cried the grocer. " My house has been closed for nearly a month. 
 Nay, as my son has entirely recovered, and received his certificate 
 of health from Doctor Hodges, it would have been opened three 
 days hence by the officers, so that I have suffered all the incon- 
 venience of the confinement, and can speak to it. It is, no doubt, 
 very irksome, and may be almost intolerable to persons of an im- 
 patient temperament ; but I firmly believe it is the only means to 
 check the progress of contagion. Listen to me, Mr. Barcroft, — 
 listen to me, good friends, and hesitate before you violate laws 
 which have been made expressly to meet this terrible emergency." 
 
 Here he was checked by loud groans and upbraidings from the 
 by-standers. '* He tells you himself that the period of his confine- 
 ment is just over," cried Barcroft. " It is plain he has no interest 
 in the matter, except that he would have others suffer as he has 
 done. Heed him not, my friends; but proceed with the good 
 work. Liberate the poor plague prisoners. Liberate them ! On ! 
 on ! " 
 
 " Forbear, rash men!" cried Bloundel, in an authoritative voice. 
 " In the name of those you are bound to obey, I command you to 
 desist." 
 
 " Command us!" cried one of the bystanders, raising his staff 
 in a menacing manner. ' ' Is this your gratitude for the favour we 
 have just conferred upon you ? Command us, forsooth. You 
 had better repeat the order, and see how it will be obeyed." 
 
 ^^ I do repeat it," rejoined the grocer, firmly. " In the Lord 
 Mayor's name, I command you to desist, and return to your 
 homes." 
 
 The man would have struck him with his staff, if he had not 
 been himself felled to the ground by Leonard. This was the signal 
 for greater ^trage. The grocer and his apprentice were instantly 
 
74 OLD SAINT PAIX'S. 
 
 assailed by several others of the mob, who, leaving them both on 
 the floor covered with bruises, helped themselves to all they could 
 lay hands on in the shop, and then quitted the premises. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to track their course further ; and it may 
 be sufficient to state, that they broke open upwards of fifty houses 
 in different streets. Many of the plague-stricken joined them, and 
 several half-naked creatures were found dead in the streets on the 
 following morning. Two houses in Blackfriars Lane were set on 
 fire, and the conflagration was with difficulty checked; nor was it 
 until late on the following day that the mob could be entirely dis- 
 persed. The originator of the disturbance, Barcroft, after a des- 
 perate resistance, was shot through the head by a constable. 
 
 The result of this riot, as will be easily foreseen, was greatly to 
 increase the pestilence ; and many of those who had been most 
 active in it perished in prison of the distemper. Far from being 
 discouraged by the opposition offered to their decrees, the city au- 
 thorities enforced them with greater rigour than ever, and doubhng 
 the number of the watch, again shut up all those houses which had 
 been broken open during the late tumult. 
 
 Bloundel received a visit from the Lord Mayor, Sir John Law- 
 rence, who, having been informed of his conduct, came to express 
 his high approval of it, offering to remit the few days yet unex- 
 pired of his quarantine. The grocer, however, declined the 
 offer, and with renewed expressions of approbation. Sir John Law- 
 rence took his leave. 
 
 Three days afterwards, the examiner of health pronounced the 
 grocer's house free from infection. The fatal mark was obliterated 
 from the door ; the shutters were unfastened ; and Bloundel resumed 
 his business as usual. Words are inadequate to describe the de- 
 light that filled the breast of every member of his family, on their 
 first meeting after their long separation. It took place in the room 
 adjoining the shop. Mrs. Bloundel received the joyful summons 
 from Leonard, and on descending with her children, found her 
 husband and her son Stephen anxiously expecting her. Scarcely 
 able to make up her mind as to which of the two she should em- 
 brace first, Mrs. Bloundel was decided by the pale countenance of 
 her son, and rushing towards him, she strained him to her breast, 
 while Amabel flew to her father's arms. The grocer could not 
 repress his tears ; but they were tears of joy, and that night's happi- 
 ness made him ample amends for all the anxiety he had recently 
 undergone. * 
 
 "Well, Stephen, my dear child," said his mother, as soon as the 
 first tumult of emotion had subsided, "Well, Stephen," she said, 
 smiling at him through her tears, and almost smothering him with 
 kisses; " you are not so much altered as 1 expected; and I do not 
 think, if I had had the care of you, I could have nursed you better 
 myself. You owe your father a second life, and we all owe him the 
 deepest gratitude for the care he has taken of you." 
 
 " 1 can never be sufficiently grateful for his kindness," returned 
 Stephen, affectionately. 
 
 '* Give thanks to the beneficent Being who has preserved you 
 
THE PKOGRESS OF THE PESTILENCE. > 76 
 
 from this great danger, my son, not to me," returned Bloundel. 
 " The first moments of our re-union should be worthily employed." 
 So saying, he summoned the household, and for the first time for 
 a month, the whole family party assembled, as before, at prayer. 
 Never were thanksgivings more earnestly, more devoutly, uttered. 
 All arose with bright and cheerful countenances ; and even Blaize 
 seemed to have shaken off his habitual dread of the pestilence. As 
 he retired with Patience, he observed to her, "Master Stephen 
 looks quite well, though a httle thinner. I must ascertain from him 
 the exact course of treatment pursued by his father. I wonder 
 whether Mr. Bloundel would nurse me^ if I were to be suddenly 
 seized with the distemper?" 
 
 ^' If he wouldn't, I would^'''' replied Patience. 
 
 *' Thank you, thank you," replied Blaize. " I begin to think we 
 shall ^Qi through it. I shall go out to-morrow and examine the 
 Bills of Mortality, and see what progress the plague is making. I 
 am all anxiety to know. I must get a fresh supply of medicine, 
 too. My private store is quite gone, except three of my favourite 
 rufuses, which I shall take before I go to bed to-night. Unluckily, 
 my purse is as empty as my phials." 
 
 "I can lend you a little money," said Patience. "I haven't 
 touched my last year's wages. They are quite at your service." 
 
 "You are too good," replied Blaize; "but I won't decline the 
 offer, I heard a man crying a new anti-pestilential elixir as he 
 passed the house yesterday. I must find him out, and buy a bottle. 
 Besides, I must call on my friend Parkhurst, the apothecary. You 
 are a good girl, Patience, and 1 '11 marry you as soon as the plague 
 ceases." 
 
 " 1 have something else to give you," rejoined Patience. *' This 
 Httle bag contains a hazel-nut from which 1 have picked the kernel, 
 and filled its place with quicksilver, stopping the hole with wax. 
 Wear it round your neck, and you will find it a certain preservative 
 against the pestilence." 
 
 " Who told you of this remedy ?" asked Blaize, taking the bag. 
 
 " Your mother," returned Patience. 
 
 " 1 wonder I never heard of it," said the porter. 
 
 " She wouldn't mention it to you, because the doctor advised her 
 not to put such matters into your head," replied Patience. " But 
 I couldn't help indulging you. Heigho! I hope the plague will 
 soon be over." 
 
 " It won't be over for six months," rejoined Blaize, shaking his 
 head. " I read in a little book, published in 1593, in Queen Eliza- 
 beth's reign, and written by Simon Kelway, ' that when little 
 children flock together, and pretend that some of their number are 
 dead, solemnizing the burial in a mournful sort, it is a certain token 
 that a great mortalitjr is at hand.' This I have myself seen more 
 than once. Again, just before the great sickness of 1625, the 
 churchyard wall of Saint Andrew's, Holborn, fell down. I need 
 not tell you that the same thing occurred after the frost this winter." 
 
 " I heard of it," replied Patience ; "but I did not know it was a 
 bad sign." 7 
 
76 OLD 
 
 " It is a dreadful sign," returned Blaize, with a shudder. " The 
 thought of it brings back my old symptoms. I must have a supper 
 to guard against infection, — a slice of toasted bread, sprinkled with 
 vinegar, and powdered with nutmeg." And chattering thus, they 
 proceeded to the kitchen. 
 
 Before supper could be served, Doctor Hodges made his appear- 
 ance. He was dehghted to see the family assembled together again, 
 and expressed a hearty wish that they might never more be divided. 
 He watched Amabel and Leonard carefully, and seemed annoyed 
 that the former rather shunned than favoured the regards of the 
 apprentice. 
 
 Leonard, too, looked disconcerted; and though he was in pos- 
 session gf his mistress's promise, he did not like to reclaim it. Dur- 
 ing the whole of the month, he had been constantly on the watch, 
 and had scarcely slept at night, so anxious was he to prevent the 
 possibility of any communication taking place between Rochester 
 and his mistress. But in spite of all his caution, it was possible he 
 might be deceived. And when on this, their first meeting, she 
 returned his anxious gaze with averted looks, he felt all his jealous 
 misgivings return. 
 
 Supper, meanwhile, proceeded. Doctor Hodges was in excel- 
 lent spirits, and drank a bottle of old sack with great relish. Over- 
 come by the sight of his wife and children, the grocer abandoned 
 himself to his feeHngs. As to his wife, she could scarcely contain 
 herself, but wept and laughed by turns — now embracing her hus- 
 band, now her son, between whom she had placed herself. Nor 
 did she forget Doctor Hodges ; and such was the exuberance of her 
 satisfaction, that when the repast was ended, she arose, and flinging 
 her arms about his neck, termed him the preserver of her son. 
 
 ''If any one is entitled to that appellation it is his father," re- 
 plied Hodges, "and I may say, that in all my experience, I have 
 never witnessed such generous self-devotion as Mr. Bloundel has 
 exhibited towards his son. You must now be satisfied, madam, 
 that no person can so well judge what is proper for the safety of his 
 family as your husband." 
 
 " I never doubted it, sir," rephed Mrs. BloundeL 
 " I must apprise you then, that he has conceived a plan by which 
 he trusts to secure you and his children and household from any 
 future attack," returned Hodges. 
 
 "I care not what it is, — so it does not separate me from him," 
 rephed Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 '* It does not," rephed the grocer. "It will knit us more closely 
 together than we have ever yet been. I mean to shut up my house, 
 having previously stored it with provisions for a twelvemonth, and 
 shall suffer no member of my family to stir forth as long as the 
 plague endures." 
 
 " I am ready to remain within doors, if it continues twenty years," 
 rephed his wife. "But how long do you think it will last, doctor?" 
 " Till next December, I have no doubt," returned Hodges. 
 *' So long ! " exclaimed Amabel. 
 " Ay, so long," repeated the doctor. " It is scarcely begun now. 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSE. 77 
 
 Your father is right to adopt these precautions. It is the only way 
 to insure the safety of his family." 
 
 ''But"— cried Amabel. 
 
 '* I am resolved," interrupted Bloundel, peremptorily. "Who- 
 ever leaves the house, — if but for a moment, — never returns." 
 
 " And when do you close it, father?" asked Amabel. 
 
 '* A week hence," replied the grocer ; — "as soon as I have laid 
 in a sufficient stock of provisions." 
 
 " And am I not to leave the house for a year?" cried Amabel, 
 with a dissatisfied look. 
 
 " Why should you wish to leave it?" asked her father, curiously. 
 
 " Ay, why?" repeated Leonard, in a low tone. "1 shallbe here." 
 
 Amabel seemed confused, and looked from her father to Leo- 
 nard. The former, however, did not notice her embarrassment, 
 but observed to Hodges, — "I shall begin to victual the house to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Amabel," whispered Leonard, "you told me if I claimed your 
 hand in a month, you would yield it to me. I require the fulfil- 
 ment of your promise." 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow," she replied, distractedly. 
 
 " She has seen Rochester," muttered the apprentice, turning 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 IN WHAT MANNER THE GROCER VICTUALLED HIS HOUSE. 
 
 Leonard Holt was wrong in his suspicions. Amabel had nei- 
 ther seen nor heard from Rochester. But, if the truth must be told, 
 he was never out of her mind, and she found, to her cost, that the 
 heart will not be controlled. Convinced of her noble lover's per- 
 fidy, and aware she was acting wrongfully in cherishing a passion 
 for him, after the exposure of his base designs towards herself, no 
 reasoning of which she was capable could banish him from her 
 thoughts, or enable her to transfer her affections to the apprentice. 
 
 This conflict of feeling produced its natural result. She became 
 thoughtful and dejected — was often in tears — had no appetite — and 
 could scarcely rouse herself sufficiently to undertake any sort of 
 employment. Her mother watched her with great anxiety, and 
 feared, — though she sought to disguise it from herself, — what was 
 the real cause of her despondency. 
 
 Things were in this position at the end of the month, and it 
 occasioned no surprise to Mrs. Bloundel, though it afflicted her 
 deeply, to find that Amabel sedulously avoided the apprentice's 
 regards on their first meeting. When Doctor Hodges was gone, 
 and the rest of the family had retired, she remarked to her husband, 
 
78 OLD SAINT PAULAS. 
 
 " Before you shut up the house as you propose, I should wish oii^ 
 important matter settled." 
 
 The grocer inquired what she meant ? 
 
 *' I should wish to have Amahel married," was th6 answer. 
 
 ' ' Married 1" exclaimed Bloundel in astonishment. * ' To whom ?" 
 
 " To Leonard Holt." 
 
 Bloundel could scarcely repress his displeasure. ** It will be 
 time enough to talk of that a year hence," he answered. 
 
 '' 1 don't think so," returned his wife; " and now, siiice the 
 proper time for the disclosure of the secret has arrived, I must tell 
 you that the gallant who called himself Maurice Wyvil, and whom 
 you so much dreaded, was no other than the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 '' Rochester!" echoed the grocer, while an angry flush stained 
 his cheek, " has that libertine dared to enter my house?" 
 
 '* Ay, and more than once," replied Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 '* Indeed!" cried her husband, with difficulty controlhng his 
 indignation. " When was he here? — tell me quickly." 
 
 His wife then proceeded to relate all that had occurred, and he 
 listened with profound attention to her recital. At its close, he 
 arose and paced the chamber for some time in great agitation. At 
 length, he suddenly paused, and, regarding his wife with great 
 sternness, observed in a severe tone, ' ' You have done very wrong 
 in concealing this from me, Honora, — very wrong." 
 
 'Mf I have erred, it was to spare you uneasiness," returned 
 Mrs. Bloundel, bursting into tears. ' ' Doctor Hodges agreed with 
 me that it was better not to mention the subject while you had so 
 many other anxieties pressing upon you." 
 
 "I have a stout heart, and a firm refiance on the goodness of 
 heaven, which will enable me to bear up against most evils," re- 
 turned the grocer. " But on this point 1 ought, under any circum- 
 stances, to have been consulted. And I am greatly surprised that 
 Doctor Hodges should advise the contrary." 
 
 " He was influenced, like myself, by the kindliest feelings towards 
 you," sobbed Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 *' Well, well, I will not reproach you further," returned the 
 grocer, somewhat moved by her tears. " 1 have no doubt you con- 
 ceived you were acting for the best. But I must caution you against 
 such conduct for the future." After a pause, he added, " Is it your 
 opinion that our poor deluded child still entertains any regard for 
 this profligate nobleman?" 
 
 ''I am sure she does," replied Mrs. Bloundel; '*and it is from 
 that conviction that I so strongly urge the necessity of marrying her 
 to Leonard Holt." 
 
 " 1 will never compel her to do anything to endanger her future 
 happiness," returned the grocer. " She must not marry Leonard 
 Holt without loving him. It is better to risk an uncertain evil, than 
 lo rush upon a certain one." 
 
 '* Then I won't answer for the consequences," replietl his wife. 
 
 *' What! " cried Bloundel ; "am I to understand you have nor^-*- 
 Jiance on Amabel? Has all our care been thmwn away?" 
 
 '' I do not distrust her," returned Mrs. Bloundel; "" hut consider 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSE. 79 
 
 whom she has to deal with. She is beset by the handsomest and 
 most fascinating man of the day — by one understood to be practised 
 in all the arts most dangerous to our sex — and a nobleman to boot. 
 Some allowance must be made for her." 
 
 *'I will make none," rejoined Bloundel, austerely. "She has 
 been taught to resist temptation in whatever guise it may present 
 itself; and if the principles I have endeavoured to implant within 
 her breast had found lodgment there, she would have resisted it. 
 I am deeply grieved to find this is not the case, and that she must 
 trust to others for protection, when she ought to be able to defend 
 herself." The subject was not further discussed, and the grocer 
 and his wife shortly afterwards retired to rest. 
 
 On the following morning, Bloundel remarked to the apprentice, 
 as they stood together in the shop, '^Leonard, you are aware I am 
 about to shut up my house. Before doing so, 1 must make certain 
 needful arrangements. I will not disguise from you that I should 
 prefer your remaining with me, but at the same time I beg you 
 distinctly to understand that I will not detain you against your will. 
 Your articles are within two months of expiring ; and, if you desire 
 it, 1 will deliver them to you to-morrow, and release you from the 
 rest of your time." 
 
 "I do not desire it, sir," replied Leonard. "I will remain as 
 long as I can be serviceable to you." 
 
 ^' Take time for reflection," rejoined his master, kindly. " In all 
 probabiUty, it will be a long confinement, and you may repent, 
 when too late, having subjected yourself to it." 
 
 ' ' Last month's experience has taught me what 1 have to expect,'* 
 remarked Leonard, with a smile. " My mind is made up. I will 
 stay with you." 
 
 " I am glad of it," returned Bloundel. ^' And now I have some- 
 thing further to say to you. My wife has acquainted me with the 
 daring attempt of the Earl of Bochester to carry off Amabel." 
 
 "Has my mistress, also, told you of my attachment to your 
 daughter ?" demanded Leonard, trembhng, in spite of his efforts to 
 maintain a show of calmness. — Bloundel nodded an affirmative. 
 
 "And of Amabel's promise to bestow her hand upon me, if I 
 claimed it at the month's end ?" continued the apprentice. 
 
 "No!" repHed the grocer, a good deal surprised — "I heard of 
 no such promise. Nor was I aware the matter had gone so far. 
 But have you claimed it ?" 
 
 "1 have," replied Leonard; " but she declined giving an answer 
 till.to-day." 
 
 " We will have it then at once," cried Bloundel. "Come with 
 me to her." So saying, he led the way to the inner room, where 
 they found Amabel and her mother. At the sight of Leonard, the 
 former instantly cast down her eyes. 
 
 " Amabel," said her father, in a tone of greater severity than he 
 had ever before used towards her, " all that has passed is known to 
 me. I shall take another and more fitting opportunity to speak to 
 you on your ill-advised conduct. 1 am come for a different purpose. 
 
80 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 You have given Leonard Holt a promise (I need not tell you of 
 what nature), and he claims its fulfilment." 
 
 *'If he insists upon my compliance," replied Amabel, in a tre- 
 mulous voice, " I must obey. But it will make me wretched." 
 
 " Then I at once release you," replied Leonard. " I value your 
 happiness far more than my own." 
 
 *' You deserve better treatment, Leonard," said Bloundel ; " and 
 I am sorry my daughter cannot discern what is for her good. Let 
 us hope that time will work a change in your favour." 
 
 "No," replied the apprentice, bitterly ; " I will no longer delude 
 myself with any such vain expectation." 
 
 "Amabel," observed the grocer, "as your father — as your 
 well-wisher — I should desire to see you wedded to Leonard. But I 
 have told your mother, and now tell you, that I will not control 
 your inclinations, and will only attempt to direct you so far as 1 
 think likely to be conducive to your happiness. On another point, 
 1 must assume a very different tone. You can no longer plead 
 ignorance of the designs of the depraved person who besets you. 
 You may not be able to forget him — but you can avoid him. If you 
 see him alone again — if but for a moment — I cast you off for ever. 
 Yes, for ever," he repeated, with stern emphasis. 
 
 "I will never voluntarily see him again," repUed Amabel, trem- 
 bhngly. 
 
 "You have heard my determination," rejoined her father. "Do 
 ou still adhere to your resolution of remaining with me, Leonard ?" 
 e added, turning to the apprentice, " If what has just passed makes 
 any alteration in your wishes, state so frankly." 
 
 " I will stay," rephed Leonard. 
 
 "There will be one advantage, which I did not foresee, in closing 
 my house," remarked the grocer, aside to the apprentice. " It will 
 effectually keep away this libertine Earl." 
 
 "Perhaps so," replied the other. " But I have more faith in my 
 own vigilance than in bolts and bars." Bloundel and Leonard then 
 returned to the shop, where the former immediately began to make 
 preparations for storing his house ; and in the prosecution of his 
 scheme he was greatly aided by the apprentice. 
 
 The grocer's dwelling, as has been stated, was large and com- 
 modious. It was three stories high ; and beneath the ground-floor 
 there were kitchens and extensive cellars. Many of the rooms 
 were spacious, and had curiously carved fire-places, walls panelled 
 with fine brown oak, large presses, and cupboards. 
 
 In the yard, at the back of the house, there was a pump, from 
 which excellent water was obtained. There were likewise three 
 large cisterns, supplied from the New Biver. Not satisfied with this, 
 and anxious to obtain water in which no infected body could have 
 lain, or clothes have been washed, Bloundel had a large tank placed 
 within the cellar, and connecting it by pipes with the pump, he 
 contrived an ingenious machine, by which he could work the latter 
 from within the house, — thus makmg sure of a constant supply of 
 water, direct from the spring. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
THE GROCER VICTUALS HIS HOUSE. 8l 
 
 He next addressed himself to the front of the house, where he 
 fixed a pulley, with a rope and hook attached to it, to the beam 
 above one of the smaller bay-windows on the second story. By 
 this means, he could let down a basket or any other article into the 
 street, or draw up whatever he desired ; and as he proposed using 
 this outlet as the sole means of communication with the external 
 world when his house was closed, he had a wooden shutter made 
 in the form of a trap-door, which he could open and shut at plea- 
 sure. Here it was his intention to station himself at certain hours 
 of the day, and whenever he held any communication below, to 
 flash off a pistol, so that the smoke of the powder might drive back 
 the air, and purify any vapour that found entrance of its noxious 
 particles. 
 
 He laid down to himself a number of regulations, which will be 
 more easily shown and more clearly understood, on arriving at the 
 period when his plans came to be in full operation. To give an 
 instance, however, — If a letter should be conveyed to him by means 
 of the pulley, he proposed to steep it in a solution of vinegar and 
 sulphur; and when dried and otherwise fumigated, to read it at a 
 distance, by the help of strong glasses. 
 
 In regard to provisions, after a careful calculation, he bought 
 upwards of three thousand pounds' weight of hard sea-biscuits, si- 
 milar to those now termed captain's biscuits, and had them stowed 
 away in hogsheads. He next ordered twenty huge casks of the finest 
 flour, which he had packed up with the greatest care, as if for a 
 voyage to Barbadoes or Jamaica. As these were brought in through 
 the yard, an accident had well-nigh occurred which might have 
 proved fatal to him. While superintending the labours of Leonard 
 and Blaize, who were rolling the casks into the house, — having 
 stowed away as many as he conveniently could in the upper part of 
 the premises, — he descended to the cellar, and, opening a door at 
 the foot of a flight of steps leading from the yard, called to them to 
 lower the remaining barrels with ropes below. In the hurry, Blaize 
 rolled a cask towards the open door, and in another instant it would 
 have fallen upon the grocer, and, perhaps, have crushed him, but 
 for the interposition of Leonard. Bloundel made no remark at the 
 time; but he never forgot the service rendered him by the ap- 
 prentice. 
 
 To bake the bread required an oven, and he accordingly built 
 one in the garret, laying in a large stock of wood for fuel. Neither 
 did he neglect to provide himself with two casks of meal. But the 
 most important consideration was butcher's meat ; and for this pur- 
 pose he went to Botherhithe, where the plague had not yet appeared, 
 and agreed with a butcher to kill him four fat bullocks, and pickle 
 and barrel them as if for sea-stores. He likewise directed the same 
 man to provide six large barrels of pickled pork, on the same under- 
 standing. These were landed at Queenhithe, and brought up to 
 Wood Street, so that they passed for newly-landed grocery. 
 
 Hams and bacon forming part of his own trade, he wrote to cer- 
 tain farmers with whom he was in the habit of dealing, to send him 
 up an unhmited supply of flitches and gammons ; and his orders 
 ^ 6 
 
82 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 being promptly and abundantly answered, he soon found he had 
 more bacon than he could possibly consume. He likewise laid in a 
 good store of tongues, hung beef, and other dried meats. 
 
 As to wine, he already had a tolerable stock ; but he increased it 
 by half a hogshead of the best Canary he could procure ; two casks 
 of Malmsey, each containing twelve gallons ; a quarter-cask of 
 Malaga sack ; a runlet of muscadine ; two small runlets of aqua vitae ; 
 twenty gallons of anniseed water ; and two eight-gallon runletsjof 
 brandy. To this he added six hogsheads of strongly-hopped Kent 
 ale, calculated for keeping, which he placed in a cool cellar, toge- 
 ther with three hogsheads of beer, for immediate use. Furthermore, 
 he procured a variety of distilled waters for medicinal purposes, 
 amongst which he included a couple of dozen of the then fashion- 
 able and costly preparation, denominated plague-water. 
 
 As, notwithstanding all his precautions, it was not impossible 
 that some of his household might be attacked by the distemper, he 
 took care to provide proper remedies; and to Blaize's infinite 
 delight, furnished himself with mithridate, Venica treacle, dias- 
 cordium, the pill rufus, (oh ! how the porter longed to have the 
 key of the medicine chest!) London treacle, turpentine, and other 
 matters. He likewise collected a number of herbs and simples ; as, 
 Virginian snakeweed, contrayerva, pestilence-wort, angehca, eli- 
 campane, zedoary, tormentil, valerian, lovage, devilsbit, dittany, 
 master-wort, rue, sage, ivy-berries, and walnuts; together with 
 bole armoniac, terra sigillata, bezoar-water, oil of sulphur, oil of 
 vitrol, and other compounds. His store of remedies was completed 
 by a tun of the best white-wine vinegar, and a dozen jars of 
 salad oil. 
 
 Regulating his supplies by the provisions he had laid in, he pur- 
 chased a sufficient stock of coals and fagots to last him during the 
 whole period of his confinement ; and he added a small barrel of 
 gunpowder, and a like quantity of sulphur, for fumigation. 
 
 His eatables would not have been complete without cheese ; and 
 he therefore ordered about six hundred weight from Derbyshire, 
 Wiltshire, and Leicestershire, besides a couple of large old cheeses 
 from Rosth^rne, in Cheshire, — even then noted for the best dairies 
 in the whole county. Several tubs of salted butter were sent him 
 out of Berkshire, and a few pots from Suffolk. 
 
 It being indispensable, considering the long period he meant to 
 close his house, to provide himself and his family with every ne- 
 cessary, he procured a sufficient stock of wearing apparel, hose, 
 shoes, and boots. Spice, dried fruit, and other grocery articles, 
 were not required, because he already possessed them. Candles 
 also formed an article of his trade, and lamp oil ; but he was re- 
 commended by Doctor Hodges, from a fear of the scurvy, to pro- 
 vide a plentiful supply of lemon and lime juice. 
 
 To guard against accident, he also doubly stocked his house with 
 glass, earthenware, and every article liable to breakage. He de- 
 stroyed all vermin, such as rats and mice, by which the house was 
 infested ; and the only live creatures he would suiter to be kept 
 were a tew poultry. He had a small hutch constructed near the 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 83 
 
 street door, to be used by the watchman he meant to employ ; and 
 he had the garrets fitted up with beds, to form a hospital, if any 
 part of the family should be seized with the distemper, so that the 
 sick might be sequestered from the sound. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE QUACK DOCTORS. 
 
 Patience, it may be remembered, had promised Blaize to give 
 him her earnings to enable him to procure a fresh supply of medi- 
 cine, and about a week after he had received the trifling amount, 
 (for he had been so constantly employed by the grocer, that he had 
 no opportunity of getting out before,) he sallied forth to visit a 
 neighbouring apothecary, named Parkhurst, from whom he had 
 been in the habit of purchasing drugs, and who occupied a small 
 shop not far from the grocer's, on the opposite side of the street. 
 Parkhurst appeared overjoyed to see him, and without giving him 
 time to prefer his own request, inquired after his master's family — 
 whether they were all well, especially fair Mistress Amabel, — and, 
 further, what was the meaning of the large supplies of provision 
 which he saw conveyed daily to the premises? Blaize shook his 
 head at the latter question, and for some time refused to answer it. 
 But being closely pressed by Parkhurst, he admitted that his master 
 was about to shut up his house. 
 
 *' Shut up his house !" exclaimed Parkhurst. "I never heard of 
 such a preposterous idea. If he does so, not one of you will come 
 out alive. But I should hope he will be dissuaded from his rash 
 design." • 
 
 '* Dissuaded !" echoed Blaize. "You don't know my master. 
 He 's as obstinate as a mule when he takes a thing into his head. 
 Nothing will turn him. Besides, Doctor Hodges sanctions and even 
 recommends the plan." 
 
 " 1 have no opinion of Doctor Hodges," sneered the apothecary. 
 " He is not fit to hold a candle before a learned friend of mine, a 
 physician, who is now in that room. The person I speak of tho- 
 roughly understands the pestilence, and never fails to cure every 
 case that comes before him. No shutting up houses with him. He 
 is in possession of an infallible remedy." 
 
 'Mndeed!" exclaimed Blaize, pricking up his ears. "What is 
 his name ?" 
 
 "His name," cried Parkhurst, with a puzzled look. "How 
 strange it should slip my memory. Ah, now, I recollect. It is 
 Doctor Calixtus Bottesham." 
 
 " A singular name, truly," remarked Blaize; " but it sounds like 
 that of a clever man." 
 
84 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 " Doctor Calixtus Bottesham is a wonderful man," returned the 
 apothecary. " I have never met with his Hke. I would trumpet 
 forth his merits through the whole city, but that it would ruin my 
 trade. The plague is our harvest, as my friend Chowles, the cot- 
 fin-maker, says, and it will not do to stop it — ha ! ha !" 
 
 " It is too serious a subject to laugh at," returned Blaize, grave- 
 ly. *' But are the doctor's fees exorbitant ?" 
 
 " To the last degree," replied Parkhurst. " I,§m afraid to state 
 how much he asks." 
 
 "I fear I shall not be able to consult him, then," said Blaize, 
 turning over the coin in his pocket ; ' ' and yet 1 should greatly like 
 to do so." 
 
 "Have no fear on that score," returned the apothecary. "I 
 have been able to render him an important service, and he will do 
 anything for me. He shall give you his advice gratis." 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you !" cried Blaize, transported with de- 
 light. 
 
 " Wait here a moment, and I will ascertain whether he will see 
 you," replied Parkhurst. So saying, he quitted the porter, who 
 amused himself during his absence by studying the labels affixed to 
 the jars and bottles on the shelves. He had much ado to restrain 
 himself from opening some of them, and tasting their contents. 
 
 Full a quarter of an hour elapsed before the apothecary reap- 
 peared. " I am sorry to have detained you so long," he said-; 
 " but I had more difficulty with the doctor than I expected, and for 
 some time he refused to see you on any terms, because he has a 
 violent antipathy to Doctor Hodges, whom he regards as a mere 
 pretender, and whose patient he conceives you to be." 
 
 " I am not Doctor Hodges's patient," returned Blaize; ''and I 
 regard him as a pretender myself." 
 
 " That opinion will recommend you to Doctor Bottesham," re- 
 plied Parkhurst ; "and since I have smoothed the way for you, you 
 will find him very affable and condescending. He has often heard 
 me speak ^of your master ; and if it were not for his dislike of Doc- 
 tor Hodges, whom he might accidentally encounter, he would call 
 upon him." 
 
 " I wish I could get my master to employ him instead of the 
 other," said Blaize. 
 
 " I wish so too," cried Parkhurst, eagerly. '* Do you think it 
 could be managed?" 
 
 " I fear not," returned Blaize. 
 
 " There would be no harm in making the trial," replied Park- 
 hurst. " But you shall now see the learned gentleman. I ought 
 to apprise you that he has two friends with him — one a young gal- 
 lant, named Hawkswpod, whom he has recently cured of the dis- 
 temper, and who is so much attached to him that he never leaves 
 him ; the other, a doctor like himself, named Martin Furbisher, 
 who always accompanies him in his visits to his patients, and pre- 
 pares his mixtures for him. You must not be surprised at their 
 appearance. And now come with me." 
 
 With this, he led the way into a small room at the back of the 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. 85 
 
 shop, where three personages were seated at a table, with a flask 
 of wine and glasses before them. Blaize detected Doctor Botte- 
 sham at a glance. He was an ancient-looking man, clad in a suit of 
 rusty black, over which was thrown a velvet robe, very much soiled 
 and faded, but originally trimmed with fur, and Hned with yellow 
 silk. His powers of vision appeared to be feeble, for he wore a 
 large green shade over his eyes, and a pair of spectacles of the 
 same colour. A venerable white beard descended almost to his 
 waist. His head was protected by a long-flowing grey wig, over 
 which he wore a black velvet cap. His shoulders were high and 
 round, his back bent, and he evidently required support when he 
 moved, as a crutch-headed staff was reared against his chair. On 
 his left was a young, handsome, and richly-attired gallant, answer- 
 ing to the apothecary's description of Hawkswood ; and on the right 
 sat a stout personage, precisely habited like himself, except that he 
 wore a broad-leaved hat, which completely overshadowed his fea- 
 tures. Notwithstanding this attempt at concealment, it was easy to 
 perceive that Doctor Furbisher's face was covered with scars, that 
 he had a rubicund nose, studded with carbuncles, and a black patch 
 over his left eye. " Is this the young man who desires to consult 
 me ?" asked Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, in the cracked and quaver- 
 ing voice of old age, to Parkhurst. 
 
 "It is," repHed the apothecary, respectfully. "Go forward," 
 he added to Blaize, " and speak for yourself." 
 
 "What ails you?" pursued Bottesham, gazing at him through 
 his spectacles. " You look strong and hearty.*' 
 
 "So I am, learned sir," rephed Blaize, bowing to the ground; 
 ' ' but understanding from Mr. Parkhurst that you have an infallible 
 remedy against the plague, I would gladly procure it from you, as, 
 if I should be attacked, I may not have an opportunity of consulting 
 you." 
 
 "' Why not ? " demanded Bottesham. ' ' I will come to you if you 
 send for me." 
 
 " Because," replied Blaize, after a moment's hesitation, "my 
 master is about to shut up his house, and no one will be allowed to 
 go forth, or to enter it, till the pestilence is at an end." 
 
 "Your master must be mad to think of such a thing," rejoined 
 Bottesham. " What say you, brother Furbisher, — is that the way 
 to keep off the plague ?" 
 
 " Gallipots of Galen ! no," returned the other ; "it is rather the 
 way to invite its assaults." 
 
 "When does your master talk of putting this fatal design — for 
 fatal it will be to him and all his household — into execution?" de- 
 manded Bottesham. 
 
 "Very shortly, I believe," replied Blaize. "He meant to begin 
 on the first of June, but as the pestilence is less violent than it was, 
 Doctor Hodges has induced him to defer his purpose for a few days." 
 
 "Doctor Hodges I" exclaimed Bottesham, contemptuously. "It 
 was an unfortunate day for your master when he admitted that 
 sack-drinking impostor into his house." 
 
 "I have^no great opinion of his skill," replied Blaize, "but, ne- 
 
86 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 vertheless, it must be admitted that he cured Master Stephen in a 
 wonderful manner," 
 
 ** Pshaw!"" exclaimed Bottesham, " that was mere accident. I 
 heard the particulars of the case from Parkhurst, and am satisfied 
 the youth would have recovered without his aid. But what a bar- 
 barian Mr. Bloundel must be to think of imprisoning his family in 
 this way." 
 
 "He certainly does not consult my inclinations in the matter," 
 returned Blaize. 
 
 "Nor those of his wife and daughter, I should imagine," continued 
 Bottesham. "How do they like it?" 
 
 "I cannot exactly say," answered Blaize. "What a dreadful 
 thing it would be if I should be attacked by the plague, and no 
 assistance could be procured." 
 
 ^'It would be still more dreadful, if so angelic a creature as 
 Bloundel's daughter is represented to be — for I have never seen 
 her — should be so seized," observed Bottesham. *'I feel so much 
 interested about her that I would do anything to preserve her from 
 the fate with which she is menaced." 
 
 ' ' Were it not inconsistent with your years, learned sir, I might 
 suspect you of a tenderer feeling towards her," observed Blaize, 
 archly. "But, in good sooth, her charms are so extraordinary, 
 that I should not be surprised at any effect they might produce." 
 "They would produce no effect on me," replied Bottesham. "I 
 am long past such feelings. But, in regard to yourself. You say you 
 are afraid of the plague. 1 will give you an electuary to drive away 
 the panic; and he produced a small jar, and handed it to the porter. 
 "It is composed of conserve of roses, gillyflowers, borage, candied 
 citron, powder of Icetijicans Galeni, Boman zedoary, doronicum, 
 and saffron. You must take about the quantity of a large nutmeg, 
 morning and evening." 
 
 " You make me for ever your debtor, learned sir," rejoined 
 Blaize. " What a charming mixture !" 
 
 " 1 will also add my remedy," said Furbisher. " It is a powder 
 compounded of crabs' eyes, burnt hartshorn, the black tops of crabs' 
 claws, the bone from a stag's heart, unicorn's horn, and salt of 
 vipers. You must take one or two drams, — not more, — in a glass 
 of hot posset-drink, when you go to bed, and swallow another 
 draught of the same potion to wash it down." 
 
 " 1 will carefully observe your directions," replied Blaize, thank- 
 fully receiving the powder. 
 
 " Of all things," said Bottesham, claiming the porter's attention 
 by tapping him on the head with his cane; " take care never to 
 be without vinegar. It is the grand specific, not merely against 
 the plague, but against all disorders. It is food and physic, meat 
 and medicine, drink and julep, cordial and antidote. If you for- 
 merly took it as a sauce, now take it as a remedy. To the sound 
 it is a preservative from sickness, to the sick a restorative to health. 
 It is like the sword which is worn, not merely for ornament, but 
 for defence. \ inegar is my remedy against the plague. It is a 
 simple remedy, but an effectual one. I have cured a thousand 
 
THE QUACK DOCTORS. ^ 
 
 patients with it, and hope to cure a thousand more. Take vinegar 
 with all you eat, and flavour all you drink with it. Has the plague 
 taken away your appetite, vinegar will renew it. Is your throat 
 ulcerated, use vinegar as a gargle. Are you disturbed with phleg- 
 matic humours, vinegar will remove them. Is your brain laden 
 with vapours, throw vinegar on a hot shovel, and inhale its fumes, 
 and you will obtain instantaneous relief. Have you the head-ache, 
 wet a napkin in vinegar, and apply it to your temples, and the pain 
 will cease. In short, there is no ailment that vinegar will not 
 cure. It is the grand panacea ; and may be termed the elixir of 
 long life." 
 
 " I wonder its virtues have not been found out before," observed 
 Blaize, innocently. 
 
 " It is surprising how slow men are in discovering the most 
 obvious truths," replied Bottesham. " But take my advice and 
 never be without it." 
 
 " I never will," returned Blaize. '' Heaven be praised, my 
 master has just ordered in three tuns. I'll tap one of them directly." 
 
 *' That idea of the vinegar-remedy is borrowed from Kemp's 
 late treatise on the pestilence and its cure," muttered Furbisher. 
 " Before you enter upon the new system, young man," he added 
 aloud to Blaize, ^' let me recommend you to fortify your stomach 
 with a glass of canary." And pouring out a bumper, he handed it 
 to the porter, who swallowed it at a draught. 
 
 " And now," said Bottesham, " to return to this mad scheme of 
 your master's — is there no way of preventing it?" 
 
 " I am aware of none," rephed Blaize. 
 
 " Bolts and barsl" cried Furbisher, " something must be done 
 for the fair Amabel. We owe it to society not to permit so lovely 
 a creature to be thus immured. What say you, Hawkswood?" 
 he added to the gallant by his side, who had not hitherto spoken. 
 
 " It would be unpardonable to permit it, — quite unpardonable," 
 replied this person. 
 
 ' ' Might not some plan be devised to remove her for a short time, 
 and frighten him out of his project?" said Bottesham. " I would 
 willingly assist in such a scheme. I pledge you in a bumper, young 
 man. You appear a trusty servant." 
 
 " I am so accounted, learned sir," rephed Blaize, upon whose 
 brain the wine, thus plentifully bestowed, began to operate,— 
 " and, I may add, justly so." 
 
 " You really will be doing your master a service if you can pre- 
 vent him from committing this folly," rejoined Bottesham. " Let 
 us have a bottle of burnt Malmsey; with a few bruised raisins in 
 it, Mr. Parkhurst. This poor young man requires support. Be 
 seated, friend." 
 
 With some hesitation, Blaize complied, and while the apothecary 
 went in search of the wine, he observed to Bottesham, " I would 
 gladly comply with your suggestion, learned sir, if I saw any means 
 of doing so." 
 
 " Could you not pretend to have the plague?" said Bottesham, 
 *' I could tlien attend you." 
 
88 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 " I should be afraid of playing such a trick as that," replied 
 Blaize. " Besides, I do not see what purpose it would answer." 
 
 " It would enable me to get into the house," returned Bottesham, 
 *' and then I might take measures for Amabel's deliverance." 
 
 " If you merely wish to get into the house," replied Blaize, 
 " that can be easily managed. I will admit you this evening." 
 
 *' Without your master's knowledge ?" asked Bottesham eagerly. 
 
 " Of course," returned Blaize. 
 
 " But he has an apprentice ?" said the doctor. 
 
 '' Oh! you mean Leonard Holt," replied Blaize. "Yes, we must 
 take care he doesn't see you. If you come about nine o'clock, he 
 will be engaged with my master in putting away the things in the 
 shop." 
 
 "I will be punctual," replied Bottesham, "and will bring 
 Doctor Furbisher with me. We will only stay a few minutes. 
 But here comes the burnt Malmsey. Fill the young man's glass, 
 Parkhurst. I will insure you against the plague, if you will follow 
 my advice." 
 
 " But will you insure me against my master's displeasure, if he 
 finds me out ?" said Blaize. 
 
 " I would provide you with a new one," returned Bottesham. 
 *' You shall serve me, if you wish to change your place.'' 
 
 " That would answer my purpose exactly," thought Blaize, " I 
 need never be afraid of the plague if I live with him. I will turn 
 over your proposal, learned sir," he added, aloud. 
 
 After priming him with another bumper of Malmsey, Blaize's 
 new friend suffered him to depart. On returning home, he pro- 
 ceeded to his own room, and feeling unusually drowsy, he threw 
 himself on the bed, and almost instantly dropped asleep. When 
 he awoke, the fumes of the liquor had, in a great degree, evapo- 
 rated, and he recalled, with considerable self-reproach, the pro- 
 mise he had given, and would gladly have recalled it, if it had been 
 possible. But it was now not far from the appointed hour, and 
 he momentarily expected the arrival of the two doctors. The only 
 thing that consoled him was tlie store of medicine he had obtained, 
 and, locking it up in his cupboard, he descended to the kitchen. 
 Fortunately, his mother was from home, so that he ran no risk 
 from her; and finding Patience alone, after some hesitation, he let 
 her into the secret of his anticipated visitors. She was greatly 
 surprised, and expressed much uneasiness lest they should be dis- 
 covered ; as, if they were so, it would be sure to bring them both 
 into trouble. " What can they want with mistress Amabel?" she 
 cried. " 1 should not wonder if Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, as you 
 call him, turns out a lover in disguise." 
 
 "A lover!" exclaimed Blaize. "Your silly head is always 
 running upon lovers. He 's an old man, — old enough to be your 
 grandfather, with a long white beard reaching to his waist. He 
 a lover ! Mr. Bloundel is much more like one." 
 
 '* For all that, it looks suspicious," returned Patience; *' and I 
 shall have my eyes about me on their arrival." 
 
 Shortly after this, Blaize crept cautiously up to the back yard ; 
 
THE QUACK DOCTOKS. 89 
 
 and opening the door, found, as he expected, Bottesham and his 
 companion. Motioning them to follow him, he led the way to the 
 kitchen, where they arrived without observation. Patience eyed 
 the new-comers narrowly, and felt almost certain, from their ap- 
 pearance and manner, that her suspicions were correct. All doubts 
 were removed when Bottesham, sHpping a purse into her hand, 
 entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel to come 
 into the kitchen. At first, she hesitated ; but having a tender heart, 
 inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course of any love 
 affair, her scruples were soon overcome. Accordingly, she hurried 
 up stairs, and chancing to meet with her young mistress, who was 
 about to retire to her own chamber, entreated her to come down 
 with her for a moment into the kitchen. • Thinking it some unim- 
 portant matter, but yet wondering why Patient should appear so 
 urgent, Amabel comphed. She was still more perplexed when she 
 saw the two strangers, and would have instantly retired if Bottesham 
 had not detained her. " You will pardon the hberty I have taken 
 in sending for you," he said, " when I explain that I have done so 
 to offer you counsel." 
 
 " I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can 
 have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here," she replied. 
 
 " Amabel," returned Bottesham, in alow tone; but, altering 
 his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his 
 features ; " It is 1, — Maurice Wyvil." 
 
 '• Ah ! " she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment. 
 '^ I told you we should meet again," he rejoined; "and I have 
 kept my word." 
 
 " Think not to deceive me, my lord," she returned, controlling 
 her emotion by a powerful effort. " I am aware you are not Mau- 
 rice Wyvil, but the Earl of Rochester. Your love is as false as your 
 character. Mistress Mallet is the real object of your regards. 
 You see I am acquainted with your perfidy." 
 
 " Amabel, you are deceived," replied Rochester. "On my soul 
 you are. When I have an opportunity of explaining myself more 
 fully, I will prove to you that 1 was induced by the King, for an 
 especial purpose, to pay feigned addresses to the lady you have 
 named. But I never loved her. You alone are the possessor of 
 my heart, and shall be the sharer of my title. You shall be Coun- 
 tess of Rochester." 
 
 " Could I believe you ? " she cried. 
 
 ' ' You may believe me," he answered. * ' Do not blight my hopes 
 and your own happiness a second time. Your father is about to shut 
 up his house for a twelvemonth, if the plague lasts so long. This 
 done, we shall meet no more, for access to you will be impossible. 
 Do not hesitate, or you will for ever rue your irresolution." 
 ^'I know not what to do," cried Amabel, distractedly. 
 " Then I will decide for you," rephed the Earl, grasping her 
 hand. "Cornel" 
 
 While this was passing, Furbisher, or rather, as will be surmised, 
 Pillichody, had taken Blaize aside, and engaged his attention by 
 dilating upon the efficacy of a roasted onion filled with treacle in 
 
W OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 the expulsion of the plague. Patience stationed herself near the 
 door, not with the view of interfering with the lovers, but rather 
 of assisting them; and at the very moment that the Earl seized his 
 mistress's hand, and would have drawn her forward, she ran to- 
 wards them, and hastily whispered, "Leonard Holt is coming down 
 stairs." 
 
 " Ah ! I am lost ! " cried Amabel. 
 
 "Fear nothing," said the Earl. "Keep near me, and I will 
 soon dispose of him." 
 
 As he spoke, the apprentice entered the kitchen, and greatly 
 surprised by the appearance pf the strangers, angrily demanded 
 from Blaize who they were. ' ' They are two doctors come to give 
 me advice respecting the plague," stammered the porter. 
 
 " How did they get into the house?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 " I let them in through the back door," rephed Blaize. 
 
 " Then let them out by the same way," rejoined the apprentice. 
 "May I ask what you are doing here? " he added to Amabel. 
 
 " What is that to you, fellow," cried Rochester, in his assumed 
 voice. 
 
 " Much, as you shall find, my lord," replied the apprentice; "for 
 in spite of your disguise, I know you. Quit the house instantly 
 with your companion, or I will give the alarm, and Amabel well 
 knows what the consequences will be." 
 
 " You must go, my lord," she replied. 
 
 " I will not stir unless you accompany me," said Rochester. 
 
 "Then I have no alternative," rejoined Leonard. " You know 
 your father's determination— I would willingly spare you, Amabel." 
 
 "Oh, goodness! what wUl become of us?" cried Patience — 
 " if there isn't Mr. Bloundel coming down stairs." 
 
 "Amabel," said Leonard, sternly, *'the next moment decides 
 your fate. If the Earl departs, I will keep your secret." 
 
 " You hear that, my lord," she cried. "1 command you to leave 
 
 me." And disengaging herself from him, and hastily passing her 
 
 / father, who at that moment entered the kitchen, she rushed up stairs. 
 
 On hearing the alarm of the grocer's approach, Pillichody took 
 refuge in a cupboard, the door of which stood invitingly open, so 
 that Bloundel only perceived the Earl. "What is the matter?" 
 he cried, gazing around him. "Who have we here?" 
 
 " It is a quack doctor, whom Blaize has been consulting about 
 the plague," returned Leonard. 
 
 " See him instantly out of the house," rejoined the grocer, an- 
 grily," and take care he never enters it again. I will have no such 
 charlatans here." Leonard motioned Rochester to follow him, and 
 the latter reluctantly obeyed. 
 
 As soon as Bloundel had retired, Leonard, who had meanwhile 
 provided himself with his cudgel, descended to the kitchen, where 
 he dragged Pillichody from his hiding-place, and conducted him to 
 the back door. But he did not suffer him to depart without bela- 
 bouring him soundly. Locking the door, he then went in search 
 of Blaize, and administered a similar chastisement to him. 
 
 I 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 9l 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TWO WATCHMEN. 
 
 On the day following the events last related, as Leonard Holt 
 was standing at the door of the shop, — his master having just been 
 called out by some important business, — a man in the dress of a 
 watchman, with a halbert in his hand, approached him, and inquired 
 whether he was Mr. Bloundel's apprentice. 
 
 Before returning an answer, Leonard looked hard at the new 
 comer, and thought he had never beheld so ill-favoured a person 
 before. Every feature in his face was distorted. His mouth was 
 twisted on one side, his nose on the other, while his right eye-brow 
 was elevated more than an inch above the left ; added to which, 
 he squinted intolerably, had a long fell of straight sandy hair, a 
 sandy beard, and moustachios, and a complexion of the colour of 
 brick-dust. " An ugly dog," muttered Leonard to himself, as he 
 finished his scrutiny; "what can he want with me? Suppose 1 
 should be Mr. BloundePs apprentice," he added, aloud, "what 
 then, friend?" 
 
 " Your master has a beautiful daughter, has he not?" asked the 
 ill-favoured watchman. 
 
 " I answer no idle questions," rejoined Leonard, coldly. 
 
 " As you please," returned the other, in an offended tone. "A 
 plan to carry her off has accidentally come to my knowledge. But, 
 since incivility is all I am hkely to get for my pains in coming to 
 acquaint you with it, e'en find it out yourself." 
 
 "Hold!" jried the apprentice, detaining him ; "I meant no of- 
 fence. Stejnn doors for a moment. We can converse there more 
 freely." 
 
 The watchman, who, notwithstanding his ill-looks, appeared to 
 be a good-natured fellow, was easily appeased. Following the ap- 
 prentice into the shop, on a promise of a handsome reward, he 
 instantly commenced his relation. " Last night," he said, " I was 
 keeping watch, at the door of Mr. Brackley, a saddler in Alder- 
 manbury, whose house having been attacked by the pestilence, is 
 now shut up, when I observed two persons, rather singularly at- 
 tired, pass me. Both were dressed like old men, but neither their 
 gait nor tone of voice corresponded with their garb." 
 
 " It must have been the Earl of Rochester and his companion," 
 remarked Leonard. 
 
 "You are right," replied the other; " for I afterwards heard 
 one of them addressed by that title. But to proceed. I was so much 
 struck by the strangeness of their appearance, that 1 left my post 
 for a few minutes, and followed them. They halted beneath a gate- 
 way, and, as they conversed together very earnestly, and in a loud 
 tone, I could distinctly hear what they said. One of them, the 
 
92 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 stoutest of the two, complained bitterly of the indignities he had re- 
 ceived from Mr. BloimdePs apprentice, (meaning you, of course,) 
 averring that nothing but his devotion to his companion had induced 
 him to submit to them; and affirming, with many tremendous oaths, 
 that he would certainly cut the young man's throat the very first 
 opportunity." 
 
 " He shall not want it, then," replied Leonard, contemptuously ; 
 *' neither shall he lack a second application of my cudgel, when we 
 meet. But what of his companion ? What did he say ?" 
 
 "He laughed heartily at the other's complaints," returned the 
 watchman; "and told him to make himself easy, for he should 
 soon have his revenge. ' To-morrow night,' he said, ' we will carry 
 off Amabel, m spite of the apprentice or her father ; and, as I am 
 equally indebted with yourself to the latter, we will pay off old 
 scores with him." 
 
 ' * How do they intend to effect their purpose ?" demanded Leonard. 
 
 " That I cannot precisely tell," replied the watchman. " All I 
 could hear was, that they meant to enter the house by the back 
 yard about midnight. And now, if you will make it worth my while, 
 I will help you to catch them in their own trap. 
 
 ' ' Hum ! " said Leonard. ' ' What is your name ?" 
 
 " Gregory Swindlehurst," replied the other. 
 
 " To help me, you must keep watch with me to-night," rejoined 
 Leonard. " Can you do so?" 
 
 " I see nothing to hinder me, provided I am paid for my trouble," 
 replied Gregory. ' ' I will find some one to take my place at Mr. 
 Brackley's. At what hour shall 1 come?" 
 
 "Soon after ten," said Leonard. "Be at the shop-door, and I 
 will let you in." 
 
 " Count upon me," rejoined Gregory, a smile of satisfaction il- 
 lumining his ill-favoured countenance. " Shall I bring a comrade 
 with me? I know a trusty fellow who would like thqJob. If Lord 
 Rochester should have companions with him, assistance will be re- 
 quired." 
 
 " True," replied Leonard. " Is your comrade a watchman, like 
 yourself?" 
 
 "He is an old soldier, who has been lately employed to keep 
 guard over infected houses," replied Gregory. "We must take 
 care his lordship does not overreach us." 
 
 " If he gets into the house without my knowledge, I will forgive 
 him," replied the apprentice. 
 
 " He won't get into it without mine," muttered Gregory, signifi- 
 cantly. "But do you not mean to warn Mistress Amabel of her 
 danger ?" 
 
 " I shall consider of it," replied the apprentice. 
 
 At this moment, Mr. Bloundel entered the shop, and Leonard, 
 feigning to supply his companion with a small packet of grocery, 
 desired him, in a low tone, to be punctual to his appointment, and 
 dismissed him. In justice to the apprentice, it must be stated, that 
 he had no wish for concealment, but was most anxious to acquaint 
 his master with the information he had just obtained, and was only 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 93 
 
 deterred from doing so by a dread of the consequences it might 
 produce to Amabel. 
 
 The evening passed off much as usual. The family assembled at 
 prayer ; and Blaize, whose shoulders still ached with the chastise- 
 ment he had received, eyed the apprentice with sullen and revenge- 
 ful looks. Patience, too, was equally angry, and her indignation 
 was evinced in a manner so droll, that at another season it would 
 have drawn a smile from Leonard. 
 
 Supper over, Amabel left the room. Leonard followed her, and 
 overtook her on the landing of the stairs. "Amabel," he said, "I 
 have received certain inteUigence that the Earl of Rochester will 
 make another attempt to enter the house, and carry you off to-night." 
 
 "Oh! when will he cease from persecuting me?" she cried. 
 
 " When you cease to encourage him," replied the apprentice, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " I do 720^ encourage him, Leonard," she rejoined ; " and to prove 
 that I do not, I will act in any way you think proper to-night." 
 
 " If I could trust you," said Leonard, " you might indeed be of 
 the greatest service in convincing the Earl that his efforts are fruit- 
 less." 
 
 " You may trust me," she rejoined. 
 
 "Well, then," returned Leonard, " when the family have retired 
 to rest, come down stairs, and I will tell you what to do." 
 
 Hastily promising compliance, Amabel disappeared ; and Leonard 
 ran down the stairs, at the foot of which he encountered Mrs. 
 Bloundel. " What is the matter?" she asked. 
 
 " Nothing, — nothing," replied the apprentice, evasively. 
 
 " That will not serve my turn," she rejoined. ''Something, I 
 am certain, troubles you, though you do not choose to confess it. 
 Heaven grant your anxiety is not occasioned by aught relating to 
 that wicked Earl of Rochester. I cannot sleep in my bed for think- 
 ing of him. I noticed that you followed Amabel out of the room. 
 I hope you do not suspect anything?" 
 
 " Do not question me further. Madam, I entreat," returned the 
 apprentice. ' ' Whatever I may suspect, I have taken all needful 
 precautions. Rest easy, and sleep soundly, if you can. All will go 
 well." 
 
 " I shall never rest easy, Leonard," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel, 
 " till you are weddol to my daughter. Then, indeed, I shall feel 
 happy. My poor child, I am sure, is fully aware how indiscreet her 
 conduct has been ; and when this noble libertine desists from an- 
 noying her, — or rather, when he is effectually shut out, — we may 
 hope for a return of her regard for you." 
 
 " It is a vain hope. Madam," repHed Leonard ; "there will be no 
 such return. I neither expect it nor desire it." 
 
 " Have you ceased to love her?" asked Mrs. Bloundel, in surprise. 
 
 " Ceased to love her!" echoed Leonard, fiercely. " Would I 
 had done so ! — would I could do so 1 I love her too well, — too 
 well." 
 
 And repeating the words to himself with great bitterness, he 
 hurried away. 
 
94 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 '' His passion has disturbed his brain," sighed Mrs. Bloundel, as 
 she proceeded to her chamber. " I must try to reason him into 
 calmness to-morrow." 
 
 Half an hour after this, the grocer retired for the night; and 
 Leonard, who had gone to his own room, cautiously opened the 
 door, and repaired to the shop. On the way, he met Amabel. She 
 looked pale as death, and trembled so violently, that she could 
 scarcely support herself. ' ' I hope you do not mean to use any vio- 
 lence towards the Earl, Leonard," she said, in a supplicating voice. 
 '' He will never repeat his visit," rejoined the apprentice, gloom- 
 ily. 
 
 *' Your looks terrify me," cried Amabel, gazing with great unea- 
 siness at his stern and determined countenance. " I will remain 
 by you. He will depart at my bidding." 
 
 "Did he depart at your bidding before?" demanded Leonard, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "He did not, I grant," she replied, more supplicatingly than 
 before. " But do not harm him — for mercy's sake, do not — take 
 my life sooner. I, alone, have offended you." 
 
 The apprentice made no reply, but unlocking a box, took out a 
 brace of large horse-pistols and a sword, and thrust them into his 
 girdle. 
 
 "You do not mean to use those murderous weapons?" cried 
 Amabel. 
 
 " It depends on circumstances," rephed Leonard. " Force must 
 be met by force." 
 
 " Nay, then," she rejoined, " the affair assumes too serious an 
 aspect to be trifled with. I will instantly alarm my father." 
 
 " Do so," retorted Leonard, " and he will cast you off for ever." 
 "Better that than be the cause of bloodshed," she returned. 
 "But is there nothing I can do to prevent this fatal result?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Leonard. " Make your lover understand he is 
 unwelcome to you. Dismiss him for ever. On that condition, he 
 shall depart unharmed and freely." 
 
 "I will do so," she rejoined. Nothing more was then said. 
 Amabel seated herself and kept her eyes fixed on Leonard, who, 
 avoiding her regards, stationed himself near the door. 
 
 By and by,- a slight tap was heard without, and the apprentice 
 cautiously admitted Gregory Swindlehurst anjjbis comrade. The 
 latter was habited like the other watchman, in a blue night-rail, and 
 was armed with a halbert. He appeared much stouter, much older, 
 and so far as could be discovered of his features — for a large hand- 
 kerchief muffled his face — much uglier (if that was possible) than 
 his companion. He answered to the name of Bernard Boutefeu. 
 They had no sooner entered the shop than Leonard locked the door. 
 " Who are these persons?" asked Amabel, rising in great alarm. 
 
 " Two watchmen whom I have hired to guard the house," re- 
 plied Leonard. 
 
 .„"We are come to protect you, fair mistress," said Gregory, 
 ** and, if need be, to cut the Earl of Bochester's throat." 
 " Oh heavens!" exclaimed Amabel. 
 
THE TWO WATCHMEN. 95 
 
 *' Ghost of Tarquinl" cried Boutefeu — " we '11 teach him to 
 break into the houses of quiet citizens, and attempt to carry off 
 their daughters against their will. By the soul of Dick Whittington, 
 Lord Mayor of London ! we 'U maul and mangle him." 
 
 " Silence! Bernard Boutefeu," interposed Gregory. *' You 
 frighten Mistress Amabel by your strange oaths." 
 
 " I should be sorry to do that," replied Boutefeu — <' I only wish 
 to show my zeal for her. Don't be afraid of the Earl of Rochester, 
 fair mistress. With all his audacity, he won't dare to enter the 
 house, when he finds we are there." 
 
 "Is it your pleasure that we should thrust a halbert through his 
 body, or lodge a bullet in his brain ?" asked Gregory, appeaUng to 
 Amabel. 
 
 " Touch him not, I beseech you," she rejoined. "Leonard, I 
 have your promise that, if I can prevail upon him to depart, you 
 will not molest him." 
 
 " You have," he replied. 
 
 " You hear that," she observed to the watchmen. 
 
 " We are all obedience," said Gregory. 
 
 " Bless your tender heart I" cried Boutefeu, " we would not pain 
 you for the world." 
 
 " A truce to this," said Leonard. " Come to the yard — we will 
 wait for him there." 
 
 " I will go with you," cried Amabel. " If any harm should befal 
 him, 1 should never forgive myself." 
 
 " Remember what I told you," rejoined Leonard, sternly. " It 
 depends upon yourself whether he leaves the house alive." 
 
 " Heed him not," whispered Gregory. " 1 and my comrade will 
 obey no one but you." 
 
 & Amabel could not repress an exclamation of surprise. " What 
 are you muttering, sirrah?" demanded Leonard, angrily. 
 
 " Only that the young lady may depend on our fidelity," replied 
 Gregory. " There can be no offence in that. Come with us," he 
 whispered to Amabel. The latter part of his speech escaped 
 Leonard, but the tone in which it was uttered was so significant, 
 that Amabel, who began to entertain new suspicions, hesitated. 
 
 " You must come," said Leonard, seizing her hand. 
 
 " The fault be his, not mine," murmured Amabel, as she suffered 
 herself to be drawn along. 
 
 The party then proceeded noiselessly towards the yard. On the 
 way, Amabel felt a slight pressure on her arm, but, atraid of alarm- 
 ing Leonard, she made no remark. The back-door was opened, 
 and the little group stood in the darkness. They had not long to 
 wait. Before they had been in the yard five minutes, a noise was 
 heard of footsteps and muttered voices in the entry. This was fol- 
 lowed by a sound like that occasioned by fastening a rope-ladder 
 against the wall, and the next moment two figures were perceived 
 above it. After dropping the ladder into the yard, these persons, 
 the foremost of whom the apprentice concluded was the Earl of 
 Rochester, descended. They had no sooner touched the ground 
 than Leonar45 drawing his pistols, advanced towards them. " You 
 
96 OLD SAINT PACL'S. 
 
 are my prisoner, my lord," he said, in a stern voice, ^'and shall 
 not depart with life, unless you pledge your word never to come 
 hither again on the same errand." 
 
 " Betrayed !" cried the Earl, laying his hand upon his sword. 
 
 ' ' Resistance is in vain, my lord," rejoined Leonard. " I am better 
 armed than yourself." 
 
 " Will nothing bribe you to silence, fellow ?" cried the Earl. "I 
 will give you a thousand pounds, if you will hold your tongue and 
 conduct me to my mistress." 
 
 '' I can scarcely tell what stays my hand," returned Leonard, in 
 a furious tone. " But I will hold no further conversation with 
 you. Amabel is present, and will give you your final dismissal 
 herself." 
 
 " If I receive it from her own lips," repHed the Earl, " I will 
 instantly retire — but not otherwise." 
 
 " Amabel," said Leonard, in a low tone to her, *'you hear what 
 is said. Fulfil your promise." 
 
 " Do so," cried a voice, which she instantly recognised, in her 
 ear — " I am near you." 
 
 " Ah!" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Do you hesitate?" cried the apprentice, sternly. 
 
 '* My Lord," said Amabel, in a faint voice, " I must pray you to 
 retire. Your efforts are in vain. 1 will never fly with you." 
 
 *'That will not suffice," whispered Leonard; "you must tell 
 him you no longer love him." 
 
 " Hear me," pursued Amabel; " you who present yourself as 
 Lord Rochester, I entertain no affection for you, and never wish to 
 behold you again." 
 
 " Enough!" cried Leonard. 
 
 " Admirable !" whispered Gregory. *' Nothing could be better." 
 
 *' Well," cried the supposed Earl, " since I no longer hold a 
 place in your affections, it would be idle to pursue the matter fur- 
 ther. Heaven be praised, there are other damsels quite as beautiful, 
 though not so cruel. Farewell, for ever, Amabel." So saying, he 
 mounted the ladder, and, followed by his companion, disappeared 
 on the other side. 
 
 " He is gone," said Leonard, '' and I hope for ever. Now let us 
 return to the house." 
 
 " I am coming," rejoined Amabel. 
 
 " Let him go," whispered Gregory. *' The ladder is still upon 
 the wall. We will climb it." And as the apprentice moved towards 
 the house, he tried to drag her in that direction. 
 
 " I cannot, — will not, fly thus," she cried. 
 
 " What is the matter?" exclaimed Leonard, suddenly turning. 
 
 " Further disguise is useless," replied the supposed Gregory 
 Swindlehurst. " 1 am the Earl of Rochester. The other was a 
 counterfeit." 
 
 " Ah!" exclaimed Leonard, rushing towards them, and placing 
 a pistol against the breast of his mistress. " Have I i9een duped? 
 But it is not yet too late to retrieve my error. Move a foot further, 
 my Lord,--and do yon, Amabel, attempt to fly with him, and I fire." 
 
THE PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 *' You cannot mean this?" cried Rochester. " Raise your hand 
 against the woman you love ?" 
 
 " Against the woman who forgets her duty, and the libertine who 
 tempts her, the arm that is raised is that of justice," replied Leonard. 
 " Stir another footstep, and 1 fire." As he spoke, his arms were 
 suddenly seized by a powerful grasp from behind, and, striking the 
 pistols from his hold, the Earl snatched up Amabel in his arms, and, 
 mounting the ladder, made good his retreat. 
 
 A long and desperate struggle took place between Leonard and 
 his assailant, who was no other than Pillichody, in his assumed 
 character of Bernard Boutefeu. But notwithstanding the superior 
 strength of the bully, and the advantage he had taken of the ap- 
 prentice, he was worsted in the end. 
 
 Leonard had no sooner extricated himself, than, drawing his 
 sword, he would have passed it through PiUichody's body, if the 
 latter had not stayed his hand, by offering to tell him where he would 
 find his mistress, provided his life were spared. " Where has the 
 Earl taken her?" cried Leonard, scarcely able to articulate, from 
 excess of passion. 
 
 '^ He meant to take her to Saint Paul's, — to the vaults below the 
 cathedral, to avoid pursuit," replied Pillichody. " I have no doubt 
 you will find her there." 
 
 '* I will go there instantly and search," cried Leonard, rushing 
 up the ladder. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Scarcely knowing how he got there, Leonard Holt found him- 
 self at the great northern entrance of the cathedral. Burning with 
 fury, he knocked at the door ; but no answer being returned to the 
 summons, though he repeated it still more loudly, he shook the 
 heavy latch with such violence as to rouse the sullen echoes of the 
 aisles. Driven almost to desperation, he retired a few paces, and 
 surveyed the walls of the vast structure, in the hope of descrying 
 some point by which he might obtain an entrance. 
 
 It was a bright moonlight night, and the reverend pile looked so 
 beautiful, that, under any other frame of mind, Leonard must have 
 been struck with admiration. The ravages of time could not now 
 be discerned, and the architectural incongruities which, seen in the 
 broad glare of day, would have offended the eye of taste, were lost 
 in the general grand effect. On the left ran the magnificent pointed 
 windows of the choir, divided by massive buttresses, — the latter 
 ornamented with crocketed pinnacles. On the right, the building 
 had been new faced, and its original character, in a great measure, 
 destroyed by the tasteless manner in which the repairs had been 
 
 7 
 
^ OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 executed. On this side, the lower windows were round-headed, 
 and separated by broad pilasters, while above them ran a range of 
 small circular windows. At the western angle was seen one of the 
 towers, (since imitated by Wren,) which flanked this side of the 
 fane, together with a part of the portico erected, about twenty-five 
 years previously, by Inigo Jones, and which, though beautiful in 
 itself, was totally out of character with the edifice, and, in fact, a 
 blemish to it. 
 
 Insensible alike to the beauties or defects of the majestic building, 
 and regarding it only as the prison of his mistress, Leonard Holt 
 scanned it carefully on either side. But his scrutiny was attended 
 with no favourable result. 
 
 Before resorting to force to obtain admission, he determined to make 
 the complete circuit of the structure, and with this view he shaped 
 his course towards the east. He found two small doors on the left 
 of the northern transept, but both were fastened, and the low 
 pointed windows beneath the choir, lighting the subterranean 
 church of Saint Faith's, were all barred. Running on, he pre- 
 sently came to a flight of stone steps at the north-east corner of the 
 choir, leading to a portal opening upon a small chapel dedicated to 
 Saint George. But this was secured like the others, and thinking it 
 vain to waste time in trying to force it, he pursued his course. 
 
 Skirting the eastern extremity of the fane — then the most beautiful 
 part of the structure, from its magnificent rose-window, — he speeded 
 past the low windows which opened on this side, as on the other, 
 upon Saint Faith's, and did not pause till he came to the great 
 southern portal, the pillars and arch of which differed but sHghtly 
 in character from those of the northern entrance. 
 
 Here he knocked as before, and was answered, as on the former 
 occasion, by sullen echoes from within. When these sounds died 
 away, he placed his ear to the huge key-hole in the wicket, but 
 could not even catch the fall of a footstep. Neither could he perceive 
 any light, except that afforded by the moonbeams, which flooded 
 the transept with radiance. 
 
 Again hurrying on, he passed the cloister- walls surrounding the 
 Convocation House; tried another door between that building and the 
 church of Saint Gregory, — a small fane attached to the larger struc- 
 ture ; and failing in opening it, turned the corner and approached the 
 portico, — the principal entrance to the cathedral being then, as 
 now, on the west. 
 
 Erected, as before-mentioned, from the designs of the celebrated 
 Inigo Jones, this magnificent colonnade was completed about 1640, 
 at which time preparations were made for repairing the cathedral 
 throughout, and for strengthening the tower, to enable it to support 
 a new spire. But this design, owing to the disorganized state of 
 affairs, was never carried into execution. 
 
 At the time of the Commonwealth, while the interior of the sacred 
 fabric underwent every sort of desecration and mutilation, — while 
 stones were torn from the pavement, and monumental brasses from 
 tombs, — while carved stalls were burnt, and statues plucked from 
 their niches, — a similar fate attended the portico. Shops were built 
 
THE PIPER ADD HIS DA.LGHTER. 99 
 
 beneath it, and the sculptures ornamenting its majestic balustrade 
 were thrown down. Amongst other obstructions, it appears that 
 there was "a high house in the north angle, which hindered the 
 masons from repairing that part of it." The marble door-cases, the 
 capitals, cornices, and pillars were so much injured by the fires 
 made against them that it required months to put them in order. 
 At the Restoration, -Sir John Denham, the poet, was appointed sur- 
 veyor-general of the works, and continued to hold the office at the 
 period of this history. 
 
 As Leonard drew near the portico, he perceived, to his surprise, 
 that a large concourse of people was collected in the area in front 
 of it; and, rushing forward, he found the assemblage listening to 
 the denunciations of Solomon Eagle, who was standing in the midst 
 of them, withhisbrasieronhis head. The enthusiast appeared more 
 than usually excited. He was tossing aloft his arms in a wild and 
 frenzied manner, and seemed to be directing his menaces against 
 the cathedral itself. 
 
 Hoping to obtain assistance from the crowd, Leonard resolved to 
 await a fitting period to address them. Accordingly, he joined them, 
 and listened to the discourse of the enthusiast. "Hear mel" cried 
 the latter, in a voice of thunder. "I had a vision last night and 
 will relate it to you. During my brief slumbers, I thought I was 
 standing on this very spot, and gazing as now upon yon mighty 
 structure. On a sudden, the day became overcast, and ere long it 
 grew pitchy dark. Then was heard a noise of rushing wings in the 
 air, and I could just discern many strange figures hovering above 
 the tower, uttering doleful cries and lamentations. All at once, 
 these figures disappeared, and gave place to, — or it may be, were 
 chased away by others of more hideous appearance. The latter 
 bore lighted brands, which they hurled against the sacred fabric, and 
 in an instant, flames burst forth from it on all sides. My brethren, 
 it was a fearful, yet a glorious sight to see that vast pile wrapped in 
 the devouring element ! The flames were so vivid, — so intense, 
 that I could not bear to look upon them, and I covered my face 
 with my hands. On raising my eyes again, the flames were ex- 
 tinguished, but the building was utterly in ruins— its columns cracked 
 — its tower hurled from its place — its ponderous roof laid low. It 
 was a mournful spectacle, and a terrible proof of the divine wrath 
 and vengeance. Yes, my brethren, the temple of the Lord has been 
 profaned, and it will be rased to the ground. It has been the scene 
 of abomination and impiety, and must be purified by fire. Theft, 
 murder, sacrilege, and every other crime have been committed 
 within its walls, and its destruction will follow. The ministers of 
 heaven's vengeance are even now hovering above it. Repent, 
 therefore, ye who Hsten to me, and repent speedily; for sudden 
 death, plague, fire, and famine are at hand. As the prophet Amos 
 saith, * The Lord will send a fire, the Lord will commission a fire, 
 the Lord will kindle a fire ;' and the fire so commissioned and so 
 kindled shall consume you and your city; nor shall one stone of 
 those walls be left standing on another. Repent or burn, for He 
 Cometh to judge the earth. Repent or burn, I say ! " 
 
100 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 As soon as he concluded, Leonard Holt ran up the steps of the por- 
 tico, and in a loud voice claimed the attention of the crowd. " So- 
 lomon Eagle is right," he cried ; " the vengeance of heaven will de- 
 scend upon this fabric, since it continues to be the scene of so much 
 wickedness. Even now, it forms the retreat of a profligate noble- 
 man, who has this night forcibly carried off the daughter of a ci- 
 tizen." 
 
 ^ ' What nobleman ? " cried a bystander. 
 
 "The Earl of Rochester," replied Leonard. ^'He has robbed 
 Stephen Bloundel, the grocer of Wood Street, of his daughter, and 
 has concealed her, to avoid pursuit, in the vaults of the cathedral." 
 
 "I know Mr. Bloundel well," rejoined the man who had made the 
 inquiry, and whom Leonard recognized as a hosier named Lamp- 
 lugh, "and I know the person w^ho addresses us. It is his appren- 
 tice. We must restore the damsel to her father, friends." 
 
 "Agreed," cried several voices. 
 
 "Knock at the door," cried a man, whose occupation of a smith 
 was proclaimed by his leathern apron, brawny chest, and smoke- 
 begrimed visage, as well as by the heavy hammer which he bore 
 upon his shoulder. "If it is not instantly opened, we will break 
 it down. I have an implement here which will soon do the busi- 
 ness." 
 
 A rush was then made to the portal, which rang with the heavy 
 blows dealt against it While this was passing, Solomon Eagle, 
 whose excitement was increased by the tumult, planted himself in 
 the centre of the colonnade, and vociferated — "I speak in the words 
 of the prophet Ezekiel: — ' Thou hast defiled thy sanctuaries by the 
 multitude of thine iniquities, by the iniquity of thy traffic. There- 
 fore will 1 bring forth a fire from the midst of thee, and will bring 
 thee to ashes upon the earth, in the sight of all them that behold 
 thee!'" 
 
 The crowd continued to batter the door until they were checked 
 by Lamplugh, who declared he heard some one approaching, and 
 the next moment, the voice of one of the vergers inquired in trem- 
 bhng tones who they were, and what they wanted? 
 
 "No matter who we are," replied Leonard, "we demand ad- 
 mittance to search for a young female who has been taken from 
 her home by the Earl of Rochester, and is now concealed within 
 the vaults of the cathedral." 
 
 "If admittance is refused us, we will soon let ourselves in," vo- 
 ciferated Lamplugh. 
 
 "Ay, that we will," added the smith. 
 
 "You are mistaken, friends," returned the verger, timorously. 
 "The Earl of Rochester is not here." 
 
 '* We will not take your word for it," rejoined the smith. " This 
 will show you we are not to be trifled with." So saying, he raised 
 his hammer, and struck such a tremendous blow against the door 
 that the bolts started in their sockets. 
 
 "Hold ! hold!" cried the verger, "sooner than violence shall be 
 committed, I will risk your admission." And he unfastened the 
 door. 
 
THE PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 101 
 
 '* Keep together," shouted the smith, stretching out his arms to 
 oppose the progress of the crowd. '' Keep together, I say." 
 
 "Ay, ay, keep together," added Lamplugh, seconding his efforts. 
 
 "Conduct us to the Earl of Rochester, and no harm shall befall 
 you," cried Leonard, seizing the verger by the collar. 
 
 " 1 tell you 1 know nothing about him," replied the man. " He 
 is not here." 
 
 "It is false! you are bribed to silence," rejoined the apprentice. 
 "We will search till we find him." 
 
 "Search where you please," rejoined the verger; "and if you 
 do find him, do what you please with me." 
 
 "Don't be afraid of that, friend," replied the smith; "we will 
 hang you and the Earl to the same pillar." 
 
 By this time, the crowd had pushed aside the opposition offered 
 by the smith and Lamplugh. Solomon Eagle darted along the nave 
 with lightning swiftness, and mounting the steps leading to the 
 choir, disappeared from view. Some few persons followed him, 
 while others took their course along the aisles. But the majority 
 kept near the apprentice. 
 
 Snatching the lantern from the grasp of the verger, Leonard Holt 
 ran on with his companions till they came to the beautiful chapel 
 built by Thomas Kempe, Bishop of London. The door was open, 
 and the apprentice, holding the fight forward, perceived there were 
 persons inside. He was about to enter the chapel, when a small 
 spaniel rushed forth, and, barking furiously, held him in check for 
 a moment. Alarmed by the noise, an old man in a tattered garb, 
 and a young female, who were slumbering on benches in the chapel, 
 immediately started to their feet, and advanced towards them. 
 "We are mistaken," said Lamplugh, "this is only Mike Macascree, 
 the blind piper, and his daughter Nizza. I know them well enough." 
 
 Leonard was about to proceed with his search, but a sfight cir- 
 cumstance detained him for a few minutes ; during which time he 
 had sufficient leisure to note the extraordinary personal attractions 
 of Nizza Macascree. 
 
 In age she appeared about seventeen, and differed in the charac- 
 ter of her beauty, as well as in the natural gracefulness of her 
 carriage and demeanour, from all the persons he had seen in her 
 humble sphere of fife. Her features were small, and of the utmost 
 delicacy. She had a charmingly-formed nose — sfightly retrousse 
 — a small mouth, garnished with pearl-like teeth, and lips as fresh 
 and ruddy as the dew-steeped rose. Her skin was as dark as a 
 gipsy's, but clear and transparent, and far more attractive than the 
 fairest complexion. Her eyes were luminous as the stars, and black 
 as midnight; while her raven tresses, gathered beneath a spotted 
 kerchief tied round her head, escaped in many a wanton curl down 
 her shoulders. Her figure was slight, but exquisitely proportioned ; 
 and she had the smallest foot and ankle that ever fell to the lot of 
 woman. Her attire was far from unbecoming, thoi^gh of the 
 coarsest material ; and her fairy feet were set off by the daintiest 
 shoes and hose. Such was the singular and captivating creature 
 that attracted the apprentice's attention. 
 
102 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 Her father, Mike Macascree, was upwards of sixty, but still in the 
 full vigour of Hfe, with features which, though not ill-looking, bore 
 no particular resemblance to those of his daughter. He had a good- 
 humoured, jovial countenance, the mirthful expression of which even 
 his sightless orbs could not destroy. Long white locks descended 
 upon his shoulders, and a patriarchal beard adorned his chin. He 
 was wrapped in a loose grey gown, patched with different coloured 
 cloths, and supported himself with a staff. His pipe was suspended 
 from his neck by a green worsted cord. ' ' Lie down. Bell,'* he cried 
 to his dog : " what are you barking at thus? Lie down, I say." 
 
 '* Something is the matter, father," replied Nizza. " The church 
 is full of people." 
 
 ' ' Indeed ! " exclaimed the piper. 
 
 '' We are sorry to disturb you," said Leonard. " But we are in 
 search of a nobleman who has run away with a citizen's daughter, 
 and conveyed her to the cathedral, and we thought they might have 
 taken refuge in this chapel." 
 
 '* No one is here, except myself and daughter," replied the 
 piper. " We are allowed this lodging by Mr. Quatremain, the 
 minor-canon." 
 
 " All dogs are ordered to be destroyed by the Lord Mayor," 
 cried the smith, seizing Bell by the neck. " This noisy animal 
 must be silenced." 
 
 '' Oh no ! do not hurt her," cried Nizza. " My father loves poor 
 Bell almost as well as he loves me. She is necessary to his exis- 
 tence. You must not — will not destroy her ! " 
 
 '* Won't I?" replied the smith, gruffly; — <' we'll see that." 
 " But we are not afraid of contagion, are we, father?" cried 
 Nizza, appealing to the piper. 
 
 '' Not in the least," replied Mike, " and we will take care the 
 poor beast touches no one else. Do not harm her, 8ir,-^for pity's 
 sake do not. I should miss her sadly." 
 
 *' The Lord Mayor's commands must be obeyed," rejoined the 
 smith, brutally. 
 
 As if conscious of the fate awaiting her, poor Bell struggled hard 
 to get free, and uttered a piteous yell. 
 
 " You are not going to kill the dog?" interposed Leonard. 
 " Have you anything to say to the contrary?" rejoined the smith, 
 in a tone calculated, as he thought, to put an end to further inter- 
 ference. 
 
 '' Only this," replied Leonard, " that I will not allow it.'* 
 *' You won't — eh!" returned the smith, derisively. 
 " 1 will not," rejoined Leonard, *' so put her down, and come 
 along." 
 
 " Go your own way," rephed the smith, " and leave me to 
 mine." 
 
 Leonard answered by snatching Bell suddenly from his grasp. 
 Thus liberated, the terrified animal instantly ilew to her mistress. 
 " Is this the return I get for assisting you?" cried the smith, sa- 
 vagely. ' ' You are bewitched by a pair of black eyes. But you will 
 repent your folly." 
 
THE PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER, 103 
 
 ''I shall never forget your kindness," replied Nizza, clasping 
 Bell to her bosom, and looking gratefully at the apprentice. "You 
 say you are in search of a citizen's daughter and a nobleman. 
 About half an hour ago, or scarcely so much, I was awakened by 
 the opening of the door of the southern transept, and peeping out, 
 I saw three persons, — a young man in the dress of a watchman, but 
 evidently disguised, and a very beautiful young woman, conducted 
 by Judith Malmayns, bearing a lantern, — pass through the doorway 
 leading to Saint Faith's. Perhaps, they are the very persons you 
 are in search of." 
 
 '^They are," returned Leonard; ''and you have repaid me a 
 hundred fold for the slight service I have rendered you by the infor- 
 mation. We will instantly repair to the vaults. Come along." 
 
 Accompanied by the whole of the assemblage, except the smith, 
 who skulked off in the opposite direction, he passed through the 
 low doorway on the right of the choir, and descended to Saint 
 Faith's. The subterranean church was buried in profound dark- 
 ness, and apparently wholly untenanted. On reaching the charnel, 
 they crossed it, and tried the door of the vault formerly occupied 
 by the sexton. It was fastened, but Leonard knocking violently 
 against it, it was soon opened by Judith Malmayns, who appeared 
 much surprised, and not a little alarmed, at the sight of so many 
 persons. She was not alone, and her companion was Chowles. He 
 was seated at a table, on which stood a flask of brandy and a couple 
 of glasses, and seemed a good deal confused at being caught in such 
 a situation, though he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment by 
 an air of effrontery. ' ' Where is the Earl of Rochester — where is 
 Amabel ?" demanded Leonard Holt. 
 
 '* I know nothing about either of them," rephed Judith. "Why 
 do you put these questions to me?" 
 
 "Because you admitted them to the cathedral," cried the ap- 
 prentice, furiously; "and because you have concealed them. If 
 you do not instantly guide me to their retreat, I will make you a ter- 
 rible example to all such evil-doers in future." 
 
 "If you think to frighten me by your violence, you are mistaken," 
 returned Judith, boldly. " Mr. Chowles has been here more than 
 two hours. Ask him whether he has seen any one." 
 
 " Certainly not," rephed Chowles. " There is no Amabel — no 
 Earl of Rochester, here. You must be dreaming, young man." 
 
 " The piper's daughter affirmed the contrary," repUed Leonard. 
 " She said she saw this woman admit them." 
 
 " She Hes," replied Judith, fiercely. But suddenly altering her 
 tone, she continued, " If I 7?<7<^ admitted them, you would find them 
 here." Leonard looked round uneasily. He was but half con- 
 vinced, and yet he scarcely knew what to think. " If you doubt 
 what I say to you," continued Judith, " I will take you to every 
 chamber in the cathedral. You will then be satisfied that I speak 
 the truth. But I will not have this mob with me. Your companions 
 must remain here." 
 
 "Ay, stop with me and make yourselves comfortable," cried 
 Chowles. " You are not so much used to these places as I am. I 
 
104 
 
 prefer a snug crypt, like this, to the best room in a tavern — ha ! 
 ha 1" 
 
 Attended by Judith, Leonard Holt searched every corner of the 
 subterranean church, except the vestry, the door of which was 
 locked, and the key removed; but without success. They then 
 ascended to the upper structure, and visited the choir, the tran- 
 septs, and the nave, but with no better result. "If you still think 
 they are here," said Judith, "we will mount to the summit of the 
 tower?" 
 
 " 1 will never quit the cathedral without them," replied Leonard. 
 
 "Come on, then," returned Judith. So saying, she opened a 
 door in the wall on the left of the choir, and ascending a winding 
 stone staircase to a considerable height, arrived at a small cell con- 
 trived within the thickness of the wall, and desired Leonard to search 
 it. The apprentice unsuspectingly obeyed. But he had scarcely 
 set foot inside when the door was locked behind him, and he was 
 made aware of the treachery practised upon him by a peal of mock- 
 ing laughter from his conductress. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PALL's. 
 
 After repeated but ineffectual efforts to burst open the door, 
 Leonard gave up the attempt in despair, and endeavoured to make 
 his situation known by loud outcries. But his shouts, if heard, were 
 unheeded, and he was soon compelled from exhaustion to desist. 
 Judith having carried away the lantern, he was left in total darkness; 
 but on searching the cell, which was about four feet wide, and six 
 deep, he discovered a narrow grated loophole. By dint of great 
 exertion, and with the help of his sword, which snapped in twain 
 as he used it, he managed to force off one of the rusty bars, and to 
 squeeze himself through the aperture. All his labour, however, 
 was thrown away. The loophole opened on the south side of the 
 tower, near one of the large buttresses, which projected several 
 yards beyond it on the left, and was more than twenty feet above 
 the roof; so that it would be certain destruction to drop from so 
 great a height. 
 
 The night was overcast, and the moon hidden behind thick clouds. 
 Still, there was hght enough to enable him to discern the perilous 
 position in which he stood. After gazing below for some time, 
 Leonard was about to return to the cell, when, casting his eyes 
 upwards, he thought he perceived the end of a rope about a foot 
 above his head, dangling from the upper part of the structure. No 
 sooner was this discovery made, than it occurred to him that he 
 might possibly liberate himself by this unlooked-for aid ; and, re- 
 
LONDON FROM SAINT PAUL'S. 105 
 
 gardless of the risk he ran, he sprang upwards and caught hold of 
 the rope. It was firmly fastened above, and sustained his weight well. 
 
 Possessed of great bodily strength and activity, and nerved by 
 desperation, Leonard Holt placed his feet against the buttress, and 
 impelled himself towards one of the tall pointed windows Hghting 
 the interior of the tower ; but though he reached the point at which 
 he aimed, the sway of the rope dragged him back before he could 
 obtain a secure grasp of the stone shafts; and, after another inef- 
 fectual effort, fearful of exhausting his strength, he abandoned the 
 attempt, and began to climb up the rope with his hands and knees. 
 Aided by the inequalities of the roughened walls, he soon gained a 
 range of small Saxon arches ornamenting the tower immediately 
 beneath the belfry, and succeeding in planting his right foot on the 
 moulding of one of them, he instantly steadied himself, and with 
 little further effort clambered through an open window. 
 
 His first act, on reaching the belfry, was to drop on his knees, 
 and return thanks to Heaven for his deliverance. He then looked 
 about for an outlet ; but though a winding staircase existed in each 
 of the four angles of the tower, all the doors, to his infinite disap- 
 pointment, were fastened on the other side. He was still, there- 
 fore, a prisoner. 
 
 Determined, however, not to yield to despair, he continued his 
 search, and finding a small door opening upon a staircase, com- 
 municating with the summit of the tower, he unfastened it (for the 
 bolt was on his own side), and hurried up the steps. Passing through 
 another door, bolted like the first withinside, he issued upon the 
 roof. He was now on the highest part of the cathedral, and further 
 from his hopes than ever, and so agonizing were his feelings, that 
 he almost felt tempted to fling himself headlong downwards. 
 Beneath him lay the body of the mighty fabric, its vast roof, its 
 crocketed pinnacles, its buttresses and battlements scarcely dis- 
 cernible through the gloom, but looking like some monstrous engine 
 devised to torture him. 
 
 Wearied with gazing at it, and convinced of the futility of any 
 further attempt at descent, Leonard Holt returned to the belfry, 
 and throwing himself on the boarded floor, sought some repose. 
 The fatigue he had undergone was so great, that, notwithstanding 
 his anxiety, he soon dropped asleep, and did not awake for several 
 hours. On opening his eyes, it was just getting light, and shaking 
 himself, he again prepared for action. All the events of the night 
 rushed upon his mind, and he thought, with unutterable anguish, 
 of Amabel's situation. Glancing round the room, it occurred to 
 him that he might give the alarm by ringing the enormous bells 
 near him ; but though he set them shghtly in motion, he could not 
 agitate the immense clappers sufficiently to produce any sound. 
 
 Resolved, however, to free himself at any hazard, he once more 
 repaired to the summit of the tower, and leaning over the balus- 
 trade, gazed below. It was a subhme spectacle, and, in spite of 
 his distress, filled him with admiration and astonishment. He had 
 stationed himself on the south side of the tower, and immediately 
 beneath him lay the broad roof of the transept, stretching out to a 
 
106 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 distance of nearly two hundred feet. On the right, surrounded by 
 a double row of cloisters, remarkable for the beauty of their archi- 
 tecture, stood the convocation, or chapter-house. This exquisite 
 building was octagonal in form, and supported by large buttresses, 
 ornamented on each gradation by crocketed pinnacles. Each side, 
 moreover, had a tall pointed window, filled with stained glass, and 
 was richly adorned with trefoils and cinquefoils. Further on, on 
 the same side, was the small low church dedicated to Saint Gre- 
 gory, overtopped by the south-western tower of the mightier pa- 
 rent fane. 
 
 It was not, however, the cathedral itself, but the magnificent 
 \dew 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 estabUshments, 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 beauti- 
 ful 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, a 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 tre- 
 mendous conflagration. Unable to foresee this direful event, and 
 lamenting only that so fair a city should be a prey to an extermi- 
 nating pestilence, he turned towards the north, and suffered his 
 gaze to wander over Finsbury fields and the hilly ground beyond 
 them — over Smithficld and Clerkenwell, and the oeautiful open 
 country adjoining Gray's-inn-lane. 
 
 So smiling and beautiful did these districts appear, that he could 
 
LONDON FROM SAINT PALl's. 107 
 
 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, trac- 
 ing 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 pictu- 
 resque beauties were nearly at a close. In little more than a year- 
 and-a-quarter afterwards, the greater part of the old city was con- 
 sumed by fire ; and though it was rebuilt, and in many respects 
 improved, its original and picturesque character was entirely de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 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 hun- 
 dred 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 that at any previous time it could be more 
 striking, — and yet, at the period under consideration, it was incom- 
 parably 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 over-hangijig 
 stories of the houses, was the main source of their beauty. Then, 
 the huge projecting signs with their fantastical iron- work — the con- 
 duits — 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 
 some of the bell-ringers, or other persons connected with the ca- 
 thedral, might come hither and set him free. 
 
 While thus communing with himself, he heard a door open 
 below; and hurrying down the stairs at the sound, beheld to his 
 great surprise ana joy the piper's daughter, Nizza Macascree. " 1 
 
108 OLD SAINT call's. 
 
 have searched for you everywhere," she cried, '' and began to think 
 some ill had befallen you. 1 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 1 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 sup- 
 posed you might have left the cathedral without my observing you, 
 and I was further confirmed in the idea by what 1 subsequently 
 heard." 
 
 " Indeed I " exclaimed Leonard. ' ' What did you hear ?" 
 
 '•I followed Judith to the vaults of Saint Faith's," rephed 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," rephed 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, whom I could not 
 doubt was Amabel. The Earl and his companion laughed heartily 
 at the trick Judith had played you, and which the latt^ 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 council." 
 
 '* Perhaps not," replied Nizza ; "but I am sorry you have bestowed 
 your heart upon one who so Httle appreciates the boon." And m 
 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 1 shall find her ?" he cried. 
 
LONDON FROM SAINT PAUL's. 109 
 
 "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 fa- 
 vourable 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 I" cried Leonard ; "but go on !" 
 
 " 1 have little more to tell," replied Nizza ; " except that she con- 
 sented 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 Bochester and Sir George 
 Etherege kept pacing to and fro in front of the door, and their dis- 
 course 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. 1 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 1 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 Quatreraain 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 rush- 
 
no 
 
 ing up to the pair, exclaimed in a loud voice, '* Hold I I forbid 
 this marriage. It must not take place I" 
 
 '' Back, sirrah!" cried Etherege, drawing his sword, and oppos- 
 ing the approach of the apprentice. *' You have no authority to 
 interrupt it. Proceed, Mr. Qiiatremain." 
 
 " Forbear!" cried a voice of thunder near them — and all turning 
 at the cry, they beheld Solomon Eagle, with his brasier on his 
 head, issue from behind the stalls. " Forbear !" roared the enthu- 
 siast, 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 num- 
 bered. I read in your livid looks and red and burning eye-balls 
 that you are smitten by the pestilence." 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 pall's walk. 
 
 It will now be necessary to ascertain what took place at the gro- 
 cer*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. 
 
 "INo; I am his porter," replied the other. 
 
 ** What, Blaize !" replied PiUichody. "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?" 
 
 "1 have been trying to prevent Leonard Holt from carrying off 
 your master's daughter, the fair Mistress Amabel," answered Pilli- 
 chody. "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, "1 perceive<l 
 a rope ladder fastened to it, and wishing to ascertain what was the 
 matter, 1 mounted it, and had scarcely got over into the yard, wlicn 
 1 saw two persons advancing. 1 concealed myself beneath the shadow 
 of the wail, and they did not notice me ; but 1 gathered from their 
 discourse who they were, and what was their design. I allowed 
 
in 
 
 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 soon 
 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," repHed Blaize. "He took the same cowardly 
 advantage of me last night." 
 
 ^' No punishment will be too severe for him," rejoined PiUichody, 
 '*and 1 hope your master will make a terrible example of him." 
 
 "How fortunate 1 was not gone to bed !" exclaimed Blaize. "I 
 had just taken a couple of rufuses, and was about to put on my 
 night-cap, when hearing a noise without, and being ever on the 
 alert to defend my master's property, even at the hazard of my life, 
 1 stepped forth and found you." 
 
 "I will bear testimony to your vigilance and courage," returned 
 PiUichody ; ' ' but you had better go and alarm your master. I will 
 wait here." 
 
 "Instantly !— instantly I " cried Blaize, rushing up stairs. 
 
 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 parti- 
 cular 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 down stairs 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 Holt 
 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 des- 
 perately 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 PiUichody in 
 his watchman's dress, who related his story more circumstantially 
 than before. 
 
112 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 *' 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 your- 
 self. Oh dear ! what will become of her 1" she mentally ejaculated. 
 
 ' ' Lanterns and links ! " cried Pillichody. ' ' Do you mean to im- 
 peach 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 accompHce in my daughter's abduction," rephed Bloun- 
 del. "Here Blaize — Stephen, hold him while I call the watch. 
 This is a most mysterious affair, but I will soon ^ei at the bottom 
 of it." By the grocer's directions, Pillichody, who very quietly 
 entered the house, and surrendered his halbert 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 halbert on his 
 shoulder. Patience whispered to PiUichody, ' ' 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. 
 
 "1 only got up to see whether the wine was coming," rephed 
 Pillichody. 
 
 "Yes, here it is," rephed Blaize, as his mother re-appeared; 
 * ' 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 hps. "What ails you, friend?" inquired 
 Blaize, uneasily. 
 
 " 1 don't know," replied Pillichody; " but I feel extremely un- 
 well." 
 
 ' ' 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 in pieces on the stone floor. " And 1 have touched liim. 
 Where is the vinegar-bottle? I must sprinkle myself directly, and 
 
Paul's walk. 113 
 
 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 spring- 
 ing up, caught at Blaize, who instantly dropped the halbert, and fled 
 into one corner of the room. PiUichody then hurried up stairs, 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 PiUichody 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 feehngs oc- 
 casioned him a night of indescribable anxiety. The party of watch 
 whom he had summoned searched the street for him, and endea- 
 voured 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, 
 saUied forth with Blaize in search of his daughter and Leonard. Un- 
 certain where to bend his steps, he trusted to chance to direct him, 
 resolved, if he was 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 pas- 
 sage leading to the north-west corner of the cathedral. Prompted 
 by an unaccountable impulse, he no sooner caught sight of the re- 
 verend 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 Quatre- 
 main 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 rehnquish his charge, if Solomon Eagle, who had hitherto 
 contented himself with gazing sternly on at what was passing, had 
 not interfered ; and, rushing towards the combatants, seized Ro- 
 chester and Etherege, and hurled them backwards with almost su- 
 pernatural f^rce. When they arose, and menaced him with their 
 
 8 
 
il4 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 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 fol- 
 low 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 with- 
 inside. 
 
 Just then, a loud knocking was heard at the northern entrance 
 of the cathedral, and a verger answering the summons, Mr. Bloun- 
 del and Blaize were admitted. On beholding the new-comers, Ro- 
 chester and his companions were filled with confusion. Equally 
 astonished at the rencounter, the grocer grasped his staff, and rush- 
 ing 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 ran 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 akimbo, and assum- 
 ing a swaggering demeanour, strutted forward and said, "Your 
 daughter has just been wedded to Leonard Hol't, Mr. l31oundel." 
 
 " It is false," cried Bloundel, " as false as the character you just 
 personated, for I recognize 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 httle 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. " 1 have the 
 keys with me, and will admit you." 
 
 " 1 will keep guard here till you return," said another verger. 
 Accompanied by Rochester and Etherege, Bloundel then pro- 
 ceeded 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 prodnced his keys, but they were of no avail, for the door 
 was barred withinside. After many fruitless attempts to obtain ad- 
 mission, they were fain to give up the attempt. ' ' Well, if we cannot 
 get in, no one shall get out," observed the verger. ** The only 
 
pall's walk. 115 
 
 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, PiUichody, 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 inti- 
 mated, fixed their shops against the massive pillars of its nave. 
 Besides booksellers, there were seamstresses, tobacco-merchants, 
 venders 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, cut- 
 purses, bona-robas, 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 vender 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 devo- 
 tion. 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 " Microscomographia^'''' 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^ map, which you may here discern in its perfectest 
 motion, jostling and turning. It is a heap of stones and men. with 
 
116 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 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 to- 
 gether 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 hes, 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 left to swear here. The visitants are all men with- 
 out 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 Horn-book," — "the only gallery wherein the 
 pictures of all your true fashionate and comphmental 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 your's, 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 seamsters' shops, the new tobacco office, or the book- 
 sellers' stalls, where, if you cannot read, exercise your smoke, and 
 inquire who has written against the divine weed." Such, or some- 
 thing 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 Bochester 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 vender of provisions, who sup- 
 plied them with tolerable viands and a bottle of excellent Bhenish. 
 Blaise 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. 
 
117 
 
 * ' And how do you expect the adventure to terminate ? asked 
 Parravicin, laughing heartily at the recital. 
 
 '^ Heaven knows," rephed 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," rephed the Knight, " and partly to see a most 
 heautiful 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," rephed Rochester. " Now, her name? " 
 
 " She is the daughter of a blind piper, who haunts the cathedral," 
 returned Parravicin, "and her name is INizza Macascree. Is it not 
 charming? But you shall see her." 
 
 " We must not go too far from the door of Saint Faith's," re- 
 joined 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 short- 
 ly afterwards, said, " My mistress has likewise disappeared. 1 
 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, PiUichody, 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 accom- 
 panied by two masked females. All three attempted to dart across 
 the transept, and gain the northern entrance, but they were inter- 
 cepted. Mr. Bloundel caught hold of Leonard's arm, and Rochester 
 seized her whom he judged by her garb to be Amabel, while Par- 
 ravicin, recognizing Sizza Macascree, as he thought, by her dress, 
 detained her. " What is the meaning of all this, Leonard?" de- 
 manded the grocer, angrily. 
 
 "You shall have an explanation instantly," replied the appren- 
 tice, " 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 '11 be sworn," rejoined 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 dis- 
 
118 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 pleasure on my head. I carried her off, and would have wedded 
 her." 
 
 <' What motive had you for this strange conduct?" asked Bloun- 
 del, 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 he outdone in gene- 
 rosity 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 1" 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 I" cried Parravicin; 
 " but where is the apprentice — and where is the pretty Nizza Ma- 
 cascree ? ' Fore heaven !" he added, as he looked around for them 
 in vain; " I should not wonder if they have eloped together." 
 
 "Nor 1," rephed 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." 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 
 THE AMILET. 
 
 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 ac- 
 companied 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 again 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, fainlly. But seeing that his kind 
 provider looked greatly disappointed, he swallowed a few mouth- 
 
THE AMULET. 119 
 
 fuls, and raised the bottle to his hps. As he did so, a sudden feehng 
 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, a^ 
 a fearful foreboding crossed her. 
 
 " 1 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 would not be deceived. 
 
 " I scarcely desire to live," replied the apprentice, in a melan- 
 choly tone ; "for hfe 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 re- 
 sidence, — " 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 beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 " In good sooth, she is," replied the Earl, gazing at her with ad- 
 miration. 
 
 "By the nut-brown skin of Cleopatra!" cried PHlichody, "she 
 beats Mrs. Disbrowe, Sir Paul." 
 
 " I have never seen any one so lovely," said the Knight, attempt- 
 ing to press her hand to his lips. 
 
 " Release me, sir," cried Nizza, strugghng to free herself. 
 
 " Not till I have told you how much 1 love you," returned the 
 Knight, ardently. 
 
120 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 ^^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 other- 
 wise. 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 man- 
 sion, and have troops of servants at your command. In short, my 
 whole fortune, together with myself, shall be placed at your dis- 
 posal." 
 
 "Do not hsten to him, jNizza," cried Leonard Holt, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 " Be assured 1 will not," she answered. " Your insulting pro- 
 posal 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 dan- 
 gerous 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 
 
THE AMULET. ' 121 
 
 floor. After vainly attempting to raise him, Nizza flew for assis- 
 tance, 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 at- 
 tacked by the plague. It may be some other disorder." 
 
 " 1 hope so, indeed," said Nizza, pausing; "but I fear the con- 
 trary." 
 
 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 burthen 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," re- 
 turned Chowles. "From what I have seen, he is hkely 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 rid- 
 dance 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 Mascascree 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," rephed 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 de- 
 portment have upon our sex. He has won your heart. Ha I ha ! 
 
 i 
 
122 OLD SAINT PAULAS. 
 
 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 pos- 
 session." ^ 
 
 " That is not my case," said Nizza, bursting into tears. ' ' 1 never 
 received a present in my life, and never desired one till now." 
 
 " But your father must have some money?" said Judith, inquisi- 
 tively. 
 
 "1 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 Hght a fire. Long 
 before this, the sick youth was restored to animation. But he was 
 quite hght-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," re- 
 plied 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 de- 
 pend 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," repHed Chowles; " I had forgotten that. Well, if I 
 full ill, you shan'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 " Til 
 take every care of you. We are necessary to each other." 
 
THE AMULET. 123 
 
 "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," rephed 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 cof- 
 fins." 
 
 " Not unlikely," replied Mrs. Malmayns. " But there are plenty 
 of ways of getting money at a season like this. If one fails, we 
 must resort to another. I shall make all I can, and in the shortest 
 manner." 
 
 "Right I" cried Chowles, with an atrocious laugh — "right! 
 Ha! ha!" 
 
 " I have found out a means of propagating the distemper," pur- 
 sued Judith, in a low tone, and with a mysterious air, " of inocu- 
 lating 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 re- 
 turned, and informed them that she couid 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 pleading of 
 humanity. 1 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 hke 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 inp^the nurse's manner. 
 
124 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 " I have," replied Judith, " and in very different hands." 
 
 ** You surprise me ! " cried Nizza, " Explain yourself, I heseech 
 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." 
 
 His daughter then hastily recounted what had happened. When 
 the piper heard that she had promised the piece of gold to the 
 plague-nurse, a cloud came over his open countenance. "You 
 must never part with it," he said — "never. It is an amulet, and 
 if you lose it, or give it away, your good luck will go with it." 
 
 "Judith Malmayns says she has seen it before," rejoined Nizza. 
 
 "No such thing," cried the piper hastily, "she knows nothing 
 about it. But come with me. You must not stay here longer." 
 
 "But father, — dear father! I want a small sum to pay the nurse 
 for attending this poor young man!" cried Nizza. 
 
 "I have no money," replied the piper, '*and if I had, I should 
 not throw it away in so silly a manner. Come along. 1 shall begin 
 to think you are in love with the youth." 
 
 "Then you will not be far wide of the mark," observed Judith, 
 coarsely. 
 
 The piper uttered an angry exclamation, and taking his daughter's 
 hand, dragged her out of the vault. ''You will not get your fee," 
 laughed Chowles, as they were left alone. 
 
 "So it appears," replied Judith, taking the pan from the fire; 
 "there is no use in wasting a poultice." 
 
 Shortly after this, the door of the vault again opened, and Par- 
 ravicin looked in. He held a handkerchief sprinkled with vinegar 
 to his face, and had evidently, from the manner in which he spoke, 
 some antidote against the plague in his mouth. "Nizza Macascree 
 has been here, has she not?" he asked. 
 
 "She has just left with her father," replied Judith. 
 
 Parravicin beckoned her to follow him, and led the way to the 
 north aisle of Saint Faith's. " Is the apprentice likely to recover ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "Humph!" exclaimed Judith; '' that depends upon circum- 
 stances. Nizza Macascree offered me a large reward to cure him." 
 
 "Is he any connexion of hers?" asked the Knight, sharply. 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED. 125 
 
 "None whatever," returned Judith, with a significant smile. 
 "But he may possibly be so." 
 
 "I thought as much," muttered the Knight. 
 
 "He never shall recover," said Judith, halting, and speaking in 
 a low tone ; "if you make it worth my while. 
 
 "You read my wishes," replied Parravicin, in a sombre tone. 
 "Take this purse, and free me from him." 
 
 " He will never more cross your path," replied Judith, eagerly 
 grasping the reward. 
 
 "Enough! " exclaimed Parravicin. "What has passed between 
 us must be secret." 
 
 "As secret as the grave which shall soon close over the victim," 
 she rejoined. Parravicin shuddered, and hurried away, while 
 Judith returned at a slow pace, and chinking the purse as she went, 
 to the vault. 
 
 She had scarcely passed through the door, when Nizza Macascree 
 appeared from behind one of the massive pillars. "This dreadful 
 crime must be prevented," she cried — "but how? if 1 run to give 
 the alarm, it may be executed, and no one will believe me. I will 
 try to prevent it myself." 
 
 Crossing the Charnel, she was about to enter the vault, when 
 Chowles stepped forth. Shrinking backwards, she allowed him to 
 pass, and then trying the door, found it unfastened. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW LEONARD HOLT WAS CURED OF THE PLAGUE. 
 
 NizzA Macascree found Judith leaning over her intended victim, 
 and examining the plague-spot on his breast. The nurse was so 
 occupied by her task that she did not hear the door open, and it 
 was not until the piper's daughter was close beside her that she was 
 aware of her presence. Hastily drawing the blankets over the ap- 
 prentice, she then turned, and regarded INizza with a half-fearfid, 
 half-menacing look. ' ' What brings you here again ?" she inquired, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Ask your own heart, and it will tell you," rejoined Nizza, 
 boldly. "I am come to preserve the life of this poor youth." 
 
 " If you think you can nurse him better than I can, you can take 
 my place and welcome," returned JluUi h, affecting not to understand 
 her. " I have plenty of other business to attend to, and should be 
 glad to be released from the trouble." 
 
 "Can she have already effected her fell purpose!" thought Nizza, 
 gazing at the apprentice, whose perturbed features proclaimsd that 
 his slumber procured him no rest from suffering. "No — no — she 
 has not had^ time. I accept your offer," she added, aloud. 
 
*' But what will your father say to this arrangement?** asked 
 Judith. 
 
 " When he knows ray motive he will not blame me," answered 
 Nizza. "Here 1 take my place," she continued, seating herself, 
 *' and will not quit it till he is out of danger." 
 
 " Your love for this youth borders upon insanity," cried Judith, 
 angrily. " You shall not destroy yourself thus." 
 
 " Neither shall you destroy him," retorted Nizza. *' It is to pre- 
 vent the commission of the crime you meditate — and for which you 
 have been paid, that I am determined to remain with him." 
 
 As she said this, a singular and frightful change took place in the 
 nurse's appearance. A slight expression of alarm was at first vi- 
 sible, but it was instantly succeeded by a look so savage and vin- 
 dictive that Nizza almost repented having provoked the ire of so 
 unscrupulous a person. But summoning up all her resolution, she 
 returned Judith's glance with one as stern and steady, if not so ma- 
 lignant, as her own. A deep silence prevailed for a few minutes, 
 during which each fancied she could read the other's thoughts. In 
 Nizza's opinion, the nurse was revolving some desperate expedient, 
 and she kept on her guard, lest an attack should be made upon her 
 life. And some such design did, in reahty, cross Judith, but aban- 
 doning it as soon as formed, she resolved to have recourse to more 
 secret, but not less certain measures. " Well," she said, breaking 
 silence, " since you are determined to have your own way, and to 
 catch the plague, and most likely perish from it, I shall not try to 
 hinder you. Do what you please, and see what will come of it." 
 And she made as if about to depart, but finding Nizza did not at- 
 tempt to stop her, she halted. 
 
 '^ I cannot leave you thus," she continued ; "if you mil remain, 
 take this ointment," producing a small jar, "and rub the plague- 
 spot with it. It is a sovereign remedy, and will certainly effect a 
 cure." 
 
 " I will not touch it," returned Nizza. 
 
 " His death then be upon your head," rejoined Judith, quitting 
 the vault, and closing the door after her. 
 
 Greatly relieved by her departure, Nizza began to consider what 
 she should do, and whether it would be possible to remove the ap- 
 prentice to some safer place. While occupied with these reflections, 
 the object of her solicitude heaved a deep sigh, and opening his 
 eyes, nxed them upon her. It was evident, however, that he did 
 not know her, but, as far as could be gathered from his ravings, 
 mistook her for Amabel. By degrees he grew calmer, and tlie 
 throbbing anguish of the tumour in some measure subsiding, his 
 faculties returned to him. " Where am I ?" he exclaimed, pressing 
 his hand forcibly to his brow, " and what is the matter with me?" 
 
 " You are in a vault near Saint Faith's," replied Nizza, " and — I 
 will not deceive you — the disorder you are labouring under is the 
 plague." 
 
 " The plague !" echoed Leonard, with a look of horror. " Ah I 
 now I recollect. I was attacked immediately after Amabel's de- 
 parture with her father. Heaven be praised ! she is safe. That is 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED. 127 
 
 some consolation amid all this misery. Could my master behold 
 me now, he would pity me, and so perhaps would his daughter." 
 
 " Heed her not," rejoined Nizza, in a shghtly reproachful tone, 
 *' she does not deserve consideration. To return to yourself. You 
 are not safe here. Judith Malmayns has been hired to take away 
 your life. Are you able to move hence ?" 
 
 '' I hope so," replied Leonard, raising himself on his arm. 
 
 *' Wrap a blanket round you, then, and follow me," said Nizza, 
 taking up the lamp and hastening to the door. "Ah!" she ex- 
 claimed, with a cry of anguish — " it is locked." 
 
 "This building is destined to be my prison, and that treacherous 
 woman my gaoler," groaned Leonard, sinking backwards. 
 
 " Do not despair," cried Nizza — "I will accomphsh your deli- 
 verance." 
 
 So saying, she tried, by knocking against the door and by loud 
 outcries, to give the alarm. But no answer was returned, and she 
 soon became convinced that Judith had fastened the door of the 
 charnel, which, it will be remembered, lay between the vault and 
 the body of Saint Faith's. Hence no sound could reach the outer 
 structure. Disturbed by what had just occurred, Leonard's senses 
 again wandered, but exerting all her powers to tranquillize him, 
 Nizza at last succeeded so well that he sunk into a slumber. 
 
 Almost regarding his situation as hopeless, she took up the lamp, 
 and searching the vault, found the pan containing the half-made 
 poultice. The fire stiil smouldered on the hearth, and replenishing 
 it from a scanty supply in one corner, she heated the poultice and 
 applied it to the tumour. This done, she continued her search. 
 But though she found several phials, each bearing the name of 
 some remedy for the pestilence, her distrust of Judith would not 
 allow her to use any of them. Besuming her seat by the couch of 
 the sufferer, and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, she presently 
 dropped asleep. She was awakened after awhile by a slight noise 
 near her, and beheld Judith bending over the apprentice, with a 
 pot of ointment in her hand which she was about to apply to the 
 part affected. The poultice had already been removed. Uttering 
 a loud cry, Nizza started to her feet, and snatching the ointment 
 from the nurse threw it away. As soon as the latter recovered from 
 her surprise, she seized her assailant, and forced her into the seat 
 she had just quitted. " Stir not till 1 give you permission," she 
 cried, fiercely. "I wish to cure this young man, if you will let 
 me." 
 
 " You intend to murder him," replied Nizza ; " but while I live 
 you shall never accomplish your atrocious purpose. Help ! helpl" 
 And she uttered a prolonged and piercing scream. 
 
 " Peace ! or I will strangle you," cried Judith, compressing Nizza's 
 slender throat with a powerful gripe. And she would, in all pro- 
 bability, have executed her terrible threat, if a secret door in the 
 wall had not suddenly opened and admitted Solomon Eagle. A 
 torch supplied the place of his brasier, and he held it aloft, and 
 threw its ruddy light upon the scene. On seeing him, Judith re- 
 linquished her grasp, and glared at him with a mixture of defiance 
 
128 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 and apprehension ; while Nizza, half dead with terror, instantly 
 rushed towards him, and throwing herself at his feet, besought 
 him to save her. 
 
 " No harm shall befall you," replied Solomon Eagle, extending his 
 arms over her. "Tell me what has happened?" 
 
 Nizza hastily explained the motive of Judith's attack upon her 
 life. The plague-nurse endeavoured to defend herself, and, in her 
 turn, charged her accuser wdth a like attempt. But Solomon Eagle 
 interrupted her." " Be silent, false woman," he cried; " and 
 think not to delude me with these idle fabrications. I fully believe 
 that you would have taken the life of this poor youth ; and, did not 
 I regard you as one of the necessary agents of Heaven's vengeance, 
 I would instantly deliver you up to justice. But the measure of 
 your iniquities is not yet filled up. Your former crimes are not 
 unknown to me. Neither is the last dark deed, which you imagined 
 concealed from every human eye, hidden from me." 
 
 " I know not what you mean," returned Judith, trembling, in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " I will tell you, then," rejoined Solomon Eagle, catching her 
 hand, and dragging her into the farthest corner of the vault. ' ' Give 
 ear to me," he continued, in a low voice, " and doubt, if you can, 
 that I have witnessed what I relate. I saw you enter a small cham- 
 ber behind the vestry, in which Thomas Quatremain, who once 
 filled the place of minor canon in this cathedral, was laid. No one 
 was there beside yourself and the dying man. Your first business 
 was to search his vestments, and take away his keys." 
 " Hal" exclaimed Judith, starting. 
 
 " While securing his keys," pursued Solomon Eagle, " the owner 
 wakened, and uttered a low but angry remonstrance. Better he 
 had been silent. Dipping a napkin in an ewer of water that stood 
 beside him, you held the wet cloth over his face, and did not re- 
 move it till hfe was extinct. All this 1 saw." 
 
 " But you will not reveal it?" said Judith, tremblingly. 
 *' 1 will not," replied Solomon Eagle ; "for the reasons I have 
 just stated, — namely, that I look upon you as one of the scourges 
 appointed by Heaven." 
 
 " And so I am," rejoined Judith, with impious exultation ; "it 
 is my mission to destroy and pillage, and I will fulfil it." 
 
 " Take heed you do not exceed it," replied Solomon Eagle. 
 " Lift a finger against either of these young persons, and 1 will 
 reveal all. Yes," he continued, menacingly, " I will disclose such 
 dreadful things against you, that you will assuredly be adjudged to 
 a gibbet higher than the highest tower of this proud fane." 
 
 ' ' 1 defy you , wretch 1" retorted Judith. ' ' You can prove nothing 
 against me." 
 
 " Defy me? — ha!" cried Solomon Eagle, with a terrible laugh. 
 ** First," he added, dashing her backwards against the wall — "first, 
 to prove my power. Next," he continued, drawing from her poc- 
 kets a bunch of keys, " to show that 1 speak the truth. These were 
 taken from the vest of the murdered man. No one, as yet, but 
 ourselves, knows that he is dead." 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS CURED. 129 
 
 *' And who shall say which of the two is the murderer?" cried 
 Judith. " Villain ! I charge you with the deed." 
 
 " You are, indeed, well fitted for your appointed task," returned 
 Solomon Eagle, gazing at her with astonishment, " for sometimes 
 Heaven, for its own wise purpose, will allow the children of hell to 
 execute its vengeance upon earth. But think not you will always 
 thus escape. No, you may pursue your evil course for awhile — you, 
 and your companion in crime, — but a day of retribution will arrive 
 for both — a day when ye shall be devoured, Hving, by flames of 
 fire — when all your sins shall arise before your eyes, and ye shall 
 have no time for repentance, — and when ye shall pass from one 
 fierce fire to another yet fiercer, and wholly unquenchable!" 
 
 As he concluded, he again dashed her against the wall with such 
 violence, that she fell senseless upon the ground. " And now," he 
 said, turning to Nizza Macascree, who looked on in alarm and sur- 
 prise, " what can I do for you?" 
 
 " Bear this youth to a place of safety," was her answer. 
 
 Solomon Eagle answered by lifting up the pallet upon which 
 Leonard was laid with as much ease as if it had been an infant's 
 cradle, and calHng on Nizza to bring the torch, passed with his 
 burthen through the secret door. Directing her to close it after 
 them, he took his way along a narrow stone passage, until he came 
 to a chink in the wall commanding a small chamber, and desired 
 her to look through it. She obeyed, and beheld, stretched upon a 
 couch, the corpse of a man. "It is Mr. Quatremain, the minor- 
 canon," she said, retiring. 
 
 " It is," returned Solomon Eagle, '* and it will be supposed that 
 he died of the plague. But his end was accelerated by Judith Mal- 
 
 Without allowing her time for reply, he pursued his course, tra- 
 versing another long narrow passage. 
 
 ' ' Where are we ?" asked Nizza, as they arrived at the foot of a 
 spiral stone staircase. 
 
 " Beneath the central tower of the cathedral," replied Solomon 
 Eagle. " I will take you to a cell known only to myself, w^here this 
 youth will be in perfect safety." 
 
 Ascending the staircase, they passed through an arched door, 
 and entered the great northern ambulatory. Nizza gazed down for 
 a moment into the nave, but all was buried in darkness, and no 
 sound reached her to give her an idea that any one was below. 
 Proceeding towards the west, Solomon Eagle arrived at a small 
 recess in the wall opposite one of the broad-arched openings looking 
 into the nave, and entering it, pressed against a spring at the fur- 
 ther extremity, and a stone door flying open, discovered a secret 
 cell, on the floor of which his brasier was burning. Depositing his 
 burthen on the floor, he said to Nizza, "He is now safe. Go in 
 search of proper assistance, and 1 will watch by him till you return.'* 
 
 Nizza did not require a second exhortation, but quitting the cell 
 and noticing its situation, swiftly descended the winding staircase, 
 and hurrying along the northern aisle, proceeded to a small cham- 
 ber beneath the tower at its western extremity, which she knew was 
 
 9 
 
130 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 occupied by one of the vergers. Speedily arousing him, she told 
 bim her errand, and implored him to remain on the watch till she 
 returned with Doctor Hodges. The verger promised compliance, 
 and opening a wicket in the great doorway, allowed her to go forth. 
 A few seconds brought her to the Doctor's dwelling, and though it 
 was an hour after midnight, her summons was promptly answered 
 by the old porter, who conveyed her message to his master. Doctor 
 Hodges had just retired to rest, but, on learning in whose behalf his 
 services were required, he sprang out of bed, and hastily slipped 
 on his clothes. "I would not for half 1 am worth, that that poor 
 youth should perish," he cried. " I take a great interest in him 
 — a very great interest. He must not be neglected. How comes 
 he at Saint Paul's, I wonder. But I can obtain information on that 
 point as I go thither. No time must be lost." 
 
 Ruminating thus, he swallowed a glass of sack, and providing 
 himself with a case of instruments, and such medicines as he thought 
 he might require, he descended to Nizza. On the way to the ca- 
 thedral, she acquainted him with what had befallen Leonard during 
 the last four-and-twenty hours, and the only circumstance that she 
 kept back was Judith's attempt on his life. This she intended to 
 reveal at a more fitting opportunity. The Doctor expressed some- 
 what emphatically his disapproval of the conduct of Mf . Bloundel, 
 but promised to set all to rights without loss of time. 
 
 '' The only difficulty I foresee," he observed, " is that the poor 
 youth is attacked by the pestilence, and though I may succeed in 
 curing him, his master will probably have shut up his house before 
 I can accomphsh my object, in which case all chance of his union 
 with Amabel will be at an end." 
 
 ^' So much the better," rejoined Nizza, sharply ; " she does not 
 deserve him." 
 
 " There I agree with you," returned Hodgfes. — "But could you 
 point out any one who does?" he added, with a shght but significant 
 laugh. 
 
 No answer was returned, and as they had just reached the por- 
 tico of the cathedral, they entered the sacred structure in silence. 
 
 As they ascended the winding stairs, loud outcries resounding 
 along the ambulatory, and echoed by the vaulted roof of the nave, 
 convinced them that the sufferer was again in a state of frenzy, 
 produced by fever and the anguish of his sore ; £lnd on reaching the 
 cell, they found him strugghng violently with Solomon Eagle, who 
 held him down by main force. " He is in a fearfully-excited state, 
 truly," observed Hodges, as he drew near, "and must not be left 
 for a moment, or he will do himself a mischief. I must give him a 
 draught to allay the fever, and compose his nerves — for in this 
 state 1 dare not to have recourse to the lancet." 
 
 With this, he dressed the tumour, and pouring the contents of a 
 large phial which he had brought with him in a cup, he held it to 
 the burning lips of the apprentice, who eagerly quaffed it. It was 
 soon apparent that the dose produced a sahitary effect, atid a second 
 was administered. Still the sufferer, though calmer, continued to 
 ramble as before,— complained that his veins were filled with molten 
 
HOW LEONARD WAS tURED. 1^1 
 
 lead — entreated them to plunge him in a stream, so that he might 
 cool his intolerable thirst, and appeared to be in great agony. Doc- 
 tor Hodges watched by him till daybreak, at which time he sank 
 into a slumber, and Solomon Eagle, who had never till then relip- 
 iquished his hold of him, now ventured to resign his post. The 
 Doctor was then about to depart, but at the urgent solicitation of 
 Nizza, who had stationed herself at the door of the cell, he agreed 
 to remain a little longer. 
 
 Two hours after this, the doors of the cathedral were opened, and 
 a large crowd soon assembled within the nave, as on the preceding 
 day. The tumult of voices reached the cell and awakened the 
 sleeper. Before he could be prevented^ he started from his bed, 
 and dashing aside the feeble opposition offered by Nizza and the 
 doctor, ran along the ambulatory, uttering a loud and fearful cry. 
 Finding the door of the winding staircase open, he daried through 
 it, and in a feW seconds reappeared in the aisle. Hearing the cries. 
 Several persons rushed to meet him, but on beholding his haggard 
 looks and strangfe appearance — he was merely wrapped in a blanket 
 ^— they instantly recoiled. Meantime, Doctor Hodges, who had run 
 to one of the arched openings looking upon the nave, called out to 
 them to secure the fugitive. But all fled at his approach, and when 
 he reached the door of the southern transept, the verger, instead 
 of attempting to stop him, retreated with a cry of alarm. As he 
 passed through the outlet, one man bolder than the rest caught 
 hold of him, and endeavoured to detain him. But leaving the 
 blanket in his hands, and without other covering than his shirt, the 
 apprentice dashed across the church-yard — next shaped his course 
 down Saint Bennet's Hill — then crossed Thames Street, — and finally 
 Speeding along another narrow thoroughfare, reached Paul's 
 Wharf. Gazing for a moment at the current sweeping past him, 
 —it was high-tide, — he plunged head foremost into it from the high 
 embankment, and on rising to the surface, being a strong and ex- 
 pert swimmer, struck out for the opposite shore. Those who be- 
 held him were struck with amazement, but such was the alarm 
 occasioned by his appearance that none ventured to interfere with 
 him. He had not crossed more than a fourth part of the stream 
 when Doctor Hodges arrived at the wharf; but neither promises of 
 reward nor threats could induce any of the watermen to follow him. 
 The humane physician would have sprung into a boat, but feeling 
 he should be wholly unable to manage it, he most reluctantly aban - 
 doned his purpose. Scarcely doubting what the result of this rash 
 attempt would be, and yet unable to tear himself away, he lingered 
 on the wharf till he saw Leonard reach the opposite bank, where an 
 attempt was made by a party of persons to seize him. But instead of 
 
 . quietly surrendering himself, the apprentice instantly leapt into the 
 fiver again, and began to swim back towards the point whence he 
 had started. Amazed at what he siw, the Doctor ordered his ser- 
 Varit, who by this time had joined the group, to bring a blanket, and 
 descending to the edge of the river, awaited the swimmer's arrival. 
 
 ^In less than t^ minutes he had reached the shore, and clambering 
 on the bank, lell from exhaustion. 
 
132 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 *' This is a violent effort of nature, which has accomplished more 
 than science or skill could do," said Hodges, as he gazed on the 
 body, and saw that the pestilential tumour had wholly disappeared 
 — " he is completely cured of the plague." And throwing the 
 blanket over him, he ordered him to be conveyed to his own house. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PEST-HOtSE IN FINSBURY FIELDS. 
 
 Not a word passed between the grocer and his daughter, as he 
 took her home from Saint Paul's. Amabel, in fact, was so over- 
 powered by conflicting emotions that she could not speak; while 
 her father, who could not help reproaching himself for the harsh- 
 ness he had displayed towards Leonard Holt, felt no disposition to 
 break silence. They found Mrs. Bloundel at the shop-door, drowned 
 in tears, and almost in a state of distraction. On seeing them, she 
 rushed towards her daughter, and straining her to her bosom, gave 
 free vent to the impulses of her affection. Allowing the first trans- 
 ports of joy to subside, Mr. Bloundel begged her to retire to her 
 own room with Amabel, and not to leave it, till they had both re- 
 gained their composure, when he wished to have some serious con- 
 versation with them. 
 
 His request complied with, the grocer then retraced his steps to 
 the cathedral, with the intention of seeking an explanation from 
 Leonard, and, if he saw occasion to do so, of revoking his severe 
 mandate. But long before he reached the southern transept, the 
 apprentice had disappeared, nor could he learn what had become of 
 him. While anxiously pursuing his search amid the crowd, and 
 addressing inquiries to all whom he thought likely to afford him in- 
 formation, he perceived a man pushing his way towards him. As 
 this person drew near, he recognized PilUchody, and would have 
 got out of his way had it been possible. 
 
 "You are looking for your apprentice, I understand, Mr. Bloun- 
 del," said the bully, raising his hat — " if you desire it, I will lead 
 you to him." 
 
 Unwilling as he was to be obliged to one whom he knew to be 
 leagued with the Earl of Rochester, the grocer's anxiety overcame 
 his scruples, and signifying his acquiescence, Pillichody shouldered 
 his way through the crowd, and did not stop till they reached the 
 northern aisle, where they were comparatively alone. " Your ap- 
 prentice is a fortunate spark, Mr. Bloundel," he said. "No sooner 
 does he lose one mistress than he finds another. Your daughter is 
 already forgotten, and he is at this moment enjoying a tender tcte^a- 
 tcte in Bishop Kempe's chapel with Nizza Macascree, the blind 
 piper's daughter." 
 
 " It is false, sir," replied the grocer, incredulously. 
 
THE PEST-HOUSE. 133 
 
 "Unbelieving dog!" cried Pillichody, in a furious tone, and 
 clapping his hand upon his sword, " it is fortunate for you that the 
 disparity of our stations prevents me from compelling you to yield 
 me satisfaction for the insult you have offered me. But I caution 
 you to keep better guard upon your tongue for the future, especially 
 when addressing one who has earned his laurels under King Charles 
 the Martyr." 
 
 "I have no especial reverence for the monarch you served 
 under," replied Bloundel. "But he would have blushed to own 
 such a follower." 
 
 " You may thank my generosity that I do not crop your ears, 
 base Roundhead," rejoined Pillichody. ''But 1 will convince you 
 that 1 speak the truth, and if you have any shame in your composi- 
 tion, it will be summoned to your cheeks." So saying, he proceeded 
 to Bishop Kempe's chapel, the door of which was slightly ajar, and 
 desired the grocer to look through the chink. This occurred at the 
 precise time that the apprentice was seized with sudden faintness, 
 and was leaning for support upon Nizza Macascree's shoulder. 
 
 " You see how lovingly they are seated together," observed Pil- 
 lichody, with a smile of triumph. ' ' Bowers of Paphos ! I would I 
 were as near the rich widow of Watling Street. Will you speak 
 with him?" 
 
 " No," replied Bloundel, turning away, " I have done with him 
 for ever. I have been greatly deceived." 
 
 " True," chuckled Pillichody, as soon as the grocer was out of 
 hearing; "but not by your apprentice, Mr. Bloundel. I will go 
 and inform Parravicin and Rochester that I have discovered the girl. 
 The Knight must mind what he is about, or Leonard Holt will prove 
 too much for him. Either I am greatly out, or the apprentice is al- 
 ready master of Nizza's heart." 
 
 To return to Amabel. As soon as she was alone with her mother, 
 she threw herself on her knees before her, and imploring her for- 
 giveness, hastily related all that had occurred. " But for Leonard 
 Holt," she said, " I should have been duped into a false marriage 
 with the Earl, and my peace of mind would have been for ever de- 
 stroyed. As it is, I shall never be easy till he is restored to my 
 father's favour. To have done wrong myself is reprehensible 
 enough ; but that another should suffer for my fault is utterly inex- 
 cusable." 
 
 " I lament that your father should be deceived," rejoined Mrs. 
 Bloundel, " and I lament still more that Leonard Holt should be so 
 unjustly treated. Nevertheless, we must act with the utmost cau- 
 tion, i know my husband too well to doubt for a moment that he 
 will hesitate to fulfil his threat. And now, my dear child," she con- 
 tinued, " do not the repeated proofs you have received of this wicked 
 nobleman's perfidy, and of Leonard's devotion — do Ihey not, I say, 
 open your eyes to the truth, and show you which of the two really 
 loves you, and merits your regard?" 
 
 " 1 will hide nothing from you, mother," replied Amabel. " In 
 spite of his perfidy — in spite of my conviction of his unworthiness, 
 
1§4 OLD SAINT haul's. 
 
 I still love the Earl of Rochester. Nor can I compel myself to feel 
 any regard, stronger than that of friendship, for Leonard Holt." 
 
 •'You distress me sadly, child," cried Mrs. Bloundel. "What 
 will become of you ! I wish my husband woiild shut up his house. 
 TThat might put an end to the difficulty. I am not half so much afraid 
 of the plague as I am of the Earl of Rochester. But compose your-, 
 self, as your father desired, that when he sends for us we may be 
 ready to meet him with cheerfulness." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel, however, did not send for them. IJe remained in 
 the shop all day, except at meal times, when he said little, and ap- 
 peared labouring under a great weight of anxiety. As Amabel took 
 leave of him fpr the night, he dismissed her with coldness; and 
 though he bestowed his customary blessing upon her, the look that 
 accompanied it was not such ^s it used to be. 
 
 On the following day things continued in the s^me state. The 
 grocer was cold and inscrutable, and his wife, fearing he was medi- 
 tating some severe course against Aniabel, and aware of his in- 
 flexible nature, if a resolution was once formed, shook off her 
 habitual awe, and thus addressed him:^— " I fear you have not for- 
 given our daughter. Be not too hasty in your judgment. How- 
 ever culpable she may Jippear, she ba^ been as much deceiived as 
 yourself." 
 
 f' It may be so," replied Blouqdel. " Still, she has acted with 
 such indiscretion that I can never place confidence in her again, 
 £|nd without confidence, affection is as nought. Can I say to him 
 who may seel^ her in marriage, and whom \ may approve as a hus- 
 band, — 'Take her I she has never deceived me, and will never de- 
 ceive you ?' No. She has deceived me, and will, therefore, deceive 
 others. I do not know the precipe truth of the story of her abduc- 
 tion (if such it was) by Leonard Holt, neither do 1 wish to know it, 
 because I might be compelled to act with greater severity than I 
 desire towards her. But I kr^Qw enough to satisfy me she has been 
 excessively imprudent, and has placed herself voluntarily in situa^ 
 tions of the utmost jeopardy " 
 
 " Not voluntarily," returned Mrs. Bloundel. " She has been 
 lured into difficulties by others." 
 
 " No niore !" interrupted the grocer, sternly. " If you wish to 
 serve her, keep guarcj upon your tongue. If you have any pre- 
 parations to make, they must not be delayed. I shall shut pp roy 
 house to-morrow." 
 
 *' Whether Leonard returns or not?" asked Mrs. Bloundel. 
 
 " I shall wait for no one," returned her Imsband, peremptorily. 
 They then separated, and Mrs. Bloundel hastened to her daughter, 
 to acquaint her with the result of the interview. 
 
 In the afternoon of the same day, the grocer, who began to feel 
 extremely uneasy about Leonard, again repaired to St. Paul's, to 
 see whether he could obtain any tidings of him, and learnt, to his 
 great dismay, from one of the vevgers, that a young man, answer- 
 ing to the description of the apprentice, had been attacked by the 
 pestilepce, and feftving been taken to the vaults of St, Faith's, had 
 
THE PEST-HOUSE. IM 
 
 made his escape from his attendants, and, it was supposed, had 
 perished. Horror-stricken by this intelligence, he descended to 
 the subterranean church, where he met Judith Malmayns and 
 Chowles, who confirmed the verger's statement. " The poor 
 young man, I am informed," said Chowles, " threw himself into 
 the Thames, and was picked up by a boat, and afterwards con- 
 veyed, in a dying state, to the pest-house in Finsbury-fields, where 
 you will probably find him if he is still alive." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel heard no more. Quitting the cathedral, he hast- 
 ened to Finsbury-fields, and sought out the building to which he 
 had been directed. It was a solitary farm-house, of considerable 
 size, surrounded by an extensive garden, and had only been re- 
 cently converted to its present melancholy use. Near it was a barn, 
 also fitted up with beds for the sick. On approaching the pest- 
 house, Mr. Bloundel was greatly struck with the contrast presented 
 by its exterior to the misery he knew to be reigning within. Its 
 situation was charming, — in the midst, as has just been stated, of 
 a large and, until recently, well-cultivated garden, and seen under 
 the influence of a bright and genial May day, the whole place 
 looked the picture of healthfulness and comfort. But a closer view 
 speedily dispelled the illusion, and showed that it was the abode of 
 disease and death. Horrid sounds saluted the ears ; ghastly figures 
 met the eyes ; and the fragrance of the flowers was overpowered 
 by the tainted and noisome atmosphere issuing from the open doors 
 and windows. The grocer had scarcely entered the gate, when he 
 was arrested by an appalling shriek, followed by a succession of 
 cries so horrifying that he felt half disposed to fly. But mustering 
 up his resolution, and breathing at a phial of vinegar, he advanced 
 towards the principal door, which stood wide open, and called to 
 one of the assistants. The man, however, was too busy to attend 
 to him, and while waiting his leisure, he saw no fewer than three 
 corpses carried out to an outbuilding in the yard, where they were 
 left till they could be taken away at night for interment. 
 
 Sickened by the sight, and blaming himself for venturing near 
 this contagious spot, Mr. Bloundel was about to depart, when a 
 young chirurgeon stepped out to him, and, in reply to his inquiries 
 after Leonard, said — " Twelve persons were brought in here last 
 night, and five this morning, but I do not remember any of their 
 names. You can go through the rooms and search for your ap- 
 prentice, if you think proper." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel hesitated, but his humanity overcame his appre- 
 hension, and murmuring a prayer that he might be preserved from 
 infection, he followed his conductor into the house. Prepared as 
 he was for a dreadful spectacle, the reality far exceeded his antici- 
 pations. Along both sides of a large room, occupying nearly the 
 whole of the ground-floor, were rows of pallets, on which were 
 laid the sick, many of whom were tied down to their couches. 
 Almost all seemed in a hopeless state, and the cadaverous hue of 
 their countenances proclaimed that death was not far off. Though 
 the doors and windows were open, and the room was filled with 
 vapours and exhalations, arising from pans of coal and plates of 
 
136 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 hot iron, on which drugs were burning, nothing could remove the 
 putrid and pestilential smell that pervaded the chamber. The 
 thick vapour settled on the panes of the windows, and on the roof, 
 and fell to the ground in heavy drops. Marching quickly past each 
 bed, the grocer noted the features of its unfortunate occupant, but 
 though there were many young men, Leonard was not among the 
 number. His conductor then led him to an upper room, where he 
 found the chirurgeons dressing the sores of their patients, most of 
 whom uttered loud shrieks while under their hands. Here an 
 incident occurred which deeply affected the grocer. A poor young 
 woman, who had been brought to the pest-house with her child on 
 the previous evening, had just expired, and the infant, unable to 
 obtain its customary nourishment, uttered the most piteous cries. 
 It was instantly removed by a nurse and proper food given it, but 
 Mr. Bloundel was informed that the plague-tokens had already ap- 
 peared, and that it would not probably live over the night. " I 
 have no doubt," said the young chirurgeon, " it will be buried 
 with its mother." And so it happened. 
 
 The grocer turned away to hide his emotion, and endeavoured 
 through his Winded gaze to discover Leonard, but, as will be an- 
 ticipated, without success. Stunned by the cries and groans that 
 pierced his ears, and almost stifled by the pestilential effluvia, he' 
 rushed out of the house, and gladly accepted a glass of sack offered 
 him by his conductor, which removed the dreadful nausea that 
 affected him. '' I now remember that the two last persons brought 
 here were taken to the barn," observed the chirurgeon, ' ' I will 
 go with you thither, if you think proper." 
 
 The grocer assented, and the chirurgeon crossed the yard, and 
 opened the door of the barn, on the floor of which upwards of 
 twenty beds were laid. Passing between them, Mr. Bloundel nar- 
 rowly scrutinized every countenance, but to his great relief, re- 
 cognized no one. One couch alone remained to be examined. 
 The poor sufferer within it had drawn the coverings over his face, 
 and when they were removed, he was found quite dead ! He was 
 a young man, and the agony he had endured in the last struggle 
 was shown by his collapsed frame and distorted features. It was 
 not, however, Leonard, and, so far satisfied, though greatly 
 shocked, Mr. Bloundel hurried out. " Thank Heaven! he is not 
 here !" he exclaimed, to his conductor. 
 
 " You have not seen the dead bodies in the outhouse," returned 
 the other. " It is possible his may be among them." 
 
 " I trust not," rejoined the grocer, shuddering. " But as I have 
 gone thus far, I will not leave my errand unaccomphshed. Suffer 
 me to look at them." 
 
 The chirurgeon then led the way to a spacious outbuilding, once 
 used for cattle, in the midst of which stood a large frame supporting 
 six bodies, covered only with a sheet. Mr. Bloundel could not 
 overcome his repugnance to enter this shed; but the chirurgeon, 
 who appeared habituated to such scenes, and to regard them lightly, 
 threw off the sheet, and raised the corpses, one by one, that he 
 might the better view them. One peculiarity Mr. Bloundel noticed ; 
 
THE PEST-HOLSE. 137 
 
 — namely, that the Hmbs of these unfortunate victims of the pesti- 
 lence did not stiffen as would have been the case, if they had died 
 of any other disorder, while the blotches that appeared on the livid 
 flesh made them objects almost too horrible to look upon. In many 
 cases, the features were frightfully distorted — the tongues of the 
 poor wretches swollen and protruding — the hands clenched, and 
 the toes bent towards the soles of the feet. Everything denoted the 
 dreadful pangs that must have attended dissolution. 
 
 Greatly relieved to find that the whole of this ghastly group were 
 strangers to him, Mr. Bloundel thanked the chirurgeon, and de- 
 parted. Convinced that he had been deceived by the coffin-maker, 
 he now began to hope that the whole story was false, but he deter- 
 mined not to rest till he had thoroughly investigated the matter. 
 Before doing so, however, he thought it advisable to return home, 
 and accordingly shaped his course towards Cripplegate, and passing 
 through the postern, stopped at an apothecary's shop and got his 
 apparel fumigated, and sprinkled with spirits of hartshorn and sul- 
 phur. 
 
 On reaching Wood Street, he noticed with some uneasiness a 
 number of persons gathered together before his dwelling. His fears 
 were speedily relieved by finding that the assemblage was collected 
 by a preacher, who was pronouncing an exhortation to them in 
 tones almost as loud and emphatic as those of Solomon Eagle. 
 The preacher's appearance was very remarkable, and attracted the 
 attention of the grocer, who joined the crowd to listen to him. As 
 far as could be judged, he was a middle-aged man, with black hair 
 floating over his shoulders, earnest features, and a grey eye of ex- 
 traordinary brilliancy. His figure was sfight and erect, and his 
 gestures as impassioned as his looks. He spoke with great rapidity, 
 and his eloquence, combined with his fervent manner and expres- 
 sion, completely entranced his audience. He was habited in a cas- 
 sock and bands, and had taken off his cap, which was held by an 
 attendant who stood near the stool on which he was mounted. 
 The latter differed materially from his master. His closely-cropped 
 hair, demure looks, sugar-loaf hat, and suit of rusty sable seemed 
 to proclaim him a Puritan ; but his twinkling eye, — for he had but 
 one, and wore a black patch over the orifice, — his inflamed cheeks, 
 and mulberry-nose contradicted the idea. 
 
 As soon as the preacher distinguished Mr. Bloundel, he addressed 
 his discourse to him; and alluding to his rehgious habits and general 
 excellence of character, held him up as an example to the others. 
 The grocer would fain have retreated, but the preacher besought 
 him to stay, and was proceeding in the same strain when a sudden 
 interruption took place. A sHght disturbance occurring amid the 
 crowd, the attendant attempted to check it, and in doing so, received 
 . a sound buffet on the ears. In endeavouring to return the blow, 
 he struck another party, who instantly retahated, and a general fray 
 commenced, — some taking one side, some the other. In the midst 
 of the confusion, three persons forced their way towards the 
 preacher, knocked him from his stool, and assailing him with most 
 opprobrious? epithets, dealt him several seemingly-severe blows, 
 
)S(3 OLD SAiMT Paul's. 
 
 and would have further maltreated him, if Mr. Bloundel had not 
 interposed, and, pushing aside his assailants, given him his hand, 
 and led him into his dwelling, the door of which he closed. Shortly 
 afterwards, the crowd dispersing, the preacher's companion entered 
 the shop in search of his master. "I hope you have sustained no 
 injury during this tumult, reverend and dear sir?" he asked, with 
 great apparent solicitude. 
 
 ^'I am not much hurt," replied the preacher; " but I received a 
 blow on the head, which has stunned me. The faintness will go off 
 presently. You were the cause of this disturbance, Bamboho." 
 
 '♦I, Doctor Maplebury ?" repHed BamboHo — "I endeavoured to 
 stop it. But your reverence looks extremely ill. I am sure, sir," 
 he added, to Mr. Bloundel, " after the high character my master 
 gave of you in his discourse, and which I am persuaded you deserve, 
 you will extend your hospitality towards him." 
 
 "Readily," repUed the grocer. "Here, Blaize, assist the re- 
 verend gentleman within, and bid your mistress come down stairs 
 immediately." 
 
 Doctor Maplebury was then conveyed between the porter and 
 Bamboho into the inner room, where he sunk into a chair in a com- 
 plete state of exhaustion. The next moment, Mrs. Bloundel made 
 her appearance with Amabel. The latter no sooner beheld the 
 preacher than she started and trembled so violently, that she could 
 scarcely support herself; but her mother, who only saw a fainting 
 man, flew to his assistance, and called to Patience to bring restora- 
 tives. These applied. Doctor Maplebury was soon able to rouse him- 
 self sufficiently to gaze round the room, and fix his eyes on Amabel. 
 " So, our old friends are here again," said Patience, in a low tone 
 \o Blaize, as they left the room together. 
 
 " Old friends! — What do you mean?" rejoined the porter. 
 
 " Why, the Earl of Rochester and Major Pillichody," replied Pa- 
 tience. "I knew them at a glance, and so did Mistress Amabel. 
 But if I hadn't discovered them, the Major would soon have let me 
 into the secret, by the way in which he squeezed my hand." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Blaize, angrily. " I '11 go and acquaint my 
 master with the trick directly." 
 
 *' Do so," replied Patience, " and the house will be shut up to- 
 morrow. Our only chance of averting that calamity is in the Earl." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOW THE GROCER SHUT LP HIS HOl'SE. 
 
 Placed in a warm bed, and carefully tended by the humane phy- 
 sician, Leonard Holt slept tranquilly for some hours, and when he 
 awoke, though so weak as scarcely to be able to lift an arm, he was 
 free from all ailment. Feeling ravenously hungry, he made known 
 
THE GROCEft SHUTS W HIS HOISE. 139 
 
 his wants, and provisions being set before bim, he was allowed to 
 eat and drink in moderation. Greatly revived by the meal, he 
 arose and attired himself in habiliments provided for him by Hodges, 
 who finding him fully equal to conversation, questioned him as to 
 all that had occurred prior to his seizure. 
 
 '^ You have acted nobly," observed the Doctor, at the close of 
 his recital^ " and if Amabel had a spark of generosity in her com- 
 position, she would worthily requite you. But I do not expect it. 
 How different is her conduct from that of the piper's pretty daugh- 
 ter. The latter really loves you, and I would advise you as a friend 
 to turn your thoughts to her. She will make you happy ; whereas 
 the indulgence of your present hopeless passion — for hopeless it is 
 — can only lead to wretchedness." 
 
 "Would I could follow your advice!" replied Leonard, "but 
 alasi I cannot. Amabel does not love the Earl of Rochester more 
 blindly, more constantly, than 1 love her ; and I could as soon 
 change my nature as transfer my affection to another." 
 
 "I am truly sorry for it," rejoined Hodges, in a tone of deep 
 sympathy. " And you still desire to return to your master?" 
 
 "Unquestionably," replied Leonard. "If I am banished the 
 house, I shall wander round it night and day like a ghost." 
 
 "I will accompany you there this evening," rejoined Hodges, 
 " and trust I shall be able to arrange matters without compromising 
 Amabel. I wish I could forward your sqit more efficiently. But I 
 see no chance of it, and to deal plainly with you, I do not think a 
 marriage with her would be for your happiness. The brilliant 
 quaUties of your noble rival at present so dazzle her eyes, that your 
 own sohd worth is completely overlooked, li will be well if her 
 father can preserve her from ruin." 
 
 " The Earl shall die by my hand rather than he shall succeed in 
 his infamous purpose," cried Leonard, fiercely. 
 
 " No more of this!" exclaimed Hodges. " If you would have 
 me take an interest in you, you will never give utterance to such a 
 sentiment again. Amabel has another guardian, more powerful 
 even than her father — the plague. Ere long, the Earl, who has 
 a sufficient value for his own safety, will fly the city." 
 
 " I hope the pestilence will number him among its victims," ob- 
 served Leonard, in a sombre tone. 
 
 At this juncture, the old porter entered the room, and informed 
 his master that the piper's daughter was below, and had called to 
 inquire after the apprentice. Hodges desired she might be shown 
 up-stairs, and the next moment Nizza was ushered into the room. 
 On beholding the improved appearance of Leonard, she could not 
 repress an exclamation of delight, while a deep blush suffused her 
 cheeks. "You are surprised to find him quite well," observed 
 Hodges, with a smile. " Nay, you may approach him with safety. 
 There is no fear of contagion now." 
 
 '* Having satisfied myself on that point, I will take my leave,'- 
 rejoined Nizza, in some confusion. 
 
 ^* Not till you have allowed me to return my thanks, I trust," 
 
14() OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 said Leonard, advancing towards her and taking her hand. '*I 
 owe my life to you." 
 
 " Then pay the debt by devoting it to her," rejoined Hodges. 
 " Excuse me for a few minutes. I have business to attend to, but 
 will be back again directly." 
 
 Left alone together, the young couple felt so much embarrass- 
 ment that for some moments neither could utter a word. At length, 
 Nizza, who had suffered her hand to remain in that of Leonard, 
 gently withdrew it. " Circumstances have given me a claim to your 
 confidence," she faltered, *' and you will not misconstrue my mo- 
 tive, when I ask whether you still retain the same affection as for- 
 merly for Amabel." 
 
 " Unfortunately for myself I do," rephed Leonard. 
 '' And unfortunately for me too," sighed JNizza. " Doctor Hodges 
 says he can restore you to your master's favour. You will therefore 
 return home, and we shall meet no more." 
 
 ' ' In these precarious times, those who part, though even for a 
 few days, can feel no certainty of meeting again," rejoined Leonard. 
 " But I hope we shall be more fortunate." 
 
 " You mistake me," replied Nizza. " Henceforth, I shall sedu- 
 lously avoid you. Till I saw you, I was happy, and indifferent to 
 all else — my affections being centered in my father and in my dog. 
 Now, I am restless and miserable. My former pursuits are aban- 
 doned, and I think only of you. Despise me if you will after this 
 frank avowal. But believe that I would not have made it, if 1 had 
 not resolved to see you no more." 
 
 " Despise you !" echoed Leonard. " Oh no ! I shall ever feel 
 the deepest gratitude towards you. But, perhaps, it is better we 
 should meet no more." 
 
 " And yet you throw yourself in the way of Amabel," cried Nizza. 
 '' You have not resolution to fly from the danger which you coun- 
 sel me to shun." 
 
 " It is too true," replied Leonard ; '* but she is beset by tempta- 
 tions from which 1 hope to preserve her." 
 
 " That excuse will not avail with me," returned Nizza, bitterly. 
 *' You cannot live without her. But I have said enough — more 
 than enough," she added, correcting herself. " I must now bid you 
 farewell — for ever. May you be happy with Amabel — and may she 
 love you, as 1 love you !" As she said this, she would have rushed 
 out of the room, if she had not been stopped by Doctor Hodges. 
 
 " Whither so fast ?" he inquired. '' Oh ! let me go— let me go, I 
 implore of you !" she cried, bursting into an agonj^ of tears. 
 
 "Not till you have composed yourself," rejoined the Doctor. 
 " What is the matter ? But I need not ask. I wonder Leonard can 
 be insensible to charms hke yours, coupled with such devotion. 
 Everything seems to be at cross purposes, and it requires some one 
 more skilled in the affairs of the heart than an old bachelor like 
 myself to set them right. Sit down. I have a few questions of 
 importance to ask you before you depart." And partly by entreaty, 
 partly by compulsion, he made her take a chair, and as soon as she 
 
THE GROCER SHUTS UP HIS HOUSE. 141 
 
 was sufficiently composed to answer him, questioned her as to what 
 she knew relating to Judith Malmayns and Chowles. 
 
 "Mr. Quatremain, the minor-canon, has died of the plague in 
 one of the vaults of Saint Faith's," he observed, "and I more than 
 suspect, from the appearance of the body, has not met with fair 
 play." 
 
 ' ' Your suspicion is well founded, sir," replied Nizza. ' ' Solomon 
 Eagle told me that the unfortunate man's end was hastened by the 
 plague-nurse. Nor is this her sole crime. She was hired to make 
 away with Leonard Holt in the same manner, and would have ac- 
 compHshed her purpose but for the intervention of Solomon Eagle." 
 
 ' ' Neither she nor her partner in guilt, the coffin-maker, shall 
 escape justice this time," replied Hodges. "I will instantly cause 
 her to be arrested, and I trust she will expiate her offences at Ty- 
 burn. But, to change the subject. T am sincerely interested about 
 you, Nizza, and wish I could make Leonard as sensible of your 
 merits as I am myself. I still hope a change will take place in his 
 feelings." 
 
 "My heart tells me the contrary," replied Nizza. "There is no 
 hope for either of us. Farewell, Leonard!" And she rushed Out 
 of the room. 
 
 Soon after this, Hodges quitted the apprentice, and going before 
 a magistrate, detailed all that had come to his knowledge concern- 
 ing the criminal practices of Judith Malmayns and Chowles. In the 
 course of the day, the accused parties were arrested, and after a 
 long examination, conveyed to Newgate. Solomon Eagle could not 
 be found, neither could Sir Paul Parravicin. It appeared that Mr. 
 Quatremain's residence had been entered on that very morning, and 
 the box of treasure discovered in Saint Faith's abstracted. But though 
 the strongest suspicion of the robbery attached to Chowles and Ju- 
 dith, it could not be brought home to them. 
 
 I , We shall now proceed to Wood Street, and ascertain what took 
 place there. Befreshments were placed before the supposed Doctor 
 Mapleburjr by the grocer, while his attendant was sent to the kitchen, 
 and directions given to Blaize to take every care of him. Old Josyna 
 was occupied about her own concerns, and Pillichody, perceiving 
 from the porter's manner that his disguise was detected, laid aside 
 concealment altogether, and endeavoured to win the other over to 
 his patron's interests. "If this marriage takes place," he said, "I 
 am authorized by my noble friend to state that he will appoint you 
 his steward with a large salary, and that will be a very different 
 situation from the one you hold at present. A nobleman's steward ! 
 Think of that. You will have a retinue of servants under your con- 
 trol, and will live quite as well as his lordship." 
 " I have some scruples," hesitated Blaize. 
 
 ' ' Scruples ! pshaw ! " cried Pillichody. ' ' You can have no hesi- 
 tation in benefiting yourself. If you remain here, the house will be 
 shut up, and you will be kept a close prisoner for months in the 
 very heart of an infected city, and I dare say will be buried in 
 yonder cellar ; whereas, if you go with the Earl of Bochester, you 
 will dwell ^n a magnificent country mansion — a palace, I ought to 
 
142 OLD SAINT PAUL*S. 
 
 call it, — enjoy every luxury, and remain there till the plague is 
 over." 
 
 "That last reason decides me," replied Blaize. '*But I suppose 
 his lordship will provide himself with a medicine chest ? " 
 
 ''He has already got one as large as this table," said Pillichody, 
 * ' and you shall have the key of it. " 
 
 "Enough ! " exclaimed Blaize. "I am yours.'' 
 
 "Pray, what am I to be ?" asked Patience, who had listened to the 
 foregoing conversation with a smile at Blaize's credulity. 
 
 " You, sweetheart ! " exclaimed PiUichody. "I will take care of 
 you. You shall be my housekeeper." 
 
 "Hold ! " cried Blaize. " I cannot permit that. Patience and I are 
 engaged." 
 
 " Since you are promoted to such an important situation, you can 
 make a better match," observed Patience. "I release you from the 
 engagement." 
 
 "I don't choose to be released," returned Blaize, " I will marry 
 you on the same day that the Earl weds Amabel." 
 
 "That will be to-night, or to-mOrrow at the latest," said Pillicho- 
 df. "Consent, sweetheart," he added in a whisper to Patietice, 
 "if we can once get you and your pretty mistress out of the house, 
 we will leave this simpleton fool in the lurch." 
 
 " No, I will never consent to any such thing," returned Patience, 
 in the same tone. 
 
 " What 's that you are saying?" inquired Blaize, suspiciously. 
 
 '* Major Pillichody says he will marry me, if you won't, re- 
 turned Patience. 
 
 " I have just told you I will," reioiried Blaize. " But he miist 
 hot continue his attentions. I feel 1 shall be very jealous." 
 
 *' I am glad to hear it," returned Patience, bursting into a loud 
 laugh, " for that proves you love me." 
 
 " Well," observed Pillichody, " I won't interfere with a friend ; 
 and as there is no knowing what may occur, it will be well to pre- 
 pare accordingly." So saying, he fell to work upon the provisions 
 loading the board, and ate and drank as if determined to lay in a 
 Stock for the next two days. 
 
 Meantime, the Earl made rapid progress in the good opinion 
 both of Mr. Bloundel and his wife. Adapting his discourse pre- 
 cisely to their views, and exerting his matchless conversational 
 powers to their full extent, he so charmed them that they thought 
 they could Hsten to him for ever. While thus engaged, he con- 
 tinued ever and anon to steal a glance at Amabel, and on these oc- 
 casions, his eyes were quite as eloquent and intelligible as his tongue. 
 
 Among other topics interesting to the grocer, the persecution to 
 which his daughter had been recently subjected was brought for- 
 ward. Mr. Bloundel could not reprobate the Earl's conduct more 
 strongly than his guest did; and he assailed himself with such viru- 
 lence that, in spite of her uneasiness, Amabel could not repress a 
 Smile. In short, he so accommodated himself to the grocer's opi- 
 nions, and so won upon his regard, that the latter offered him an 
 asylum in his house durihg the continuance of the pestilence. This 
 
THE GROCER SHUTS UP HIS HOUSE. 143 
 
 was eagerly accepted, and the Earl, hazarding a look at Attiabel ^t 
 the moment, perceived her change colour and become greatly agi- 
 tated. Mrs. Bloundel also noticed her confusion, but attributing it 
 to any other than the right cause, begged her,^in a low tone, to con- 
 trol herself. 
 
 At length, the opportunity for which the Earl had been secretly 
 sighing, occurred. Mr. Bloundel called his wife out of the rOOiri 
 for a moment, and as their eldest son, Stephen, was in the shop, 
 and the two other children upstairs, Amabel was left alone with her 
 lover. The door was no sooner closed than he sprang towards 
 her and threw himself at her feet. ' ' Shall I avail myself of your 
 father's offer, sweetheart?" he cried. " Shall I remain here 
 with you — the happiest of prisoners ; — or will yoii once more ac- 
 company me ? This time, our marriage shall not be interrupted." 
 
 " Perhaps not, my lord," she replied, gravely; "but it will be a 
 mock ceremonial like the last. Do not attempt to deceivie me. I 
 am fully aware of your intentions, and after the aWful fate of the 
 wretched instrument of your purposed criminality, you will not 
 readily get another person to tempt in like mannet* the vengeance of 
 heaven. 1 have had a severe struggle With myself. But at lehgth, 
 I have triumphed over my irresolution. I will not disguise from 
 you that I love you still, — and must ever, I fear, continue to love 
 you. But I will not be yours on the terms you propose. Neither 
 will 1 leave this house with you, nor suffer you to remain in it, in 
 any other than your proper character. On my father's return 
 I will disclose all to him. If your designs are honourable, I am 
 sure he will no longer oppose my union with you. If not, we part 
 for ever." 
 
 "Be prudent, sWeet girlj I entreat of you," cried the Earl, im- 
 ploringly. " Your indiscretion will ruin all. There are a thou- 
 sand reasons why your father should not be consulted on the 
 matter." 
 
 "There are none that weigh with me," she interrupted, de- 
 cidedly. "I have been bewildered, — beside myself,— biit thank 
 heaven, I have recovered before it is too late." 
 
 " You are beside yourself at this moment," cried Bochester, un- 
 able to control his anger and mortification, "and will bitterly repent 
 your folly. Neither your supplications nor my rank will have any 
 weight with your father, prejudiced as he is against me. Fly with 
 me, and I swear to make you mine, without a moment's loss of 
 time. Will not my plighted word content you ?" 
 
 "No, my lord, you have broken it already," returned Amabel. 
 " My father shall know the truth." 
 
 A dark shade passed over Bochester's countenance, and a singular 
 and most forbidding expression, which Amabel had once before 
 noticed, took possession of it. His love for her seemed changed to 
 hate, and she tremblingly averted her gaze. At this juncture, the 
 door opened, and the grocer and his wife entered the room. The 
 former started on seeing Amabel and the supposed preacher in such 
 close propinquity, and a painful suspicion of the truth crossed his 
 mind. He \yas not, however, kept long in suspense. Throwing 
 
144 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 off his wig, and letting his own fair ringlets fall over his shoulders, 
 the Earl tore open his cassock, and disclosed his ordinary rich attire. 
 At the same time, his face underwent an equally striking change, 
 — each feature resuming its original expression; and the grocer, 
 though he witnessed the whole transformation, could scarcely he- 
 lieve that the same individual he had recently beheld stood before 
 him. 
 
 '' You now know who I am, Mr. Bloundel, and what brought me 
 hither," said Rochester, with a haughty salutation. 
 
 " I do, my lord," repUed the grocer; " and I give you full credit 
 for your daring and ingenuity. After the manner in which I have 
 been imposed upon myself, I can make allowance for others." He 
 then turned to Amabel, and said, in a severe tone, "You are no 
 longer my daughter." 
 
 " Father," she cried, rushing towards him and throwing herself 
 at his feet, "do not cast me off for ever. I am not now to blame. 
 It is owing to my determination to disclose all to you that the Earl 
 has thus revealed himself. I might have deceived you further — 
 might have fled with him." 
 
 "Forgive her! oh forgive her!" cried Mrs. Bloundel — "or, if 
 any ill happens to her, you will be answerable for it." 
 
 " Is this the truth, my lord ?" asked the grocer. — Rochester bowed 
 stiffly in acquiescence. 
 
 "Then you are again my child," said Bloundel, raising her and 
 pressing her to his bosom. ' ' What are your intentions towards 
 her?" he continued, addressing the Earl. 
 
 " They may be readily surmised," rephed Rochester, with a 
 scornful laugh. 
 
 " Will you wed her, if I agree to the union?" asked Bloundel, 
 trembling with concentrated rage. 
 
 Amabel looked at her lover as if her life hung on his answer. 
 Rochester affected not to hear the question, but, as it was re- 
 peated still more peremptorily, he repeated carelessly, — "1 will 
 consider of it." 
 
 "Deceived! deceived!" cried Amabel, falling on her mother's 
 neck, and bursting into tears. 
 
 "This outrage shall not pass unpunished," cried Blouhdel. And 
 before the Earl could draw his sword or offer any resistance, he 
 threw himself upon him, and hurling him to the ground, set his 
 foot upon his bosom. 
 
 "Do not kill him," shrieked Amabel, terrified by the stern ex- 
 pression of her father's countenance. 
 
 "What are you about to do?" gasped Rochester, struggHng 
 ineffectually to get free. 
 
 "Bid Stephen bring a cord," cried the grocer. 
 " You are not going to hang him?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel. 
 "Do as I bid you," rejoined her husband, "and lose no time." 
 As she was about to leave the room, the door opened, and Doctor 
 Hodges entered, followed by Leonard and Stephen. "Mercy on 
 us! what's the matter? cried the former, in astonishment. 
 
 "You are just arrived in time to prevent mischief," replied Mrs. 
 
THE GROCER SHUTS VV HIS HOUSE. 145 
 
 Bloundel. " Pray, interfere between them. My husband will at- 
 tend to you ! " 
 
 "Arise, my lord," said Mr. Bloundel, removing his foot from the 
 prostrate nobleman — "you are sufficiently punished by being found 
 in this disgraceful condition. Remember that your life has been at 
 my disposal." 
 
 Thus liberated, Rochester sprang to his feet, and regarding the 
 group with a menacing and disdainful look, walked up to Amabel, 
 and saying to her, "You shall yet be mine," strode out of the room. 
 He then marched along the passage, and called to Pillichody, who 
 instantly answered the summons. Accompanied by Hodges, the 
 grocer followed them to the shop, where the bully, not departing 
 so quickly as he desired, and refusing to be more expeditious, he 
 kicked him into the street. This done, and the door fastened, he 
 tarried only till he had received all needful explanations from the 
 friendly physician, and then returning to the inner room, warmly 
 greeted Leonard, and congratulated him on his extraordinary reco- 
 very from the plague. 
 
 Happiness was thus once more restored to every member of the 
 grocer's family, except Amabel, who still continued downcast and 
 dejected, and entreated permission to retire to her own room. A 
 cheerful evening was then passed by the others, and the doctor did 
 not offer to take his departure till the clock struck eleven. " It is 
 the last night 1 shall spend here for some months," he said, "per- 
 haps the last I shall ever spend here, and I have stayed longer than 
 I intended, but I did not like to abridge my enjoyment." After 
 shaking hands cordially with the whole party, he added, in an 
 under-tone, as he took leave of Leonard, "Do not forget Nizza 
 Macascree." 
 
 On the following day, the grocer nailed up the shutters, and 
 locked and barred the doors of his house. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
 10 
 
BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 JUNE, 1665. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 
 
 The first few days of their confinement were passed by the 
 grocer's family in a very uncomfortable manner. No one, except 
 Mr. Bloundel, appeared reconciled to the plan, and even he foimd 
 it more difficult of accomplishment than he had anticipated. The 
 darkness of the rooms, and the want of ventilation caused by the 
 closed windows and barred doors, gave the house the air of a pri- 
 son, and occasioned a sense of oppression almost intolerable. Blaize 
 declared it " was worse than being in Newgate, and that he must 
 take an additional rufus a day to set right his digestion ;" while 
 Patience affirmed " that it was like being buried alive, and that she 
 would not stand it." Mr. Blonndcl paid no attention to their com- 
 plaints, but addressed himself seriously to the remedy. Insisting 
 upon the utmost attention being paid to cleanliness, he had an 
 abundant supply of water drawn, with which the floors of every 
 room and passage were washed down daily. By such means, the 
 house was kept cool and wholesome; and its inmates becoming 
 habituated to the gloom, in a great degree recovered their cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 The daily routine of the establishment was as follows. The 
 grocer arose at dawn, and proceeded to call up the whole of his 
 family. They then assembled in a large room on the second story, 
 where he offered up thanks that they had been spared during the 
 night, and prayed for their preservation during the day. He next 
 assigned a task to each, and took care to see it afterwards duly 
 fulfilled; well knowing that constant employment was the best way 
 to check repining and promote contentment. Heretofore, the ser- 
 vants had always taken their meals in the kitchen, but now they 
 always sat down to table with him. " I will make no distinction at 
 this season," he said ; '' all shall fare as I fare, and enjoy the same 
 comforts as myself. And I trust that my dwelling may be as sure 
 a refuge amid this pestilential storm as the ark of the patriarch 
 proved when heaven's vengeance was called forth in the mighty 
 flood." 
 
 Their devotions ended, the whole party repaired to one of the 
 
THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 147 
 
 lower rooms where a plentiful breakfast was provided, of which 
 they all partook. The business of the day then began, and as has 
 just been observed, no one was suffered to remain idle. The 
 younger children were allowed to play and exercise themselves as 
 much as they chose in the garret, and Blaize and Patience were 
 occasionally invited to join them. A certain portion of the evening 
 was also devoted to harmless recreation and amusements. The 
 result may be anticipated. No one suffered in health, while all 
 improved in spirits. Prayers, as usual, concluded the day, and the 
 family retired to rest at an early hour. 
 
 This system of things may appear sufficiently monotonous, but it 
 was precisely adapted to the exigencies of the case, and produced 
 a most salutary effect. Regular duties and regular employments 
 being imposed upon each, their constant recurrence, so far from 
 being irksome, soon became agreeable. After awhile, the whole 
 family seemed to grow indifferent to the external world — to live 
 only for each other, and to think only of each other — and to Leo- 
 nard Holt, indeed, that house was all the world. Those walls 
 contained everything dear to him, and he would have been quite 
 content never to leave them if Amabel had been always near. He 
 made no attempt to renew his suit — seldom or ever exchanging a 
 word with her, and might have been supposed to have become 
 wholly indifferent to her. But it was not so. His heart was con- 
 sumed by the same flame as before. No longer, however, a prey to 
 jealousy — no longer apprehensive of the Earl — he felt so happy, in 
 comparison with what he had been, that he almost prayed that the 
 term of their imprisonment might be prolonged. Sometimes, the 
 image of Nizza Macascree would intrude upon him, and he thought, 
 with a feeling akin to remorse, of what she might suffer — for he 
 was too well acquainted with the pangs of unrequited love not to 
 sympathise deeply with her. As to Amabel, she addressed herself 
 assiduously to the tasks enjoined by her father, and allowed her 
 mind to dwell as Httle as possible on the past, but employed all her 
 spare time in devotional exercises. 
 
 It will be remembered that the grocer had reserved a communi- 
 cation with the street, by means of a shutter, opening from a small 
 room in the upper story. Hither he would now frequently repair, 
 and though he did not as yet think it necessary to have recourse to 
 all the precautionary measures he intended eventually to adopt, — 
 such as flashing a pistol when he looked forth, — yet he never opened 
 the shutter, without holding a phial of vinegar, or a handkerchief 
 wetted with the same Hquid, to his face. 
 
 Before closing his house he had hired a porter, who occupied the 
 hutch at his door, and held himself in readiness to execute any com- 
 mission, or perform any service, that might be required. Fresh 
 vegetables, poultry, eggs, butter, and milk were brought by a 
 higgler from the country, and raised by means of a basket or a can 
 attached to the pulley. Butcher's meat was fetched him from 
 Newgale-market by the porter. This man, whose name was Ralph 
 Daliison, had^been formerly in the employ of the grocer, who, 
 knowing his character, could place entire rehance on him. Daliison 
 
148 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 reported the progress of the pestilence daily, and acquainted him 
 with the increasing amount of the Bills of Mortality. Several houses, 
 he said, were infected in Cheapside, and two in Wood Street, one 
 of which was but a short distance from the grocer's habitation. A 
 watchman was stationed at the door and the red cross marked upon 
 it, and on the following night the grocer heard the sound of the 
 doleful bell announcing the approach of the pest-cart. 
 
 The weather still continued as serene and beautiful as ever, but 
 no refreshing showers fell — no soft and healthful breezes blew — 
 and it was now found to be true, what had been prognosticated, — 
 namely, that with the heats of summer the plague would fearfully 
 increase. The grocer was not incommoded in the same degree as 
 his neighbours. By excluding the light, he excluded the heat, and 
 the care which he took to have his house washed down kept it cool. 
 The middle of June had now arrived, and such dismal accounts 
 were now brought him of the havoc occasioned by the scourge, 
 that he would no longer take in fresh provisions, but began to open 
 his stores. DalHson told him that the alarm was worse than ever 
 — that vast numbers were endeavouring to leave the city, but no 
 one could now do so without a certificate, which was never granted 
 if the sHghtest suspicion attached to the party. 
 
 " If things go on in this way," said the porter, *' London will 
 soon be deserted. No business is conducted as it used to be, and 
 everybody is viewed with distrust. The preachers, who ought to 
 be the last to quit, have left their churches, and the Lord's day is 
 no longer observed. Many medical men even have departed, de- 
 claring their services are no longer of any avail. All pubhc amuse- 
 ments are suspended, and the taverns are only open to the profane 
 and dissolute, who deride God's judgments, and declare they have 
 no fear. Bobberies, murders, and other crimes, have greatly in- 
 creased, and the most dreadful deeds are now committed with im- 
 punity. You have done wisely, sir, in protecting yourself against 
 them." 
 
 ' ' I have reason to be thankful that I have done so," replied Bloun- 
 del. And he closed his shutter to meditate on what he had just 
 heard. 
 
 And there was abundant food for reflection. Around him lay a 
 great and populous city, hemmed in, as by a fire, by an exterminat- 
 ing plague, that spared neither age, condition, nor sex. No man 
 could tell what the end of all this would be — neither at what point 
 the wrath of the offended Deity would stop — nor whether He would 
 relent, till He had utterly destroyed a people who so contemned His 
 word. Scarcely daring to hope for leniency, and filled with a dread- 
 ful foreboding of what would ensue, the grocer addressed a long 
 and fervent supplication to heaven, imploring a mitigation of its 
 wrath. 
 
 On joining his family, his grave manner and silence showed how 
 powerfully he had been affected. No one questioned him as to 
 what had occurred, but all understood he had received some dis- 
 tressing intelligence. 
 
 Amid his anxiety one circumstance gave him unalloyed satisfao- 
 
THE IMPRISONED FAMILY. 149 
 
 tion. This was the change wrought in AmabePs character. It has 
 been stated that she had become extremely devout, and passed the 
 whole of the time, not appointed for other occupations, in the study 
 of the scriptures, or in prayer. Her manner was extremely sedate, 
 and her conversation assumed a tone that gave her parents, and es- 
 pecially her father, inexpressible pleasure. Mrs. Bloundel would 
 have been equally dehghted with the change, if it had tended to 
 forward her own favourite scheme of an union with Leonard ; but 
 as this was not the case, though she rejoiced in the improvement, 
 she still was not entirely satisfied. She could not help noting also, 
 that her daughter had become pale and thin, and though she uttered 
 no complaint, Mrs. Bloundel began to fear her health was declining. 
 Leonard Holt looked on in wonder and admiration, and if possible 
 his love increased, though his hopes diminished ; for though Ama- 
 bel was kinder to him than before, her kmdness seemed the result 
 rather of a sense of duty than regard. 
 
 Upon one occasion they were left alone together, and instead of 
 quitting the room as she had been accustomed, Amabel called to 
 Leonard, who was about to depart, and requested him to stay. The 
 apprentice instantly obeyed ; the colour forsook his cheeks ; and his 
 heart beat violently. " You desire to speak with me, Amabel," he 
 said : — " Have you relented ? — Is there any hope for me ?" 
 
 " Alas! no," she replied; " and it is on that very point I have 
 now detained you. You will, I am sure, rejoice to learn that I 
 have at length fully regained my peace of mind, and have become 
 sensible of the weakness of which I have been guilty — of the folly, 
 worse than folly, I have committed. My feelings are now under 
 proper restraint, and viewing myself with other eyes, I see how 
 culpable I have been. Oh ! Leonard, if you knew the effort it has 
 been to conquer the fatal passion that consumed me — if I were to 
 tell you of the pangs it has cost me — of the tears I have shed — of the 
 heart-quakes endured, you would pity me." 
 
 "I do, indeed, pity you," replied Leonard, " for my own suffer- 
 ings have been equally severe. But I have not been as successful 
 as you in subduing them." 
 
 " Because you have not pursued the right means, Leonard," she 
 rejoined. "Fix your thoughts on high; build your hopes of hap- 
 piness on heaven ; strengthen your faith ; and you will soon find 
 the victory easy. A short time ago, I thought only of worldly 
 pleasures, and was ensnared by vanity and admiration, — enchained 
 to one whom I knew to be worthless, and who pursued me only to 
 destroy me. Behgion has preserved me from the snare, and rehgion 
 will restore you to happiness. But you must devote yourself to 
 heaven, not lightly, but with your whole soul. You must forget 
 me, — forget yourself, — forget all but the grand object. And this is 
 a season of all others, when it is most needful to lead a life of piety, 
 to look upon yourself as dead to this world, and to be ever prepared 
 for that to come. I shudder to think what might have been my 
 portion had I perished in my sin." 
 
 " Yours is a most happy frame of mind," returned Leonard, 
 " and I would I had a chance of attaining the same tranquiUity. 
 
150 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 But if you have conquered your love for the Earl — if your heart is 
 disengaged, why deny me a hope ?" 
 
 " My heart is not disengaged, Leonard," she replied ; "it is en- 
 grossed by Heaven. While the plague is raging around us thus, — 
 while thousands are daily carried off by that devouring scourge, — 
 and while every hour, every moment, may be our last, our thoughts 
 ought always to be fixed above. 1 have ceased to love the Earl, but 
 I can never love another, and therefore it would be unjust to you, 
 to whom I owe so much, to hold out hopes that never can be re- 
 ahzed." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" cried Leonard, unable to control his emotion. 
 
 " Compose yourself, dear Leonard," she cried, greatly moved. 
 *' I would I could comply with your wishes. But, alas ! I cannot. 
 I could only give you," she added, in a tone so thrilling, that it froze 
 the blood in his veins — '* a breaking, perhaps, a broken heart 1" 
 
 '' Gracious heaven !" exclaimed Leonard, becoming pale as death ; 
 *' is it come to this?" 
 
 *' Again, 1 beg you to compose yourself," she rejoined calmly — 
 " and I entreat you not to let what 1 have told you pass your lips. 
 I would not alarm my father, or my dear and anxious mother, on 
 my account. And there may be no reason for alarm. But should 
 there be so, I am prepared. Promise me, therefore, you will be 
 silent." 
 
 Leonard reluctantly gave the required pledge. 
 
 "I have unwittingly been the cause of much affliction to you," 
 pursued Amabel — "and would gladly see you happy, and there is 
 one person, I think, who would make you so, — I mean INizza Ma- 
 cascree. From what she said to me when we were alone together 
 in the vaults of Saint Faith's, I am sure she is sincerely attached to 
 you. Could you not requite her love ?" 
 
 "No," replied Leonard. "There is no change in affection like 
 mine." 
 
 "Pursue the course I have advised," rephed Amabel, "and you 
 will find all your troubles vanish. Farewell! I depend upon your 
 silence ! " And she quitted the room, leaving Leonard in a state of 
 indescribable anxiety. 
 
 Faithful, however, to his promise, he made no mention of his 
 uneasiness to the grocer or his wife, but indulged his grief in secret. 
 Ignorant of what was passing, Mr. Bloundel, who was still not with- 
 out apprehension of some further attempt on the part of the Earl, 
 sent Dallison to make inquiries after him, and learnt that he was at 
 Whitehall, but that the court had fixed to remove to Hampton 
 Court at the end of June. The porter, also, informed him, that the 
 city was emptying fast, — that the Lord Mayor's residence was lite- 
 rally besieged with applications for bills of health, — that officers 
 were stationed at the gates, — and that, beside these, barriers and 
 turnpikes were erected on all the main roads, at which tlie certi- 
 ficates were required to be exhibited, — and* that such persons as 
 escaped without them were driven back by the inhabitants of the 
 neighbouring villages, who refused to supply them witli neces- 
 saries; and a* Uiey could not return home, many had perished ol 
 
THE IMPBISONED FAMILY. I5l 
 
 want, or perhaps of the pestilence, in the open fields. Horses and 
 coaches, he added, were not to be procured, except at exorbitant 
 prices ; and thousands had departed on foot, locking up their houses, 
 and leaving their effects behind them. "In consequence of this," 
 added Dallison, "several houses have been broken open ; and though 
 the watch has been trebled, still they cannot be in all places at once ; 
 and strong as the force is, it is not adequate to the present emergency. 
 Bands of robbers stalk the streets at night, taking vehicles with 
 them, built to resemble pest-carts, and beating off the watch, they 
 break open the houses and carry off any goods they please." 
 
 This intelligence greatly alarmed the grocer, and he began to 
 fear his pkns would be defeated in an unexpected manner. He 
 engaged Dallison to procure another trusty companion to take his 
 place at night, and furnished him with money to purchase arms. 
 He no longer slept as tranquilly as before, but frequently repaired 
 to his post of observation to see that the watchman was at his post, 
 and that all was secure. For the last few days, he had remarked 
 with some uneasiness that a youth frequently passed the house and 
 gazed at the barred windows, and he at first imagined he might 
 be leagued with the nocturnal marauders he had heard of, but the 
 prepossessing appearance of the stripling, who could not be more 
 than sixteen, and who was singularly slightly made, soon dispelled 
 the idea. Still, as he constantly appeared at the same spot, the 
 grocer began to have a new apprehension, and to suspect he was 
 an emissary of the Earl of Rochester, and he sent Dallison to 
 inquire his business. The youth returned an evasive answer, and 
 withdrew ; but the next day he was there again. On this occasion, 
 Mr. Bloundel pointed him out to Leonard Holt, and asked him 
 if he had seen him before. The youth's back being towards them, 
 the apprentice unhesitatingly answered in the negative, but as the 
 subject of investigation turned the next moment, and looked up, 
 revealing features of feminine delicacy and beauty, set off by long 
 flowing jet-black ringlets, Leonard started, and colonred. 
 
 "I was mistaken," he said, "I have seen him before." 
 
 *'Is he one of the Earl of Rochester's pages? " asked Mr. Bloundel. 
 
 "No," replied Leonard, " and you need not be uneasy about him. 
 I am sure he intends no harm." 
 
 Thus satisfied, the grocer thought no more about the matter. 
 He then arranged with Leonard that he should visit the window at 
 certain hours on alternate nights witli himself, and appointed the 
 following night as that on which the apprentice's duties should 
 commence. 
 
 On the same night, however, an alarming incident occurred, 
 which kept the grocer and his apprentice for a long time on the 
 watch. The family had just retired to rest when the report of fire- 
 arms was heard close to the street door, and Mr. Bloundel, hastily 
 calling up Leonard, they repaired to the room overlooking the 
 street, and found that a desperate struggle was going on below. 
 The moon being overclouded, iind the lantern extinguished, it was 
 too dark to discern the figures of the combatants, and in a few se- 
 conds all be^came silent, except the groans of a wounded man. Mr. 
 
152 OLD SAINT PALX'S. 
 
 Bloundel then called out to know what was the matter, and ascer- 
 tained from the sufferer, who proved to be his own watchman, that 
 the adjoining house, being infected, had been shut up by the autho- 
 rities, and its owner, unable to bear the restraint, had burst open 
 the door, shot the watchman stationed at it, and firing anotl^r 
 pistol at the poor wretch who was making the statement, because 
 he endeavoured to oppose his flight, had subsequently attacked him 
 with his sword. It was a great grief to Mr. Bloundel not to be able 
 to aid the unfortunate watchman, and he had almost determined 
 to hazard a descent by the pulley, when a musical voice was heard 
 below, and the grocer soon understood that the youth, about whom 
 his curiosity had b6en excited, was raising the sufferer, and endea- 
 pouring to staunch his wounds. Finding this impossible, however, 
 at Mr. Bloundel's request, he went in search of assistance, and pre- 
 sently afterwards returned with a posse of men, bearing halberds 
 and lanterns, who carried off the wounded man, and afterwards 
 started in pursuit of the murderer. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel then entered into conversation with the youth, who 
 informed him that his name was FUtcroft, — that he was without a 
 home, all his relations having died of the plague, — and that he was 
 anxious to serve as a watchman, in place of the poor wretch who 
 had just been removed. Leonard remonstrated against this ar- 
 rangement, but Mr. Bloundel was so much pleased with Flitcroft's 
 conduct that he would hsten to no objection. Accordingly, provisions 
 were lowered down in the basket to the poor youth, and he sta- 
 tioned himself in the hutch. Nothing material occurred during the 
 day. Flitcroft resigned his post to DaUison, but returned in the 
 evening. 
 
 At midnight, Leonard took his turn to watch. It was a bright 
 moonhght night, but though he occasionally looked out into the 
 street, and perceived Flitcroft below, he gave no intimation of his 
 presence. All at once, however, he was alarmed by a loud cry, 
 and opening the shutter, perceived the youth struggling with two 
 persons, whom he recognized as Sir Paul F^arravicin and Pillichody. 
 He shouted to them to release their captive, but they laughed at 
 his vociferations, and in spite of his resistance dragged (he youth 
 away. Maddened at the sight, Leonard lowered the rope as quickly 
 as he could with the intention of descending by it. At this moment, 
 Flitcroft turned an agonized look behind him, and perceiving what 
 had been done, broke suddenly from his captors, and before he 
 could be prevented, sprang into the basket, and laid hold of the 
 rope. Leonard, who had seen the movement, and divined its ob- 
 ject, drew up the pulley with the quickness of thought; and so ex- 
 peditiously was the whole accomplished, that ere the Knight and 
 his companion reached the spot, Flitcroft was above their heads, 
 and the next moment was pulled through the window, and in safety 
 by the side of Leonard, 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 153 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW FIRES WERE LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 
 
 NizzA Macascree, for it is useless to affect further mystery, as 
 soon as she could find utterance, murmured her thanks to the ap- 
 prentice, whose satisfaction at her dehverance was greatly dimi- 
 nished by his fears lest his master should disapprove of what he had 
 done. Seeing his uneasiness, and guessing the cause, Nizza hast- 
 ened to relieve it. • ' I reproach myself bitterly for having placed 
 you in this situation," she said; "but I could not help it, and will 
 free you from my presence the moment I can do so with safety. 
 When I bade you farewell, I meant it to be for ever, and persuaded 
 myself I could adhere to my resolution. But I was deceived. You 
 would pity me were I to tell you the anguish I endured. I could 
 not accompany my poor father in his rambles ; and if I went forth 
 at all, my steps involuntarily led me to Wood Street. At last, I 
 resolved to disguise myself, and borrowed this suit from a Jew 
 clothesman, who has a stall in Saint Paul's. Thus equipped, I 
 paced backwards and forwards before the house, in the hope of 
 obtaining a glimpse of you, and fortune has favoured me more than 
 I expected, though it has led to this unhappy result. Heaven only 
 knows what will become of me !" she added, bursting into tears. 
 " Oh I that the pestilence would select me as one of its victims. 
 But, like your own sex, it shuns all those who court it." 
 
 "I can neither advise you," rephed Leonard, in a sombre tone, 
 "nor help you. Ha!" he exclaimed, as the sound of violent blows 
 were heard against the door below, "your persecutors are trying 
 to break into the house." 
 
 Rushing to the window, and gazing downwards, he perceived 
 Sir Paul Parravicin and PiUichody battering against the shop door, 
 and endeavouring to burst it open. It was, however, so stoutly 
 barricaded that it resisted all their efforts. " What is to be done ?" 
 cried Leonard. " The noise will certainly alarm my master, and 
 you will be discovered." 
 
 "Heed me not," rejoined Nizza, distractedly, "you shall not 
 run any risk on my account. Let me down by the pulley. Deliver 
 me to them. Anything is better than that you should suffer by my 
 indiscretion." 
 
 "No, no," replied Leonard ; " Mr. Bloundel shall know all. His 
 love for his own daughter will make him feel for you. But come 
 what will, I will not abandon you." 
 
 As he spoke, a timid knock was heard at the door, and a voice 
 without exclaimed, in accents of the utmost trepidation, " Are you 
 there, Leonard ? — Robbers are breaking into the house. We shall 
 all be murd^ed," 
 
144 <M.D 6A1NT Paul's. 
 
 " Come in, Blaize," rejoined Leonard, opening the door and ad- 
 mitting the porter — " you may be of some assistance to me." 
 
 "In what way?" demanded Blaize. — "Ah! who's this?" he 
 added, perceiving Nizza — "what is this page doing here?" 
 
 " Do not concern yourself about him, but attend to me," repUed 
 Leonard. "I am about to drive away those persons from the door. 
 You must lower me down in the basket attached to the pulley." 
 
 " And will you dare to engage them?" asked Blaize, peeping out 
 at the shutter. "They are armed. As I live, one is Major Pilli- 
 chody, the rascal who dared to make love to Patience. I have half 
 a mind to go down with you, and give him a sound drubbing." 
 
 " You shall not encounter this danger for me," interposed Nizza, 
 endeavouring to stay Leonard, who, having thrust a sword into his 
 girdle, was about to pass through the window. 
 
 '' Do not hinder me," replied the apprentice, breaking from her. 
 *' Take hold of the rope, Blaize, and mind it does not run down too 
 quickly." With this, he got into the basket, and as the porter 
 carefully obeyed his instructions, he reached the ground in safety. 
 On seeing him, Pillichody bolted across the street, and flourishing 
 his sword, and uttering tremendous imprecations, held himself in 
 readiness to beat an immediate retreat. Not so Parravicin. In* 
 stantly assailing the apprentice, he slightly wounded him in the 
 arm. Seeing how matters stood, and that victory was pretty certain 
 to declare itself for his patron, Pillichody returned, and, attacking 
 the apprentice, by their combined efforts he was speedily disarmed. 
 Pillichody would have passed his sword through Leonard's body, 
 but the Knight stayed his hand. ' ' The fool has placed himself in 
 our power," he said ; " and he shall pay for his temerity. Never- 
 theless, I will spare his life, provided he assist us to get into the 
 house, or will deliver up Nizza Macascree." 
 
 "I will do neither," replied Leonard, fiercely. 
 
 Parravicin raised his sword, and was about to strike, when, at 
 the moment, the basket was again quickly lowered to the ground. 
 It bore Nizza Macascree, who, rushing between them, arrested the 
 Mroke. "Oh! why have you done this?" cried Leonard, in a tone 
 of rep^ach. 
 
 *' 1 v/Al tell you why," rejoined Parravicin, triumphantly ; "be- 
 cause she saw you were unable to defend her, and like a true 
 woman surrendered herself to the victor. Take care of him, Pilli- 
 chody, while I secure the girl. Spit him, if he attempts to stir." 
 
 And twining his arms round Nizza, notwithstanding her shrieks 
 and resistance, he bore her away. Infuriated by the sight, Leonard 
 Holt threw himself upon Pillichody, and a desperate struggle took 
 place between them, which terminated this time successfully for the 
 apprentice. Wresting his long rapier from the bully, Leonard 
 rushed after Parravicin, and reached the end of Wood Street just 
 in time to see him spring into a coach, and drive off with his prize. 
 Speeding after them along Blow-bladder Street and Middle Row, as 
 Newgate Street was then termed, the apprentice shouted to the 
 coachman to stop, but no attention being paid to his vociferations, 
 and finding pursuit unavailing, he came to a halt. He then more 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 166 
 
 slowly retraced his steps, and on arriving at the grocer's residence, 
 found the basket drawn up. Almost afraid to call out, he at length 
 mustered courage enough to shout to Blaize to lower it, and was 
 answered by Mr. Bloundel, who, putting his head through the 
 window, demanded in a stern tone why he had left the house ? 
 
 Leonard briefly explained. 
 
 "I deeply regret your imprudence," replied his master; " be- 
 cause lean now no more admit you. It is my fixed determination, 
 as you well know, not to suffer any member of my family who may 
 quit my house, to enter it again." 
 
 " I shall not attempt to remonstrate with you, sir," replied Leo- 
 nard. " All I pray of you is to allow me to occupy this hutch, and 
 to act as your porter." 
 
 " Willingly," rejoined Mr. Bloundel ; "and as you have had the 
 plague, you will run no risk of infection. You shall know all that 
 passes within-doors, and I only lament that you should have ba- 
 nished yourself from the asylum which I hoped to afford you." 
 
 After some further conversation between them, a bundle was 
 lowered by the grocer, containing a change of clothes and a couple 
 of blankets. On receiving these, Leonard retired to the hutch, and 
 tying a handkerchief round his wounded arm, wrapped himself in a 
 night-rail, and stretching himself on the ground, in spite of his 
 anxiety, soon sank asleep. He awoke about four o'clock in the 
 morning, with a painful consciousness of what had taken place 
 during the night. It was just beginning to grow light, and he 
 walked across the street to gaze at the house from which he was 
 exiled. Its melancholy uninhabited look did not serve to cheer 
 him. It seemed totally altered since he knew it first. The sign, 
 which then invited the passers-by to enter the shop and deal with 
 its honest owner, now appeared no longer significant, unless — and 
 it will be remembered it was the Noah's Ark — it could be supposed 
 to have reference to those shut up within. The apprentice looked 
 at the habitation with misgiving, and, instead of regarding it as a 
 sanctuary from the pestilence, could not help picturing it as a living 
 tomb. The last conversation he had had with Amabel also arose 
 forcibly to his recollection, and the little likelihood there appeared 
 of seeing her again gave him acute agony. Oppressed by this 
 painful idea, and unable to exclude from his thoughts the unhappy 
 situation of Nizza of Macascree, he bent his steps, scarcely knowing 
 whither he was going, towards Saint Paul's. 
 
 Having passed so much of his time of late in the cathedral, Leo- 
 nard began to regard it as a sort of home, and it now appeared like 
 a place of refuge to him. Proceeding to the great western entrance, 
 he seated himself on one of the large blocks of stone left there by 
 the masons occupied in repairing the exterior of the fane. His eye 
 rested upon the mighty edifice before him, and the clear spai4iUng 
 light revealed numberless points of architectural grandeur and 
 beauty which he had never before noticed. The enormous but- 
 tresses and lofty pinnacles of the central tower were tinged with the 
 beams of the rising sun, and glowed as if built of porphyry. While 
 gazing at th^ summit of this tower, and caUing tQ mind the mag- 
 
156 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 nificent view he had recently witnessed from it at the same hour, 
 if a wish could have transported him thither at that moment, he 
 would have enjoyed it again. But as this could not be, he tried to 
 summon before his mental vision the whole glorious prospect — the 
 broad and shining river, with its moving or motionless craft, — the 
 gardens, the noble mansions, the warehouses, and mighty wharfs 
 on its banks, — London bridge, with its enormous pile of habitations, 
 — the old and picturesque city, with its innumerable towers and 
 spires and girdle of grey walls/ — the green fields and winding lanes 
 leading to the lovely hills around it : — all these objects arose obe- 
 dient to his fancy, and came arrayed in colouring as fresh as that 
 wherein they had before appeared to him. While thus occupied, 
 his gaze remained riveted on the summit of the central tower, and 
 he fancied he perceived some one leaning over the balustrade, but 
 as little beyond the upper part of the figure could be discerned, and 
 as it appeared perfectly motionless, he could not be quite sure that 
 his eyes did not deceive him. Having gazed at the object for some 
 minutes, during which it maintained the same attitude, he continued 
 his survey of the pile, and became so excited by the sublime emo- 
 tions inspired by the contemplation as to be insensible to aught else. 
 After awhile, he arose, and was about to proceed towards the 
 portico, when chancing to look at the top of the tower, he remarked 
 that the figure had disappeared, and while wondering who it could 
 be, he perceived a person emerge from one of the tall windows in 
 the lower part of the tower. It was Solomon Eagle, and he no 
 longer wondered at what he had seen. The enthusiast was without 
 his brasier, but carried a long stout staff. He ran along the pointed 
 roof of the nave with inconceivable swiftness, till, reaching the vast 
 stone cross, upwards' of twelve feet in height, ornamenting the 
 western extremity, he climbed its base, and clasping the transverse 
 bar of the sacred symbol of his faith with his left arm, extended his 
 staff with his right, and described a circle, as if pointing out the 
 walls of the city. He then raised his staff towards heaven, to invoke 
 its vengeance, and anon pointed it menacingly downwards. After 
 this, he broke into loud denunciations ; but though the apprentice 
 could not hear the words, he gathered their purport from his ges- 
 tures. 
 
 By this time, a few masons had assembled, and, producing their 
 implements, commenced working at the blocks of stone. Glancing 
 at the enthusiast, one of them observed with a smile to his compa- 
 nion, "There is Solomon Eagle pronouncing his morning curse 
 upon the city. 1 wonder whether the judgments he utters against 
 it will come to pass." 
 
 " Assuredly, Phil Gatford," replied the other mason, gravely; 
 *' and 1 look upon all the work we are now doing as labour thrown 
 away. Was he not right about the plague ? Did he not foretel the 
 devouring scourge by which we are visited? And he will be right 
 also about the fire. Since he has doomed it, this cathedral will be 
 consumed by flames, and one stone will not be left standing on 
 another." 
 
 "It is strange, Ned Turgis," observed Gatford, *' that, though 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 157 
 
 Solomon Eagle may always be seen at daybreak at the top of the 
 tower, or on the roof of the cathedral — sometimes at one point 
 and sometimes at another, — no one can tell where he hides him- 
 self at other times. He no longer roams the streets at night, but 
 you may remember when the officers of justice were in search of 
 him, to give evidence against Mother Malmayns and Chowles, he 
 was not to be found." 
 
 " I remember it," replied Turgis; " but I have no doubt he 
 was hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the cathedral — 
 perhaps among the immense wooden beams of the clerestory." 
 
 " Or in some of the secret passages or cells contrived in the 
 thickness of the walls," rejoined the first speaker — " I say, Ned 
 Turgis, if the plague increases, as there is every likelihood it will, 
 Solomon Eagle will be the only preacher left in Saint Paul's. 
 Neither dean, prebends, minor-canons, nor vicars, will attend. As 
 it is, they have almost abandoned it." 
 
 " Shame on theml" exclaimed Leonard Holt, who being much 
 interested in the conversation of the masons, had silently ap- 
 proached them, ' ' At this season, more than ever, they are bound 
 to attend to their duty." 
 
 " Why, so I think," rejoined Gatford ; '' but I suppose they con- 
 sider sell-preservation their first duty. They aver that all assem- 
 blages, whether called together for religious purposes or not, are 
 dangerous, and likely to extend the pestilence." 
 
 " And yet crowds are permitted to assemble for purposes of 
 amusement, if not for worship, in those holy walls," returned 
 Leonard. 
 
 ' ' Not so," repUed Gatford. ' ' Very few persons now come there, 
 and none for amusement. Paul's Walk is completely deserted. 
 The shops and stalls have been removed, and the pillars to which 
 they were attached are restored to their former appearance." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," rejoined Leonard, " 1 would far rather 
 the sacred edifice were altogether abandoned than be what it has 
 been of late, — a den of thieves." 
 
 ' ' it was a stable and a magazine of arms in the time of the Com- 
 monwealth," remarked Gatford. 
 
 " And if Solomon Eagle's forebodings come to pass, it will be a 
 heap of ruins in our own time," rejoined Turgis. " But I see the 
 prophet of ill has quitted his post, and retired to his hiding-place." 
 Looking up as this was said, Leonard saw that the enthusiast had 
 disappeared. At this moment the great door of the cathedral was 
 thrown open, and, quitting the masons, he ascended the broad 
 steps under the portico, and entered the fane, where he found that 
 the information he had received was correct, and that the stalls 
 and other disfigurements to the pillars had been removed. After 
 pacing the soUtary aisles for some time, he made inquiries from the 
 verger concerning Solomon Eagle. 
 
 " I know nothing about him," replied the man reluctantly. " I 
 believe he always appears at day-break on some part of the roof, 
 but I am as ignorant as yourself w4iere he hides himself. The 
 
IfiS OLD SAINT PAtL'S. ^ 
 
 door of the winding staircase leading to the central tower is open. 
 You can ascend it, and search for him, if you think proper." 
 
 Acting upon the suggestion, Leonard mounted to the belfry, and 
 from thence to the summit of the tower. Having indulged himself 
 with a brief survey of the glorious view around, he descended, and 
 glanced into every cell and chamber a^ he passed, in the hopes of 
 meeting with the enthusiast, but he was disappointed. At length, 
 as he got about half way down, he felt his arm forcibly grasped, 
 and instantly conjecturing who it was, offered no resistance. 
 Without uttering a word, the person who had seized him dragged 
 him up a few steps, prushed aside a secret door which closed behind 
 them with a hollow clangour ; and leading him along a dark narrow 
 passage opened another door, and they emerged upon the roof. 
 He then found that his suspicions were correct, and that his mys- 
 terious guide was no other than Solomon Eagle. " I am glad to 
 find you have recovered from the pestilence," said the enthusiast, 
 regarding him with a friendly glance, — *' it proves you are fa- 
 voured by heaven. I saw you in the open space before the cathe- 
 dral this morning, and instantly recognized you. 1 was in the 
 belfry when you descended, but you did not perceive me, and I 
 wished to be certain you were alone before 1 discovered myself." 
 
 •'You have ceased to roam the streets at night, and rouse the 
 slumbering citizens to repentance ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 ''For the present I have," returned Solomon Eagle. "But I shall 
 appear again when I am required. But you shall now learn why I 
 have brought you hither. Look along those streets," he added, 
 pointing to the thoroughfares opening in different directions. 
 '•What see you?" 
 
 "1 see men piling heaps of wood and coals at certain distances, 
 as if they were preparing bonfires," replied Leonard. "And yet it 
 cannot be. This is no season for rejoicing." 
 
 "It has been supposed that the lighting of many thousand fires 
 at once will purify the air," repHed Solomon Eagle, " and therefore 
 the Lord Mayor has given orders that heaps of fuel shall be placed 
 before every house in every street in the city, and that all these 
 heaps shall be kindled at a certain hour. But it will be of no avail. 
 The weather is now fine and settled, and the sky cloudless. But 
 the offended Deity will cause the heaviest rain to descend, and ex- 
 tinguish their fires. No ; the way to avert the pestilence is not by 
 fire, but by prayer and penitence, by humiliation and fasting. Let 
 this sinful people put on sackcloth aud ashes. Let them beseech 
 God by constant prayer to forgive them, and they may prevail, but 
 not otherwise." 
 
 "And when are these fires to be lighted?" asked the apprentice. 
 
 *' To-night, at midnight,*' replied Solomon Eagle. 
 
 He then took Leonard by the hand, and led him back the same way 
 he had brought him. On reaching the spiral staircase, he said, "If 
 you desire to behold a sight such as man has seldom witnessed, as- 
 cend to the summit of this tower an hour after midnight, when all 
 these fires are lighted. A small door on the left of the northern en- 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 159 
 
 trance shall be left open. It will conduct you to the back of the choir, 
 and you must then find your way hither as well as you can." 
 
 Murmuring his thanks, Leonard hurried down the spiral staircase, 
 and quitting the cathedral, proceeded in the direction of Wood 
 Street. Preparations were everywhere making for carrying the 
 Lord Mayor's orders into effect ; and such was the beneficial result 
 anticipated, that a general liveliness prevailed. On reaching his 
 master's residence, he found him at the shutter, curious to know 
 what was going forward ; and having informed him, the grocer im- 
 mediately threw him down money to procure wood and coal. 
 
 *'I have but little faith in the experiment," he said, ''but the Lord 
 Mayor's injunctions must be obeyed." 
 
 With the help of Dalhson who had now arrived, Leonard Holt soon 
 procured a large heap of fuel, and placed it in the middle of the street. 
 The day was passed in executing other commissions for the grocer, 
 and he took his meals in the hutch with the porter. Time appeared to 
 pass with unusual slowness, and not he alone, but anxibus thousands, 
 awaited the signal to kindle their fires. The night was profoundly dark 
 and sultry, and Leonard could not help thinking that the enthusiast's 
 prediction would be verified, and that rain would fall. But these 
 gloomy anticipations vanished as the hour of midnight was tolled 
 forth by the neighbouring clocks of Saint Michael's and Saint Alban's. 
 Scarcely had the strokes died away, when Leonard seized a light, 
 and set fire to the pile. Ten thousand other piles were kindled at 
 the same moment, and in an instant the pitchy darkness was con- 
 verted into fight as bright as that of noonday. 
 
 Anxious to behold this prodigious illumination at its best, Leo- 
 nard Holt committed the replenishing of the pile and the custody of 
 the house to Dalhson, and hastened to Saint Paul's. A great fire 
 was burning at each angle of the cathedral, but without pausing to 
 notice the effect of the flames upon the walls of the building, he 
 passed through the door to which he had been directed, and hasten- 
 ing to the spiral staircase beyond the choir, ascended it with swift 
 steps. He did not pause till he reached the summit of the tower, 
 and there, indeed, a wondrous spectacle awaited him. The whole 
 city seemed on fire, and girded with a flaming belt — for piles were 
 lighted at certain distances along the whole line of walls. The groups 
 of dark figures collected round the fires added to their picturesque 
 effect ; and the course of every street could be traced by the reflec- 
 tion of the flames on the wafis and gables of the houses. London 
 Bridge was discernible from the fires burning upon it — and even 
 upon the river brasiers were lighted on all the larger craft, which 
 cast a ruddy glow upon the stream. 
 
 Alter gazing at this extraordinary sight for some time, Leonard 
 began to descend. As yet he had seen nothing of Solomon Eagle, 
 and searching for him in vain in the belfry, he quitted the cathedral. 
 From a knot of persons gathered round one of the fires, he learnt 
 that the enthusiast was addressing the crowd at the west side of the 
 building, and proceeding thither, he perceived him standing on the 
 edge of the balustrade of the south-western tower, surmounting 
 the little chyrch of Saint Gregory. His brasier was placed on one 
 
160 
 
 of the buttresses, and threw its light on the mighty central tower 
 of the fabric, and on a large clock face immediately beneath. Solo- 
 mon Eagle was evidently denouncing the city, but his words were 
 lost in the distance. As he proceeded, a loud clap of thunder pealed 
 overhead. " It comes — it comes !" cried the enthusiast, in a voice 
 that could be distinctly heard in the death-like stillness that followed 
 the thunder. " The wrath of heaven is at hand." 
 
 As he spoke, a bright flash cut the air, and a bolt struck down 
 one of the pinnacles of the great tower. Flash after flash followed 
 in quick succession, and the enthusiast, who seemed wrapped in 
 flame, extended his arms towards heaven, as if beseeching a further 
 display of its vengeance. Suddenly, the hghtning ceased to flash 
 and the thunder to roll. A few heavy drops of rain fell. These 
 were succeeded by a deluging shower of such violence, that in less 
 than a quarter of an hour every fire within the city was extinguished, 
 and all was darkness and despair. • 
 
 The deepest gloom and despondency prevailed that night through- 
 out London. The sudden storm was regarded as a manifestation 
 of the displeasure of heaven, and as an intimation that the arrows 
 of its wrath were not to be turned aside by any human efforts. So 
 impressed were all with this feeling, that when, in less than half an 
 hour, the rain entirely ceased, the clouds cleared off, and the stars 
 again poured down their lustre, no one attempted to re-light the 
 quenched embers, fearing to provoke the divine vengeance. Nor 
 was a monitor wanting to enforce the awful lesson. Solomon Eagle, 
 with his brasier on his head, ran through the streets, calling on the 
 inhabitants to take to heart what had happened, to repent, and pre- 
 pare for their doom. " The Lord will not spare you," he cried, 
 as he stationed himself in the open space before Saint Stephen's, 
 Walbrook. " He will visit your sins upon you. Pray, therefore, 
 that ye may not be destroyed, both soul and body. Little time is 
 allowed you for repentance. Many that hear me shall not live till 
 to-morrow : few shall survive the year 1" 
 
 " Thou, thyself, shalt not survive the night, false prophet," 
 cried a voice from a neighbouring window. And immediately 
 afterwards, the barrel of a gun was thrust forth, and a shot fired at 
 the enthusiast. But, though Solomon Eagle never altered his po- 
 sition, he was wholly uninjured, — the ball striking a bystander, 
 who fell to the ground, mortally wounded. 
 
 " You have shot your own son, Mr. Westwood," cried one of 
 the spectators, rushing up to the fallen man. " Who will hence- 
 forth doubt that Solomon Eagle is under the care of a special pro- 
 vidence ?" 
 
 " Not I," replied another spectator. " I shall never disregard 
 his words in future." 
 
 Setting down his brasier, the enthusiast bent over the dead man, 
 — for dead he was— and noted the placid smile upon his features. 
 By this time, the unfortunate father had joined the group, and, on 
 seeing the body of his son, wrung his hands in a pitiable manner, 
 and gave utterance to the wildest expression of despair. No one 
 attempted to seize him, till at length Solomon Eagle, rising from 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. l6l 
 
 his kneeling posture, laid his hand upon his arm, and regarding him 
 sternly, said, " What wrong had I done you, that you should seek 
 to slay me?" 
 
 " What wrong?" rejoined Westwood — " such wrong as can 
 never be repaired. Your fearful prophecies and denunciations so 
 terrified my daughter, that she died distracted. My broken-hearted 
 wife was not long in following her ; and now you have made me the 
 murderer of my son. Complete the tragedy, and take my hfe." 
 
 "I have no desire to do so," replied Solomon Eagle, in a tone 
 of commiseration. ''My wish is to save your soul, and the souls of 
 all who Hsten to me. I wonder not that your anger was at first 
 stirred against me ; but if your heart had been properly directed, 
 indignation would have soon given way to better feelings. My 
 mission is not to terrify, but to warn. Why will ye thus continue im- 
 penitent when ye are spoken to, not by my voice alone, but by a 
 thousand others? — by the thunder — by the rain — by the pestilence ! 
 — and ye shall be spoken to, if ye continue senseless, by fire and 
 by famine. Look at these quenched embers — at these flooded streets 
 — they are types of your vain struggle with a superior power. Now, 
 mark me what you must do to free the city from contagion. You 
 must utterly and for ever abandon your evil courses. You must 
 pray incessantly for remission of your sins. You must resign your- 
 selves without repining to such chastisement as you have provoked, 
 and must put your whole trust and confidence in God. Do this, and 
 do it heartily, it is possible that His wrath may be averted." 
 
 " I feel the force of your words," faltered Westwood, — " would 
 I had felt it sooner 1" 
 
 "Repentance never comes too late," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 "Let this be an example to you all." And snatching up his brasier, 
 he continued his course at the same lightning speed as before. The 
 unfortunate father was taken into his own dwelling, whither likewise 
 the body of his son was conveyed. A strict watch was kept over 
 him during the night, and in the morning he was removed to New- 
 gate, where he perished in less than a week of the distemper. 
 
 The aspect of the streets on the following day was deplorable 
 enough. Not that the weather was unfavourable. On the contrary, 
 it was bright and sunny, while the heated atmosphere, cooled by 
 the showers, felt no longer oppressive. But the sight of the half- 
 burnt fires struck a chill into every bosom, and it was not until the 
 heaps were removed that the more timorous ventured forth at all. 
 The result, too, of the experiment was singularly unfortunate. 
 Whether it was from the extraordinary heat occasioned by the 
 lighting of so many fires, or that the smoke did not ascend, and so 
 kept down the pestilential effluvia, or that the number of persons 
 who met together spread the contagion, certain it was that the 
 pestilence was more widely extended than before, and the mortahty 
 fearfully increased. 
 
 On the commencement of the storm, Leonard Holt hurried back 
 to Wood Street, and reached his master's dwelling just as the rain 
 began to descend in torrents. Mr. Bloundel was at the window, 
 and a few wor^s only passed between him and the apprentice when 
 
 11 
 
162 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 the latter was compelled to take refuge in the hutch. Here he 
 found Dallison the watchman, and they Hstened in awe-struck si- 
 lence to the heavy showers, and to the hissing of the blazing em- 
 bers in their struggle against the hostile element. By and by, the 
 latter sound ceased. Not a light could be seen throughout the whole 
 length of the street, nor was there any red reflection of the innu- 
 merable fires, as heretofore, in the sky. It was evident all were ex- 
 tinguished ; and the pitiless pelting of the rain, the roar of the water- 
 spouts, and the rush of the over-filled kennels, now converted into 
 rivulets, could alone be heard. After awhile, the storm cleared 
 off, and Leonard and his companion issued from their retreat, and 
 gazed in silence at the drenched heap before them. While thus 
 occupied, the window above them opened, and the grocer appeared 
 at it. "This is, indeed, a sad and striking lesson," he said, "and 
 I hope will not be lost upon those who have witnessed it. It shows 
 the utter impotency of a struggle against the divine will, and that 
 when man relies upon himself for preservation, he depends upon a 
 broken reed. If I did not place myself under heaven's protection, 
 I should be sure that all my own precautions were unavaihng. I 
 am now about to call up my family to prayer. You can join us in 
 our supplications, and 1 trust they will not be unheard." 
 
 Closing the window, the grocer retired, and Leonard returned to 
 the hutch, where he fell upon his knees, and as soon as he supposed 
 that the family were gathered together, commenced his own prayers. 
 He pictured the whole group assembled — the fervour of the grocer 
 excited to an unwonted pitch by what had just occurred — the earnest 
 countenances of his wife and the younger children — anl|^the exalted 
 looks of Amabel. He could not see her — neither could' he hear her 
 voice — but he fancied how she looked, and in what terms she prayed 
 — and it was no slight satisfaction to him to think that his own voice 
 ascended to heaven coupled with hers. 
 
 On quitting the hutch, he found Dallison converSng with Doctor 
 Hodges. The physician expressed great surprise at seeing him, 
 and inquired how he came to have left his master's house. Leonard 
 related all that had happened, and besought his^assistalice inJNizza's 
 behalf. 1 
 
 "1 will do all I can for her," reph^ Hodges; "I feel greatly in- 
 terested about her. But who is this Sir Paul Pai^vitin ? I never 
 heard of him." 
 
 "1 know nothing more of him than what I have told you, sir," 
 rephed Leonard. " He is a friend bf the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 *'Itmust be a feigned name," rejoined Hodges: "but I will 
 speedily find him out. You must lodge at my house to-night. It will 
 be better for you than sleeping in that damp shed. But first, I must 
 have a word or two with your master. 1 have been abroad all 
 night, and came hither to ascertain what he thought of this plan of 
 the fires, and what he had done. How do you give the signal to 
 him?" 
 
 "There is a cord within the hutch by which you can sound a bell 
 within his chamber," returned Leonard ; '' I will ring it." 
 
 Accordingly, he did so, and the summons was almost instantly an* 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. l63 
 
 sw6f ed by the grocer. A kindly greeting passed between the latter 
 and Hodges, who inquired whether all was going on satisfactorily 
 within, and whether any thing could be done for the family. " I 
 would not have disturbed you at this unseasonable hour," he said, 
 ' 'but chancing to be in your neighbourhood, and thinking it likely you 
 would be on the watch, I called to have a word with you. Though 
 I could not foresee what would happen, I entirely disapproved of 
 these fires as likely to increase rather than check the pestilence." 
 
 "The hand of heaven has extinguished them, because they were 
 lighted in opposition to its decrees," rephed Bloundel; "but you 
 have asked m6 whether all is going on well within. I should answer 
 readily in the affirmative, but that my wife expresses much anxiety 
 respecting Amabel. We have no longer any apprehension of mis- 
 conduct. She is all we could desire — serious and devout. But we 
 have fears for her health. The confinement may be too much for 
 her. What would you recommend ?" 
 
 "I must see her to be able to speak confidently," replied Hodges. 
 
 "I know not how that can be accomplished, unless you choose to 
 ascend by a basket attached to the pulley," replied the grocer, with 
 some hesitation— "and it is against my plan to admit you." 
 
 "But your daughter's fife, my good friend," rejoined Hodges, 
 "think of that. If I choose to risk life and limb to visit her, you 
 may surely risk the chance of contagion to admit me. But you need 
 have no fear. Sprinkle your room with spirits of sulphur, and place 
 a phial of vinegar so that I can use it on my first entrance into the 
 house, and I will answer for the safety of your family." 
 
 These preparations made, Mr. Bloundel lowered the basket into 
 which Hodges got, and grasping the rope, not without some misgiv- 
 ing on his part, he was drawn up. Leonard witnessed his ascent 
 with a beating heart, and could scarcely repress a feehng of envy 
 when he saw him pass through the window, and knew that he would 
 soon be in the presence of Amabel. But this feeling quickly changed 
 into one of deep anxiety concerning her. Her father's account of 
 her had increased the uneasiness he previously felt, and he was as 
 anxious to know the Doctor's opinion of her, as if his own fate had 
 depended upon it. He was kept in this painful state of suspense for 
 nearly an hour, when voices were heard at the window, and pre- 
 sently afterwards Hodges was carefully let down. Bidding the grocer 
 ^farewell, he desired Leonard to follow him, and led the way towards 
 Cheapside. They proceeded a short distance in silence, when the 
 latter ventured to remark, " You say nothing about Amabel, sir? I 
 fear you found her seriously indisposed." 
 
 "Do not question me about her just now," rejoined the Doctor, 
 in a subdued emotion. " I would rather not discuss the subject." 
 
 Nothing more was said, for though the apprentice would willingly 
 have continued the conversation, his companion's evident disin- 
 clination to pursue it compelled him to desist. In this way, they 
 reached the Doctor's residence, where Leonard was immediately 
 shown to a comfortable bed. 
 
 It was late when he awoke next day, and as the Doctor was gone 
 forth, he partook of a plentiful breakfast which was placed before 
 
164 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 him, and repaired to Wood Street, but his master having no com- 
 missions for him to execute, he went back again. By this time, 
 Doctor Hodges had returned, and calling him into his Ubrary, told 
 him he wished to speak with him. 
 
 *' You were right last night," he said, "in construing my silence 
 into alarm for Amabel. In truth, I fear she is rapidly sinking into 
 a decline, and nothing will arrest the progress of the insidious 
 disease but instant removal to the country. To this she will not 
 consent, neither do I know how it could be accomphshed. It is 
 pitiable to see so lovely a creature dying, as I fear she is, of a 
 broken heart." Leonard covered his face with his hands, and wept 
 aloud. 
 
 *'We have not yet spoken of Nizza Macascree," said Hodges, 
 after a pause, tapping him kindly on the shoulder. " I think I have 
 discovered a trace of her." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard, rousing himself. "She 
 is another victim of these profligates. But I will be revenged upon 
 fhem all." 
 
 " I have before enjoined you to restrain your indignation, just 
 though it be," returned Hodges. " 1 have not yet found out whi- 
 ther she has been taken, but I have a clue which, unless I am mis- 
 taken, will lead me to it. But 1 must now dismiss you. I have 
 other affairs to attend to, and must give a dangerous and difficult 
 case, on which I have been consulted, undisturbed consideration. 
 Make my house your home as long as you think proper." 
 
 Warmly thanking the Doctor, Leonard then withdrew. Shortly 
 after this, he walked forth, and ascertaining that he was not re- 
 quired by his master, determined to satisfy himself by actual obser- 
 vation of the extent of the ravages of the plague. With this view, 
 he shaped his course along Lad Lane, and traversing Cateaton 
 Street, entered Lothbury. The number of houses which he here 
 found closed, with red crosses on the doors, and the fatal inscrip- 
 tion above them, convinced him that the deplorable accounts he 
 had heard were not exaggerated. In passing some of these habi- 
 tations, he saw such ghastly faces at the windows, and heard such 
 lamentable cries, that he was glad to hurry on and get out of sight 
 and hearing. In Throgmorton Street, nearly opposite Draper's 
 Hall, a poor wretch suddenly opened a casement, and before his at- 
 tendants could force him back, threw himself from a great height 
 to the ground, and brojie his neck. Another incident, of an equally 
 distressing nature, occurred. A young and richly dressed man is- 
 sued from a tavern in Broad Street, and with a wild and inflamed 
 countenance staggered along. He addressed some insulting lan- 
 guage to Leonard, but the latter, who desired no quarrel, disre- 
 garded his remarks and let him pass. The next person encoun- 
 tered by the drunken man was a young female. Suddenly catching 
 her in his arms, he imprinted a kiss upon her lips, and then, with 
 a frightful laugh, shouted, "I have given you the plague! Look 
 here!" And tearing aside the collar of his shirt, lie exhibited a 
 large tumour. The young woman uttered a shriek of terror and 
 fainted, while her ruthless assailant took to his heels, and running 
 
FIRES LIGHTED IN THE STREETS. 165 
 
 as long as his strength lasted, fell down, and was taken to the pest- 
 house, where he was joined that same night by his victim. And 
 this was by no means an uncommon occurrence. The distemper 
 acted differently on different temperaments. Some it inflamed to 
 an ungovernable pitch of madness — others it reduced to the depths 
 of despair — while in many cases it brought out and aggravated the 
 worst parts of the character. Wives conveyed the infection inten- 
 tionally to their husbands — husbands to their wives — parents to 
 their children — lovers to the objects of their affection — while, as in 
 the case above-mentioned, many persons ran about like rabid 
 hounds, striving to communicate it to all they met. Greatly 
 shocked by what had occurred, and yet not altogether surprised at 
 it, for his mind had become familiarised with horrors, Leonard 
 struck down Finch Lane, and proceeded towards Cornhill. On the 
 way, he noticed two dead bodies lying at the mouth of a small 
 alley, and hastening past, was stopped at the entrance to Cornhill 
 by a butcher's apprentice, who was wheeling away the body of an 
 old man, who had just died while purchasing meat at a stall at 
 Stock's Market. Filled with unutterable loathing at this miserable 
 spectacle, Leonard was fain to procure a glass of canary to recruit 
 his spirits. 
 
 Accordingly, he proceeded to the Globe tavern, at the corner of 
 Birchin Lane. As he entered the house, a lively strain of music 
 caught his ear, and glancing in the direction of the sound, he found 
 it proceeded from the blind piper, Mike Macascree, who was play- 
 ing to some half-dozen roystering youths. Bell lay at her master's 
 feet, and as Leonard approached the party, she pricked up her ears, 
 and being called by name, instantly sprang towards him, and mani- 
 fested the strongest dehght. The piper stopped playing to Hsten to 
 what was going forward, but the young men urged him to proceed, 
 and again filled his glass. 
 
 " Don't drink any more, Mike," said Leonard, " but step aside 
 with me. I 've something to say to you — something about your 
 daughter." 
 
 " My daughter!" exclaimed the piper, in a half-angry, half-sor- 
 rowful voice, while a slight moisture forced itself through his orb- 
 less lids— "I don't want to hear anything about her, except that 
 she is dead. She has deserted me, and disgraced herself." 
 
 " You are mistaken," rejoined Leonard ; "^and if you will come 
 with me, I will explain the truth to you." 
 
 " I will listen to no explanation," rejoined the piper, furiously — 
 '* she has given me pain enough already. 1 'm engaged with this 
 jovial company. Fill my glass, my masters — there, fill it again," he 
 added, draining it eagerly, and with the evident wash to drown all 
 thought. "There, now you shall have such a tune as was never 
 listened to by mortal ears." 
 
 A loud laugh from the young men followed this proposition, and 
 the piper played away so furiously that it added to their merriment. 
 Touched with compassion, Leonard walked aside, hoping, when 
 the party broke up, to be able to have a word with the poor man. 
 But the pipel's excitement incre ased. He played faster and drank 
 
166 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 harder, until it was evident he was no longer in a condition to speak 
 rationally. Leonard, therefore, addressed himself to the drawer, 
 and desired him to look after the piper, engaging to return before 
 midnight to see how he went on. The drawer promising com- 
 phance, Leonard departed ; and not feeling disposed to continue hi| 
 walk, returned to Wood Street. 
 
 Nothing particular occurred during the evening. Leonard did 
 not see Doctor Hodges, who was engaged in his professional duties ) 
 and after keeping watch hefore the grocer's till nearly midnight, he 
 again retraced his steps to the Globe. The drawer was at the door, 
 and about to close the house. ' ' You will be sorry to learn the fate 
 of the poor piper," he said. 
 
 " Why, what has happened to him ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " He is dead of the plague," was the reply. 
 
 '*What, so suddenly!" exclaimed the apprentice. "You ar^ 
 jesting with me." 
 
 '' Alas ! it is no jest," rejoined the drawer, in a tone that con- 
 vinced the apprentice of his sincerity. " His entertainers quitted 
 him about two hours ago, and, in spite of my efforts to detain him, 
 he left the house and sat down on those steps. Concluding he 
 would fall asleep, 1 did not disturb him, and his dog kept careful 
 watch over him. I forgot all about him till a short time ago, when 
 hearing the pest- cart pass, I went forth, and learnt that the drivers 
 having found him dead, as they supposed, of the pestilence, had 
 placed their forks under his belt and thrown him upon the other 
 bodies." 
 
 " And where is the dog?" cried Leonard. 
 
 " She would not quit her master," replied the drawer, " so the 
 men threw her into the cart with him, saying, they would bury her 
 in the plague-pit, as all dogs were ordered to be destroyed." 
 
 " This must be prevented," cried Leonard. "Which Wiiy did 
 the dead-cart go ?" 
 
 " Towards Sloorgate," repUed the drawer. 
 
 Leonard heard no more, but dashing through a narrow passage 
 opposite the Conduit, crossed Bartholomew Lane, and traversing 
 Lothbury, soon reached Coleman Street and the old city gate, to 
 which he had been directed. Here he learnt that the dead-cart had 
 passed through it about five minutes before, and he hurried on to- 
 wards Finsbury fields. He had not proceeded far when he heard a 
 sound as of a pipe at a distance, furiously played, and accompanied 
 by the barking of a dog. These sounds were followed by cries of 
 alarm, and he presently perceived two persons running towards 
 him, with a swiftness which could only be occasioned by terror. 
 One of them carried a lantern, and grasping his arm, the apprentice 
 (letained him. " What is the matter ?" he asked. 
 
 "The devil's the matter," replied the man—" the piper's ghost 
 has appeared in that cart, and is playing his old tunes again." 
 
 "Ay, it's either his spirit, or he is come to life again," observed 
 the other man, stopping likewise. "1 tossed him into the cart 
 myself, and will swear he was dead enough then." 
 
 * ' Ym ha^y^ committed a dreadful mistake," cried Leonard. • ^ > QV 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. l6t 
 
 have tossed a living man into the cart, instead of a dead one. Do 
 you not hear those sounds?" And as he spoke, the notes of the 
 pipe swelled to a louder strain than ever. 
 
 " I tell you it is the devil — or a ghost," replied the driver, — "I 
 will stay here no longer." 
 
 "Lend me your lantern, and I will go to the cart," rejoined 
 Leonard. 
 
 "Take it," replied the man, "but I caution you to stay where 
 you are. You may receive a shock you will never survive." 
 
 Paying no attention to what was said, Leonard ran towards the 
 cart, and found the piper seated upon a pile of dead bodies, most of 
 them stripped of their covering, with Bell by his side, and playing 
 away at a prodigious rate. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 The condition of the prisons at this season was really frightful. 
 In Newgate, in particular, where the distemper broke out at the 
 beginning of June, it raged with such violence that in less than a 
 week more than half the prisoners were swept off, and it appeared 
 probable, that, unless its fury abated, not a soul would be left alive 
 within it. At all times, this crowded and ill-kept prison was in- 
 fested by the gaol-fever and other pestilential disorders, but these 
 were mild in comparison with the present terrible visitation. The 
 atmosphere was noisome and malignant ; the wards were never 
 cleansed ; and many poor wretches who died in their cells, were 
 left there till the attendants on the dead-cart chose to drag them 
 forth. No restraint being placed upon the sick, and the rules of 
 the prison allowing them the free use of any strong liquors they 
 could purchase, the scenes that occurred were too dreadful and re- 
 volting for description, and could only be paralleled by the orgies 
 of a pandemonium. Many reckless beings, conscious that they were 
 attacked by a fatal disorder, drank as long as they could raise the 
 cup to their lips, and after committing the wildest and most shock- 
 ing extravagances, died in a state of frenzy. 
 
 Newgate became thus, as it were, the very focus of infection, 
 where the plague assumed its worst aspect, and where its victims 
 perished far more expeditiously than elsewhere. Two of the turn- 
 keys had already died of the distemper, and such was the alarm 
 entertained that no other persons could be found to supply their 
 places. To penetrate the recesses of the prison, was almost to 
 ensure destruction, and none but the attendants of the dead-cart 
 and the nurses attempted it. Among the latter was Judith. Em- 
 ployed as a nurse on the first outbreak of the plague, she willingly 
 and fearlessly undertook the office. The worse the disease became, 
 
168 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 the better pleased she appeared ; and she was so utterly without 
 apprehension, that when no one would approach the cell where 
 some wretched sufferer lay expiring, she unhesitatingly entered it. 
 But it was not to render aid, but to plunder, that she thus exer- 
 cised her functions. She administered no medicine, dressed no 
 tumours, and did not contribute in the slightest degree to the com- 
 fort of the miserable wretches committed to her charge. All she 
 desired was to obtain whatever valuables they possessed, or to 
 wring from them any secret that might afterwards be turned to ac- 
 count. Foreseeing that Newgate must ere long be depopulated, 
 and having no fears for herself, she knew that she must then be 
 liberated, and be able once more to renew her mischievous practices 
 upon mankind. Her marvellous preservation throughout all the 
 dangers to which she was exposed seemed almost to warrant the 
 supposition that she had entered into a compact with the pestilence, 
 to extend its ravages by every means in her power, on the condi- 
 tion of being spared herself. 
 
 Soon after the outbreak of the plague in Newgate, all the debtors 
 were liberated, and if the keepers had had their own way, the 
 common felons would have been hkewise released. But this could 
 not be, and they were kept to perish as before described. Matters, 
 however, grew so serious, that it became a question whether the 
 few miserable wretches left alive ought to be longer detained, and 
 at last the turnkeys refusing to act any longer, and delivering 
 their keys to the governor, the whole of the prisoners were set free. 
 On the night of their liberation, Chowles and Judith proceeded 
 to the vaults of Saint Faith's, to deposit within them the plunder 
 they had obtained in the prison. They found them entirely de- 
 serted. Neither verger, sexton, nor any other person was to be 
 seen, and they took up their quarters in the crypt. Having brought 
 a basket of provisions, and a few bottles of wine with them, they 
 determined to pass the night in revelry ; and accordingly, having 
 hghted a fire with the fragments of old coffins brought from the 
 charnel, they sat down to their meal. Having done full justice to 
 it, and disposed of the first flask, they were about to abandon 
 themselves to unrestrained enjoyment, when their glee was all at 
 once interrupted by a strange and unaccountable noise in the ad- 
 joining church. Chowles, who had just commenced chanting one 
 of his wild melodies, suddenly stopped, and Judith set down the 
 glass she had raised to her lips, untasted. What could it mean? 
 Neither of them could tell. It seemed like strains of unearthly 
 music, mixed with shrieks and groans as of tortured spirits, accom- 
 panied by peals of such laughter, as might be supposed to proceed 
 from demons. " The dead are burst forth from their tombs," 
 cried Chowles, in a quavering voice, ' ' and are attended by a legion 
 of evil spirits." 
 
 " It would seem so," rephed Judith, rising. " I should like to 
 behold the sight. Come with me." 
 
 *' Not for the world 1" rejoined Chowles, shuddering, "and I 
 would recommend you to stay where you are. You may behold 
 your dead husband among them." 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 169 
 
 ** Do you think so?" rejoined Judith, halting. 
 
 " I am sure of it," cried Chowles, eagerly. " Stay where you are 
 — stay where you are." 
 
 As he spoke, there was another peal of infernal laughter, and the 
 strains of music grew louder each moment. " Come what may, I 
 will see what it is," said Judith, emptying her glass, as if seeking 
 courage from the draught. " Surely," she added, in a taunting 
 tone, " you will come with me." 
 
 " I am afraid of nothing earthly," rejoined Chowles — " but I 
 do not like to face beings of another world." 
 
 " Then I will go alone," rejoined Judith. 
 
 '' Nay, that shall never be," replied Chowles, tottering after her. 
 
 As they opened the door and crossed the charnel, such an extra- 
 ordinary combination of sounds burst upon their ears, that they 
 again paused, and looked anxiously at each other. Chowles laid 
 his hand on his companion's arm, and strove to detain her, but 
 she would not be stayed, and he was forced to proceed. Setting 
 down the lamp on the stone floor, Judith passed into the subterra- 
 nean church, where she beheld a sight that almost petrified her. 
 In the midst of the nave, which was illumined by a blue glimmering 
 hght, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, stood a 
 number of grotesque figures, apparelled in fantastic garbs, and 
 each attended by a skeleton. Some of the latter grisly shapes were 
 playing on tambours, others on psalteries, others on rebecs — every 
 instrument producing the strangest sound imaginable. Viewed 
 through the massive pillars, beneath that dark and ponderous roof, 
 and by the mystic hght before described, this strange company 
 had a supernatural appearance, and neither Chowles nor Judith 
 doubted for a moment that they beheld before them a congregation 
 of phantoms. An irresistible feeling of curiosity prompted them 
 to advance. On drawing nearer, they found the assemblage com- 
 prehended all ranks of society. There was a pope in his tiara 
 and pontifical dress ; a cardinal in his cap and robes ; a monarch 
 with a sceptre in his hand, and arrayed in the habiliments of 
 royalty ; a crowned queen; a bishop wearing his mitre, and carry- 
 ing his crosier; an abbot hkewise in his mitre, and bearing a 
 crosier ; a duke in his robes of state ; a grave canon of the church ; 
 a knight sheathed in armour ; a judge, an advocate, and a magis- 
 trate, all in their robes ; a mendicant friar and a nun ; and the list 
 was completed by a physician, an astrologer, a miser, a merchant, 
 a duchess, a pedlar, a soldier, a gamester, an idiot, a robber, a 
 blind man, and a beggar, — each distinguishable by his apparel. 
 
 By and by, with a wild and gibbering laugh that chilled the be- 
 holders' blood, one of the tallest and grisliest of the skeletons 
 sprang forward, and beating his drum, the whole ghostly company 
 formed, two and two, into a line — a skeleton placing itself on the 
 right of every mortal. In this order, the fantastic procession 
 marched between the pillars, the unearthly music playing all the 
 while, and disappeared at the farther extremity of the church. 
 With the last of the group, the mysterious hght vanished, and 
 Chowles and h^s companion were left in profound darkaess. * ' What 
 
170 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 can it mean?" cried Judith, as soon as she recovered her speech. 
 ^' Are they human or spirits'?" 
 
 '' Human beings don't generally amuse themselves in this way," 
 returned Chowles. "But hark I — I still hear the music. — They 
 are above — in Saint Paul's." 
 
 " Then I will join them," said Judith. " I am resolved to see 
 the end of it." 
 
 " Don't leave me behind," returned Chowles, following her. 
 '^ I would rather keep company with Beelzebub and all his imps 
 than be alone." Both were too well acquainted with the way to 
 need any light. Ascending the broad stone steps, they presently 
 emerged into the cathedral, which they found illumined by the same 
 glimmering light as the lower church, and they perceived the 
 ghostly assemblage gathered into an immense ring, and dancing 
 round the tall skeleton, who continued beating his drum and utter- 
 ing a strange gibbering sound, which was echoed by the others. 
 Each moment, the dancers increased the swiftness of their pace, 
 until at last it grew to a giddy whirl, and then, all at once, with a 
 shriek of laughter, the whole company fell to the ground. 
 
 Chowles and Judith, then, for the first time, understood, from 
 the confusion that ensued and the exclamations uttered, that they 
 were no spirits they had to deal with, but beings of the same mould 
 as themselves. Accordingly, they approached the party of mas- 
 quers, for such they proved, and found on inquiry that they were a 
 party of young gallants, who, headed by the Earl of Rochester — 
 the representative of the tall skeleton — had determined to realize 
 the Dance of Death, as once depicted on the walls of an ancient 
 cloister at the north of the cathedral, called Pardon Churchyard, on 
 the walls of which, says Stowe, were '^ artificially and richly painted 
 the Dance of Macabre, or Dance of Death, commonly called the 
 Dance of Paul's, the like whereof was painted about Saint Inno- 
 cent's, at Paris. The metres or poesy of this dance," proceeds the 
 same authority, " were translated out of French into English by 
 John Lydgate, monk of Bury ; and with the picture of Death leading 
 all estates, painted about the cloister, at the special request and 
 expense of Jenkin Carpenter, in the reign of Henry the Sixth." 
 Pardon Churchyard was pulled down by the Protector Somerset, in 
 the reign of Edward the Sixth, and the materials employed in the erec- 
 tion of his own palace in the Strand. It was the discussion of these 
 singular paintings, and of the designs on the same subject ascribed 
 to Holbein, that led the Earl of Rochester and his companions to 
 propose ttie fantastic spectacle above described. With the disposi- 
 tion which this reckless nobleman possessed to turn the most solemn 
 and appalling subjects to jest, he thought no season so fitting for 
 such an entertainment as the present — just as in our own time the 
 lively Parisians made the cholera, while raging in their city, the 
 subject of a carnival pastime. The exhibition witnessed by Chowles 
 and Judith was a rehearsal of the masque intended to be repre- 
 sented in the cathedral on the following night. 
 
 Again marshalling his band, the Earl of Rochester beat his drum, 
 and skipping before them, led t)ie way towards the south door of 
 
THB DANCE OF DEATH. Iff 
 
 the cathedral, which was thrown open by an unseen hand, and the 
 procession gUded through it Hke a troop of spectres. Chowles, 
 whose appearance was not unlike that of an animated skeleton, was 
 seized with a strange desire to join in what was going forward, 
 and taking off his doublet, and baring his bony arms and legs, he 
 followed the others, dancing round Judith in the same manner that 
 the other skeletons danced round their partners. 
 
 On reaching the Convocation House, a door was opened and the 
 procession entered the cloisters ; and here Chowles, dragging Judith 
 into the area between him and the beautiful structure they sur- 
 rounded, began a dance of so extraordinary a character that the 
 whole troop collected round to witness it. Rochester beat his drum, 
 and the other representatives of mortalitywho were provided with 
 musical instruments struck up a wild kind of accompaniment, to 
 which Chowles executed the most grotesque flourishes. So wildly 
 excited did he become, and such extravagances did he commit, that 
 even Judith stared aghast at him, and began to think his wits were 
 fled. Now he whirled round her — now sprang high into the air — 
 now twined his lean arms round her waist — now peeped over one 
 shoulder, now over the other — and at last griped her neck so forci- 
 bly that he might, perhaps, have strangled her, if she had not 
 broken from him, and dealt him a severe blow that brought him 
 senseless to the ground. On recovering, he found himself in the 
 arched entrance of a large octagonal chamber, lighted at each side 
 by a lofty pointed window filled with stained glass. Round this 
 chamber ran a wide stone bench, with a richly carved back of the 
 same material, on which the masquers were seated, and opposite 
 the entrance was a raised seat ordinarily allotted to the dean, but 
 now occupied by the Earl of Rochester. A circular oak table stood 
 in the midst of the chamber, covered with magnificent silver dishes 
 heaped with the choicest viands, which were handed to the guests 
 by the Earl's servants, all of whom represented skeletons, and it 
 had a strange effect to behold these ghastly objects filling the cups 
 of the revellers, bending obsequiously before some blooming dame, 
 or crowding round their spectral-looking lord. 
 
 At first, Chowles was so confused that he thought he must have 
 awakened in another world, but by degrees he called to mind what 
 had occurred, and ascertained from Judith that he was in the Con- 
 vocation House. Getting up, he joined the train of grisly attendants, 
 and acquitted himself so well that the Earl engaged him as a per- 
 former in the masque. He was furthermore informed that, in all 
 probability, the King himself, with many of his favourite nobles, 
 and the chief court beauties' would be present to witness the 
 spectacle. 
 
 The banquet over, word was brought that chairs and coaches 
 were without, and the company departed, leaving behind only a 
 few attendants, who remained to put matters in order. 
 
 While they were thus occupied, Judith, who had fixed her greedy 
 eyes upon the plate, observed, in an under- tone, to Chowles, 
 '' There will be fine plunder for us. We must manage to ca,rry 
 off all that jflate while they are engaged in tjie masque." 
 
172 OLD SAINT PAtX's. 
 
 *' Yoli must do it yourself, then," returned Chowles, in the same 
 tone — " for I shall have to play a principal part in the entertain- 
 ment, and as the king himself will be present, I cannot give up 
 such an opportunity of distinguishing myself." 
 
 " You can have no share in the prize, if you lend no assistance," 
 replied Judith, with a dissatisfied look. 
 
 " Of course not," rejoined Chowles; *' on this occasion it is all 
 yours. The Dance of Death is too much to my taste to be given up." 
 
 Perceiving they were noticed, Chowles and Judith then left the 
 Convocation House, and returned to the vault in Saint Faith's, nor 
 did they emerge from it until late on the following day. 
 
 Some rumour of the masque having gone abroad, towards 
 evening a crowd, chiefly composed of the most worthless order of 
 society, collected under the portico at the western entrance, and 
 the great doors being opened by Chowles, they entered the cathe- 
 dral. Thus was this sacred building once more invaded — once 
 again a scene of noise, riot, and confusion — its vaulted roofs, instead 
 of echoing the voice of prayer, or the choral hymn, resounded with 
 loud laughter, imprecations, and licentious discourse. This disorder, 
 however, was kept in some bounds by a strong body of the royal 
 guard, who soon afterwards arrived, and stationing themselves in 
 parties of three or four at each of the massive columns flanking the 
 aisles, maintained some show of decorum. Besides these, there 
 were others of the royal attendants bearing torches who walked 
 from place to place, and compelled all loiterers in dark corners to 
 proceed to the nave. 
 
 A little before midnight, the great doors were again thrown open, 
 and a large troop of richly attired personages, all wearing masks, 
 were admitted. For a short time, they paced to and fro between 
 its shafted pillars, gazing at the spectators grouped around, and 
 evidently from their jests and laughter not a little entertained by 
 the scene. As the clock struck twelve, however, all sounds were 
 hushed, and the courtly party stationed themselves on the steps 
 leading to the choir. At the same moment, also, the torches were 
 extinguished, and the whole of the building buried in profound dark- 
 ness. Presently after, a sound was heard of footsteps approaching 
 the nave, but nothing could be discerned. Expectation was kept on 
 the rack for some minutes, during which many a stifled cry was 
 heard from those whose courage failed them at this trying juncture. 
 All at once, a blue light illumined the nave, and partially revealed 
 the lofty pillars by which it was surrounded. By this light, the 
 whole of the ghostly company could be seen drawn up near the 
 western door. They were arranged two and two, a skeleton stand- 
 ing as before on the right of each character. The procession next 
 marched slowly and silently towards Ihe choir, and drew up at the 
 foot of the steps, to give the royal party an opportunity of examin- 
 ing them. After pausing there for a few minutes, Bochester, in 
 the dress of the larger skeleton, started off, and beating his drum, 
 was followed by the Pope and his attendant skeleton. This couple, 
 having danced together for some minutes to the infinite diversion 
 of the spectators, disappeared behind a pillar, and were succeeded 
 
THE DANCE OP DEATH. 173 
 
 by the monarch and a second skeleton. These, in their turn, gave 
 way to the cardinal and his companion, and so on till the whole 
 of the masquers had exhibited themselves, when at a signal from 
 the Earl the party reappeared, and formed a ring round him. The 
 dance was executed with great spirit, and elicited tumultuous ap- 
 plause from all the beholders. The Earl now retired, and Chowles 
 took his place. He was clothed in an elastic dress painted of a 
 leaden and cadaverous colour, which fitted closely to his fleshless 
 figure, and defined all its angularities. He carried an hour-glass 
 in one hand, and a dart in the other, and in the course of the dance 
 kept continually pointing the latter at those who moved around 
 him. His feats of the previous evening were nothing to his present 
 achievements. His joints creaked, and his eyes flamed like burning 
 coals. As he continued, his excitement increased. He bounded 
 higher, and his countenance assumed so hideous an expression, 
 that those near him recoiled in terror, crying, "Death himself had 
 broke loose among them." The consternation soon became general. 
 The masquers fled in dismay, and scampered along the aisles scarcely 
 knowing whither they were going. Delighted with the alarm he 
 occasioned, Chowles chased a large party along the northern aisle, 
 and was pursuing them across the transept upon which it opened, 
 when he was arrested in his turn by another equally formidable 
 figure, who suddenly placed himself in his path. 
 
 " Hold!" exclaimed Solomon Eagle, — for it was the enthusiast 
 « — in a voice of thunder, "it is time this scandalous exhibition 
 should cease. Know all ye who make a mockery of death, that 
 his power will be speedily and fearfully approved upon you. Think 
 not to escape the vengeance of the Great Being whose temple you 
 have profaned. And you, King ! who have sanctioned these evil 
 doings by your presence, and who by your own dissolute fife set 
 a pernicious example to all your subjects, know that your city shall 
 be utterly laid waste, first by plague, and then by fire. Tremble ! 
 my warning is as terrible and true as the handwriting on the wall." 
 
 "Who art thou who boldest this language towards me?" de- 
 manded Charles. 
 
 " I am called Solomon Eagle," replied the enthusiast, " and am 
 charged with a mission from on high to warn your doomed people 
 of their fate. Be warned yourself, sire. Your end will be sudden. 
 You will be snatched away in the midst of your guilty pleasures, 
 and with little time for repentance. Be warned, I say again." 
 With this, he turned to depart. 
 
 ' ' Secure the nave," cried Charles, angrily. ' ' He shall be soundly 
 scourged for his insolence." But bursting through the guard, So- 
 lomon Eagle ran swiftly up the choir and disappeared, nor could 
 his pursuers discover any traces of him. 
 
 " Strange I" exclaimed the King, when he was told of the enthu- 
 siast's escape. ' ' Let us go to supper. This masque has given me 
 the vapours." 
 
 "Pray heaven it have not given us the plague," observed the 
 fair Stewart, who stood beside him, taking his arm. 
 
ii4 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 *' It is to be hoped not," rejoined Charles; *' but odds fish ! it is 
 a most dismal affair." 
 
 " It is so, in more ways than one," replied Rochester, "for I 
 have just learnt that all my best plate has been carried off from the 
 Convocation House. I shall only be able to offer your Majesty and 
 your fair partner a sorry supper." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PLAGIE-PIT. 
 
 On being made acquainted by Leonard, who helped him out of 
 the pest-cart, with the danger he had run, the piper uttered a cry of 
 terror, and swooned away. The buriers seeing how matters stood, 
 and that their superstitious fears were altogether groundless, now 
 returned, and one of them producing a phial of vinegar, sprinkled 
 the fainting man with it, and speedily brought him to himself. But 
 though so far recovered, his terror had by no means abated, and 
 he declared his firm conviction that he was infected by the pesti- 
 lence. "I have been carried towards the jdague-pit by mistake," 
 he said. " I shall soon be conveyed thither in right earnest, and 
 not have the power of frightening away my conductors on the road." 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! " cried one of the buriers, jestingly. "I hope yon 
 will often ride with us, and play us many a merry tune as you go. 
 You shall always be welcome to a seat in the cart." 
 
 "Be of good cheer," added Leonard, "and all will be well* 
 Come with me to an apothecary's shop, and I will procure a cordial 
 for you which will speedily dispel your qualms." 
 
 The piper shook his head, and replied with a deep groan, that 
 he was certain all was over with him. 
 
 " However, 1 will not reject your kindness," he added, "though 
 I feel I am past the help of medicine." With this, he whistled to 
 Bell, who was skipping about Leonard, having recognised him on 
 his first approach, and they proceeded towards the second postern 
 in London Wall, between Moorgate and Cripplegate ; while . the 
 buriers, laughing heartily at the adventure, took their way towards 
 the plague-pit and discharged their dreadful load within it. 
 
 Arrived in Basinghall Street, and looking around, Leonard soon 
 discovered by the links at the door, as well as by the crowd collected 
 before it, — for day and night the apothecaries' dwellings were be- 
 sieged by the sick, — the shop of which he was in search. It was 
 long before they could obtain admittance, and during this time the 
 piper said he felt himself getting rapidly worse, but imagining he 
 was merely labouring under the effect of fright, Leonard paid little 
 attention to his complaints. The apothecary, however, no sooner 
 set eyes upon him, than he pronounced him infected, and on exa- 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 175 
 
 miliation, it proved that the fatal tokens had already appeared. "I 
 knew it was so," cried the piper. " Take me to the pest-house 
 — take me to the pest-house ! " 
 
 " His desire had better be compUed with," observed the apothe- 
 cary. "He is able to walk thither now, but I will not answer for 
 his being able to do so two hours hence. It is a bad case," he 
 added, in an under-tone, to Leonard. 
 
 Feeing the apothecary, Leonard set out with the piper, and pass- 
 ing through Cripplegate, they entered the open fields. Here they 
 paused for a moment, and the httle dog ran round and round them, 
 barking gleefully. " Poor Belli" cried the piper; " what will be- 
 come of thee when I am gone 1" 
 
 '^ If you will entrust her to me, I will take care of her," replied 
 Leonard. 
 
 " She is yours," rejoined the piper, in a voice hoarse with emo- 
 tion. ' ' Be kind to her for my sake, and for the sake of her unfor- 
 tunate mistress." 
 
 " Since you have alluded to your daughter," returned Leonard, 
 "1 must tell you what has become of her. I have not hitherto 
 mentioned the subject, fearing it might distress you." 
 
 "Have no further consideration, but speak out," rejoined the 
 piper. " Be it what it may, 1 will bear it like a man." 
 
 Leonard then briefly recounted all that had occurred, describing 
 Nizza's disguise as a page, and her forcible abduction by Parravicin. 
 He was frequently interrupted by the groans of his hearer, who at 
 last gave vent to his rage and anguish in words. " Heaven's direst 
 curse upon her ravisher !" he cried. ' ' May he endure worse misery 
 than I now endure! She is lost for ever." 
 
 "She may yet be preserved," rejoined Leonard. "Doctor 
 Hodges thinks he has discovered her retreat, and 1 will not rest till 
 I find her." 
 
 "No — no, you will never find her," replied the piper bitterly; 
 " or if you do, it will be only to bewail her ruin." 
 
 His rage then gave way to such an access of grief, that letting his 
 head fall on Leonard's shoulder he wept aloud. " There is a secret 
 connected with that poor girl," he said, at length, controlHng his 
 emotion by a powerful effort, ' ' which must now go to the grave 
 with me. The knowledge of it would only add to her distress." 
 
 " You view the matter too unfavourably," rephed Leonard ; ' ' and 
 if the secret is of any moment, I entreat you to confide it to me. 
 If your worst apprehensions should prove well-founded, 1 promise 
 you it shall never be revealed to her." 
 
 "On that condition only, I will confide it to you," replied the 
 piper ; ' ' but not now — not now — to-morrow morning, if 1 am alive." 
 
 " It may be out of your power then," returned Leonard. " For 
 your daughter's sake 1 urge you not to delay." 
 
 "It is for her sake I am silent," rejoined the piper. " Come 
 along — come along I" he added, hurryinp,- forward. " Are we far 
 from the pest-house? My strength is failing me." 
 
 On arriving at their destination, they were readily admitted to 
 the asylum^ but a slight difficulty arose, which, however, wets 
 
176 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 Speedily obviated. All the couches were filled, but on examining 
 them it was found that one of the sick persons had just been released 
 from his sufferings, and the body being removed, the piper was al- 
 lowed to take its place. Leonard remained by him for a short time, 
 but, overpowered by the pestilential effluvia and the sight of so 
 many miserable objects, he was compelled to seek the open air. 
 Returning however, shortly afterwards, he found the piper in a 
 very perturbed state. On hearing Leonard's voice, he appeared 
 greatly relieved, and, taking his gown from beneath his pillow, gave 
 it to him, and desired him to unrip a part of the garment, in which 
 it was evident something was sewn. The apprentice complied, and 
 a small packet dropped forth. " Take it," said the piper; " and 
 if 1 die, — and Nizza should happily be preserved from her ravisher, 
 give it her. But not otherwise, — not otherwise. Implore her to 
 forgive me — to pity me." 
 
 "Forgive you — her father!" cried Leonard, in astonishment. 
 ''That packet will explain all," replied the piper, in a troubled 
 tone. "You promised to take charge of poor Bell," he added, 
 drawing forth the little animal, who had crept to the foot of the 
 bed, "here she is. Farewell! my faithful friend," he added, press- 
 ing his rough lips to her forehead, while she whined piteously, as 
 if beseeching him to allow her to remain; "farewell, for ever." 
 
 "Not for ever, 1 trust," replied Leonard, taking her gently from 
 him. 
 
 " And now you had better go," said the piper. " Return, if you 
 can, to-morrow." 
 
 "1 will, — I will," replied Leonard. And he hurried out of the 
 room. 
 
 He was followed to the door by a young chirurgeon, — the same 
 who had accompanied Mr. Bloundel during his inspection of the 
 pest-house, — and he inquired of him if he thought the piper's case 
 utterly hopeless. 
 
 " Not utterly so," rephed the young man. " I shall be able to 
 speak more positively in a few hours. At present, I think, with 
 care and attention there is a chance of his recovery." 
 
 Much comforted by this assurance, Leonard departed, and afraid 
 to put Bell to the ground lest she should run back to her master, 
 he continued to carry her, and endeavoured to attach her to him by 
 caresses and endearments. The little animal showed her sense of 
 his kindness by licking his hands, but she still remained inconsolable, 
 and ever and anon struggled to get free. Making the best of his 
 way to AYood Street, he entered the hutch, and placing a little straw 
 in one corner for Bell, threw himself on a bench and dropped 
 asleep. At six o'clock, he was awakened by the barking of the dog, 
 and opening the door, beheld Dallison. The grocer was at the 
 window above, and about to let down a basket of provisions to 
 them. To Leonard's eager inquiries after Amabel, Mr. Bloundel 
 replied by a melancholy shake of the head, and soon afterwards 
 withdrew. With a sad heart, the apprentice then broke his fast, 
 — not forgetting at the same time the wants of his httle companion, 
 — and finding he was not required by his master, he proceeded to 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 177 
 
 Doctor Hodges's residence. He was fortunate enough to find the 
 friendly physician at home ; and, after relating to him what had 
 occurred, committed the packet to his custody. " It will be safer 
 in your keeping than mine," he said; "and if any thing should 
 happen to me, you will, I am sure, observe the wishes of the poor 
 piper." 
 
 "Rely upon it I will," replied Hodges. " I am sorry to tell you 
 I have been misled as to the clue I fancied I had obtained to Nizza's 
 retreat. We are as far from the mark as ever." 
 
 " Might not the real name of the villain who has assumed the 
 name of Sir Paul Parravicin be ascertained from the Earl of Ro- 
 chester?" rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " So I thought," replied Hodges ; "and I made the attempt yes- 
 terday, but it failed. I was at Whitehall, and finding the Earl in 
 the King's presence, suddenly asked him where I could find his 
 friend Sir Paul Parravicin. He looked surprised at the question, 
 glanced significantly at the monarch, and then carelessly answered 
 that he knew no such person." 
 
 '' A strange idea crosses me," cried Leonard. *' Can it be the 
 King who has assumed this disguise?" 
 
 " At one time I suspected as much," rejoined Hodges; " but set- 
 ting aside your description of the person which does not tally with 
 that of Charles, I am satisfied from other circumstances it is not so. 
 After all, 1 should not wonder if poor Rell," smoothing her long 
 silky ears as she lay in the apprentice's arms, " should help us to 
 discover her mistress. And now," he added, " I shall go to Wood 
 Street to inquire after Amabel, and will then accompany you to the 
 pest-house. From what you tell me the young chirurgeon said of 
 the piper, I do not despair of his recovery." 
 
 ' ' Poor as his chance may appear, it is better, I fear, than Ama- 
 bel's," sighed the apprentice. 
 
 " Ah!" exclaimed Hodges, in a sorrowful tone, "hers is shght, 
 indeed." And perceiving that the apprentice was greatly moved, 
 he waited for a moment till he had recovered himself, and then 
 motioning him to follow him, they quitted the house together. 
 
 On reaching Mr. Bloundel's habitation, Leonard pulled the cord 
 in the hutch, and the grocer appeared at the window. " My 
 daughter has not left her bed this morning," he said, in answer to 
 the Doctor's inquiries, ' ' and 1 fear she is much worse. My wife is 
 with her. It would be a great satisfaction to me if you would see 
 her again." 
 
 After some little hesitation, Hodges assented, and was drawn up 
 as before. He returned in about half an hour, and his grave 
 countenance convinced Leonard that his worst anticipations were 
 correct. He, therefore, forebore to question him, and they walked 
 towards Cripplegate in silence. 
 
 On emerging into the fields, Hodges observed to his companion, 
 * ' It is strange that I who daily witness such dreadful suffering 
 should be pained by the gradual and easy decline of Amabel. But 
 so it is. Her case touches me more than the worst I have seen of 
 the plague." 
 
 ' 12 
 
178 OLD SAmt Paul's. 
 
 *' t can easily account for the feeling," groaned Leonard. 
 *'I am happy to say I have prevailed .on her, if she does not im- 
 prove in a short time, — and there is not the sHghtest chance of it, 
 — to try the effect of a removal to the country. Her father, also, 
 consents to the plan." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard. "But whither will 
 she go, and who will watch over her?" 
 
 " That is not yet settled," rejoined Hodges. 
 "Oh! that I might be permitted to undertake the office 1" cried 
 Leonard, passionately. 
 
 " Restrain yourself,^' said Hodges, in a tone of slight rebuke. 
 " Fitting attendance will be found, if needed." 
 
 The conversation then dropped, and they walked briskly forward. 
 They were now within a short distance of the pest-house, and Leo- 
 nard hearing footsteps behind him, turned and beheld a closed httel*, 
 borne by two stout porters, and evidently containing a plague-pa- 
 tient. He stepped aside to let it pass, when Bell suddenly pricking 
 her ears, uttered a singular cry, and bursting from him, flew after the 
 htter, leaping against it and barking joyfully. The porters, who 
 were proceeding at a quick pace, tried to drive her away, but with- 
 out effect, and she continued her cries until they reached the gates 
 of the pest-house. In vain Leonard whistled to her and called her 
 back. She paid no attention whatever to him. 
 
 " I almost begin to fear," said Hodges, unable to repress a shud- 
 der, " that the poor animal will, indeed, be the means bi discover- 
 ing for us the object of our search." 
 
 " 1 understand what you mean," rejoined Leonard, " and am of 
 the same opinion as yourself. Heaven grant we may be mistaken 1" 
 And as he spoke he ran forward, and, followed by Hodges, reached 
 the pest-house just as the litter was taken into it. 
 
 "Silence that accursed dog," cried one of the porters, "and 
 bid a nurse attend us. We have a patient for the women's 
 \Vard." 
 
 " Let me see her," cried Hodges. "I am a physician." 
 " Readily, sir," rephed the porter. " It is almost over with her, 
 poor soul ! It would have saved time and trouble to take her to the 
 plague-pit at once. She cannot last many hours. Curse the dog ! 
 will it never cease howling ?" 
 
 Leonard here seized Bell, fearing she might do some mischief, 
 and with a sad foreboding beheld the man draw back the curtains 
 of the litter. His fears proved well founded. There, stretched 
 upon the couch, with her dark hair unbound, and flowing in wild 
 disorder over her neck, lay Nizza Macascree. The ghastly paleness 
 of her face could not^ however, entirely rob it of its beauty, and 
 her dark eyes were glazed and lustreless. At the sight of her mis- 
 tress, poor Bell uttered so piteous a cry, that Leonard, moved by 
 compassion, placed her on the pillow beside her, and the sagacious 
 animal did not attempt to approach nearer, but merely licked her 
 cheek. Roused by the touch, Nizza turned to see what was near 
 her, and recognising the animal, made a movement to strain her to 
 her bosom, but the pain she endured was so intense that she sank 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 179 
 
 back with a deep groan. "From whom did you receive this young 
 woman ?" demanded Hodges of one of the porters. 
 
 " She was brought to us by two richly-attired lacqueys," replied 
 the man, '' in this very litter. They paid us to carry her here with- 
 out loss of time." 
 
 "You have no idea whose servants they were?" pursued 
 Hodges. 
 
 "Not the least," replied the fellow; "but I should judge, from 
 the richness of their dress, that they belonged to some nobleman." 
 "Did they belong to the royal household?" inquired Leonard. 
 " No, no," rejoined the man. " I am certain as to that." 
 "The poor girl shall not remain here," observed Hodges to the 
 apprentice. "You must convey her to my residence in Great 
 Knightrider Street," he added to the porters. 
 
 "We will convey her wherever you please," replied the men, 
 " if we are paid for our trouble." And they were about to close 
 the curtains, when Nizza, having caught sight of the apprentice, 
 slightly raised herself, and cried, in a voice of the utmost anxiety, 
 *' Is that you, Leonard?" 
 
 " It is," he replied, approaching her. 
 
 " Then I shall die happy, since I have seen you once more," she 
 
 said. "Oh, do not stay near me. You may catch the infection." 
 
 "Nizza," said Leonard, disregarding the caution and breathing 
 
 the words in her ear ; " allay my fears by a word. You have not 
 
 fallen a victim to the villain who carried you away ?" 
 
 "I have not, Leonard," she replied solemnly. " I resisted his 
 importunities, his threats, his violence, and would have slain myself 
 rather than have yielded to him. The plague, at length, came to 
 my rescue, and I have reason to be grateful to it; for it has not 
 only delivered me from him, but has brought me to you." 
 
 " I must now impose silence upon you," interposed Hodges, lay- 
 ing his finger on his lips ; " further conversation will be hurtful." 
 " One question more and I have done," replied Nizza. " How 
 came Bell with you — and where is my father ? Nothing has hap- 
 pened to him ?" she continued, observing Leonard's countenance 
 change. " Speak! do not keep me in suspense. Your silence fills 
 me with apprehension. Speak, I implore you. He is dead?" 
 
 "No," replied Leonard, " he is not dead — but he is an inmate of 
 this place." 
 
 "Ah I" exclaimed Nizza, falling back senseless upon the pillow; 
 and in this state she was conveyed with the greatest expedition to 
 the Doctor's residence. 
 
 Leonard only tarried to visit the piper, whom he found shghtly 
 delirious, and unable to hold any conversation with him, and pro- 
 mising to return in the evening, he set out after the litter. Nizza 
 was placed in the best apartment of the Doctor's house, and attended 
 by an experienced and trustworthy nurse. But Hodges positively 
 refused to let Leonard see her again, affirming that the excitement 
 was too much for her, and might militate against the chance of 
 her recovery. " I am not without hopes of bringing her through," 
 he said, "land though it will be a severe struggle, yet as she has 
 
180 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 youth and a good constitution on her side, I do not despair. If she 
 herself would second me I should be yet more confident." 
 " How mean you ?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 ' ' I think if she thought hfe worth a struggle — if, in short, she 
 believed you would return her attachment, she would rally," 
 answered Hodges. 
 
 " I cannot consent to deceive her thus," rejoined Leonard, sadly. 
 ** My heart is fixed elsewhere." 
 
 '* Your heart is fixed upon one who will soon be in her grave," 
 replied the Doctor. 
 
 " And with her my affections will be buried," rejoined Leonard, 
 turning away to hide his tears. 
 
 So well was the Doctor's solicitude rewarded, that three days 
 after Nizza had come under his care, he pronounced her out of 
 danger. But the violence of the attack left her so weak and ex- 
 hausted that he still would not allow an interview to take place 
 between her and Leonard. During all this time, Bell never left 
 her side, and her presence was an inexpressible comfort to her. 
 The piper, too, was slowly recovering, and Leonard, who daily 
 visited him, was glad to learn from the young chirurgeon that he 
 would be able to leave the pest-house shortly. Having ascertained 
 from Leonard that his daughter was under the care of Doctor 
 Hodges and likely to do well, the piper begged so earnestly that 
 the packet might not be delivered to her, that after some consulta- 
 tion with Hodges, Leonard restored it to him. He was delighted 
 to get it back, felt it carefully over to ascertain that the seals were 
 unbroken, and satisfied that all was safe, had it again sewn up in 
 his gown, which he placed under his pillow. " 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 dis- 
 closed at all, but he made no remark. 
 
 Night was drawing on as he quitted the pest-house, and he de- 
 termined 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 now went 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-hme. 
 
 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 St. 
 Paul's, which formed aprominent 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. 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. I8l 
 
 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 awhile 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 exca- 
 vation, 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 rotten mass was 
 endowed witli 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 feeling of curiosity that in- 
 duced 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, how- 
 ever, 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 pro- 
 ceeded to the further side of the chasm, threw the fight 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 ap- 
 peared, Leonard could scarcely doubt that this was one of the dis- 
 tracted 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 step 
 him. But the latter dashed him aside with great violence, and hur- 
 rying to the hrink of the pit, uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming. 
 
182 
 
 "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 Moorgate, informed Chowles what had hap- 
 pened, and begged him to return with him. 
 
 " 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 in- 
 dignation. " 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 ex» 
 erting 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 the fork as he 
 spoke, "you shall neither commit robbery nor murder here. If 
 you will assist this unfortunate gentleman, 1 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?" 
 
 "1 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 loath- 
 some 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 l^arravicin." 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin !" echoed Chowles. " By all that 's won- 
 derful, so it is ! Here is a lucky chance I Bring the dead-cart hither, 
 Jonas, quick— quick I I shall put him under the care of Judith Mat- 
 
THE PLAGUE-PIT. 183 
 
 mayns." And the burier hurried off as fast as bis 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 I" 
 
 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 re- 
 covering from the plague." 
 
 " Is she not dead?" demanded Parravicin, with frightful eager- 
 ness. " 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, " How- 
 ever she may treat others, she will cure ^ow." 
 
 " 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. 
 
184 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 ^'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." 
 
 "1 will not move till my question is answered," replied Leonard. 
 
 "We will see 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. W^e 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 es- 
 caped 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 1 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 through 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 irreverend 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. Leo- 
 nard 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 remon- 
 strances 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 
 
THE PLAG€E-PIT. 185 
 
 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 dis- 
 tance from the polluted fane. He had now entered Wood Street, 
 but all was 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 congra- 
 tulate himself upon the precaution, as, when the party drew nearer, 
 he recognised ^ith a, pang that shot to his heart the voice of Ro- 
 
186 OLD sAiKT Paul's. 
 
 Chester. A moment's observation from bis place of concealment 
 sbowed him that the Earl was accompanied by sir George Etherege 
 and Pillichody. They paused within a short distance of him, and 
 he could distinctly overhear 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 an- 
 other 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 Mallet." 
 
 " Old Rowley 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 one's self, 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 I your lordship has only to say the word, ^nd I will 
 break into the house, and bear her off for you." 
 
 " Your former conduct is a good guarantee for your present suc- 
 cess, truly," returned Rochester, with a sneer. " No, no ; I shall 
 postpone my design for the present. I have ascertained from the 
 source whence 1 obtained information of Amabel's illness, that she 
 is to be removed into the country. This will exactly suit my pur- 
 pose, and put her completely in my power." 
 
 " Then nothing is to be done to-night?" said Pillochody, secretly 
 congratulating himself on his escape. " By my sword I 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 lord- 
 ship has come hither 1" 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. " 1 have before told you, that she has a strong hold 
 upon my heart. 1 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 1 can obtain her 
 in no other way, 1 shall be rash enough to marry her." 
 ^' P#h^wl tj^s must never be," S£u<i Etherege. 
 
THE PLAGUB-PIT. 187 
 
 *' 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," cried Pillichody, drawing forth his handkerchief, and 
 applying it to his eyes, — " oh! oh !" 
 
 " Silence, fooi ! ' cried Rochester; " I am in no mood for buf- 
 foonery. If you shed tears for any one, it should be for your mas- 
 ter." 
 
 '* Truly, I am grieved for him," replied Pillichody; " but I oh' 
 ject 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?" 
 
 "1 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 atten- 
 dants he would certainly destroy himself. You know he was at- 
 tacked 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. 'Mle 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 in 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," rephed Rochester, " I shall be glad to be alone for 
 a few moments." 
 
 Etherege and Pillichody then proceeded slowly towards Cheap- 
 side, while the Earl remained with his arms folded upon his breast, 
 and his gaze fixed upon the house. Leonard watched him with in- 
 tense 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 assaihng him unawares. Rut Leonard's 
 generous nature revolted at the unworthy suggestion, and he re- 
 solved 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 b^ to remain concealed. He was now in pos- 
 
188 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 session 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 ap- 
 peared. 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 tlie party proceeded 
 slowly, and occasionally reHeving 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 disap- 
 pointed, retraced his steps to Wood Street. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW SAINT Paul's was used as a pest-hoise. 
 
 The distemper had by this time increased to such a frightful ex- 
 tent, 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, 
 
SAINT Paul's a pest-house. 189 
 
 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 imme- 
 diate 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 on 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 in- 
 dulge 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 compa- 
 nions quitted the cathedral. Hodges, however, and three of the 
 physicians, remained behind to superintend the necessary prepara- 
 tions. 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 com- 
 plete 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 execut- 
 ing any other service required of him. A sufficient number of chi- 
 rurgeons 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 pol- 
 luting its altars. Its aisles, once trodden by grave and reverend 
 ecclesiastics, and subsequently haunted by ruftlers, bullies, and o<her 
 worthless characters, were now filled with miserable wretches, 
 
190 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 Stricken with a loathsome and fatal distemper. Its chapels and 
 shrines, formerly adorned with rich sculptures and costly orna- 
 ments, but stripped of them at times when they were looked upon 
 as idolatrous and pi"ofane, were now occupied by nurses, chirur- 
 geons, 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 hun- 
 dred 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 in- 
 sufficient, 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 coun- 
 tenances 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 not be- 
 come 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 over- 
 powered 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 the door leading to the winding 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 nearly 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 obs^ver. It seemed to con- 
 tain 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 ca- 
 thedral 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 im- 
 possible to obtain a free circulation ot 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 thi- 
 ther, 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 obtain- 
 
SAINT pall's a PEST-HOCSE. 191 
 
 ing 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 cou- 
 rageous. 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 Fins- 
 bury fields, and to another vast pit near Aldgate. When not en- 
 gaged in this revolting employment, Chowles took up his quarters 
 in the crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, he in- 
 dulged himself in his customary revelry. He and Judith had 
 amassed, in one way or another, a vast quantity of spoil, and fre- 
 quently 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 to 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, your 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 1 will dash out your brains. Are you mad ?" he 
 continued, gazing fearfully at her. 
 
 " 1 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 1" 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 1" exclaimed Chowles, in increasing astonishment. 
 " Has our hoard been discovered?" 
 
 " Ay, and been carried off — by you — you 1" screamed Judith, with 
 a look worthy of a fury. 
 
 "By my soul you are wrong," cried Chowles. " 1 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, — every- 
 thing 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 !" 
 
192 OLD SAINT PACL'S. 
 
 ''Let US go to the hiding-place," replied Chowles, whose unea- 
 siness 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 I" he cried to Judith. '' I have found him. It is So- 
 lomon Eagle. Villain ! you have purloined our hoard !" 
 
 " 1 have done so," replied Solomon Eagle, "and 1 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 sup- 
 pose me afar off." 
 
 " Indeed 1" exclainr.ed Chowles, trembhng. " I begin to think he 
 is possessed of supernatural power," he added, in an under-tone to 
 Judith. 
 
 "Goon," 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 me- 
 nacing 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 1" cried a voice, which they recognised as that of Solo- 
 mon Eagle, though whence proceeding they could not precisely de- 
 termine. 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 expe- 
 ditiously than before. Doctor Hodges was unremitting in his atten- 
 tions, 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," 
 
SAINT Paul's a pest-house. 193 
 
 he said, ' ' and was about to proceed to your residence. Mr. Bloun- 
 del wishes to see you immediately. Amabel is worse." 
 
 " I will go with you at once," rephed 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. 
 
 " 1 hope so," replied Hodges. " He has already delayed it too 
 long. You will be glad to hear that Nizza Macascree is quite reco- 
 vered. 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 proceedings. 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 lip 
 shghtly 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 AmabeFs chamber. She was rechning 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 distress- 
 ing 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 steahng 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 smiHngly 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 go," 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 1 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 design it whenever it shall be required of me. At the 
 
 13 
 
194 QLH SAINT ^AL't's. 
 
 same tim^, howfever anxious I iiiay be to quit a tvorld Which appears 
 a blank to me, I would make every effort for the sake of those 
 t^'hose happiness is dearer to me than my own, to purchase a com- 
 plete restoration to health. If ray father desires me to try removal 
 td the country^ aiid 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 j" replied the Doctbr. " Chaligfe df air will 
 work wonders." 
 
 "I beseech yOu not to hesitate— for riiy 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. " Whenevet* you have made arrange- 
 ments for me, I will set out." 
 
 *' And now comes the questidn— whe^e is she to go?" remarked 
 Hodges. 
 
 " I have a sister who lives as housekeeper at Lord Craveh's seat, 
 Ashdown Pdrk," replied Mr. Bloundel. " She shall go thither, and 
 her Atint will take every care of her. The mansion is situated amid 
 thfe 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. felouiidel. "He will gladly under- 
 take the office." 
 
 "No doubt," rejoined Hodges, "but cannot yoii go yourself?" 
 
 "Impossible!" returned the grocer, a shade passing over his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Neither do I wish it," observed Amabel. " I atn content to be 
 under the safe-guard of Leonard." 
 
 " Amabel," said her father, " you know not what I Shall endure 
 ill 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 pestilesnce, and 1 must abide by it. I little thought how severely 
 my constancy would be tried. But hard though it be, 1 must submit. 
 I shall commit you, therefore, to the care df an all-merciful Pro- 
 vidence, who will not fail to watch over and protect you." 
 
 "Have no fear for me, father*," replied Amabi6l; "and do not 
 weep, dear mother," she added lo 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 cer- 
 tain in that to come. I have given you much pain and uneasiness, 
 but it will be an additional grief to me if 1 think you feel farther 
 anxiety on my account." 
 
 " We do not, my dear child," replied Mr. Bloundel. " 1 am well 
 
SAINT Paul's a pest-house. 195 
 
 assured all is for the best, and if it pleases Heaven to spare you, I 
 shall rejoice beyond measure in your return. If not, 1 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 behold- 
 ing 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 White- 
 hall. 
 
 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. Ac- 
 cordingly, 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 per- 
 haps 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 
 lOvehness should be assigned. There was a witchery in the magni- 
 ficent 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 
 ^hich more perfect but less piquant charms could not compete. 
 
196 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 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 twoyl 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 ap- 
 peared 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. ' ' Doc- 
 tor Hodges spoke of ordering horses," said iSizza, at length, break- 
 ing silence. * ' Are you going on a journey ? " 
 
 " I am about to take Amabel to Ashdown Park, in Berkshire, to- 
 morrow morning," repHed Leonard. " She is dangerously ill." 
 
 *' Of the plague?" asked Nizza, anxiously. 
 
 " Of a yet worse disorder," rephed 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 sol 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 fatigue than an invalid hke Amabel." 
 
 " It will relieve me from a world of anxiety if this can be accom- 
 plished," 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 
 
SAINT Paul's a pest-house. 197 
 
 it to the housekeeper at Ashdown Park. " Heaven only knows 
 what the result of all this will 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 dog-houses." 
 
 " I know the spot perfectly," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " I would recommend you to put on a mask," observed the Doc- 
 tor 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 pro- 
 ducing 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 beheve, when I was an in- 
 fant. At all events, I never remember seeing her, and I have re- 
 marked that my father is averse to talking about her. But I will 
 now question him. 1 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 oc- 
 curred in the vault when the coin had been shown to Judith Mal- 
 mayns, describing the nurse's singular look, and her father's sub- 
 sequent 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 httle porch, covered with eglantine and roses. 
 He was playing a few notes on his pipe, but stopped on hearing 
 
198 OLP SAINT pall's. 
 
 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 gat« till the 
 first transports of their meeting were over, and then advanced 
 slowly towards them. Whose footsteps are those ? " inquired the 
 piper. 
 Nizza explained. 
 
 "Ah, is it Leonard Holt?" exclaimed the piper, extending his 
 hand to the apprentice. "You are heartily welcome," he added; 
 *'and I am glad to find you with INizza. It is no secret to me that 
 she hkes you. She has been an excellent daughter, and will make 
 an excellent wife. He who weds her will obtain a greater treasure 
 than he expects." 
 
 "Not than he expects," said Leonard. 
 
 "Ay, than he expects," reiterated the piper. "You will one day 
 find out that I speak the truth." 
 
 Leonard looked at Nizza, who was blushing deeply at her fa- 
 ther's remark. She understood him. "Father," she said, "1 un- 
 derstand you have a secret of importance to disclose to rae. I am 
 about to make a long journey to-morrow, and may not return for 
 some time. At this uncertain season, when those who part know 
 not that they shall meet again, nothing of this sort ought to he 
 withheld." 
 
 "You cannot know it while I live," replied the piper, "but I will 
 take such precautions that, if anything happens to me, it shall be 
 certainly revealed to you." 
 
 " I am satisfied," she rejoined, "and will only ask you one fur- 
 ther question, and I beseech you to answer it. Does this amulet 
 refer to the secret?" 
 
 " It does," replied her father sullenly; "and jiow let the subject 
 be dropped." 
 
 He then led the way into the cottage. The good old dame who 
 kept it, on learning who they were, and that they were sent by 
 Doctor Hodges, gave them a hearty welcome, and placed refresh- 
 ments before them. Leonard commented upon the extreme neat- 
 ness of the abode and its healthful situation, and expressed a hope 
 that it might not be visited by the plague. 
 
 "I trust it will not," rejoined the old woman, shaking her head; 
 "but when I hear the doleful bell at night — when I catch a glimpse 
 of the fatal cart, — or look towards yon dreadful place," and she 
 pointed in the direction of the plague-pit, which lay only a few hun- 
 dred yards to the west of her habitation, — "I am reminded that the 
 scourge is not far off, and that it must needs reach me ere long." 
 
 "Have no fear. Dame Lucas," said the piper; " you see it has 
 pleased a merciful Providence to spare the lives of myself, my child, 
 and this young man. And if you should be attacked, the same bene- 
 ficent Being may preserve you in like manner." 
 
 "The Lord's will be done! " rejoined Dame Lucas. "1 know I 
 shall be well attended to by Doctor Hodges. I nursed him when he 
 
SAIKT BAU;.'S A E^ST-JiOLSE. 199 
 
 was an infant, and he has been Hke a son to me. Bless his kinci 
 heart!" she exclaimed, her eyes fiUing with tears of gratitude, 
 ^' there is not his like in London." 
 
 "Always excepting my master," observed Lepnard, with a smile 
 at her enthusiasm. 
 
 "i except no one," rejoined Dame Lucas. '^A worthier man 
 never lived than Doctor Hodges. If I die of the plague," she cpn- 
 tinued, ''he has promised not to let me be thrown into that horrible 
 pit, — ough! — but to bury me in my garden, beneath the old apple- 
 tree." 
 
 "And he will keep his word, dame, I am sure," replied Leonard. 
 "I would recommend you, however, as the best antidote against thp 
 plague, to keep yourself constantly employed, and to indulge as few 
 gloomy notions as possible." 
 
 "I am seldom melancholy, and still more seldom idle," replied 
 the good dame. "But despondency will steal on me sometimes, 
 especially when the dead-cart passes and I think what it contains.'* 
 
 While this conversation was going forward, Nizza and the piper 
 withdrew into an inner room, where they remained closeted toge- 
 ther for some time. On their re-appearance, Nizza said she was 
 ready to depart, and taking an affectionate farewell of her father, 
 and committing Bell to his charge, she quitted the cottage with the 
 apprentice. 
 
 Evening was now advancing, and the sun was setting with the 
 gorgeousness already described as peculiar to this fatal period. 
 Filled with the pleasing melancholy inspired by the hour, they 
 walked on in silence. They had not proceeded far, when they ob- 
 served a man crossing the field with a bundle in his arms. Sudden- 
 ly, he staggered and fell. Seeing he did not stir, and guessing what 
 was the matter, Leonard ran towards him to offer him assistance. 
 He found him lying in the grass with his left hand fixed against his 
 heart. He groaned heavily, and his features were convulsed with 
 pain. Near him lay the body of a beautiful little girl, with long fair 
 hair, and finely formed features, though now disfigured by purple 
 blotches, proclaiming the disorder of which she had perished. She 
 was apparently about ten years old, and was partially covered by a 
 linen cloth. The man, whose features bore a marked resemblance 
 to those of the child, was evidently from his attire above the middle 
 rank. His frame was athletic, and as he was scarcely past the prime 
 of life, the irresistible power of the disease, which could in one in- 
 stant prostrate strength like his, was terribly attested. "Alas!" he 
 cried, addressing the apprentice, "I was about to convey there- 
 mains of my poor child to the plague pit. But I have been unable 
 to accomplish my purpose. I hoped she would have escaped the 
 polluting touch of those loathly attendants on the dead-cart." 
 
 "She shall escape it," replied Leonard. "If you wish it, 1 will 
 carry her to the pit myself." 
 
 "The blessing of a dying man rest on your head," cried the suf- 
 ferer, " your charitable actionwill not pass unrequited." With this, 
 despite the agony he endured, he dragged himself to his child, kissed 
 her cold lips, smoothed her fair tresses, and covered the body cave- 
 
200 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 fully with the cloth. He then delivered it to Leonard, who received 
 it tenderly, and calling to INizza Macascree, who had witnessed the 
 scene at a little distance, and was deeply affected by it, to await his 
 return, ran towards the plague-pit. Arrived there, he placed his 
 httle burthen at the brink of the excavation, and kneeling beside it, 
 uttered a short prayer inspired by the occasion. He then tore his 
 handkerchief into strips, and tying them together, lowered the body 
 gently down. Throwing a little earth over it, he hastened to the 
 sick man, and told him what he had done. A smile of satisfaction 
 illumined the sufferer's countenance, and holding out his hand, on 
 which a valuable ring glistened, he said, ''Take it, — it is but a 
 poor reward for the service you have rendered me ; — nay, take it," 
 he added, seeing that the apprentice hesitated, " others will not be 
 so scrupulous." 
 
 Lnable to gainsay the remark, Leonard took the ring from his 
 finger, and placed it on his own. At this moment, the sick man's 
 gaze fell upon Nizza, who stood at a little distance from him. He 
 started, and made an effort to clear his vision. "Do my eyes de- 
 ceive me ?" he cried ; " or is a female standing there ?" 
 
 "You are not deceived," replied Leonard. 
 
 '* Let her come near me, in heaven's name 1" cried the sick man, 
 staring at her as if his eyes would start from their sockets. ' ' Who 
 are you?" he continued, as Nizza approached. 
 
 '4 am called Nizza Macascree, and am the daughter of a poor 
 piper," she replied. 
 
 "Ahl" exclaimed the sick man, with a look of deep disappoint- 
 ment. "The resemblance is wonderful! And yet it cannot be. My 
 brain is bewildered." 
 
 " Whom does she resemble?" asked Leonard, eagerly. 
 
 " One very dear to me," replied the sick man, with an expression 
 of remorse and anguish, ' ' one I would not think of now." And he 
 buried his face in the grass. 
 
 " Is there aught more I can do for you?" inquired Leonard, after 
 a pause. 
 
 "No," replied the sick man; "I have done with the world. 
 With that child, the last tie that bound me to it was snapped. I 
 now only wish to die." 
 
 " Do not give way thus," repUed Leonard; " a short time ago, 
 my condition was as apparently hopeless as your own, and you see 
 I am now perfectly recovered." 
 
 "You had something to live for — something to love," groaned 
 the sick man. " All I lived for, all I loved are gone." 
 
 " Be comforted, sir," said Nizza, in a commiserating tone. 
 "Much happiness may yet be in store for you. 
 
 " That voice!" exclaimed the sick man, with a look denoting the 
 approach of delirium, " it must be my Isabella. Oh ! forgive me! 
 sweet injured saint forgive me!" 
 
 " Your presence evidently distresses him," said Leonard. " Let 
 us hasten for assistance. Your name, sir?" he added, to the sick man. 
 
 '* Why should you seek to know it," replied the other. "No 
 tombstone will be placed over the plague-pit." 
 
 .■^2 
 
SAINT PAUL S A PEST-HOLSE. 201 
 
 " Not a moment must be lost if you would save him," cried Nizza. 
 "You are right," replied Leonard. "Let us fly to the nearest 
 apothecary's." 
 
 Accordingly, they set off at a quick pace towards Moorgate. Just 
 as they reached it, they heard the bell ring, and saw the dead-cart 
 approaching. Shrinking back while it passed, they ran on till they 
 came to an apothecary's shop, where Leonard, describing the state 
 of the sick man, by his entreaties induced the master of the esta- 
 blishment and one of his assistants to accompany him. Leaving 
 Nizza in the shop, he then retraced his steps with his companions. 
 The sick man was lying where he had left him, but perfectly insen- 
 sible. On searching his pockets, a purse of money was found, but 
 neither letter nor tablet to tell who he was. Leonard offered the 
 purse to the apothecary, but the latter declined it, and desired his 
 assistant, who had brought a barrow with him, to place the sick 
 man within it, and convey him to the pest house. ' ' He will be 
 better cared for there than if 1 were to take charge of him," he ob- 
 served. "As to the money, you can return it if he recovers. If 
 not, it of right belongs to you." 
 
 Seeing that remonstrance would be useless, Leonard did not at- 
 tempt it, and while the assistant wheeled away the sick man, he 
 returned with the apothecary to his dwelling. Thanking him for 
 his kindness, he then hastened with Nizza Macascree to Great 
 Knight-rider Street. He related to the Doctor all that had occurred, 
 and showed him the ring. Hodges listened to the recital with great 
 attention, and at its close said, " This is a very singular affair, and 
 excites my curiosity greatly. I will go to the pest-house and see 
 the sick man to-morrow. And now we will proceed to supper ; and 
 then you had better retire to rest, for you will have to be astir be- 
 fore daybreak. All is in readiness for the journey." 
 
 The last night (for such she considered it), spent by Amabel in her 
 father's dwelling, was passed in the kindliest interchanges of affec- 
 tion. Mr. Bloundel had much ado to maintain his firmness, and 
 ever anon, in spite of his efforts, his labouring bosom and faltering 
 tones proclaimed the struggle within. He sat beside his daughter 
 with her thin fingers clasped in his, and spoke to her on every con- 
 solatory topic that suggested itself. Their discourse, however, in- 
 sensibly took a serious turn, and the grocer became fully convinced 
 that his daughter was not merely reconciled to the early death that 
 to all appearance awaited her, but wishful for it. He found too, 
 to his inexpressible grief, that the sense of the Earl of Rochester's 
 treachery, combined with her own indiscretion, and the conse- 
 quences that might have attended it, had sank deep into her heart, 
 and produced the present sad result. 
 
 Mrs. Bloundel, it will scarcely be supposed, could support herself 
 so well as her husband, but when any paroxysm of grief approached, 
 she rushed out of the room, and gave vent to her affliction alone. 
 All the rest of the family were present, and were equally distressed. 
 But what most strongly affected Amabel was a simple, natural re- 
 mark of little Christiana, who fixing her tearful gaze on her, en- 
 treated her <*^to come back soon." 
 
202 OLD SA.1KT pall's. 
 
 Weak as she was, Amabel took the child upon her knee, and 
 said to her, " I am going a long journey, Christiana, and, perhaps, 
 may never come back. But if you attend to what your father says 
 to you, if you never omit, morning and evening, to implore the 
 blessing of heaven, we shall meet again." 
 
 '' 1 understand what you mean, sister," said Christiana. " The 
 place you are going to is the grave." 
 
 "You have guessed rightly, Christiana," rejoined Amabel, so- 
 lemnly. " Do not forget my last words to you, and when you are 
 grown into a woman, think upon the poor sister who loved you 
 tenderly." 
 
 ^' I shall always think of you," said Christiana, clasping her arms 
 round her sister's neck. ' ' Oh ! I wish I could go to the grave in- 
 stead of you !" 
 
 Amabel pressed her to her bosom, and in a broken yoice mur- 
 mured a blessing over her. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel here thought it necessary to interfere, and taking 
 the weeping child in his arms, carried her into the adjoining apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Soon after this, the household were summoned to prayers, and 
 as the grocer poured forth an address to heaven for the preservation 
 of his daughter, all earnestly joined in the supplication. Their de- 
 votions ended, Amabel took leave of her brothers, and the parting 
 might have been painfully prolonged, but for the interposition of 
 her father. The last and severest trial was at hand.' She had now 
 to part from her mother — from whom, except on the occasion of 
 her flight with the Earl of Rochester — she had never yet been se- 
 parated. She had now to part with her, in all probabihty, for ever. 
 It was a heart-breaking reflection to both. Knowing it would only 
 renew their affliction, and perhaps unfit Amabel for the journey, 
 Mr. Bloundel had prevailed upon his wife not to see her in the 
 morning. The moment had, therefore, arrived when they were to 
 bid each other farewell. The anguish displayed in his wife's coun- 
 tenance was too much for the grocer, and he covered his face with 
 his hands. He heard her approach Amabel — he listened to their 
 mutual sobs — to their last embrace. It was succeeded by a stifled 
 cry, and uncovering his face at the sound, he sprang to his feet 
 just in time to receive his swooning wife in his arms. 
 
 CIIAPTEU VI. 
 
 THE DEPARTIBE. 
 
 It struck four by Saint Paul's as Doctor Hodges, accompanied by 
 Leonard and Nizza Macascree, issued from his dweUing and pro- 
 ceeded towards Wood Street. The party was followed by a nian 
 leading a couple of horses, equipped with pillions, and furnished 
 
THE DEPARTIRE. 203 
 
 with saddle-bags, partly filled with the scanty luggage which the 
 apprentice and the piper's daughter took with them. A slight haze, 
 indicative of the intense heat about to follow, hung round the lower 
 part of the cathedral, but its topmost pinnacles glittered in the 
 beams of the newly-risen sun. As Leonard gazed at the central 
 tower, he descried Solomon Eagle on its summit, and pointed him 
 out to Hodges. Motioning the apprentice, in a manner that could 
 not be misunderstood, to halt, the enthusiast vanished, and in an- 
 other moment appeared upon the roof, and descended to the bat- 
 tlements overlooking the spot where the little party stood. This 
 was at the north-west corner of the cathedral, at a short distance 
 from the portico. The enthusiast had a small sack in his hand, and 
 caUing to Nizza Macascree to take it, flung it to the ground. The 
 ringing sound which it made on its fall proved that it contained 
 gold or silver, while its size showed that the amount must be con- 
 siderable. Nizza looked at it in astonishment, but did not offer to 
 touch it. 
 
 "Take itl" thundered Solomon Eagle; "it is your dowry." 
 And perceiving she hesitated to comply with the injunction, he 
 shouted to Leonard. " Give it her. I have no use for gold. May 
 it make you and her happy !" 
 
 " I know not where he can have obtained this money," observed 
 Hodges, " but I am sure in no unlawful manner, and I, therefore, 
 counsel Nizza to accept the boon. It may be of the greatest use to 
 her at some future time." 
 
 His scruples being thus overcome, Leonard took the sack, and 
 placed it in one of the saddle-bags. ' ' You can examine it at your 
 leisure," remarked Hodges to Nizza. " We have no more time to 
 lose." 
 
 Solomon Eagle, meanwhile, expressed his satisfaction at the ap- 
 prentice's compliance by his gestures, and waving his staff round 
 his head, pointed towards the west of the city, as if inquiring whe- 
 ther that was the route they meant to take. Leonard nodded an 
 affirmative •, and the enthusiast, spreading out his arms and pro- 
 nouncing an audible benediction over them, they resumed their 
 course. The streets were silent and deserted, except by the watch- 
 men stationed at the infected dwellings, and a few^ sick persons 
 stretched on the steps of some of the better habitations. In order 
 to avoid coming in contact with these miserable creatures, the party, 
 with the exception of Doctor Hodges, kept in the middle of the road. 
 Attracted by the piteous exclamations of the sufferers. Doctor 
 Hodges, ever and anon, humanely paused to speak to them ; and 
 he promised one poor woman, who was suckling an infant, to visit 
 her on his return. " I have no hopes of saving her," he observed 
 to Leonard, "but I may preserve her child. There is an establish- 
 ment in Aldgate for infants whose mothers have died of the plague, 
 where more than a hundred httle creatures are suckled by she- 
 goats, and it is wonderful how well they thrive under their nurses. 
 If I can induce this poor woman to part with her child, I will send 
 it thither." 
 
 Just then, their attention was arrested by the sudden opening of 
 
204 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 a casement, and a middle-aged woman, wringing her hand, cried, 
 with a look of unutterable anguish and despair, — "Pray for us, 
 good people! pray for us !" 
 
 "We do pray for you, my poor soul!" rejoined Hodges, " as 
 well as for all who are similarly afflicted. What sick have you 
 within ?" 
 
 " There were ten yesterday," repUed the woman. " Two have 
 died in the night — ray husband and my eldest son, — and there are 
 eight others whose recovery is hopeless. Pray for us! As you 
 hope to be spared yourselves, pray for us !" And with a lamen- 
 table cry, she closed the casement. 
 
 Familiarised as all who heard her were with spectacles of horror 
 and tales of woe, they could not listen to this sad recital, nor look 
 upon her distracted countenance, without the deepest commisera- 
 tion. Other sights had previously affected them, but not in the 
 same degree. Around the httle conduit standing in front of the Old 
 'Change at the western extremity of Cheapside, were three lazars 
 laving their sores in the water ; while in the short space between 
 this spot and Wood Street, Leonard counted upwards of twenty 
 doors marked with the fatal red cross, and bearing upon them the 
 sad inscription, " Lord, have mercy upon us !" 
 
 A few minutes' walking brought them to the grocer's habitation, 
 and on reaching it, they found that Blaize had already descended. 
 He was capering about the street with joy at his restoration to free- 
 dom. "Mistress Amabel will make her appearance in a few mi- 
 nutes," he said to Leonard. " Our master is with her, and is get- 
 ting all ready for her departure. I have not come unprovided with 
 medicine," he added, to Doctor Hodges. '' I have got a bottle of 
 plague-water in one pocket and a phial of vinegar in the other. 
 Besides these, I have a small pot of Mayerne's electuary in my bag, 
 another of the grand antipestilential confection, and a fourth of the 
 infaUible antidote which I bought of the celebrated Greek physician. 
 Doctor Constantine Rhodocanaceis, at his shop near the Three 
 Kings Inn, in Southampton Buildings. I dare say you have heard 
 of him ?" 
 
 " I have heard of the quack," replied Hodges. " His end was a 
 just retribution for the tricks he practised on his dupes. In spite 
 of his infallible antidote, he was carried off by the scourge. But 
 what else have you got ?" 
 
 " Only a few trifles," replied Blaize, with a chop-fallen look. 
 "Patience has made me a pomander-ball composed of angelica, 
 rue, zedoary, camphor, wax, and laudanum, which I have hung 
 round my neck with a string. Then I have got a good sized box 
 of rufuses, and have swallowed three of them preparatory to the 
 journey." 
 
 "A proper precaution," observed Hodges with a smile. 
 
 " This is not all," rephed Blaize. "By my mother's advice, I 
 have eaten twenty leaves of rue, two roasted figs, and two pickled 
 walnuts for breakfast, washing them down with an ale posset, with 
 pimpernel seethed in it." 
 
 " Indeed I" exclaimed Hodges. *' You must be in a pretty con- 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 205 
 
 dition for a journey. But how could you bear to part with your 
 mother and Patience ?" 
 
 *'The parting from Patience w«5 heart-breaking," repHed Blaize, 
 taking out his handkerchief and applying it to his eyes. ' ' We sat 
 up half the night together, and 1 lelt so much overcome that I 
 began to waver in my resolution of departing. I am glad I did not 
 give way now," he added in a more sprightly tone. " Fresh air 
 and bright sunshine are very different things from the close rooms 
 in that dark house." 
 
 '^ You must not forget that you were there free from the conta- 
 gion," rejoined Hodges; "while you are here exposed to its 
 assaults." 
 
 "True," replied Blaize; "that makes a vast difference. 1 
 almost wish I was back again." 
 
 "It is too late to think of returning," said Hodges. "Mount 
 your horse, and I will assist Nizza into the pilHon." 
 
 By the time that Blaize, who was but an indifferent horseman, 
 had got into the saddle, and JNizza had taken her place behind him, 
 the window opened, and Mr. Bloundel appeared at it. 
 
 Amabel had only retired to rest for a few hours during the night. 
 When left to herself in her chamber, she continued to pray till ex- 
 haustion compelled her to seek some repose. Arising about two 
 o'clock, she employed herself for more than an hour in further 
 devotion, and then took a last survey of every object in the room. 
 She had occupied it from her childhood, and as she opened drawer 
 after drawer, and cupboard after cupboard, and examined their 
 contents, each article recalled some circumstance connected with 
 the past, an^ brought back a train of long-forgotten emotions. 
 While she was thus engaged. Patience tapped at the door, and was 
 instantly admitted. The tender-hearted kitchen-maid assisted her 
 to dress, and to put together some few articles omitted to be packed 
 by her mother. During this employment, she shed abundance of 
 tears, and Amabel's efforts to console her only made matters worse. 
 Poor Patience was forced, at last, to sit down and indulge a hearty 
 fit of crying, after which she felt considerably reheved. As soon 
 as she was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak, she observed 
 to Amabel — "Pardon what I am about to say to you, my dear 
 young mistress, but I cannot help thinking that the real seat of your 
 disease is in the heart." 
 
 A shght blush overspread Amabel's pale features, but she made 
 no answer. 
 
 "I see I am right," continued Patience, "and indeed I have long 
 suspected it. Let me entreat you therefore, dear young lady, not 
 to sacrifice yourself. Only say the word, and I will find means of 
 making your retreat known to the Earl of Rochester. Blaize is 
 devoted to you, and will do anything you bid him. I cannot wonder 
 you fret after so handsome — so captivating a man as the Eari, espe- 
 cially when you are worried to death to marry a common appren- 
 tice hke Leonard Holt, who is not fit to hold a candle to your noble 
 admirer. Ah! we women can never blind ourselves to the ad- 
 vantages of rank and appearance. We are too good judges for 
 
206 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 that. 1 hope you will soon be restored to your lover, and that the 
 happiness you will enjoy will make amends for all the misery you 
 have endured." 
 
 "Patience," said Amabel, whose cheek, as the other spoke, had 
 returned to its original paleness. "Patience," she said, gravely, 
 but kindly, ' ' I have suffered you to proceed too far without inter- 
 ruption, and must correct the very serious error into which you 
 have fallen. I am so far from pining for an interview with the 
 Earl of Rochester, that nothing in the world should induce me to 
 see him again. I have loved him deeply," she continued in a 
 tremulous tone, "nay, 1 will not attempt to disguise that I feel 
 strongly towards him still, while I will also freely confess that his 
 conduct towards me has so preyed upon my spirits that it has im- 
 paired, perhaps destroyed, my health. In spite of this, 1 cannot 
 sufficiently rejoice that! have escaped the Earl's snares, — I cannot 
 be sufficiently thankful to the merciful Being, who, while he has 
 thought fit to chastise me, has preserved me from utter ruin." 
 
 "Since you are of this mind," returned Patience, in a tone of 
 increduhty, " you are more to be rejoiced with, than pitied. But we 
 are not overheard," she added, almost in a whisper, and glancing 
 towards the door. "You may entirely confide in me. The time 
 is arrived when you can escape to your lover." 
 
 " ISo more of this," rejoined Amabel, severely, "or I shall 
 command you to leave the room." 
 
 "This is nothing more than pique," thought Patience. "We 
 women are all hypocrites, even to ourselves. 1 will serve her 
 whether she will or not. She shall see the Earl. I hope there is 
 no harm in wishing you may be happy with Leonard Holt," she 
 added, aloud. ^^ He will make you a capital husband." 
 
 " That subject is equally disagreeable — equally painful to me," 
 said Amabel. 
 
 " I had better hold my tongue altogether," rejoined Patience, 
 somewhat pertly. ' ' Whatever 1 say seems to be wrong. It won't 
 prevent me from doing as I would be done by," she added to her- 
 self. 
 
 Amabel's preparations finished, she dismissed Patience, to whom 
 she gave some few slight remembrances, and was soon afterwards 
 joined by her father. They passed half an hour together, as on 
 the former night, in serious and devout conversation, after which 
 Mr. Bloundel left her for a few minutes to let down Blaize. On 
 his return, he tenderly embraced her, and led her into the passage. 
 They had not advanced many steps, when Mrs. Bloundel rushed 
 forth to meet them. She was in her night-dress, and seemed over- 
 whelmed with affliction. " How is this, Honora?" cried her hus- 
 band, in a severe tone. " You promised me you would see 
 Amabel no more. You will only distress her." 
 
 " 1 could not let her go thus," cried Mrs. Bloundel, '* I was 
 listening at my chamber-door to hear her depart, and when I 
 caught the sound of her footsteps, 1 could no longer control 
 myself." So saying, she rushed to her daughter and clasped her 
 in her arms. 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 207 
 
 Affectionately returning her mother's embrace, Amabel gave her 
 hand to her father, who conducted her to the little room overlook- 
 ing the street. INothing more, except a deep and passionate look, 
 was exchanged between them. Both repressed their emotion, and 
 though the heart of each was bursting, neither shed a tear. At 
 that moment, and for the first time, they greatly resembled each 
 other, and this was not surprising, for intense emotion, whether 
 of grief or joy, will bring out lines in the features, that lie hidden 
 at other times. Without a word, Mr. Bioundel busied himself in 
 arranging the pulley, and calling to those below, to prepare for 
 Amabel's descent, again embraced her, kissed her pale brow, and 
 placing her carefully in the basket, lowered her slowly to the 
 ground. She was received in safety by Leonard, who carried her 
 in his arms, and placed her on the pillion. The pulley was then 
 drawn up, and her luggage lowered by Mr. Bioundel, and placed 
 in the saddle-bags by the apprentice. Every one saw the necessity 
 of terminating this painful scene. A kindly farewell was taken of 
 Hodges. Amabel waved her hand to her father, when at this moment 
 Patience appeared at the window, and calling to Blaize, threw a 
 a httle package tied in a handkerchief to him. Doctor Hodges took 
 up the parcel and gave it to the porter, who, untying the hand- 
 kerchief, glanced at a note it enclosed, and striking his horse with 
 his stick, dashed off towards Cheapside. " Pursue him," cried 
 Amabel to Leonard, " he is flying to the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 The intimation was sufficient for the apprentice. Urging his 
 horse into a quick pace, he came up with the fugitive, just as he 
 had reached Cheapside. Blaize's mad career had been checked 
 by INizza Macascree, who seizing the bridle, stopped the steed. 
 Leonard, who was armed with a heavy riding-whip, applied it un- 
 sparingly to Blaize's shoulders. " Entreat him to hold his hand, 
 dear, good Mistress Amabel," cried the porter; " it was for your 
 sake alone I made this rash attempt. Patience told me you were 
 dying to see the Earl of Rochester, and made me promise I would 
 ride to Whitehall to acquaint his Lordship whither you were going. 
 Here is her letter which I was about to deliver." And as he spoke, 
 he handed her the note which was tied with a piece of packthread, 
 and directed in strange and almost illegible characters. 
 
 " Do not hurt him more," said Amabel ; " he was not aware of 
 the mischief he was about to commit. And learn from me, Blaize, 
 that, so far from desiring to see the Earl of Rochester, all my 
 anxiety is to avoid him." 
 
 " If I had known that," returned the porter, " I would not have 
 stirred a step. But Patience assured me the contrary." 
 
 By this time. Doctor Hodges had come up, and an explanation 
 ensued. It was agreed, however, that it would be better not to 
 alarm Mr. Bioundel, but to attribute the porter's sudden flight to 
 mismanagement of his steed. Accordingly, they returned to the 
 residence of the grocer, v/ho was anxiously looking out lor them ; 
 and after a brief delay, during which the saddle-bags were again 
 examined and secured, they departed. Mr. Bioundel looked wist- 
 fully after his daughter, and she returned his gaze as long as her 
 
208 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 blinding eyes would permit her. So unwonted was the sound of 
 horses' feet at this period, that many a melancholy face appeared 
 at the window to gaze at them as they rode by, and Nizza Macas- 
 cree shuddered as she witnessed the envious glances cast after them 
 by these poor captives. As to Blaize, when they got into Cheap- 
 side, he was so terrified by the dismal evidences of the pestilence 
 that met him at every turn, that he could scarcely keep his seat, 
 and it was not until he had drenched himself and his companions 
 with vinegar, and stuffed his mouth with myrrh and zedoary that 
 he felt anything like composure. 
 
 On approaching Newgate Market, they found it entirely deserted. 
 Most of the stalls were removed, the shops closed, and the window 
 shutters nailed up. It was never, in fact, used at all, except by a 
 few country-women and higglers, who ventured thither on certain 
 days of the week to sell fresh eggs, butter, poultry, and such com- 
 modities. The manner of sale was this: the article disposed of 
 was placed on a flag on one side of the market, near which stood 
 a pump and a trough of water. The vender then retired, while 
 the purchaser approached, took the article, and put its price into 
 the water, whence it was removed when supposed to be sufficiently 
 purified. 
 
 As the p^rty passed Grey Friars, the tramp of their horses was 
 mistaken for the dead-cart, and a door was suddenly opened and a 
 corpse brought forth. Leonard would have avoided the spectacle 
 had it been possible, but they were now close to Newgate, where 
 they were detained for a few minutes at the gate, while their bills- 
 of-health were examined and countersigned by the officer stationed 
 there. During this pause, Leonard glanced at the grated windows 
 of the prison, the debtor's side of which fronted the street. But 
 not a single face was to be seen. In fact, as has already been 
 stated, the prison was shut up. 
 
 The gate was now opened to them, and descending Snow Hill, 
 they entered a region completely devastated by the pestilence. So 
 saddening was the sight, that Leonard involuntarily quickened his 
 horse's pace, resolved to get out of this forlorn district as speedily 
 as possible. He was, however, stopped by an unexpected and 
 fearful impediment. When within a short distance of Holborn 
 Bridge, he observed on the further side of it a large black vehicle, 
 and, unable to make out what it was, though a jfearful suspicion 
 crossed him, slackened his pace. A nearer approach showed him 
 that it was the pest-cart, filled with its charnel dead. The horse 
 was in the shafts, and was standing quite still. Bising in his stir- 
 rups to obtain a better \ie^, Leonard perceived that the driver 
 was lying on the ground at a little distance from the cart, in an at- 
 titude that proclaimed he had been suddenly seized by the pesti- 
 lence, and had probably just expired. 
 
 Not choosing to incur the risk of passing this contagious load, 
 Leonard retraced his course as far as Holborn Conduit, then turning 
 into Seacoal Lane, and making the best of his way to Fleet Bridge, 
 crossed it, and entered the great thoroughfare with which it commu- 
 nicated. He had not proceeded far when he encountered a small 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 209 
 
 party of the watch, to whom he showed his certificate, and re- 
 counted the fate of the driver of the dead-cart. At Temple Bar, 
 he was again obliged to exhibit his passports, and, while there 
 detained, he observed three other horsemen riding towards them 
 from the further end of Fleet Street. 
 
 Though much alarmed by the sight, Leonard did not communi- 
 cate his apprehensions to his companions, but as soon as the guard 
 allowed him to pass, called out to Blaize to follow him, and urging 
 his horse to a quick pace, dashed up Drury Lane. A few minutes 
 hard riding, during which nothing occurred to give the apprentice 
 further uneasiness, brought them to a road skirting the open fields 
 in which a pest-house had just been built by the chivalrous noble- 
 man, whose habitation, in Berkshire, they were about to visit. 
 With a courage and devotion that redound more to his honour 
 than the brilliant qualities that won him so high a reputation in the 
 court and in the field, Lord Craven not merely provided the pre- 
 sent receptacle for the sick, but remained in London during the 
 whole continuance of the dreadful visitation; ''braving," says 
 Pennant, " the fury of the pestilence with the same coolness that 
 he fought the battles of his beloved mistress, Elizabeth, titular 
 Queen of Bohemia, or mounted the tremendous breach of Creutz- 
 nach." The spot where this asylum was built, and which is 
 the present site of Golden Square, retained for nearly a half cen- 
 tury afterwards the name of the Pest-house Fields. Leonard 
 had already been made acquainted by Doctor Hodges with the 
 Earl's generous devotion to the public welfare, and warmly com- 
 menting upon it, he pointed out the structure to Amabel. But the 
 speed at which she was borne along did not allow her time to bestow 
 more than a hasty glance at it. On gaining Hyde Park Corner, the 
 apprentice cast a look backwards, and his apprehensions were re- 
 vived by perceiving the three horsemen again in view, and evidently 
 using their utmost exertions to come up with them. 
 
 While Leonard was hesitating whether he should make known 
 their danger to Amabel, he perceived Solomon Eagle dart from 
 behind a wall on the left of the road, and plant himself in the direct 
 course of their pursuers, and he involuntarily drew in the rein to see 
 what would ensue. In another moment, the horsemen, who were 
 advancing at full gallop, — and whom Leonard now recognized as 
 the Earl of Bochester, Pillichody, and Sir Paul Parravicin, — had 
 approached within a few yards of the enthusiast, and threatened to 
 ride over hiin, if he did not get out of the way. Seeing, however, 
 that he did not offer to move, they opened on either side of him, 
 and were passing swiftly by, when, with infinite dexterity, he caught 
 hold of the bridle of nochester's steed, and checking him, seized 
 the Earl by the leg, and threw him to the ground. 
 
 Sir Paul Parravicin pulled up as soon as he could, and, drawing 
 his sword, rode back to assist his friend, and punish the aggressor. 
 But the enthusiast, nothing daunted, met him in full career, and, 
 suddenly lifting up his arms, uttered a loud cry, which so startled 
 the Knight's high-spirited horse, that it reared and flung him. All 
 this was the wdrk of a few seconds. Pillichody had been borne for- 
 
 14 
 
glO 0I4P SAINT Paul's. 
 
 ward by the impetuosity of his steed to within a short distance of 
 the apprentice, and seeing the fate of his companions, and not Uking 
 Leonard's menacing gestures, he clapped spurs into his horse, and 
 rode up Park-lane. 
 
 Overjoyed at his unexpected dehverance, Leonard, whose atten- 
 tion had been completely engrossed by what was passing, now ven- 
 tured to look at Amabel, and became greatly alarmed at her ap- 
 pearance. She was as pale as death, except a small scarlet patch 
 on either cheek, which contrasted powerfully with the death-like 
 hue of the rest of her countenance. Her hands convulsively clasped 
 the back of the pillion ; her lips were slightly apart ; and her eyes 
 fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earl of Rochester. On finding 
 they were pursued, and by whom, her first impulse had been to fling 
 herself from the horse, and to seek safety by flight, but controlling 
 herself, she awaited the result with forced composure, and was now 
 sinking from the exhaustion of the effort. ' ' Thank heaven 1 we 
 are safe," cried the apprentice, '' but I fear the shock has been too 
 much for you." 
 
 " It has," gasped Amabel, falhng against his shoulder. '' Let 
 us fly— oh! let us fly." 
 
 Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left arm 
 round her waist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was utterly 
 unable to support herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza Macas- 
 cree, struck off on the right into the road skirting the park, and in 
 the direction of Tyburn, where there was a small inn, at which he 
 hoped to procure assistance. Before reaching this place, he was 
 beyond description reUeved to find that Amabel had so far recovered 
 as to be able to raise her head, '* The deadly faintness is passed," 
 she murmured, " I shall be better soon. But 1 fear 1 am too weak 
 to pursue the journey at present." 
 
 Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached 
 Tyburn, and drew up at the little inn. . But no assistance could be 
 obtained there. The house was closed ; there was a red cross on 
 the door ; ai^d a watchman, stationed in front of it, informed him 
 that all the family had died of the plague except the landlord, — 
 ** and he will be buried beside them in Paddington churchyard be- 
 fore to-morrow morning," added the man ; " for his nurse tells me 
 it is impossible he can survive many hours." 
 
 As he spoke, an upper window was opened, and a woman thrusting 
 forth her head, cried, "Poor Master Sandys has just breathed his last. 
 Come in, Philip, and help me to prepare the body for the dead-cart." 
 
 " I will be with you in a minute," rejoined the watchman. 
 *' You may possibly procure accommodation at the Wheat-sheaf at 
 Paddington," he added to Leonard ; " it is but a short distance up 
 the road." 
 
 Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course in- 
 dicated. He had not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by 
 hearing a piteous cry of "Stop 1 stop!" proceeding from Blaize ; 
 and halting, found that the porter had been so greatly terrified by 
 the watchman's account of the frightful mortality in the poor inn- 
 keeper's family, that he had applied to his phial of plague-water, 
 
 I 
 
THE DEPARTCHB. 211 
 
 and in pulling it out, had dropped his hox of rufuses, and the jar 
 of antipestilential confection. He had just ascertained his loss, and 
 wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascree would not permit. 
 Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered the porter to 
 come on ; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his treasures, which 
 he perceived at a little distance in the middle of the road, was com- 
 pelled to obey. 
 
 At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them. The 
 Wheatsheaf was occupied by two large families, who were flying 
 from the infected city, and no accommodation could be obtained. 
 Leonard looked wistfully at Nizza Macascree, as if to ascertain what 
 to do, and she was equally perplexed ; but the difficulty was re- 
 lieved by Amabel herself, who said she felt much better, and able 
 to proceed a little further. "Do not return to London," she con- 
 tinued, with great earnestness. "I would rather die on the road 
 than go home again. Some cottage will receive us. If not, I can 
 rest for a short time in the fields." 
 
 Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the Harrow- 
 road. Soon after crossing Paddington Green, he overtook a little 
 train of fugitives driving a cart filled with children and laden with 
 luggage. Further on, as he surveyed the beautiful meadows, 
 stretching out on either side of him, he perceived a line of small 
 tents, resembling a gipsy encampment, pitched at a certain distance 
 from each other, and evidently occupied by families who had fled 
 from their homes from fear of infection. This gave a singular cha- 
 racter to the prospect. But there were other and far more painful 
 sights on the road, which could not fail to attract attention. For 
 the first half mile, almost at every hundred yards might be seen 
 some sick man, who, unable to proceed further, had fallen against 
 the hedge-side, and exhibited his sores to move the pity of the pass- 
 ers by. But these supplications were wholly unheeded. Self- 
 preservation was the first object with all, and the travellers, holding 
 handkerchiefs steeped in vinegar to their faces, and averting their 
 heads, passed by on the other side of the way. 
 
 The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extraordi- 
 nary rigour the whole of the higher country at the west and north- 
 west of the metropolis. The charmingly-situated, and, at other 
 seasons, healthful villages of Hampstead and Highgate suffered 
 severely from the scourge ; and it even extended its ravages as far 
 as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which it half depopulated. This will ac- 
 count for the circumstance of a large pest-house being erected in 
 the neighbourhood of Westbourne Green, which the party now 
 approached. Two fitters were seen crossing the fields in the di- 
 rection of the hospital, and this circumstance called Leonard's at- 
 tention to it. Shudderingly averting his gaze, he quickened his 
 pace, and soon reached a small farm-house on the summit of the 
 hill rising from Kensal Green. Determined to seek a temporary 
 asylum here for Amabel, he opened a gate, and riding into the 
 yard, fortunately met with the owner of the house, a worthy 
 farmer, named Wingfield, to whom he explained her situation. 
 
212 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 The man at first hesitated, but, on receiving Leonard's solemn as- 
 surance that she was free from the plague, consented to receive the 
 whole party. 
 
 Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her in his 
 arms into the house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her take 
 care of her. The injunction was scarcely needed. The good 
 dame, who was a middle-aged woman, with pleasing features, which 
 lost none of their interest from being stamped with profound me- 
 lancholy, gazed at her for a moment fixedly, and then observed in 
 an undertone, but with much emotion, to her husband, "Ah! 
 Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles our poor Sarah !" 
 
 *'Hushl hush! dame," rejoined her husband, hastily brushing 
 away the moisture that sprung to his eyes; "take her to your 
 chamber, and see that she wants nothing. There is another young 
 woman outside, whom I will send to you." 
 
 So saying, he returned to the yard. Meantime, the others had 
 dismounted, and Wingfield, bidding Nizza Macascree go in, led the 
 way to the barn, where the horses were tied up, and fodder placed 
 before them. This done, he conducted his guests to the house, and 
 placing cold meat, bread, and a jug of ale before them, desired them 
 to fall to, an injunction which Blaize, notwithstanding his previous 
 repast of roasted figs and pickled walnuts, very readily complied 
 with. While they were thus employed. Dame Wingfield made her 
 appearance. She said that the poor creature (meaning Amabel) 
 was too ill to proceed on her journey that day, and begged her 
 husband to allow her to stop till the next morning, when she hoped 
 she would be able to undertake it. 
 
 " To-morrow morning, say you, dame ?" cried Wingfield ; "she 
 may stop till the day after, and the day after that, if you desire it, 
 or she wishes it. Go tell her so." And as his wife withdrew, well 
 pleased at having obtained her request, Wingfield addressed him- 
 self to Leonard, and inquired the cause of Amabel's illness; and as 
 the apprentice saw no necessity for secrecy, and felt exceedingly 
 grateful for the kind treatment he had experienced, he acquainted 
 him with the chief particulars of her history. The farmer ap- 
 peared greatly moved by the recital. "She resembles my poor 
 Sarah very strongly," he said. ' ' My daughter was hurried into an 
 early grave by a villain, who won her affections and betrayed her. 
 She now lies in Willesden churchyard, but her seducer is one of 
 the chief favourites of our profligate monarch." 
 
 " Do you mean the Earl of Rochester?" cried Leonard. 
 
 '' No, no," replied the farmer, whose good-natured countenance 
 had assumed a stern expression. " The villain I mean is worse, 
 if possible, than the Earl. He is called Sir Paul Parravicin." 
 
 "Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment; 
 "what a strange coincidence is this!" And he then proceeded to 
 relate to Wingfield the persecution which Nizza Macascree had en- 
 dured from the profligate knight. The farmer hstened to his recital 
 with breathless interest, and when it was ended, arose, and taking a 
 hasty turn round the room, halted at the table, and struck it forcibly 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 213 
 
 with his clenched hand. "I hope that man will never cross my 
 path," he said, all the blood mounting to his face, and his eye kindling 
 with fury. "As God shall judge me, I will kill him if 1 meet him." 
 
 "Then I hope you never will meet him," observed Leonard. 
 "He has injured you enough already, without putting you out of 
 the pale of divine mercy." 
 
 "These rascals have done us all an injury," observed Blaize. 
 '* Patience has never been like herself since Major Pillichody en- 
 tered my master's dwelling, and made love to her. I feel quite 
 uneasy to think how the little hussy will go on during my absence. 
 She can't get out of the house, that's one comfort." 
 
 "You have mentioned another wretch, who was constantly with 
 Sir Paul," cried Wingfield. "Perdition seize them 1" 
 
 " Ay, perdition seize theml" echoed Blaize, striking the table in 
 his turn — " especially Major Pillichody." 
 
 "Did you ever suspect Sir Paul to be of higher rank than he 
 pretends," asked Leonard. 
 
 "No," rejoined Wingfield ; "what motive have you for the ques- 
 tion?" 
 
 Leonard then told him of the inquiries instituted by Doctor Hodges 
 relative to Nizza's retreat, and how they had been baffled. " It is 
 strange," he continued, "that Nizza herself never heard the real 
 name of her persecutor, neither can she tell where the house, 
 to which she was conveyed when in a fainting condition, and from 
 which she was removed, when attacked with the plague, is situated." 
 
 " It is strange, indeed," observed the farmer, musingly. 
 
 Soon after this, Nizza Macascree made her appearance, and in- 
 formed them that Amabel had fallen into a tranquil slumber, which 
 in all probability would completely renovate her. " I hope it will," 
 said Wingfield. "But I shall not part with her to-day." 
 
 He then entered into conversation with Nizza, and after a little 
 time, proposed to her and Leonard to walk across the fields with 
 him to Willesden, to visit his daughter's grave. "My wife will 
 take charge of Amabel," he said ; " you may safely trust her in her 
 hands." 
 
 Leonard could raise no objection, except the possibility that the 
 Earl of Rochester and his companions might discover their retreat 
 and carry off Amabel in his absence ; but after a little reflection, 
 considering this altogether unlikely, he assented, and they set out. 
 A pleasant walk across the fields brought them to the pretty little 
 village of Willesden and its old and beautiful church. They pro- 
 ceeded to the grave of poor Sarah Wingfield, which lay at the east 
 of the church, beneath one of the tall elms, and Nizza, as she stood 
 by the rounded sod, covering the remains of the unfortunate girl, 
 ^ could not restrain her tears. "This might have been my own 
 fate," she said. " What an escape I have had!" 
 
 " I did not bring you here to read you a lesson," said Wingfield, 
 in a tone of deep emotion, ' ' but because you, who know the tempta- 
 tion to which the poor creature who lies there was exposed, will pity 
 her. Not alone did remorse for her conduct prey upon her spirits, — 
 ^ot alone did she suffer from self-reproach, — but the scoffs and jeers 
 
i2i4 OLB SAINT Paul's. 
 
 of her sex, who never forgive an erring sister, broke her heart. She 
 is now, however, beyond the reach of human malice, and, I trust, at 
 peace." As he said this, he walked away to hide his emotion, and 
 presently afterwards rejoining them, they quilted the churchyard 
 together. 
 
 As they re-crossed the fields, Wingfield observed two inen digging 
 a hole in the ground, and guessing their object, paused for a few 
 minutes to watch them. Having thrown out the earth to the depth 
 of a couple of feet, one of them took a long hooked pole, and attach- 
 ing it to the body of a victim to the pestilence, who had Pandered 
 into the fields and died there, dragged it towards the pit. As soon 
 as the corpse was pushed into its narrow receptacle, the clay was 
 shovelled over it, and trodden down. "This is a sad mode of 
 burial for a Christian," observed Wingfield. " But it would not do 
 to leave an infected body to rot in the fields and spread the conta- 
 gion." 
 
 "Such a grave is better than the plague-pit," rejoined Leonard, 
 recalling the frightful scenes he had witnessed there. 
 
 On reaching Wingfield's dwelling, they found from the good 
 dame, that Amabel had awakened from her slumber greatly re- 
 freshed ; but she gave it as her opinion that she had better remain 
 undisturbed. Accordingly, no one went into the room to her, ex- 
 cept Nizza Macascree. A substantial dinner Was provided for his 
 guests by the hospitable farmer ; and Blaize, who had been for some 
 time confined to salt provisions at his master's house, did ample 
 justice to the fresh meat and vegetables. 
 
 The meal over, Leonard, who felt exceedingly curious to learn 
 what had become of the mysterious stranger whose child he had 
 carried to the plague-pit, and who had appeared so strangely in- 
 terested in IN izza Macascree, determined to walk to the pest-house in 
 Finsbury-fields, and inquire after him. On communicating his in- 
 tention to his host, Wingfield would have dissuaded him, but as Leo- 
 nard affirmed he had no fear of infection, he desisted from the at- 
 tempt. Just as the apprentice was starting, Blaize came up to him 
 and said,— "Leonard, I have a great curiosity to see a pest-house, 
 and should like to go with you, if you will let toe." 
 
 The apprentice stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 "You will never dare to enter it," he said. 
 
 "I will go wherever you go," replied the porter, with a confi- 
 dence mainly inspired by the hospitable farmer's strong ale. 
 
 "We shall see," replied Leonard. "I shall keep you to your 
 word." 
 
 In less than an hour, they reached Marylebone-fields (now the 
 Regent's-park), and crossing them, entered a lane, running in 
 pretty nearly the same direction as the present New-road. It brought 
 them to Clerkenwell, whence they proceeded to Finsbury-fields, and 
 soon came in sight of the pest-house. When Blaize found himself 
 so near this dreaded asylum, all his courage vanished. 'M would 
 certainly enter the pest-house with you," he said to Leonard, "but 
 I have used up all my vinegar, and you know 1 lost my box of ru- 
 fusetJ and the pot of anti-pestilential confection this morning." 
 
tM DEPARTURE. 216 
 
 ^'That excuse shall not serve your turn ^" replied Leonard. ''You 
 can get plenty of vinegar and plague-medicine in the j)est-house." 
 
 "But I have no money to pay for them," rejoined Blaize. 
 
 ''I will lend you some," said Leonard, placing a few pieces in his 
 hand. " Now, come along." 
 
 Blaize would fain have run away, hut afraid of incurring the ap- 
 prentice's anger, he walked tremblingly after him. They entered 
 the garden-gate, and soon reached the principal door, which, as 
 usual, stood open. Scarcely able to support himself, the porter 
 tottered into the large room ; but as he cast his eyes around, and be- 
 held the miserable occupants of the pallets, and heard their cries 
 and groans, he was so scared that he could not move another step, 
 but stood like one transfixed with terror. Paying little attention to 
 him, Leonard walked forward, and at the further extremity of the 
 chamber found the young chirurgeon whom he had formerly seen, 
 and, describing the stranger, inquired where he was placed. 
 
 *' The person you allude to has been removed," returned the chi- 
 rurgeon. ''Doctor Hodges visited him this morning, and had him 
 conveyed to his own dwelhng." 
 
 " Was he sensible at the time?" asked the apprentice. 
 
 "I think not," replied the chirurgeon ; "but the Doctor appeared 
 to recognize in him an old friend, though I did not hear him men- 
 tion his name ; and it was on that account, 1 conclude, that he had 
 him removed." 
 
 *' Is he likely to recover?" asked Leonard, whose curiosity was 
 aroused by what he heard. 
 
 " That is impossible to say," rephed the young man. " But he 
 cannot be in better hands than those of Doctor Hodges." 
 
 Leonard perfectly concurred with him, and after a few minutes 
 further conversation, turned to depart. Not seeing Blaize, he con- 
 cluded he had gone forth, and expected to find him in the garden, 
 or, at all events, in the field adjoining. But he was nowhere to be 
 seen. While wondering what had become of him, Leonard heard 
 a loud cry, in the voice of the porter, issuing from the barn, which, 
 as has already been stated, had been converted into a receptacle 
 for the sick ; and hurrying thither, he found Blaize in the hands of 
 two stout assistants, who had stripped him of his clothes, and were 
 tj^ing him down to a pallet. On seeing Leonard, Blaize implored 
 him to deliver him from the hands of his persecutors ; and the ap- 
 prentice assuring the assistants that the poor fellow was perfectly 
 free from infection, they liberated him. 
 
 It appeared, on inquiry, that Blaize had fallen against one of the 
 pallets in a state almost of insensibifity, and the two assistants, 
 chancing to pass at the time, and taking him for a plague patient, 
 had conveyed him to the barn. On reaching it, he recovered, and 
 besought them to set him free, but they paid no attention to his 
 cries, and proceeded to strip him, and bind him to the bed, as be- 
 fore related. 
 
 Thus released, the porter lost no time in dressing himself; and 
 Leonard, iq allay his terrors, had a strong dose of anti-pestilential 
 ehxir administered to him. After which, having procured him a 
 
216 OLD SAINT PAUL*S. 
 
 box of rufuses, and a phial of plague-water, Blaize shook off his 
 apprehension, and they set out at a brisk pace for Kensal Green. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 Blaize was destined to experience a second fright. It has been 
 mentioned that the infected were sometimes seized with a rabid de- 
 sire of communicating the disorder to such as had not been attacked 
 by it ; and as the pair were making the best of their way along the 
 Harrow road, a poor lazar who was lying against the hedge side, and 
 had vainly implored their assistance, suddenly started up and with 
 furious gestures and cries made towards the porter. Guessing his 
 intention, Blaize took to his heels, and finding himself closely pressed, 
 broke through the hedge on the right, and speeded across the field. 
 In spite of the alarming nature of the occurrence, the apprentice 
 could not help laughing at the unwonted agihty displayed by the fat 
 little porter, who ran so swiftly that it appeared probable he would 
 distance his pursuer. To prevent mischief, however, Leonard set 
 off after them, and was fast gaining upon the lazar, whose strength 
 was evidently faihng, when the poor wretch uttered a loud cry, and 
 fell to the ground. On coming up, Leonard found him lying with 
 his face in the grass, and convulsed by the agonies of death, and 
 perceiving that all was over, hurried after the porter, whom he 
 found seated on a gate, at the further end of the field, solacing 
 himself with a draught of plague-water. 
 
 '^Oh, Leonard!" groaned the latter, "how little do we know 
 what is for our good !" I was delighted to quit my master's house 
 this morning, but I now wish with all my heart I was back again. 
 I am afraid I shall die of the plague after all. Pray what are the 
 first symptoms?" 
 
 "Poh! poh! don't think about it, and you will take no harm," 
 rejoined Leonard. " Put by your phial, and let us make the best 
 of our way to Farmer Wingfield's dweUing." 
 
 Being now in sight of the farm, which, from its elevated situation, 
 could be distinguished at the distance of two miles in this direction, 
 they easily shaped their course towards it across the fields. When 
 about half way up the hill, Leonard paused to look behind him. 
 The view was exquisite, and it was precisely the hour (just before 
 sunset) at which it could be seen to the greatest advantage. On 
 the right, his gaze wandered to the beautiful and well-wooded 
 heights of Bichmond and Wimbledon, beyond which he could trace 
 the long line of the Surrey hills, while nearer he perceived Notting 
 Hill, now covered with habitations, but then a verdant knoll, 
 crowned by a few trees, but without so much as a cottage upon it. 
 On the left stood Ilampstead ; at that time a collection of pretty cot- 
 
THE JOURNEY. 217 
 
 tages, but wanting its present chief ornament, the church. At the 
 foot of the hill rich meadows, bordered with fine hedges, inter- 
 spersed with well-grown timber, spread out as far as the eye could 
 reach. Nothing destroyed the rural character of the prospect; nor 
 was there any indication of the neighbourhood of a great city, 
 except the lofty tower and massive body of Saint Paul's, which ap- 
 peared above the tops of the intervening trees in the distance. 
 
 As on former occasions, when contemplating the surrounding 
 country from the summit of the cathedral, Leonard could not help 
 contrasting the beauty of the scene before him with the horrible 
 scourge by which it was ravaged. Never had the country looked so 
 beautiful — never, therefore, was the contrast so forcible; and it 
 appeared to him like a lovely mask hiding the hideous and ghastly 
 features of death. Tinged by the sombre hue of his thoughts, the 
 whole scene changed its complexion. The smiling landscape seemed 
 to darken, and the cool air of evening to become hot and noisome, 
 as if laden with the deadly exhalations of the pestilence. Nor did 
 the workings of his imagination stop here. He fancied even at this 
 distance, — nearly seven miles, — that he could discern Solomon 
 Eagle on the summit of Saint Paul's. At first, the figure looked like 
 a small black speck ; but it gradually dilated, until it became twice 
 the size of the cathedral, upon the central tower of which its feet 
 rested, while its arms were spread abroad over the city. In its 
 right hand the gigantic figure held a blazing torch, and in the left 
 a phial, from the mouth of which a stream of dark liquid descended. 
 So vividly did this phantasm present itself to Leonard, that, almost 
 convinced of its reality, he placed his hands before his eyes for a 
 few moments, and on withdrawing them, was glad to find that the 
 delusion was occasioned by a black cloud over the cathedral, which 
 his distempered fancy had converted into the colossal figure of the 
 enthusiast. 
 
 Blaize, who had taken the opportunity of his companion's abstrac- 
 tion to sip a little more plague-water, now approached, and told him 
 that Wingfield was descending the hill to meet them. Rousing him- 
 self, Leonard ran towards the farmer, who appeared delighted to 
 see them back again, and conducted them to his dwelling. Owing 
 to the tender and truly-maternal attention of Dame Wingfield, 
 Amabel was so much better that she was able to join the party at 
 supper, though she took no share in the meal. Wingfield listened 
 to the soft tones of her voice as she conversed with his wife, and at 
 last, unable to control his emotion, laid down his knife and fork, 
 and quitted the table. 
 
 " What is the matter with your husband?" inquired Amabel of 
 her hostess. " I hope he is not unwell." 
 
 *' Oh! no," replied the good dame ; " your voice reminds him of 
 our daughter, whose history I have related to you, — that is all." 
 
 "Alas!" exclaimed jVmabel, with a sympathizing look, "I will 
 be silent, if it pains him to hear me speak." 
 
 "On no account," rejoined Dame Wingfield. "The tears he 
 has shed will relieve him. He could not weep when poor Sarah 
 
^18 OLD SAINT PAtL's. 
 
 di6d, and I feared his heart would break. Talk to him as you halve 
 talked to me, aiid you will do him a world of good." 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the farmer returned to the table, and the 
 meal proceeded to its close without further interruption. As soon 
 as the board was cleared, AVingfield took a chair by Amabel, who, 
 in compliance with his wife's request, spoke to him about his daugh- 
 ter, and in terms calculated to afford him consolation. Leonard 
 was enraptured by her discourse, aiid put so little constraint upon 
 his admiration, that Nizza Macascree could not repress a pang of 
 jealousy. As to Blaize, who had eaten as much as he could cram, 
 and emptied a large jug of the farmer's stout ale, he took his chair 
 to a coriier, and speedily fell asleep; his hoarse but tranquil breath- 
 ing proving that the alarms he had undergone during the day did 
 tiot haunt his slumbers. Before separating for the night, Amabel 
 entreated that prayers might be said, and her request being readily 
 granted, she was about to retire with Nizza, when Wingfield de- 
 tained them. 
 
 ' ' I have been thinking, that I might offer you a safe asylum here," 
 he said. " If you like it, you shall remain with us till your health 
 is fully reinstated." 
 
 '4 thank you most kindly for the offer j'* returned Amabel, grate- 
 fully ; "and if I do not accept it, it is neither because I should not 
 esteem myself safe here, nor because I am unwilling to be indebted 
 to your hospitality, but that I have been specially advised, as my last 
 chance of recovery, to try the air of Berkshire. I have Httle hope 
 myself, but I owe it to those who love me, to make the experi- 
 ment." 
 
 "If such is the case," returned the farmer, "I will not attempt 
 to persuade you further. But if, at any future time, you should 
 need change of air, my house shall be entirely at your service." 
 
 Dame Wingfield warmly seconded her husband's wish, and with 
 renewed thanks, Amabel and her companion withdrew. As there 
 Was not sufficient room for their accommodation within the house, 
 Leonard and the porter took up their quarters in the barn, and 
 throwing themselves upon a heap of straw, slept soundly till three 
 o'clock, when they arose, and began to prepare for their journey. 
 Wingfield was likewise astir, and after assisting them to leed and 
 dress their horses, took them into the house, where a plentiful 
 breakfast awaited them. At the close of the meal, Amabel and Nizza, 
 who had breakfasted in their own room, made their appearance. 
 All being in readiness for their departure. Dame Wingfield took 
 leave of her guests with tears in her eyes, and the honest farmer was 
 little less affected. Both gazed after them as long as they continued 
 in sight. 
 
 Having ascertained from Wingfield the route they ought to pursue, 
 Leonard proceeded about a quarter of a mile along the Harrow 
 Road, and then turned off on the left into a common, which brought 
 them to Acton, from whence they threaded a devious lane to 
 Brentford. Here they encountered several fugitives from the great 
 city, and as they approached Hounslow, learnt from other wayfarers 
 
THE JOURNEY. 2l9 
 
 that a band of highwaymen, by whom the heath was infested, had 
 become more than usually daring since the outbreak of the pesti- 
 lence, and claimed a heavy tax from all travellers. This was bad 
 news to Leonard, who became apprehensive for the safety of the 
 bag of gold given to Nizza by the enthusiast, and he would have 
 taken another road, if it had been practicable; but as there was no 
 alternative except to proceed, he put all the money he had about 
 him into a leatherii purse, trusting that the highwaymen, if they at- 
 tacked them, would be content with this booty. 
 
 When about half way across the vast heath, which spread around 
 them in a wild but not unpicturesque expanse, for many miles on 
 either side, Leonard perceived a band of horsemen, amounting 
 perhaps to a dozen, galloping towards them, and not doubting they 
 were the robbers in question, communicated his suspicions to his 
 companions. Neither Amabel nor Nizza Macascree appeared much 
 alarmed, but Blaize was so terrified that he could scarcely keep his 
 seat, and was with difficulty prevented from turning his horse's head 
 and riding off in the opposite direction. 
 
 By this time, the highwaymen had come up. With loud oaths, 
 two of their number held pistols to the heads of Leonard and Blaize, 
 and demanded their money. The apprentice replied by drawing 
 forth his purse, and besought the fellow to whom he gave it not to 
 maltreat his companion. The man rejoined, with a savage impre- 
 cation, that he "would maltreat them both, if they did not instantly 
 dismount and let him search the saddle-bags;" and he was pro- 
 ceeding to drag Amabel from the saddle, when Leonard struck him 
 a violent blow with his heavy riding-whip, which brought him to 
 the ground. He was up again, however, in an instant, and would 
 have fired his pistol at the apprentice, if a masked individual, who 
 was evidently, from the richness of his attire, and the deference 
 paid him by the others, the captain of the band, had not interfered. 
 *' You are rightly served, Dick Dosset," said this person, " for your 
 rudeness to a lady. I will have none of my band guilty of inci- 
 vility, and if this young man had not punished you, I would have 
 done so myself. Pass free, my pretty damsel," he added, bowing 
 gallantly to Amabel; " you shall not be further molested." 
 
 Meanwhile, Blaize exhibited the contents of his pockets to the 
 other highwayman, who, having opened the box of rufuses and 
 smelt at the phial of plague-water, returned them to him with a 
 look of disgust, and bade him follow his companions. As Leonard 
 was departing, the captain of the band rode after him, and inquired 
 whether he had heard at what hour the King meant to leave White- 
 hall. " The court is about to adjourn to Oxford," he added, " and 
 the King and some of his courtiers will cross the heath to-day, when 
 I propose to levy the same tax from his Majesty that 1 do from his 
 subjects." 
 
 Leonard repHed, that he was utterly ignorant of the King's 
 movements; and explaining whence he came, the captain left him. 
 The intelligence he had thus accidentally obtained was far from sa- 
 tisfactory to the apprentice. For some distance, their road would 
 be the same ks that about to be taken by the monarch and his at- 
 
220 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 tendants, amongst whom it was not improbable Rochester might be 
 numbered ; and the possibility that the Earl might overtake them 
 and discover Amabel, filled him with uneasiness. Conceahng his 
 alarm, however, he urged his steed to a quicker pace, and proceeded 
 briskly on his way, glad, at least, that he had not lost Solomon 
 Eagle's gift to Nizza. Amabel's weakly condition compelled them 
 to rest at frequent intervals, and it was not until evening was draw- 
 ing in that they descended the steep hill leading to the beautiful 
 village of Henley-upon-Thames, where they proposed to halt for the 
 night. 
 
 Crossing the bridge, they found a considerable number of the 
 inhabitants assembled in the main street and in the market-place, 
 in expectation of the King's passing through the town on his way to 
 Oxford, intimation of his approach having been conveyed by avant- 
 couriers. Leonard proceeded to the principal inn, and was for- 
 tunate enough to procure accommodation. Having conducted 
 Amabel and Nizza to their room, he was repairing to the stable 
 with Blaize to see after their steeds, when a loud blowing of horns 
 was heard on the bridge, succeeded by the tramp of horses, and 
 the rattling of wheels, and the nex^ moment, four valets in splen- 
 did livery rode up, followed by a magnificent coach. The shouts 
 of the assemblage proclaimed that it was the King. The caval- 
 cade stopped before the inn, from the yard of which six fine horses 
 were brought and attached to the royal carriage, in place of others, 
 which were removed. Charles was laughing heartily, and desired 
 his attendants, who were neither numerous nor well-armed, to 
 take care they were not robbed again between this place and Ox- 
 ford ; "though," added the monarch, "it is now of little conse- 
 quence, since we have nothing to lose." 
 
 "Is it possible your Majesty can have been robbed?" asked the 
 landlord, who stood cap in hand at the door of the carriage. 
 
 " r faith man, it is possible," rejoined the King. "We were 
 stopped on Hounslow Heath by a band of highwaymen, who car- 
 ried off two large coffers filled with gold, and would have eased us 
 of our swords and snuff-boxes, but for the interposition of their 
 captain, who, as we live, is one of the politest men breathing, — is 
 he not, Rochester ?" 
 
 Leonard Holt, who was among the crowd of spectators, started 
 at the mention of this name, and he trembled as the Earl leaned 
 forward, in answer to the King's question. The eyes of the rivals 
 met at this moment, for both were within a few yards of each other, 
 and Rochester, whose cheek flushed with anger, solicited the King's 
 permission to alight; but Charles, affirming it was getting late, 
 would not permit him, and as the horses were harnessed, and the 
 drivers mounted, he ordered them to proceed without delay. 
 
 Inexpressibly relieved by his rival's departure, Leonard re- 
 turned to the house, and acquainted Amabel with what had oc- 
 curred. Quitting Henley betimes on the following morning, they 
 arrived in about three hours at Wallingford, where they halted 
 for some time, and then pursuing their journey, reached Vyantage 
 at four o'clock, where they tarried for an hour. Up to this time, 
 
THE JOURNEY. 221 
 
 Leonard had doubted the possibiUty of reaching their destination 
 that night ; but Amabel assuring him she felt no fatigue, he deter- 
 mined to push on. Accordingly, having refreshed their steeds, 
 they set forward, and soon began to mount the beautiful downs 
 lying on the west of this ancient town. 
 
 Crossing these heights, whence they obtained the most magni- 
 ficent and extensive views of the surrounding country, they reached 
 in about three-quarters of an hour the pretty httle hamlet of Kings- 
 ton Lisle. Here they again paused at a small inn at the foot of a 
 lofty hill, denominated, from a curious rehc kept there, the Blow- 
 ing Stone. This rocky fragment, which is still in existence, is per- 
 forated by a number of holes, which emit, if blown into, a strange 
 bellowing sound. Unaware of this circumstance, Leonard entered 
 the house with the others, and had just seated himself, when they 
 were astounded by a strange unearthly roar. Rushing forth, Leo- 
 nard found Blaize with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth applied 
 to the stone, into which he was blowing with all his force, and pro- 
 ducing the above-mentioned extraordinary noise. 
 
 Shortly after this, the party quitted the Blowing Stone, and hav- 
 ing toiled up the steep sides of the hill, they were amply repaid on 
 reaching its summit by one of the finest views they had ever be- 
 held. In fact, the hill on which they stood commanded the whole 
 of the extensive and beautiful vale of the White Horse, which was 
 spread out before them as far as the eye could reach, like a vast 
 panorama, disclosing a thousand fields covered with abundant, 
 though as yet immature, crops. It was a goodly prospect, and 
 seemed to promise plenty and prosperity to the country. Almost 
 beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffington overtopping 
 the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous other towers 
 and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of trees, which, to- 
 gether with the scattered mansions and farm-houses surrounded 
 by granges and stacks of hay and beans, gave interest and diver- 
 sity to the prospect. The two most prominent objects in the view 
 were the wooded heights of Farringdon on the one hand, and 
 those of Abingdon on the other. 
 
 Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked out, 
 and running along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, they 
 arrived at an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called Uffing- 
 ton Castle, occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, who was 
 tending a flock of sheep which were browsing on the delicious her- 
 bage to be found within the vast circular space enclosed by the inner 
 vallum of the camp, explained its purpose, and they could not but 
 regard it with interest. He informed them that they were in the 
 neighbourhood of the famous White Horse, a figure cut out of the 
 turf on the hill side by the Saxons, and visible for many miles. Con- 
 ducting them to a point whence they could survey this curious 
 work, their guide next directed them to Ashdown Lodge, which 
 lay, he told them, at about four miles distance. They had wandered 
 a little out of their course, but he accompanied them for a mile, 
 until they came in sight of a thick grove of trees clothing a beautiful 
 valley, above^ which could be seen the lofty cupola of the mansion. 
 
222 OLD sAiKT Paul's. 
 
 Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze blow- 
 ing in this healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon drew 
 near the mansion, which they found was approached by four noble 
 avenues. They had not advanced far, when a stalwart personage, 
 six feet two high, and proportionately stoutly made, issued from 
 the covert. He had a gun over his shoulder, and was attended by 
 a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he was called John Lutcombe, 
 and was the Earl of Craven's gamekeeper, he inquired their busi- 
 ness; and on being informed of it, changed his surly manner to one 
 of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs. Buscot, — such 
 was the name of Amabel's aunt, — was at home, and would be 
 heartily glad to see them. " I have often heard her speak of her 
 brother, Mr. Bloundel," he said; "and am well aware that he is 
 an excellent man. Poor soul! she has been very uneasy about 
 him and his family during this awful dispensation, though she had 
 received a letter to say that he was about to close his house, and 
 hoped, under the blessing of Providence, to escape the pestilence. 
 His daughter will be welcome, and she cannot come to a healthier 
 spot than Ashdown, nor to a better nurse than Mrs. Buscot." 
 
 With this he led the way to the court-yard, and entering the 
 dwelling, presently returned with a middle-aged woman, whom 
 Amabel instantly knew, from the likeness to her father, must be 
 her aunt. Mrs. Buscot caught her in her arms, and almost smo- 
 thered her with kisses. As soon as the first transports of surprise 
 and joy had subsided, the good housekeeper took her niece and 
 Nizza Macascree into the house, and desired John Lutcombe to 
 attend to the others. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 - ASHDOWN LODGE. ^ 
 
 Erected by Inigo Jones, and still continuing in precisely the 
 same state as at the period of this history, Ashdown Lodge is a 
 large square edifice, built in the formal French taste of the seven- 
 teenth century, with immense casements, giving it the appearance 
 of being all glass, a high roof Hghted by dormer windows, termi- 
 nated at each angle by a tall and not very ornamental chimney, 
 and surmounted by a lofty and lantern-like belvidere, crowned in 
 its turn by a glass cupola. The belvidere opens upon a square 
 gallery defended by a broad balustrade, and overlooking the um- 
 brageous masses and lovely hills around it. The house, as has 
 been stated, is approached by four noble avenues, the timber con- 
 stituting which is of course much finer now than at the period 
 under consideration, and possesses a delightful old-fashioned garden 
 and stately terrace. The rooms are lofty but small, and there is 
 a magnificent staircase, occupying nearly half the interior of th^ 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 223 
 
 building. Among other portraits decorating the walls is one of 
 Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James the First, and Queen of Bo-* 
 hemia, for whom the first Earl of Craven entertained so romantic 
 an attachment, and to whom he was supposed to be privately 
 united. Nothing can be more secluded than the situation of the 
 mansion, lying as it does in the midst of a gentle valley, surrounded 
 by a thick wood, and without having a single habitation in view. 
 Its chief interest, however, must always be derived from its con- 
 nexion with the memory of the chivalrous and high-souled noble- 
 man by whom it was erected., and who made it occasionally his 
 retreat after the death of his presumed royal consort, which oc- 
 curred about four years previous to the date of this history. 
 
 Amabel was delighted with her new abode, and she experienced 
 the kindness of a parent from her aunt, with whom, owing to cir- 
 cumstances, she had not hitherto been personally acquainted, 
 having only seen her when too young to retain any recollection of 
 the event. The widow of a farmer, who had resided on Lord 
 Craven's estate near Kingston Lisle, Mrs. Buscot, after her hus- 
 band's death, had been engaged as housekeeper at Ashdown Lodge, 
 and had filled the situation for many years to the entire satisfaction 
 of her employer. She was two or three 'years older than her 
 brother, Mr. Bloundel ; but the perfect health she enjoyed, and 
 which she attributed to the salubrious air of the downs, combined 
 with her natural cheerfulness of disposition, made her look much 
 the younger of the two. Her features, besides their kindly and 
 benevolent expression, were extremely pleasing, and must, some 
 years ago, have been beautiful. Even now, what with her fresh 
 complexion, her white teeth, and plump figure, she made no slight 
 pretensions to comehness. She possessed the same good sense and 
 integrity of character as her brother, together with his strong reli- 
 gious feeling, but entirely unaccompanied by austerity. 
 
 Having no children, she was able to bestow her entire affections 
 upon Amabel, whose sad story, when she became acquainted with 
 it, painfully affected her; nor was she less concerned at her preca- 
 rious state of health. For the first day or two after her arrival, 
 Amabel suffered greatly from the effects of the journey, but after 
 that time she gained strength so rapidly, that Mrs. Buscot, who, at 
 first, had well-nigh despaired of her recovery, began to indulge a 
 hope. The gentle sufferer would sit throughout the day with her 
 aunt and Nizza Macascree in the gallery near the belvidere, inhaling 
 the pure breeze blowing from the surrounding hills, and stirring the 
 tree-tops beneath her. "I never expected so much happiness," 
 she observed, on one occasion, to Mrs. Buscot, "and begin to 
 experience the truth of Doctor Hodges's assertion, that with return- 
 ing health, the desire of life would return. I now wish to live." 
 
 ''I am heartily glad to hear you say so," rephed Mrs. Buscot, 
 "and hold it a certain sign of your speedy restoration to health. 
 Before you have been a month with me, I expect to bring back the 
 roses to those pale cheeks." 
 
 "You are too sanguine, I fear, dear aunt," rejoined Amabel; 
 
224 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 '* but the change that has taken place in my feelings, may operate 
 beneficially upon my constitution." 
 
 " No doubt of it, my dear," replied Mrs. Buscot ; " no doubt." 
 
 The good dame felt a strong inclination at this moment to intro- 
 duce a subject very near her heart, but feeling doubtful as to its 
 reception, she checked herself. The devoted attachment of the ap- 
 prentice to her niece, had entirely won her regard, and she fondly 
 hoped she should be able to wean Amabel from all thought of the 
 Earl of Rochester, and induce her to give her hand to her faithful 
 lover. With this view, she often spoke to her of Leonard — of his 
 devotion and constancy — his good looks and excellent qualities ; and 
 though Amabel assented to all she said, Mrs. Buscot was sorry to 
 perceive that the impression she desired was not produced. It was 
 not so with INizza Macascree. Whenever Leonard's name was 
 mentioned, her eye sparkled, her cheek glowed, and she responded 
 so warmly to all that was said in his praise, that Mrs. Buscot soon 
 found out the state of her heart. The discovery occasioned her 
 some little disquietude, for the worthy creature could not bear the 
 idea of making even her niece happy at the expense of another. 
 
 As to the object of all this tender interest, he felt far happier than 
 he had done for some time. He saw Amabel every day, and noted 
 with unspeakable delight the gradual improvement which appeared 
 to be taking place in her health. The greater part of his time, how- 
 ever, was not passed in her society, but in threading the intricacies 
 of the wood, or in rambhng over the neighbouring downs ; and he 
 not only derived pleasure from these rambles, but his health and 
 spirits, which had been not a little shaken by the awful scenes he 
 had recently witnessed, were materially improved. Here, at last, 
 he seemed to have got rid of the grim spectre which, for two 
 months, had constantly haunted him. No greater contrast can be 
 conceived than his present quiet life offered to the fearful excite- 
 ment he had recently undergone. For hot and narrow thorough- 
 fares, reeking with pestilential effluvia, resounding with frightful 
 shrieks, or piteous cries, and bearing on every side marks of the 
 destructive progress of the scourge — for these terrible sights and 
 sounds — for the charnel horrors of the plague-pit, — the scarcely 
 less revolting scenes at the pest-house — the dismal bell announcing 
 the dead-cart — the doleful cries of the buriers — for graves surfeited 
 with corruption, and streets filled with the dying and the dead — 
 and, above all, for the ever-haunting expectation that a like fate 
 might be his own, — he had exchanged green hills, fresh breezes, 
 spreading views, the song of the lark, and a thousand other de- 
 lights, and assurances of health and contentment. Often, as he 
 gazed from the ridge of the downs into the wide-spread vale beneath, 
 he wondered whether the destroying angel had smitten any of its 
 peaceful habitations, and breathed a prayer for their preservation. 
 
 But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected 
 city, was trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety 
 was lest he should be sent back to London. Seldom straying farther 
 than the gates of the mansion, though often invited by John Lut- 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 225 
 
 combe to accompany him to some of the neighbouring villages ; 
 having little to do, and less to think of, unless to calculate how 
 much he could consume at the next meal, — for he had banished all 
 idea of the plague, — he conceived himself at the summit of happi- 
 ness, and waxed so sleek and round that his face shone like a full 
 moon, while his doublet would scarcely meet around his waist. 
 
 One day, about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things 
 were in this happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the 
 gallery at the summit of the house, observed a troop of horsemen, 
 very gallantly equipped, appear at the further end of the northern 
 avenue. An inexpressible terror seized her, and she would have 
 fled into the house, but her Hmbs refused their office. "Look 
 there!" she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, presented herself 
 at the glass-door. " Look there!" she said, pointing to the caval- 
 cade ; ' ' what I dreaded has come to pass. The Earl of Rochester 
 has found me out, and is coming hither to carry me off. But I will 
 die rather than accompany him." 
 
 "You may be mistaken," replied Nizza, expressing a hopeful- 
 ness, which her looks belied; " it maybe the Earl of Craven." 
 
 "You give me new life," rejoined Amabel; "but no — no — my 
 aunt has told me that the good Earl will not quit the city during the 
 continuance of the plague. And see ! some of the horsemen have 
 distinguished us, and are waving their hats. My heart tells me the 
 Earl of Rochester is amongst them. Give me your arm, Nizza, and 
 I will try to gain some place of concealment." 
 
 "Ay, let us fly," rephed the other, assisting her towards the 
 door ; " I am in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parravicin 
 is doubtless with them. Oh ! where — where is Leonard .^" 
 
 " He must be below," cried Amabel. " But he could not aid us 
 • at this juncture. We must depend upon ourselves." 
 
 Descending a short staircase, they entered Amabel's chamber, 
 and fastening the door, awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival 
 of the horsemen. Though the room whither they had retreated 
 was in the upper part of the house, they could distinctly hear what 
 was going on below, and shortly afterwards the sound of footsteps 
 on the stairs, blended with merry voices and loud laughter — amid 
 which Amabel could distinguish the tones of the Earl of Rochester 
 . — reached them. 
 
 ». • While both were palpitating with fright, the handle of the door 
 » ^was tried, and a voice announced that the apprentice was without. 
 "All is lost !" he cried, speaking through the keyhole ; "the King is 
 here, and is accompanied by the Earl of Rochester and oth^r pro- 
 fligates." 
 
 ' ' The King !" exclaimed Amabel, joyfully ; ' ' then I am no longer 
 apprehensive." 
 
 " As yet, no inquiries have been made after you," continued 
 j Leonard, unconscious of the effect produced by his inteUigence, 
 * ' but it is evident they know you are here. Be prepared, there- 
 fore." 
 
 " I am prepared," rejoined Amabel. And as she spoke, she threw 
 I open the doorTand admitted Leonard. *' Do not stay with us," she 
 
 15 
 
226 OLP SAINT Paul's. 
 
 added to him. ** In case of need, T will throw myself on his Ma- 
 jesty's protection." 
 
 '* It will avail you little," rejoined Leonard, distrustfully. 
 
 " I do not think so," said Amabel, confidently. " I have faith in 
 his acknowledged kindness of heart." 
 
 " Perhaps, you are right," returned Leonard. " Mrs. Buscot is 
 at present with his Majesty in the receiving-room. Will you not 
 make fast your door?" 
 
 " No," replied Amabel, firmly ; " if the King will not defend me, 
 1 will defend myself." Leonard glanced at her with admiration, but 
 he said nothing. 
 
 ''Is Sir Paul Parravicin here?" asked Nizza Macascree, with 
 great anxiety. 
 
 " I have not seen him," replied Leonard; " and I have carefully 
 examined the countenances of all the King's attendants." 
 
 " Heaven be praised l" exclaimed Nizza. 
 
 At this juncture, Mrs. Buscot entered the room. Her looks be- 
 spoke great agitation, and she trembled violently. " You have no 
 doubt heard from Leonard that the King and his courtiers are 
 below," she said. " His Majesty inquired whether you were here, 
 and I did not dare to deceive him. He desires to see you, and has 
 sent me for you. What is to be done?" she added, with a look of 
 distraction. " I suppose you must obey." 
 
 "There is no alternative," replied Amabel. " I will obey his 
 Majesty's commands as soon as 1 can collect myself. Take back 
 that answer, dear aunt." 
 
 " Has Leonard told you that the Earl of Bochester is here?" pur^ 
 sued Mrs. Buscot. 
 
 Amabel replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " God grant that good may come of it!" cried Mrs. Buscot, clasp- 
 ing her hands together, as she quitted the room ; " but I am sorely 
 afraid." 
 
 A half-suppressed groan from the apprentice told that he shared 
 in her apprehensions. 
 
 " Leave us, Leonard," said Amabel; "I wOuld prepare myself 
 for the interview." 
 
 The apprentice obeyed, and closing the door after him, stationed 
 himself at the foot of the staircase. Left alone with INizza, Amabel 
 threw herself on her knees and besought the support of heaven on 
 this trying occasion. She then arose, and giving her hand to INizza, 
 they went down stairs together. Leonard followed them at a little 
 distance, and with a beating heart. Two gentlemen-ushers were 
 posted at the door of the chamber occupied by the King. Not far 
 from them stood Mrs. Buscot, who having made known her niece 
 to the officials, they instantly admitted her, but ordered Nizza to 
 remain outside. 
 
 On entering the room, Amabel at oiice discovered the King. He 
 was habited in a magnificent riding-dress and was seated on a rich 
 faiiteuil, around which were grouped a dozen gaily-attircd courtiers. 
 Amongst these were the Earl of Bochester and Sir George Etherege. 
 As Amabel advanced, glances of insolent curiosity were directed 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 227 
 
 towards her, and Rochester, stepping forward, offered to lead her 
 to the King. She, however, declined the attention. Greatly mor- 
 tified, the Earl would have seized her hand ; but there was so much 
 dignity in her deportment, so much coldness in her looks, that in 
 spite of his effrontery he felt abashed. Charles smiled at his fa- 
 vourite's rebuff, but, in common with the others, he could not help 
 being struck by Amabel's extraordinary beauty and natural dignity, 
 and he observed, in an under-tone to Etherege, '* Is it possible this 
 can be a grocer's daughter ?" 
 
 '^ She passes for such, my liege," replied Etherege, with a smile. 
 *' But I cannot swear to her parentage." 
 
 " Since 1 have seen her, I do not wonder at Rochester's extra- 
 vagant passion," rejoined the Monarch. " But, oddsfish! she seems 
 to care Uttle for him." 
 
 Having approached within a short distance of the King, Amabel 
 would have prostrated herself before him, but he prevented her. 
 " Nay, do not kneel, sweetheart," he said; " I am fully satisfied 
 of your loyalty, and never exact homage from one of your sex, but, 
 on the contrary, am ever ready to pay it. I have heard much of 
 your attractions, and, what is seldom the case in such matters, find 
 they have not been overrated. The brightest of our court beauties 
 cannot compare with you." 
 
 " A moment ago, the fair Amabel might be said to lack bloom," 
 observed Etherege; " but your Majesty's praises have called a 
 glowing colour to her cheek." 
 
 " Will you deign to grant me a moment's hearing, my liege?" 
 said Amabel, looking steadfastly at the King. 
 
 ' ^ Not a moment's hearing merely, sweetheart," returned Charles ; 
 ' ' but an hour's, if you list. I could dwell on the music of your tones 
 for ever." 
 
 "I thank your Majesty for your condescension," she replied; 
 " but I will not long trespass on your patience. What I have to 
 say concerns the Earl of Rochester." 
 
 '' Stand forward, my lord," said Charles to the Earl, *' and let 
 us hear what complaint is to be made against you." Rochester 
 advanced, and threw a passionate and half-reproachful glance at 
 Amabel. 
 
 *' It may be improper for me to trouble your Majesty on so fight 
 a matter," said Amabel; " but your kindness emboldens me to 
 speak unreservedly. You may be aware that this nobleman once 
 entertained, or feigned to entertain, an ardent attachment for me." 
 " I need scarcely assure you, my liege," interposed Rochester, 
 '^ that it was no feigned passion. And it is needless to add, that 
 however ardently 1 felt towards my fair accuser then, my passion 
 has in nowise abated." 
 
 " I should wonder if it had," rejoined Charles, gallantly. 
 *' I will not contradict you, my lord," said Amabel ; " it is pos- 
 sible you may have loved me, though I find it difficult to reconcile 
 your professions of regard with your conduct — but this is not to 
 the purpose. Whether you loved me or not, I loved you — deeply 
 and devotedly. There is no sacrifice I would not have made for 
 
228 OLD SAINT PAtL's. 
 
 him," she continued, turning to the King, " and influenced by these 
 feehngs, and deluded by false promises, I forgot my duty, and was 
 rash to quit my home with him." 
 
 " All this I have heard, sweetheart," replied Charles. " There 
 is nothing very remarkable in it. It is the ordinary course of such 
 affairs. I am happy to be the means of restoring your lover to you, 
 and, in fact, came hither for that very purpose." 
 
 " You mistake me, my hege," replied Amabel. " I do not desire 
 to have him restored to me. Fortunately for myself, I have suc- 
 ceeded in mastering my love for him. The struggle has well-nigh 
 cost me my life — but I have conquered." 
 
 " I have yet to learn, sweetheart," observed Charles, with an 
 incredulous look, " that woman's love, if deeply fixed, can be sub- 
 dued." 
 
 " If I had not been supported by religion, my Hege, I could not 
 have subdued it," rejoined Amabel. " I^ight and day, I have passed 
 in supplicating the Great Power that implanted this fatal passion 
 in my breast, and, at length, my prayers have prevailed." 
 
 " Aha! we have a devotee here!" thought Charles. "Am I to 
 understand, fair saint, that you would reject the Earl, if he were 
 to offer you his hand ?" he asked. 
 
 " Unquestionably," replied Amabel, firmly. 
 
 "This is strange," muttered Charles. "The girl is evidently 
 in earnest. What says your lordship ?" he added to Rochester. 
 
 " That she shall be mine, whether she loves me or not," replied 
 the Earl. " My pride is piqued to the conquest." 
 
 ' ' No wonder ! — the resistless Rochester flouted by a grocer's 
 daughter. Ha! ha!" observed Charles, laughmg, while the rest of 
 the courtiers joined in his merriment. 
 
 "Oh! sire," exclaimed Amabel, throwing herself at the King's 
 feet, and bursting into tears, " do not abandon me, I beseech you. 
 I cannot requite the Earl's attachment — and shall die if he continues 
 his pursuit. Command him — oh! command him to desist." 
 * '' I fear you have not dealt fairly with me, sweetheart," said the 
 King. " There is a well-favoured youth without, whom the Earl 
 pointed out as your father's apprentice. ' Have you transferred your 
 affections to him ?" 
 
 *' Your Majesty has solved the enigma," observed Rochester, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 "You wrong me, my lord," repUed Amabel. " Leonard Holt is 
 without. Let him be brought into the royal presence and interro- 
 gated ; and if he will affirm that I have given him the shghtest en- 
 couragement by look or word, or even state that he himself indulges 
 a hope of holding a place in my regards, I will admit there is some 
 foundation for the charge. 1 pray your Majesty to send for him." 
 
 " It is needless," replied Charles, coldly. " 1 do not doubt your 
 assertion. But you will do the Earl an injustice as well as yourself, 
 if you do not allow him a fair hearing." 
 
 " If you will allow me five minutes alone with you, Amabel, or 
 wiU take a single turn with me on the terraCe, 1 will engage to re- 
 move every doubt," insinuated Rochester. 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 229 
 
 *' You would fail to do so, my lord," replied Amabel. '' The 
 time is gone by when those accents, once so winning in my ear, 
 can move me." 
 
 " At least give me the opportunity," implored the Earl. 
 
 " No," replied Amabel, decidedly, "1 will never willingly meet 
 you more; for though I am firm in my purpose, I do not think it 
 right to expose myself to temptation. And now that I have put your 
 Majesty in full possession of my sentiments," she added to the King, 
 * ' now that I have told you with what bitter tears I have striven to 
 wash out my error, — I implore you to extend your protecting hand 
 towards me, and to save me from further persecution on the part 
 of the Earl." 
 
 ' ' I shall remain at this place to-night," returned Charles. '' Take 
 till to-morrow to consider of it, and if you continue in the same 
 mind, your request shall be granted." 
 
 "At least, enjoin the Earl to leave me unmolested till then," 
 cried Amabel. 
 
 " Hum 1" exclaimed the King, exchanging a look with Rochester. 
 
 *' For pity, sire, do not hesitate," cried Amabel, in a tone of such 
 agony that the good-natured monarch could not resist it. 
 
 " Well, well," he rejoined; " it shall be as you desire. Roches- 
 ter, you have heard our promise, and will act in conformity with 
 it." — The Earl bowed carelessly. 
 
 "Nay, nay, my lord," pursued Charles, authoritatively, ''my 
 commands sJiall be obeyed, and if you purpose otherwise, I will 
 place you under restraint." 
 
 " Your Majesty's wishes are sufficient restraint," rejoined Ro- 
 chester; " I am all obedience." 
 
 " It is well," replied Charles. " Are you satisfied, fair damsel?" 
 
 '* Perfectly," repHed Amabel. And making a profound and 
 grateful reverence to the King, she retired. 
 
 Nizza Macascree met her at the door, and it was fortunate she did 
 so, or Amabel, whose strength began to fail her, would otherwise 
 have fallen. While she was thus engaged, Charles caught sight of 
 the piper's daughter, and being greatly struck by her beauty, in- 
 quired her name. " Odds fish !" he exclaimed, when informed of 
 it by Rochester, "a piper's daughter ! She is far more beautiful 
 than your mistress." 
 
 ''If I procure her for your Majesty, will you withdraw your in- 
 terdiction from me ?" rejoined the Earl. 
 
 "No — no — that is impossible, after the pledge I have given," 
 replied Charles. "Rut you must bring this lovely creature to me 
 anon. I am enchanted with her, and do not regret this long ride, 
 since it has brought her under my notice." 
 
 " Your Majesty's wishes shall be obeyed," said Rochester. "I 
 will not wait till to-morrow for an interview with Amabel," he 
 added to himself. 
 
 Supported by Nizza Macascree and her aunt, and followed by 
 Leonard, Amabel contrived to reach her own chamber, and as soon 
 as she was sufficiently recovered from the agitation she had ex- 
 perienced, detailed to them all that had passed in her interview 
 
230 OLD SAINT KtL's. 
 
 with the King. While the party were consulting together as to the 
 course to be pursued in this emergency, the tap of a wand was 
 heard at the door, and the summons being answered by Mrs. 
 Buscot, she found one of the ushers without, who informed her it 
 was the King's pleasure that no one should leave the house till the 
 following day, without his permission. " To ensure obedience to 
 his orders," continued the usher, "his Majesty requires that the 
 keys of the stables be delivered to the keeping of his chief page, 
 Mr. Chiffinch, who has orders, together With myself, to keep watch 
 during the night." 
 
 So saying, he bowed and retired, while Mrs. Buscot returned 
 with this new and alarming piece of intelligence to the others. 
 "Why should the mandate be respected ?" cried Leonard, in- 
 dignantly. "We have committed no crime, and ought not to be 
 detained prisoners. Trust to me, and I will find some means of 
 eluding their vigilance. If you remain here till to-morrow," he 
 added to Amabel, "you are lost." 
 
 "Do not expect any rational advice from me, my dear niece," 
 observed Mrs. Buscot, "for I am fairly bewildered." 
 
 ' ' Shall I not forfeit the King's protection by disobej^ing his in- 
 junctions?" replied Amabel. "I am safer here than if 1 were to 
 seek a new asylum, which would be speedily discovered.'* 
 
 " Heaven grant you may not have cause to repent your decision I" 
 cried Leonard, despondingly. 
 
 "I must now, perforce, quit you, my dear niece," said Mrs. 
 Buscot, " though it breaks my heart to do so. His Majesty's arrival 
 has thrown everything into confusion, and if I do not look after the 
 supper, which is commanded at an early hour, it will never be 
 ready. As it is, there will be nothing fit to set before him. What 
 with my distress about you, and my anxiety about the royal repast, 
 I am well-nigh beside myself." With this, she quitted the room, 
 and Amabel signifying to Leonard that she desired to be left alone 
 with Nizza Macascree, he departed at the same time. 
 
 As Mrs. Buscot had stated, the utmost confusion prevailed below. 
 The royal purveyor and cook, who formed part of the King's suite, 
 were busily employed in the kitchen, and though they had the 
 whole household at their command , they made rather slow progress 
 at first, owing to the want of materials. In a short time, however, 
 this difficulty was remedied. Ducks were slaughtered by the dozen ; 
 fowls by the score ; and a couple of fat geese shared the same 
 fate. The stoije-ponds were visite'd for fish by John Lutcombe ; 
 and as the country abounded with game, a large supply of pheasants, 
 'partridges, and rabbits was spefedily procilred by the keeper and his 
 assistants. Amongst others, Blaize lent a helpmg hand in this de- 
 vastation of the poultry yard, aqd he had just returned to the kitchen, 
 and commenced plucking one of the geese, when he was aroused by 
 a slap on the shoulder, and looking up, beheld Pillichody. "What 
 ho! my little Blaize, my physic^aking porter," cried the bully; 
 <'how wags the world with you? And how is my pretty l*aticnce? 
 How is that peerless kitchen-maiden ? By the god of love ! 1 am 
 dying to behold her again." 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 231 
 
 <' Patience is well enough for aught I know," replied Blaize, in a 
 surly tone. '^ But it is useless for you to think of her. She is 
 betrothed to me." 
 
 " I know it," replied Pillichody, '' but do not suppose you are 
 the sole master of her affections. The little charmer has too good 
 taste for that. ' Blaize,' said she to me, ' will do very well for a 
 husband, but he cannot expect me to continue faithful to him.'" 
 
 " Cannot I?" exclaimed the porter, reddening. " Fiends take 
 her ! but I do ! When did she say this?" 
 
 *' When I last visited your master's house,' replied PiUichody. 
 *' Sweet soul! I shall never forget her tender looks, nor the kisses 
 she allowed me to snatch from her honeyed Hps when your back 
 was turned. The very recollection of them is enchanting." 
 
 " Zounds and fury 1" cried Blaize, transported with rage. " If 
 I am only a porter, while you pretend to be a major, I will let you 
 see I am the better man of the two." And taking the goose by 
 the neck, he swung it round his head like a flail, and began to 
 batter Pillichody about the face with it. 
 
 '"Sdeathl" cried the bully, endeavouring to draw his sword, *' if 
 you do not instantly desist, I will treat you like that accursed bird — 
 cut your throat, pluck, stuff, roast, and eat you afterwards." He 
 was, however, so confounded by the attack, that he could offer no 
 resistance, and in retreating, caught his foot against the leg of a 
 table, and fell backwards on the floor. Being now completely at 
 the porter's mercy, and seeing that the latter was preparing to 
 pursue his advantage, with a rolling-pin which he had snatched 
 from the dresser, he besought him piteously to spare him. 
 
 " Becant all you have said," cried Blaize, brandishing the 
 rolling-pin over him. " Confess that you have calumniated 
 Patience. Confess that she rejected your advances, if you ever 
 dared to make any to her. Confess that she is a model of purity 
 and constancy. Confess all this, villain, or I will break every bone 
 in your body." 
 
 " I do confess it," replied Pillichody, abjectly. " She is all you 
 describe. She never allowed me greater freedom than a squeeze 
 of the hand." 
 
 " That was too much," replied the porter, belabouring him 
 with the roUing-pin. " Swear that you will never attempt such a 
 liberty again, or 1 will pummel you to death. Swear it." 
 j^ "1 swear," replied Pillichody. 
 
 " Before I allow you to rise, I must disarm you, to prevent mis- 
 j|chief," cried Blaize. And kneehng upon the prostrate bully, who 
 ^groaned aloud, he drew his long blade from his side. "There, 
 
 now you may get up," he added. 
 • * So elated was Blaize with his conquest, that he could do nothing 
 for some time but strut up and down the kitchen with the sword 
 over his shoulder, to the infinite diversion of the other domestics, and 
 especially of John Lutcombe, who chanced to make his appearance 
 at the time, laden with a fresh supply of game. "Why, Blaize, 
 man," cri^ the keeper, approvingly, "I did not give you credit 
 for half so much spirit.*' 
 
232 * OLD SAINT PAIX'S. 
 
 **No man's courage is duly appreciated until it has been tried," 
 rejoined Blaize. "I would combat with you, gigantic John, if Pa- 
 tience's fidelity were called in question." 
 
 Pillichody, meanwhile, had retired with a discomfited air into a 
 corner, where he seated himself on a stool, and eyed the porter 
 askance, as if meditating some terrible retaliation. Secretly appre- 
 hensive of this, and thinking it becoming to act with generosity to- 
 wards his foe, Blaize marched up to him, and extended his hand in 
 token of reconciliation. To the surprise of all, PiUichody did not 
 reject his overtures. "I have a great regard for you, friend Blaize," 
 he said, "otherwise I should never rest till I had been repaid, with 
 terrible interest, for the indignities I have endured." 
 
 "Nay, heed them not," replied Blaize. "You must make allow- 
 ances for the jealous feehngs you excited. I love Patience better 
 than my life." 
 
 "Since you put it in that light," rejoined Pillichody, " I am will- 
 ing to overlook the offence. Snakes and scorpions ! no man can be 
 a greater martyr to jealousy than myself. I killed three of my most 
 intimate friends for merely presuming to ogle the widow of Watling 
 Street, who would have been mine, if she had not died of the 
 plague." 
 
 ''Don't talk of the plague, I beseech you," rephed Blaize, with a 
 shudder. "It is a subject never mentioned here." 
 
 "I am sorry I alluded to it, then," rejoined Pillichody. " Give 
 me back my sword. Nay, fear nothing. I entirely forgive you, and 
 am willing to drown the remembrance of our quarrel in a bottle of 
 sack." . , 
 
 Readily assenting to the proposition, Blaize obtained the key of 
 the cellar from the butler, and adjourning thither with Pillichody, 
 they seated themselves on a cask with a bottle of sack and a couple 
 of large glasses on a stool between them. " 1 suppose you know 
 why I am come hither?" observed the Major, smacking his lips 
 after his second bumper. 
 
 " Not precisely," replied Blaise. ." But I presume your visit has 
 some reference to Mistress Amabel." 
 
 " A shrewd guess," rejoined PiUichody. "And this reminds me 
 that we have omitted to drink her health." 
 
 "Her better health," returned Blaize, emptying his glass. 
 "Heaven be praised I she has plucked up a little since we came 
 here." 
 
 " She would soon be herself again if she were united to the Earl 
 of Rochester," said Pillichody. 
 
 ' ' There you are wrong," replied Blaize. ' ' She declares she has 
 no longer any regard for him." 
 
 " Mere caprice, believe me," rejoined Pillichody. '' She loves 
 him better than ever." 
 
 " It may be so," returned Blaize, " for Patience, who ought to 
 know something of the matter, assured me she was dying for the 
 Earl. And if she had not told me the contrary herself, 1 should not 
 have believed it." 
 
 * ' Did she tell you so in the presence of Leonard ? " ^sked Pillichody. 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. 233 
 
 " Why, now I bethink me, he was present," replied Blaize, in- 
 voluntarily putting his hand to his shoulder, as he recalled the 
 horse-whipping he had received on that occasion. 
 
 " I knew it! " cried PiHichody. " She is afraid to confess her 
 attachment to the Earl. Is Leonard as much devoted to her as ever ?" 
 
 " 1 fancy so," rephed Blaize; " but she certainly gives Jiitn no 
 encouragement." 
 
 " Confirmation ! " exclaimed PiUichody. " But fill your glass. 
 We will drink to the Earl's speedy union with Amabel." 
 
 " Not so loud," cried Blaize, looking uneasily round the cellar. 
 " I should not hke Leonard to overhear us." 
 
 " Neither should 1," returned PiUichody, "for I have something 
 to say to you respecting him." 
 
 ' ' You need not propose any more plans for carrying off Amabel," 
 cried Blaize, " for I won't take any part in them." 
 
 "I have no such intention," rejoined PiUichody. "The truth 
 is," he added mysteriously, "I am inclined to side with you and 
 Leonard. But as we have finished our bottle, suppose we take a 
 turn in the court yard." 
 
 "With all my heart," replied Blaize. 
 
 Immediately after Amabel's departure, Charles proceeded with 
 his courtiers to the garden, and continued to saunter up and down the 
 terrace for some time, during which, he engaged Bochester in con- 
 versation, so as to give him no pretext for absenting himself. The 
 King next ascended to the belvidere, and having surveyed the prospect 
 from it, was about to descend, when he caught a glimpse of Nizza 
 Macascree on the great staircase, and instantly flew towards her. 
 "I must have a word with you, sweetheart," he cried, taking her 
 hand, which she did not dare to withdraw. 
 
 Beady to sink with confusion, Nizza suffered herself to be led 
 towards the receiving room. Motioning to the courtiers to remain 
 without, Charles entered it with his blushing companion, and after 
 putting several questions to her, which she answered with great 
 timidity and modesty, inquired into the state of her heart. ' 'Answer 
 me frankly," he said. "Are your affections engaged?" 
 
 "Since your Majesty deigns to interest yourself so much about 
 me," replied Nizza, "I will use no disguise. They are." 
 
 " To whom?" demanded the King. , nr 
 
 • "To Leonard Holt," was the answer. 
 
 ' ' What 1 the apprentice who brought Amabel hither ?" cried the 
 King. ' ' Why, the Earl of Bochester seemed to intimate that he was 
 in love with Amabel. Is it so ?" 
 
 "I cannot deny it," rephed Nizza, hanging down h^r head. i^ 
 
 "If this is the case, it is incumbent on me to provide you with a 
 new lover," replied Charles. "What wiU you say, sweetheart, if 
 I tell you you have made a royal conquest?" 
 
 "I should tremble to hear it," replied Nizza. '' But your Majesty 
 is jesting with me." 
 
 "On my soul, nol" rejoined the King, passionately. "I have 
 never seen beauty equal to yours, sweetheart, — never have been so 
 suddenly — so completely captivated before." 
 
234 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 "Oh! do not use this language towards me, my liege," replied 
 Nizza, dropping on her knee before him. 'M am unworthy your 
 notice. My heart is entirely given to Leonard Holt." 
 
 " You will speedily forget him in the briUiant destiny which awaits 
 you, child," returned Charles, raising her. "Do not bestow another 
 thought on the senseless dolt, who can prefer Amabel's sickly 
 charms to your piquant attractions. By heaven ! you shall be mine." 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed Nizza, extricating herself from his grasp, 
 and rushing towards the door. 
 
 " You fly in vain," cried the King, laughingly pursuing her. 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened, and Sir Paul Parravicin entered 
 the room. The Knight started on seeing how matters stood, and 
 the King looked surprised and angry. Taking advantage of their 
 embarrassment, Nizza made good her retreat, and hurrying to 
 Amabel's chamber, closed and bolted the door. "What is the mat- 
 ter?" cried Amabel, startled by her agitated appearance. 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin is here," rephed Nizza. " I have seen him. 
 But that is not all. I am unlucky enough to have attracted the 
 King's fancy. He has terrified me with his proposals." 
 
 " Our persecution is never to end," rejoined Amabel; " you are 
 as unfortunate as myself." 
 
 " And there is no possibility of esc£lpe,'* returned Nizza, bursting 
 into tears; " we are snared like birds in the nets of the fowler." 
 
 "You can fly with Leonard, if you choose," replied Amabel. 
 
 " And leave you — impossible!" rejoined Nizza. 
 
 " There is nothing for it, then, but resignation," returned Ama- 
 bel* " Let us put a firm trust in heaven, and no ill can befal us." 
 
 After passing several hours of the greatest disquietude, they were 
 about to retire to rest, when Mrs. Buscot tapped at the door, arid 
 making herself known, was instantly admitted. "Alas!" she cried, 
 clasping her niece round the neck. ' ' I tremble to tell you what I 
 have heard. Despite the King's injunctions, the wicked Earl of Ro- 
 chester is determined to see you before morning, and to force you 
 to compliance with his wishes. You must fly, as soon as it is dark." 
 
 " But how am I to fly, dear aunt?" rejoined Amabel. " You 
 yourself know that the keys of the stable are taken away, and that 
 two of the King's attendants will remain on the watch all night. 
 How will it be possible to elude their vigilance ?" 
 
 "Leave Leonard to manage it," replied Mrs. Buscot. "Only 
 prepare to set out. John Lutcombe will guide you across the downs 
 to Kingston Lisle, where good Mrs. Compton will take care of you, 
 and when the danger is over, you-ean return to me." 
 
 " It is a hazardous expedient," reJ9ined Amabel, "and I would 
 rather run all risks, and remain here. If the Earl should resort to 
 violence, I can appeal to the King for protection." ' 
 
 '' If you have any regard for me, fly," cried Nizza Macascree. 
 *U am lost if I remain here till to-morrow." 
 
 ^' For your sake 1 will go, then," returned Amabel. " But I have 
 a foreboding that I am running into the teeth of danger.** 
 
 •" Oh ! say not so," rejoined Mrs. Buscot. " 1 am persuaded it is 
 for the best. I must leave you now, but 1 will send Leonard to you." 
 
ASHDOWN LODGE. "235 
 
 " It is needless,'* replied Amabel. *' Let him come to us at the 
 proper time. We will be ready." 
 
 To explain the cause of Mrs. Buscot's alarm, it will be necessary 
 to return to the receiving-room, and ascertain what occurred after 
 Amabel's flight. Charles, who at first had been greatly annoyed 
 by Parravicin's abrupt entrance, speedily recovered his temper, and 
 laughed at the other's forced apologies. " 1 find I have a rival in 
 your Majesty," observed the Knight. *'It is unlucky for me that 
 you have encountered Nizza. Her charms were certain to inflame 
 you. But when I tell you I am desperately enamoured of her, 1 am 
 persuaded you will not interfere with me." 
 
 " I will tell you what I will do," repHed the good-humoured mo- 
 narch, after a moment's reflection. " I remember your mentioning 
 that you once played with a Captain Disbrowe for his wife, and won 
 her from him. We will play for this girl in the same manner." 
 
 *'But your Majesty is a more skilful player than Disbrowe," 
 replied Parravicin, reluctantly. 
 
 " It matters not," rejoined the monarch; "the chances will be 
 more equal — or rather the advantage will be greatly on your side, 
 for you are allowed to be the luckiest and best player at, my court. 
 If I win, she is mine. If, on the contrary, fortune favours you, I 
 resign her." 
 
 " Since there is no avoiding it, I accept the challenge," replied 
 Parravicin. 
 
 '' The decision shall not be delayed an instant," cried Charles. 
 " What, ho!— dice!— dice!" 
 
 An attendant answering the summons, he desired that the other 
 courtiers should be admitted, and dice brought. The latter order 
 could not be so easily obeyed, there being no such articles at Ash- 
 , down; and the attendants were driven to their wit's ends, when 
 Pilhchody chancing to overhear what was going forward, produced 
 a box and dice, which were instantly conveyed to the King, and the 
 play commenced. Charles, to his inexpressible delight, and Par- 
 ravicin's chagrin, came off the winner, and the mortification of the 
 latter was increased by the laughter and taunts of the spectators. 
 " You are not in your usual luck to-day," observed Bochester to 
 him, as they walked aside. 
 
 "For all this, do not think I will surrender Nizza," replied Pal^- 
 ravicin, in a low tone, " I love her too well for that." ;4 
 
 " I cannot blame you," replied Bochester. " Step this way," he 
 added, drawing him to the further end of the room. " itis ray in- 
 tention to carry off Amabel to-night, notwithstanding old Bowley's 
 injunctions to the contrary, and I propose to accomphsh my purpose 
 in the following manner. I will frighten her into flying with Leo- 
 nard Holt, and will then secretly follow her. Nizza Macascree is 
 sure to accompany her, and will, therefore, be in your power." 
 " I see!" cried Parravicin. " A capital project!" 
 "Pillichody has contrived to ingratiate himself with Blaize," 
 pursued the Earl, '^ and through him the matter can be easily ma- 
 naged. The keys of the stable, which are now entrusted to Chif- 
 finch, shall be stolen — the horses set free — and the two damsels 
 
236 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 caught in the trap prepared for them, while the only person blamed 
 in the matter will be Leonard." 
 
 ' ' Bravo ." exclaimed Parravicin. ' * I am impatient for the scheme 
 to be put into execution." 
 
 " I will set about it at once," returned Rochester. And separat- 
 ing from Parravicin, he formed some excuse for quitting the royal 
 presence. 
 
 About an hour afterwards, Pillichody sought out Blaize, and told 
 him, with a very mysterious air, that he had something to confide 
 to him. "You know my regard for the Earl of Rochester and Sir 
 Paul Parravicin," he said, "and that I would do anything an ho- 
 nourable man ought to do to assist them. But there are certain 
 bounds which even friendship cannot induce me to pass. They me- 
 ditate the worst designs against Amabel and Nizza Macascree, and 
 intend to accomplish their base purpose before daybreak. I there- 
 fore give you notice, that you may acquaint Leonard Holt with the 
 dangerous situation of the poor girls, and contrive their escape in 
 the early part of the night. I will steal the keys of the stable for you 
 from Chiffinch, and will render you every assistance in my power. 
 But if you are discovered, you must not betray me." 
 
 "Not for the world!" replied Blaize. "I am sure we are infi- 
 nitely obliged to you. It is a horrible design, and must be prevented. 
 I wish all this flying and escaping was over. I desire to be quiet, 
 and am quite sorry to leave this charming place." 
 
 "There is no alternative now," rejoined Pillichody. 
 
 " So it appears," groaned Blaize. 
 
 The substance of Pillichody's communication was immediately 
 conveyed to Leonard, who told Blaize to acquaint his informer that 
 he should have two pieces of gold, ifhe brought them the keys. To 
 obtain them was not very difficult, and the bully was aided in accom- , 
 plishing the task by the Earl of Rochester, in the following manner. 
 Chiffinch was an inordinate drinker, and satisfied he could turn this 
 failing to account, the Earl went into the hall where he was sta- 
 tioned, and after a little conversation, called for a flask of wine. 
 It was brought, and while they were quaffing bumpers, Pillichody, 
 who had entered unperceived, contrived to open a table-drawer m 
 which the keys were placed, and slip them noiselessly into his 
 doublet. He then stole away, and delivered his prize to Blaize, re- 
 ceiving in return the promised reward, and chuckling to himself air 
 the success of his roguery. The keys were conveyed by the porter* 
 to Leonard, and the latter handed them in his turn to John Lutcombe, 
 who engaged to have the horses at the lower end of the south ave- 
 nue an hour before midnight. 
 
KINGSTON LISLE. 237 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 KINGSTON LISLE. 
 
 
 About half-past ten, and when it was supposed that the King and 
 his courtiers had retired to rest, (for early hours were kept in those 
 days,) Mrs. Buscot and Leonard repaired to Amabel's chamber. 
 The good housekeeper noticed with great uneasiness that her niece 
 looked excessively pale and agitated, and she would have persuaded 
 her to abandon all idea of flight, if she had not feared that her stay 
 might be attended with still worse consequences. 
 
 Before the party set out, Mrs. Buscot crept down stairs to see that 
 all was safe, and returned almost instantly, with the very satisfac- 
 tory intelligence that Chiffinch was snoring in a chair in the hall, 
 and that the usher had probably retired to rest, as he was nowhere 
 to be seen. Not a moment, therefore, was to be lost, and they 
 descended the great staircase as noiselessly as possible. So far all 
 had gone well ; but on gaining the hall, Amabel's strength com- 
 pletely deserted her, and if Leonard had not caught her in his 
 arms, she must have fallen. He was hurrying forward with his 
 burthen towards a passage on the right, when Chiffinch, who had 
 been disturbed by the noise, suddenly started to his feet, and com- 
 manded him to stop. At this moment, a figure enveloped in a cloak 
 darted from behind a door, and extinguishing the lamp which Chif- 
 finch had taken from the table, seized him with a powerful grasp. 
 All was now buried in darkness, and while Leonard Holt was he- 
 sitating what to do, he heard a voice, which he knew to be that of 
 Pillichody, whisper in his ear, "Come with me — I will secure your 
 retreat. Quick! quick!" * 
 
 Suffering himself to be drawn along, and closely followed by 
 Nizza Macascree and Mrs. Buscot, Leonard crossed the dining- 
 chamber, not without stumbhng against some of the furniture by 
 the way, and through an open window into the court, where he 
 found Blaize awaiting him. Without waiting for thanks, Pillichody 
 then disappeared, and Mrs. Buscot, having pointed out the course 
 he ought to pursue, bade him farewell. 
 
 Hurrying across the court, he reached the south avenue, but 
 had not proceeded far, when it became evident, from the lights at 
 the windows, as well as from the shouts and other noises proceed- 
 ing from the court, that their flight was discovered. Encumbered 
 as he was by his lovely burthen, Leonard ran on so swiftly that 
 Nizza Macascree and Blaize could scarcely keep up with him. They 
 found John Lutcombe at the end of the avenue with the horses, 
 and mounting them, set off along the downs, accompanied by the 
 keeper, who acted as their guide. Striking off on the right, they 
 came to a spot covered over with immense grey stones, resembling 
 those rocky fragments used by the Druids in the construction of a 
 
238 OLD SAINT PAUL S. 
 
 cromlech, and, as it was quite dark, it required some caution in 
 passing through them. Guided by the keeper, who here took hold 
 of the bridle of his horse, Leonard threaded the path with safety; 
 butBlaize was not equally fortunate. Alarmed by the sounds in the 
 rear, and not attending to the keeper's caution, he urged his horse 
 on, and the animal coming in contact with a stone, stumbled, and 
 precipitated him and Nizza Macascree to the ground. Luckily, 
 neither of them fell against the stone, or the consequences might 
 have been fatal. John Lutcombe instantly flew to their aid, but 
 before he reached them, Nizza Macascree had regained her feet. 
 Blaize, however, who was considerably shaken and bruised by the 
 fall, was not quite so expeditious, and his dilatoriness so provoked 
 the keeper, that, seizing him in his arms, he lifted him into the 
 saddle. Just as Nizza Macascree was placed on the pillion behind 
 him, the tramp of horses was heard rapidly approaching. In 
 another moment their pursuers came up, and the foremost, whose 
 tones proclaimed him the Earl of Rochester, commanded them to 
 stop. Inexpressibly alarmed, Amabel could not suppress a scream, 
 and guided by the sound, the Earl dashed to her side and seized 
 the bridle of her steed. 
 
 A short struggle took place between him and Leonard, in which 
 the latter strove to break away ; but the Earl drawing his sword, 
 held it to his throat. "Deliver up your mistress instantly," he 
 cried, in a menacing tone, " or you are a dead man." 
 Leonard returned a peremptory refusal. 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed Amabel, springing from the horse. *' I will 
 not be the cause of bloodshed. I implore you, my lord, to desist 
 from this outrage. You will gain by it nothing but my death." 
 
 " Let him touch you at his peril," cried John Lutcombe, rushing 
 towards them, and interposing his stajwart person between her 
 and the Earl. 
 
 " Stand aside, dogl" cried Rochester, furiously, "or I will 
 trample you beneath my horse^s hoofs." 
 
 " You must first get near me to do it," rejoined the keeper. And 
 as he spoke, he struck the horse so violent a blow with a stout oaken 
 cudgel with which he was provided, that the animal became un- 
 manageable, and dashed across the downs to sojpe distance with 
 his rider. 
 
 Meanwhile, Parravicin having ridden up with Pillichody, (for 
 they proved to be the Earl's companions, ) assailed Blaize, and 
 commanded him to deliver up Nizza Macascree. Scared almost 
 out of his senses, the porter would have instantly complied, if the 
 piper's daughter had not kept fast hold of him, and reproaching 
 him with his cowardice, screamed loudly for help. Heedless of her 
 cries, Parravicin seized her, and strove to drag her from the horse ; 
 but she only clung the closer to Blaize, and the other, expecling 
 every moment to pay another visit to the ground, added his voci- 
 ferations for assistance to hers. " Leave go your hold," he cried 
 to Pillichody, who had seized him on the other side by the collar. 
 " Leave go, I say, or you will rend my jerkin asunder. What 
 are you doing here? I thought you were to help us to escape." 
 
KINGSTON LISLE. 239 
 
 " So I have done," rejoined Pillichody, bursting into a loud laugh; 
 *' and I am now helping to catch you again. What a blind buzzard 
 you must be not to perceive the net spread for you ! Deliver up 
 Nizza Macascree without more ado, or, by all the fiends ! I will pay 
 you off for your dastardly assault upon me this morning." 
 
 " 1 cannot deliver her up," cried Blaize, " she sticks to me as 
 fast as a burr. 1 shall be torn asunder between you. Help ! help !" 
 
 Parravicin, having dismounted, now tore away Nizza Macascree, 
 and was just about to transfer her to his own steed, when John 
 Lutcombe, having driven away the Earl in the manner before 
 described, came to the rescue. One blow from his cudgel stretched 
 the Knight on the sod, and liberated Nizza Macascree, who instantly 
 flew to her preserver. Finding how matters stood, and that he 
 was likely to be well backed, Blaize plucked up his courage, and 
 grappled with Pillichody. In the struggle, they both tumbled to 
 the ground. The keeper rushed towards them, and seizing Pilli- 
 chody, began to belabour him soundly. In vain the bully implored 
 mercy. He underwent a severe chastisement, and Blaize added a|few 
 kicks to the shower of blows proceeding from the keeper, crymg, 
 as he dealt them, '•' Who is the buzzard now, 1 should like to 
 know." 
 
 By this time, Parravicin had regained his legs, and the Earl of 
 Rochester having forced back his steed, both drew their swords, 
 and burning for vengeance, prepared to renew the charge. The 
 affair might have assumed a serious aspect, if it had not chanced 
 that at this juncture hghts were seen hurrying along the avenue, 
 and the next moment, a large party issued from it. ' ' It is the King I" 
 cried Bochester. " What is to be done?" 
 
 " Our prey must be abandoned," rejoined Parravicin. " It will 
 never do to be caught here." With this, he sprang upon his steed, 
 and disappeared across the dow'ns with the Earl. 
 
 John Lutcombe, on perceiving the approach of the torch-bearers, 
 instantly abandoned PiUichody, and assisting Blaize to the saddle, 
 placed Nizza behind him. Leonard likewise, who had dismounted 
 to support Amabel, replaced her in the pillion, and in a few seconds 
 the party were in motion. PiUichody, who was the only person 
 now left, did not care to wait for the King's arrival, but snatching 
 the bridle of his steed, w4iich was quietly grazing at a httle dis- 
 tance, mounted him, and galloped off in the direction which he 
 fancied had been taken by the Earl and his companion. 
 
 Guided by the keeper, who ran beside them, the fugitives pro- 
 ceded for a couple of miles at a rapid pace over the downs, when, 
 it not appearing that they were followed, John Lutcombe halted for 
 a moment to recover breath. The fresh air had in some degree 
 revived Amabel, and the circumstance of their providential deli- 
 verance raised the spirits of the whole party. Soon after this, they 
 reached the ridge of the downs, the magnificent view from which 
 was completely hidden by the shades of night, and tracking the old 
 Roman Road for about a mile, descended the steep hill in the 
 direction of the Blowing Stone. Skirting a thick grove of trees, 
 they present^ came to a gate, which the keeper opened, and led 
 
240 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 them through an orchard towards what appeared to be in the 
 gloom a moderately-sized and comfortable habitation. 
 
 " The owner of this house, Mrs. Compton," observed John 
 Lutcombe to Amabel, " is a widow, and the kindest lady in Berk- 
 shire. A message has been sent by your aunt to beg her to afford 
 you an asylum for a few days, and 1 will answer for it you will be 
 hospitably received." 
 
 As he spoke, the loud barking of a dog was heard, and an old 
 grey-headed butler was seen advancing towards them with a lantern 
 in his hand. At the same time, a groom issued from the stable on 
 the right, accompanied by the dog in question, and hastening towards 
 them, assisted them to dismount. The dog seemed to recognize the 
 keeper, and leapt upon him, hcked his hand, and exhibited other 
 symptoms of delight. " What, Ringwood," cried the keeper, pat- 
 ting his head ' ' dost thou know thy old master again ? 1 see you 
 i> have taken good care of him, Sam," he added to the groom. " I 
 ■^ knew 1 was placing him into good hands when I gave him to Mrs. 
 Compton." 
 
 " Ay, ay, he can't find a better home, I fancy," said the groom. 
 
 " Will it please you to walk this way, ladies," interposed the 
 butler. " My mistress has been expecting you for some time, and 
 had become quite uneasy about you." So saying, he led the way 
 through a garden, filled wfth the odours of a hundred unseen 
 flowers, and ushered them into the house. 
 
 Mrs. Compton, an elderly lady, of very pleasing exterior, received 
 them with great kindness, and conducted them to a comfortable 
 apartment, surrounded with book-shelves and old family portraits, 
 where refreshments were spread out for them. The good old lady 
 seemed particularly interested in Amabel, and pressed her, but in 
 vain, to partake of the refreshments. With extreme delicacy, she 
 refrained from inquiring into the cause of their visit, and seeing 
 that they appeared much fatigued, rang for a female attendant, and 
 conducted them to a sleeping-chamber, where she took leave of 
 them for the night. Amabel was delighted with her kind hostess, 
 and, contrary to her expectations, and to those of Nizza Macascree, 
 enjoyed undisturbed repose. She awoke in the morning greatly 
 refreshed, and after attiring herself, gazed through her chamber 
 window. It looked upon a trim and iDcautiful garden, with a green 
 and mossy plot carved out into quaintly-fashioned beds, filled with 
 the choicest flowers, and surrounded by fine timber, amid which a 
 tall firtree appeared proudly conspicuous. Mrs. Compton, who, 
 it appeared, always arose with the sun, was busied in tending her 
 flowers, and as Amabel watched her interesting pursuits, she could 
 scarcely help envying her. ' ' What a defightful life your mistress 
 must lead," she observed to a female attendant, who was present. 
 " 1 cannot imagine greater happiness than hers." ^ 
 
 " My mistress ought to be happy," said the attendant; "fop 
 there is no one living who does more good. Not a cottage nor a 
 farm-house in the neighbourhood but she visits to inquire whether 
 she can be of any service to its inmate, and wherever her services 
 are required, they are always rendered. Mrs. Compton's name 
 
KINGSTON LISLE. 241 
 
 will never be forgotten in Kingston Lisle." At this moment, Amabel 
 caught sight of the benevolent countenance of the good old lady 
 looking up at the window, and a kindly greeting passed between 
 them. Ringwood, who was a privileged intruder, was careering 
 round the garden, and though his mistress watched his gambols 
 around her favourite flower-beds with some anxiety, she did not 
 check him. Amabel and Nizza now went downstairs, and Mrs. 
 Compton returning from the garden, all the households, including 
 Leonard and Blaize, assembled in the breakfast-room for morning 
 prayers. 
 
 Breakfast over, Mrs. Compton entered into conversation with 
 Amabel, and ascertained all the particulars of her history. She 
 was greatly interested in it, but did not affect to conceal the anxiety 
 it gave her. 
 
 "Yours is really a very dangerous position," she said, " and I 
 should be acting unfairly towards you, if I told you otherwise. 
 However, I will give you all the protection in my power, and I 
 trust your retreat may not be discovered." 
 
 Mrs. Compton's remark did not tend to dispel Amabel's uneasi- 
 ness, and both she and Nizza Macascree passed a day of great 
 disquietude. 
 
 In the meantime, Leonard and Blaize were treated with great 
 hospitality by the old butler in the servants' hall ; and though the 
 former was not without apprehension that their retreat might be 
 discovered, he trusted, if it were so, to some fortunate chance to 
 effect their escape. He did not dare to confide his apprehensions 
 to the butler, nor did the other make any inquiries, but it being 
 understood that their visit was to be secret, every precaution was 
 taken to keep it so. John Lutcombe had tarried no longer than 
 enabled him to discuss a jug of ale, and then set out for Ashdown, 
 promising to return on the following day ; but he had not yet made 
 his appearance. Evening arrived, and nothing alarming having 
 occurred, all became comparatively easy ; and Mrs. Compton her- 
 self, who had looked unusually grave throughout the day, now 
 recovered her w^onted cheerfulness. 
 
 Their satisfaction, however, was not long afterwards disturbed 
 by the arrival of a large train of horsemen at the gate, and a stately 
 personage alighted, and walked at the head of a gallant train, 
 towards the house. At the sight of the new-comers, whom they 
 instantly knew were the King and his suite, Amabel and Nizza 
 Macascree flew up stairs, and shutting themselves in their chamber, 
 awaited the result in the utmost trepidation. They were not kept 
 long in suspense. Shortly after the King's arrival, Mrs. Compton 
 herself knocked at the door, and, in a tone of deep commiseration, 
 informed Amabel that his Majesty desired to ^ee her. Knowing that 
 refusal was impossible, Amabel complied, and descended to a room 
 looking upon the garden, in which she found the King. He was 
 attended only by Chiffinch, and received her with a somewhat se- 
 vere aspect, and demanded why she had left Ashsdown, contrary to 
 his express injunctions ? ^ 
 
 Amabel stated her motives. 
 
 16 
 
242 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 "What you tell me is by no means satisfactory," rejoined the 
 King; "but since you have chosen to trust to yourself, you can no 
 longer look for protection from me." 
 
 " 1 beseech your Majesty to consider the strait into which I was 
 driven," returned Amabel, imploringly. 
 
 " Summon the Earl of Rochester to the presence," said the King, 
 turning from her to Chiffinch. 
 
 *' In pity, sire," cried Amabel, throwing herself at his feet. 
 
 " Let the injunction be obeyed," rejoined Charles, peremptorily. 
 And the chief page departed. 
 
 Amabel instantly arose, and drew herself proudly up. Soon after- 
 wards Rochester made his appearance, and on seeing Amabel, a 
 flush of triumphant joy overspread his features. 
 
 ** I withdraw my interdiction, my lord," said the King to him. 
 " You are at liberty to renew your suit to this girl." 
 
 " Hear me, Lord Rochester," said Amabel, addressing the EaH; 
 ** I have conquered the passion 1 once felt for you, and regard you 
 only as one who has sought my ruin, and from whom 1 have for- 
 tunately escaped. When you learn from my own hps that my heart 
 is dead to you, that I never can love you more, and that I only de- 
 sire to be freed from your addresses, 1 cannot doubt but you will 
 discontinue them." 
 
 " Your declaration only inflames me the more, lovely Amabel," 
 replied the Earl, passionately. " You must, and shall be nunc." 
 
 " Then my death will rest at your door," she rejoined. 
 
 '* I will take my chance of that," rejoined the Earl, carelessly. 
 
 Amabel then quitted the King's presence, and returned to her 
 own chamber, where she found Nizza Macascree, in a state of in- 
 describable agitation. " All has happened that 1 anticipated," she 
 said to Nizza Macascree. " The King will no longer protect me, 
 and I am exposed to the persecutions of the Earl of Rochester, who 
 is here." 
 
 As she spoke, an usher entered, and informed Nizza Macascree 
 that the King commanded her presence. The piper's daughter 
 looked at Amabel with a glance of unutterable anguish. " 1 fear 
 you must go," said Amabel, '' but heaven will protect you I" They 
 then tenderly embraced each other, and Nizza Macascree departed 
 with the usher. 
 
 Some time having elapsed, and Nizza not returning, Amabel 
 became seriously uneasy. Hearing a noise below, she looked forth 
 from the window, and perceived the King and all his train departing. 
 A terrible foreboding snot through her heart. She gazed anxiously 
 after them, but could not perceive Nizza Macascree. Overcome at 
 last by her anxiety, she rushed down stairs, and had just reached 
 the last step when she was seized by two persons. A shawl was 
 passed over her head* and she was forced out of the house. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 466S. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PLAGIE AT ITS HEIGHT. 
 
 Amabel's departure for Berkshire caused no change in her fa- 
 ther's mode of life. Everything proceeded as before within his 
 quiet dweUing; and, except that the family were diminished in 
 number, all appeared the same, it is true they wanted the inte- 
 rest, and indeed the occupation afforded them by the gentle inva- 
 lid, but in other respects, no difference was observable. Devo- 
 tional exercises, meals, the various duties of the house, and cheerful 
 discourse, filled up the day, which never proved wearisome. The 
 result proved the correctness of Mr. Bloundel's judgment. While 
 th€ scourge continued weekly to extend its ravages throughout the 
 city, it never crossed his threshold ; and, except suffering in a 
 slight degree from scorbutic affections, occasioned by the salt meats 
 to which th€y were now confined, and for which the lemon and 
 lime-^uice, provided against such a contingency, proved an effica- 
 cious remedy, all the family enjoyed perfect health. For some 
 weeks after her separation from her daughter, Mrs. Bloundel con- 
 tinued in a desponding state, but after that time she became more 
 reconciled to the deprivation, and partially recovered her spirits. 
 Mr. Bloundel did not dare to indulge a hope that Amabel would 
 tver return, but though he suffered much in secret, he never al- 
 lowed his grief to manifest itself. The circumstance that he had 
 not received any intelhgence of her did not weigh much with him, 
 because the difficulty of communication became greater and great- 
 er, as each week the scourge increased in violence , and he was 
 inclined to take no news as good news. It was not so in the present 
 case, but of this he was happily ignorant. 
 
 In this way, a month passed on. *And now every other consi- 
 deration was merged in the alarm occasioned by the daily-increas- 
 ing fury of the pestilence. Throughout July the excessive heat of 
 the weather underwent no abatement, but in place of the clear 
 atmosphere that had prevailed during the preceding month, un- 
 wholesome blights filled the air, and, confining the pestilential efflu- 
 via, spread the contagion far and wide with extraordinary rapidity. 
 Not only was the city suffocated with heat, but filled with noisome 
 $mells, arising from the carcases with which the close alleys and 
 
244 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 other out-of-the-way places were crowded, and which were so far 
 decomposed as not to be capable of removal. The aspect of the 
 river was as much changed as that of the city. Numbers of bodies 
 were thrown into it , and floating up with the tides, were left to 
 taint the air on its banks, while strange ill-omened fowl , attracted 
 thither by their instinct, preyed upon them. Below the bridge, 
 all captains of ships moored in the Pool or off Wapping, held as 
 little communication as possible with those on shore, and only re- 
 ceived fresh provisions with the greatest precaution. As the plague 
 increased, most of these removed lower down the river, and many 
 of them put out entirely to sea. Above the bridge, most of the 
 wherries and other smaller craft had disappeared, their owners 
 having taken them up the river, and moored them against its 
 banks at different spots, where they lived in them under tilts. 
 Many hundreds of persons remained upon the river in this way 
 during the whole continuance of the visitation. 
 
 August had now arrived, but the distemper knew no cessation. 
 On the contrary, it manifestly increased in violence and mahgnity. 
 The deaths rose a thousand in each week, and in the last week in 
 this fatal month, amounted to upwards of sixty thousand ! 
 
 But terrible as this was, the pestilence had not yet reached its 
 height. Hopes were entertained that when the weather became 
 cooler, its fury would abate ; but these anticipations were fear- 
 fully disappointed. The bills of mortality rose the first week in 
 September to seven thousand , and though they slightly decreased 
 during the second week, — awakening a momentary hope, — on the 
 third they advanced to twelve thousand ! In less than ten days, 
 upwards of two thousand persons perished in the parish of Aldgate 
 alone ; while Whitechapel suffered equally severely. Out of the hun- 
 dred parishes in and about the City, one only, that of Saint John the 
 Evangelist in Watling Street, remained uninfected, and this merely 
 because there was scarcely a soul left within it, the greater part of 
 the inhabitants having quitted their houses, and fled into the country. 
 
 The deepest despair now seized upon all the survivors. Scarcely 
 a family but had lost half of its number, — many more than half, — 
 while those who were left felt assured that their turn would 
 speedily arrive. Even the reckless were appalled, and abandoned 
 their evil courses. Not only were the dead lying in the passages and 
 alleys, but even in the main thoroughfares, and none would remove 
 them. The awful prediction of Solomon Eagle that " grass would 
 grow in the streets, and that the living should not be able to bury 
 the dead," had come to pass. London had become one vast lazar- 
 house, and seemed in a fair way of becoming a mighty sepulchre. 
 
 During all this time, Saint Paul's continued to be used as a pest- 
 house, but it was not so crowded as heretofore, because as not 
 one in fifty of the infected recovered when placed under medical 
 care, it was not thought worth while to remove them from their 
 own abodes. The number of attendants, too, had diminished. 
 Some had died, but the greater part had abandoned their offices 
 from a fear of sharing the fate of their patients. In consequence 
 of these changes, Judith Malraayns had been advanced to the post 
 
THE PLAGL'E AT ITS HEIGHT. 245 
 
 of chief-nurse at the cathedral. Both she and Chowles had heen 
 attacked by the plague, and both had recovered. Judith attended 
 the coffin-maker, and it was mainly owing to her that he got through 
 the attack. She never left him for a moment, and would never 
 suffer any one to approach him — a necessary precaution, as he 
 was so much alarmed by his situation that he would infallibly have 
 made some awkward revelations. When Judith, in her turn, was 
 seized, Chowles exhibited no such consideration for her, and scarce- 
 ly affected to conceal his disappointment at her recovery. This 
 want of feeling on his part greatly incensed her against him, and 
 though he contrived in some degree to appease her, it was long 
 before she entirely forgave him. Far from being amended by her 
 sufferings, she seemed to have grown more obdurate, and in- 
 stantly commenced a fresh career of crime. It was not, however, 
 necessary now to hasten the end of the sick. The distemper had 
 acquired such force and mahgnity that it did its work quickly enough 
 — often too quickly ; — and all she sought was to obtain possession 
 of the poor patients' attire, or any valuables they might possess 
 worth appropriating. To turn to the brighter side of the picture, 
 it must not be omitted, that when the pestilence was at its height, 
 and no offers could induce the timorous to venture forth, or render 
 assistance to the sufferers, Sir John Lawrence the Lord Mayor, the 
 Duke of Albemarle , the Earl of Craven, and the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury devoted themselves to the care of the infected, and sup- 
 plied them with every necessary they required. Among the phy- 
 sicians no one deserves more honourable mention than Doctor 
 Hodges, who was unremitting in his attentions to the sufferers. 
 
 To return to the grocer. While the plague was thus raging 
 around him, and while every house in Wood Street, except one or 
 two, from which the immates had fled, was attacked by the pesti- 
 lence, he and his family had remained untouched. About the 
 middle of August, he experienced a great alarm. His second son, 
 Hubert, fell sick, and he removed him to one of the upper rooms, 
 which he had set aside as a hospital, and attended upon Jhim himself. 
 In a few days, however, his fears were removed, and he found, to 
 his great satisfaction, that the youth had not been attacked by the 
 plague, but was only suffering from a slight fever, which quickly 
 yielded to the remedies applied. About the same time, too, he lost 
 his porter, Dalison. The poor fellow did not make his appearance 
 as usual for two days, and intelligence of his fate was brought on 
 the following day by his wife, who came to slate that her husband 
 was dead, and had been thrown into the plague-pit at Aldgate. 
 The same night, however, she brought another man, named Al- 
 lestry, who took the place of the late porter, and acquainted his 
 employer with the deplorable state of the city. 
 
 Two days afterwards, Allestry himself died, and Mr. Bloundel 
 had no one to replace him. He thus lost all means of ascertaining 
 what was going forward ; but the deathlike stillness around him, 
 broken only by the hoarse toUing of a bell, by a wild shriek or other 
 appalling cry, proclaimed too surely the terrible state of things. 
 Sometimes, too, a passenger would go by, and would tell him the 
 
246 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 dreadful height to which the bills of mortality had risen, assuring 
 him that ere another month had expired, not a soul would be left 
 alive in London. 
 
 One night, as Solomon Eagle, who had likewise been miraculously 
 preserved, pursued his course through the streets, he paused before 
 Mr. Bloundel's house, and looking up at the window at which the 
 latter chanced to be stationed, cried in a loud voice, ^' Be of good 
 cheer. You have served God faithfully, and there shall no evil befall 
 you, neither shall the plague come nigh your dwelling." And 
 raising his arms, as if invoking a blessing upon the habitation, he 
 departed. 
 
 It was now the second week in September and as yet Mr. Blondel 
 had received no tidings of his daughter. At any other season he 
 would have been seriously uneasy, but now, as has been already 
 stated, all private grief was swallowed up in the horror of the ge- 
 neral calamity. Satisfied that she was in a healthful situation, and 
 that her chance of preservation from the pestilence was better than 
 that of any other member of his family, he turned his thoughts 
 entirely to them. Redoubhng his precautions, he tried by every 
 means to keep up the failing spirits of his household, and but rarely 
 ventured to open his shutter, and look forth on the external world. 
 
 On the tenth of September, which was afterwards accounted the 
 most fatal day of this fatal month, a young man of a very dejected 
 appearance, and wearing the traces of severe suffering in his coun- 
 tenance, entered the west end of London, and took his way slowly 
 towards the city. He had passed Saint Giles' without seeing a single 
 living creature, or the sign of one in any of the houses. The broa<) 
 thoroughfare was completely grown over with grass, and the 
 habitations had the most melancholy and deserted air imaginable. 
 Some doors and windows were wide open, discovering rooms with 
 goods and furniture scattered about, having been left in this states 
 by their inmates ; but most part of them were closely fastened up. 
 
 As he proceeded along Holborn, the ravages of the scourge were 
 yet more apparent. Every house, on either side of the way, had 
 a red cross, with the fatal inscription above it, upon the door. Her© 
 and there, a watchman might be seen, looking more like a phantom 
 than a living thing. Formerly, the dead were conveyed awajr at 
 night, but now the carts went about in the day time. On reaching 
 Saint Andrew's, Holborn, several persons were seen wheeling 
 hand-barrows filled with corpses, scarcely covered with clothing, 
 and revealing the blue and white stripes of the pestilence, towards 
 a cart, which was standing near the church gates. The driver of 
 the vehicle, a tall cadaverous-looking man, was ringing his beW, 
 and jesting with another person, whom the young man recognized, 
 with a shudder, as Chowles. The coffin-maker also recognized 
 him at the same moment, and called to him, but the other paid no 
 attention to the summons, and passed on. 
 
 Crossing Holborn Bridge, he toiled faintly up the opposite hil^ 
 for be was evidently suffering from extreme debility, and on gaining 
 the summit was obliged to support himself against a wall, for a few 
 ininutei», before he could proceed. The same frightful evidences 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 247 
 
 of the ravages of the pestilence were observahle here as elsewhere. 
 The houses were all marked with the fatal cross, and shut up. 
 Another dead cart was heard rumbling along, accompanied by the 
 harsh cries of the driver, and the doleful ringing of the bell. The 
 next moment the loathly vehicle was seen coming along the Old 
 Bailey. It paused before a house, from which four bodies were 
 brought, and then passed on towards Smithfield. Watching its 
 progress with fearful curiosity, the young man noted how often it 
 paused to increase its load. His thoughts, coloured by the scene, 
 were of the saddest and dreariest complexion. All around wore 
 the aspect of death. The few figures in sight seemed staggering 
 towards the grave, and the houses appeared to be plague-stricken 
 like the inhabitants. The heat was intolerably oppressive, and the 
 air tainted with noisome exhalations. Ever and anon, a window 
 would be opened, and a ghastly face thrust from it, while a piercing 
 ahriek, or lamentable cry, was uttered. No business seemed going 
 on — there were no passengers — no vehicles in the streets. The 
 mighty city was completely laid prostrate. 
 
 After a short rest, the young man shaped his course towards 
 Saint Paul's, and on reaching its western precincts, gazed for some 
 time at the reverend structure, as if its contemplation called up 
 many and painful recollections. Tears started to his eyes, and he 
 was about to turn away, when he perceived the figure of Solomon 
 Eagle stationed near the cross at the western extremity of the roof. 
 The enthusiast caught sight of him at the same moment, and mo- 
 tioned him to come nearer. ' ' What has happened ?" he demanded, 
 as the other approached the steps of the portico. 
 
 The young man shook his head mournfully. 
 
 '^ It is a sad tale," he said, ^' and cannot be told now." 
 
 " I can conjecture what it is," rephed Solomon Eagle. " But 
 come to the small door near the northern entrance of the cathedral 
 at midnight, I will meet you there." 
 
 *' I will not fail," replied the young man. 
 
 " One of the terrible judgments which I predicted would befall 
 this devoted city is come to pass," cried Solomon Eagle. ' ' Another 
 yet remains — the judgment by fire, and if its surviving inhabitants 
 repent not, of which there is as yet no sign, it will assuredly follow." 
 
 " Heaven avert it !" groaned the other, turning away. 
 
 Proceediug along Cheapside, he entered Wood Street, and took 
 his way towards the grocer's dwelling. When at a httle distance 
 from it, he paused, and some minutes elapsed before he could 
 muster strength to go forward. Here, as elsewhere, there were 
 abundant indications of the havoc occasioned by the fell disease. 
 Not far from the grocer's shop, and in the middle of the street, lay 
 the body of a man, with the face turned upwards, while crouching 
 in an angle of the wall sat a young woman watching it. As the 
 young man drew nearer, he recognised in the dead man the principal 
 of the Brotherhood of Saint Michael, and in the poor mourner, one 
 of his profligate female associates. " What has become of your 
 unhappy companions?" he demanded of the woman. 
 
 '* The last of them Hes there," she rejoined mournfully. " All 
 
248 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 the rest died long ago. My lover was true to his vow, and instead 
 of deploring their fate, lived with me and three other women in 
 mirth and revelry till yesterday, when the three women died, and 
 he fell sick. He did not, however, give in, but continued carousing 
 until an hour before his death." 
 
 Too much shocked to make any reply, the young man proceeded 
 towards the hutch. Beneath a doorway, at a little distance from 
 it, sat a watchman with a halbert on his shoulder, guarding the 
 house ; but it was evident he would be of little further use. His 
 face was covered with his hands, and his groans proclaimed that he 
 himself was attacked by the pestilence. Entering the hutch, the 
 young man pulled the cord of the bell, and the summons was soon 
 after answered by the grocer, who appeared at the window. 
 " What, Leonard Holt!" he exclaimed, in surprise, on seeing the 
 young man, — '4s it you ? — what ailsyou? — you look frightfully ill." 
 "I have been attacked a second time by the plague," replied 
 the apprentice, " and am only just recovered from it." 
 
 ' ' What of my child ?" cried the grocer, eagerly, — ' ' what of her ?" 
 " Alas, alas!" exclaimed the apprentice. 
 
 " Do not keep me in suspense," rejoined the grocer. " Is she 
 dead?" 
 
 " No, not dead," repHed the apprentice, ''but — " 
 " But what!" ejaculated the grocer — "in Heaven's name, speak!" 
 " These letters will tell you all," repUed the apprentice, produc- 
 ing a packet. ' ' I had prepared them to send to you in case of my 
 death. I am not equal to further explanation now." 
 
 With trembling eagerness, the grocer lowered the rope, and 
 Leonard having tied the packet to it, it was instantly drawn up. 
 
 Notwithstanding his anxiety to ascertain the fate of Amabel, Mr. 
 Bloundel would not touch the packet until he had guarded against 
 the possibiHty of being infected by it. Seizing it with a pair of 
 tongs, he plunged it into a pan containing a strong solution of vi- 
 negar and sulphur, which he had always in readiness in the cham- 
 ber, and when thoroughly saturated, laid it in the sun to dry. On 
 first opening the shutter to answer Leonard's summons, he had 
 flashed off a pistol, and he now sought to expel the external air by 
 setting fire to a ball composed of quick brimstone, saltpetre, and 
 yellow amber, which being placed on an iron plate speedily filled 
 the room with a thick vapour, and prevented the entrance of any 
 obnoxious particles. These precautions taken, he again addressed 
 himself, while the packet was drying, to Leonard, whom he found 
 gazing anxiously at the window, and informed him that all his fa- 
 mily had hitherto escaped contagion. 
 
 " A special providence must have watched over you, sir," replied 
 the apprentice; "and I believe yours is the only family in the 
 whole city that has been so spared. I have reason to be grateful 
 for my own extraordinary preservation, and yet 1 would rather it 
 had pleased Heaven to take me away than leave me to my present 
 misery." 
 
 " You keep me in a frightful state of suspense, Leonard," re- 
 joined the grocer, regarding the packet wistfully, " for 1 dare not 
 
THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT. 249 
 
 open your letters till they are thoroughly fumigated. You assure 
 me my child is living. Has she been attacked by the plague ?" 
 " Would she had V groaned Leonard. 
 
 "Is she still at Ashdown?" pursued the grocer. "Ah! you 
 
 shake your head. — I see ! — I must be beside myself not to have 
 
 thought of it before. She is in the power of the Earl of Rochester.'* 
 
 " She is," replied Leonard, catching at the angle of the shed for 
 
 support. 
 
 " And I am here!" exclaimed Mr. Bloundel, forgetting his cau- 
 tion, and thrusting himself far out of the window, as if with the 
 intention of letting himself down by the rope, — "I am here, when I 
 ought to be near her !" 
 
 "Calm yourself, I beseech you, sir," cried Leonard. " A mo- 
 ment's rashness will undo all you have done." 
 
 " True!" replied the grocer, checking himself. "I must think 
 of the others as well as of her. But where is she ? Hide nothing 
 from me." 
 
 " 1 have reason to believe she is in London," replied the appren- 
 tice. " I traced her hither, and should not have desisted from 
 my search, if 1 had not been checked by the plague, which attacked 
 me on the night of my arrival. I was taken to the pest-house near 
 Westbourne Green, where I have been for the last three weeks." 
 
 " If she was brought to London, as you state," rejoined the 
 grocer, ' ' I cannot doubt but she has fallen a victim to the scourge." 
 "It may be," rephed Leonard, moodily, "and I would almost 
 hope it is so. When you peruse my letters you will learn that she 
 was carried off by the earl from the residence of a lady at King- 
 ston Lisle, whither she had been removed for safety, and after 
 being taken from place to place, was at last conveyed to an old 
 hall in the neighbourhood of Oxford, where she was kept concealed 
 for nearly a month." 
 
 " Answer me, Leonard," cried the grocer, " and do not attempt 
 to deceive me. Has she preserved her honour?" 
 
 " Up to the time of quitting Oxford, she had preserved it," re- 
 plied the apprentice. ' ' She herself assured me she had resisted 
 all the Earl's importunities, and would die rather than yield to him. 
 But I will tell you how I obtained an interview with her. After a 
 long search, I discovered the place of her concealment, the old hall 
 I have just mentioned, and climbed in the night, and at the hazard 
 of my life, to the window of the chamber where she was confined. 
 I saw and spoke with her ; and having arranged a plan by which I 
 hoped to accomphsh her deliverance on the following night, de- 
 scended. Whether our brief conference was overheard, and com- 
 municated to the Earl, I know not ; but it would seem so, for he 
 secretly departed with her the next morning, taking the road, as 
 1 subsequently learnt, to London. I instantly started in pursuit, 
 and had reached Paddington, when I fell ill, as I have related." 
 
 " What you tell me in some measure eases my mind," replied Mr. 
 Bloundel, after a pause ; " for I feel that my daughter, if alive, will 
 be able to r^ist her persecutor. But what has become of your 
 companions ?" 
 
%^ OLD SALNT pall's. 
 
 "Nizza Macascree has met with the same fate as Amabel," re- 
 pHed Leonard. "She was unfortunate enough to attract the King's 
 attention when he visited Ashdown Lodge, in company of the Earl 
 of Rochester, and was conveyed to Oxford, where the court is now 
 held, and must speedily have fallen a victim to her royal lover if she 
 had not disappeared, having been carried off, it was supposed, by 
 Sir Paul Parravicin. But the villain was frustrated in his infamous 
 design. The King's suspicion falhng upon him, he was instantly 
 arrested, and though he denied all knowledge of Nizza's retreat, 
 and was afterwards hberated, his movements were so strictly 
 watched that he had no opportunity of visiting her." 
 
 "You do not mention Blaize," said Mr. Bloundel. *' No ill, I 
 trust, has befallen him ?" 
 
 " 1 grieve to say he has been attacked by the distemper he so 
 much dreaded," rephed Leonard. "He accompanied me to Lon- 
 don, but quitted me when 1 fell sick, and took refuge with a farmer 
 named Wingfield, residing near Kensal Green. I accidentally met 
 Wingfield this morning, and he informed me that Blaize was taken 
 ill the day before yesterday, and removed to the pest-house in Fin»- 
 bury fields. 1 will go thither presently, and see what has become 
 of him. Is Doctor Hodges still among the living?" 
 
 " 1 trust so," replied Mr. Bloundel, "though 1 have not seen him 
 for the last ten days." He then disappeared for a few minutes, 
 and on his return lowered a small basket containing a flask of 
 canary, a loaf which he himself had baked, and a piece of cold 
 boiled beef. The apprentice thankfully received the provisions, 
 and retiring to the hutch, began to discuss them, fortifying himself 
 with a copious draught of canary. Having concluded his repast, 
 he issued forth, and acquainting Mr. Bloundel, who had at length 
 ventured to commence reading the contents of the packet by the aid 
 of powerful glasses, that he was about to proceed to Dr. Hodge's 
 residence, to inquire after him, set off in that direction. 
 
 Arrived in Great Knight-rider Street, he was greatly shocked at 
 finding the door of the Doctor's habitation fastened, nor could he 
 make any one hear, though he knocked loudly and repeatedly against 
 it. The shutters of the lower windows were closed, and the place 
 looked completely deserted. All the adjoining houses were shut 
 up, and not a living being could be discerned in the street from 
 whom information could be obtained relative to the physician. Here, 
 as elsewhere, the pavement was overgrown with grass, and the 
 very houses had a strange and melancholy look, as if sharing in the 
 general desolation. On looking down a narrow street leading to 
 the river, Leonard perceived a flock of poultry scratching among 
 the staves in search of food, and instinctively calling them, they 
 flew towards him, as if delighted at the unwonted sound of a human 
 voice. These, and a half-starved cat, were the only living things 
 that he could perceive. At the further end of the street, he caught 
 sight of the river, speeding in its course towards the bridge, and 
 scarcely knowing whither he was going, sauntered to its edge. 
 The tide had just turned, and the stream was sparkling in the sun- 
 shine, but no craft could be discovered upon its bosom, and except 
 
THE PLAGLE AT ITS HEIGHT. 251 
 
 a few barges moored to its sides, all vestiges of the numberless 
 vessels with which it was once crowded were gone. Its quays were 
 completely deserted. Boxes and bales of goods lay untouched on 
 the wharfs ; the cheering cries with which the workmen formerly 
 animated their labour were hushed. There was no sound of creak- 
 ing cords ; — no rattle of heavy chains; — none of the busy hum or- 
 dinarily attending the discharge of freight from a vessel, or the 
 packing of goods and stores on board. All traffic was at an end; 
 and this scene, usually one of the livehest possible, was now forlorn 
 and desolate. On the opposite shore of the river it appeared to be 
 the same, — indeed, the borough of Southwark was now suffering 
 the utmost rigour of the scourge ; — and except for the rows of 
 houses on its banks, and the noble bridge by which it was spanned, 
 the Thames appeared as undisturbed as it must have been before 
 the great city was built upon its banks. 
 
 The apprentice viewed this scene with a singular kind of interest. 
 He had become so accustomed to melancholy sights that his feelings 
 had lost their acuteness, and the contemplation of the deserted 
 buildings and neglected wharfs around him, harmonized with his 
 own gloomy thoughts. Pursuing his walk along the side of the 
 river, he was checked by a horrible smell, and looking downward, 
 he perceived a carcase in the last stage of decomposition lying in 
 the mud. It had been washed ashore by the tide, and a large bird 
 of prey was contending for possession of it with a legion of water- 
 rats. Sickened by the sight, be turned up a narrow thoroughfare 
 near Baynard's Castle, and crossing Thames Street, was about to 
 ascend Addle Hill, when he perceived a man wheeling a hand-bar- 
 row, containing a couple of corpses, in the direction of the river, 
 with the intention, doubtless, of throwing them into it, as the rea- 
 diest means of disposing of them. Both bodies were stripped of 
 their clothing, and the blue tint of the nails, as well as the blotches 
 with which they were covered, left no doubt as to the disease of 
 of which they had died» Averting his gaze from the spectacle, 
 Leonard turned off on the right along Carter Lane, and threading 
 a short passage, approached the southern boundary of the cathedral, 
 and proceeding towards the great door opposite him, passed through 
 it. The mighty lazar-house was less crowded than he expected to 
 find it, but its terrible condition far exceeded his worst conceptions. 
 Not more than half the pallets were occupied ; but as the sick were 
 in a great measure left to themselves, the utmost disorder prevailed. 
 A troop of lazars, with sheets folded around them, glided, like phan- 
 toms, along Paul's Walk, and mimicked in a ghastly manner the 
 air and deportment of the gallants who had formerly thronged the 
 place. No attempt being made to maintain silence, the noise was 
 perfectly stunning ; some of the sick were shrieking, — some laugh- 
 ing in a wild unearthly manner, — some praying, — some uttering 
 loud execrations, — others groaning and lamenting. The holy build- 
 ing seemed to have become the abode of evil and tormented spirits. 
 Many dead were lying in the beds, — the few attendants who were 
 present not caring to remove them ; and Leonard had little doubt 
 that before another sun went down the whole of the ghastly assem^ 
 
252 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 blage before him would share their fate. If the habitations he had 
 recently gazed upon had appeared plague-stricken, the sacred struc- 
 ture in which he was now standing seemed yet more horribly con- 
 taminated. Ill kept, and ill ventilated, the air was loaded with 
 noxious effluvia, while the various abominations that met the eye 
 at every turn would have been sufficient to produce the distemper 
 in any one who had come in contact with them. They were, how- 
 ever, utterly disregarded by the miserable sufferers and their at- 
 tendants. The magnificent painted windows were dimmed by a 
 thick clammy steam, which could scarcely be washed off; — while 
 the carved oak screens, the sculptured tombs, the pillars, the walls, 
 and the flagged floors were covered with impurities. 
 
 Satisfied with a brief survey of this frightful scene, Leonard 
 turned to depart, and was passing the entrance to Saint Faith's, 
 which stood open, when he caught sight of Judith standing at the 
 foot of the broad stone steps, and holding a lamp in her hand. 
 She was conversing with a tall, richly-dressed man, whose features 
 he fancied he had seen before, though he could not at the moment 
 call them to mind. After a brief conversation, they moved off 
 into the depths of the vault, and he lost sight of them. All at once, 
 it occurred to Leonard that Judith's companion was the unfortunate 
 stranger whose child he had interred, and who had been so strange- 
 ly affected at the sight of Nizza Macascree. Determined to as- 
 certain the point, he hurried down the steps, and plunged into the 
 vault. It was buried in profound darkness, and he had not pro- 
 ceeded far when he stumbled over something lying in his path, and 
 found from the groan that followed that it was a plague-patient. 
 Before he could regain his feet, the unfortunate sufferer whom he 
 had thus disturbed, implored him in piteous accents, which, with a 
 shudder, he recognised as those of Blaize, to remove him. Leonard 
 immediately gave the poor porter to understand that he was near 
 him, and would render him every aid in his power. 
 
 "Your assistance comes too late, Leonard," groaned Blaize, — 
 " it's all over with me now, but I don't like to breathe my last in 
 this dismal vault, without medicine or food, both of which I am 
 denied by that infernal hag. Mother Malmayns, who calls herself a 
 nurse, but who is in reality a robber and murderess. Oh 1 the 
 frightful scenes I have witnessed since I have been brought here ! 
 1 told you I should not escape the plague. I shall die of it— I am 
 sure 1 shall." 
 
 " 1 thought you were at the pest-house in Finsbury Fields," said 
 Leonard. 
 
 "1 was taken there," replied Blaize; " but the place was full, 
 and they would not admit me, so 1 was sent to Saint Paul's where 
 there was plenty of room. Yesterday I did pretty well, for 1 was 
 in the great ward above, and one of the attendants obeyed my 
 directions implicitly, and 1 am certain if they had been fully carried 
 out, 1 should have got well. 1 will tell you what I did. As soon 
 as 1 was placed on a pallet, and covered with blankets, I ordered a 
 drink to be prepared of the inner bark of an ash tree, green walnuts, 
 scabious vervain, and saffron, boiled in two quarts of the strongest 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 253 
 
 vinegar. Of this mixture 1 drank plentifully, and it soon produced 
 a plentiful perspiration. I next had a hen, — a live one, of course, 
 — stripped of the feathers, and brought to me. Its bill was held 
 to the large blotch under my arm, and kept there till the fowl died 
 from the noxious matter it drew forth. 1 next repeated the expe- 
 riment with a pigeon, and derived the greatest benefit from it. The 
 tumour had nearly subsided, and if 1 had been properly treated 
 afterwards I should now be in a fair way of recovery. But instead 
 of nice strengthening chicken broth, flavoured with succory and 
 marigolds; or water-gruel mixed with rosemary, and winter-sa- 
 voury, or a panado seasoned with verjuice or wood sorrel ; instead 
 of swallowing large draughts of warm beer ; or water boiled with 
 carduus seeds ; or a posset-drink made with sorrel, bugloss, and 
 borage ; — instead of these remedies, or any other, 1 was carried to 
 this horrible place when I was asleep, and strapped to my pallet, 
 as you perceive. Unloose me, if you can do nothing else." 
 
 "That I will readily do," replied Leonard; "but I must first 
 procure a light." 
 
 With this, he groped his way among the close ranks of ponderous 
 pillars, but though he proceeded with the utmost caution he could 
 not avoid coming in contact with the beds of some of the other pa- 
 tients, and disturbing them. At length, he descried a glimmer of 
 light issuing from a door which he knew to be that of the vestry, 
 and which was standing slightly ajar. Opening it, he perceived a 
 lamp burning on the table, and without stopping to look around 
 him, seized it, and hurried back to the porter. Poor Blaize pre- 
 sented a lamentable, and yet grotesque appearance. His plump 
 person was greatly reduced in bulk, and his round cheeks had be- 
 come hollow and cadaverous. He was strapped, as he had stated, 
 to the pallet, which in its turn was fastened to the adjoining pillar. 
 A blanket was tightly swathed around him, and a large cloth was 
 bound round his head in lieu of a night-cap. Leonard instantly 
 set about releasing him, and had just unfastened the straps when 
 he heard footsteps approaching, and looking up, perceived the 
 stranger and Judith Malmayns advancing towards him. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE SECOND PLAGLE-PIT. 
 
 Judith, being a little in advance of her companion, took Leonard 
 in the first instance for a chirurgeon's assistant, and called to him in 
 a harsh and menacing voice to let her charge alone. On drawing 
 near, however, she perceived her mistake, and, recognizing the 
 apprentice, halted with a disconcerted look. By this time, the 
 stranger had come up, and remarking her embarrassment inquired 
 the cause of^t. 
 
254 OLD SAINT PAtft's. 
 
 '^ Look there," cried Judith, pointing towards the apprentice. 
 "Yonder stands the very man you seek." 
 
 "What! Leonard Holt!" cried the other, in astonishment. 
 
 "Ay, Leonard Holt," rejoined Judith. "You can now put any 
 questions to him you think proper." 
 
 The stranger did not require the suggestion to be repeated, but in- 
 stantly hastened to the apprentice. * 'Do you remember me?" he asked. 
 
 Leonard answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "I owe you a large debt of obligation," continued the stranger, 
 "and you shall not find me slow in paying it. But let it pass for 
 the moment. Do you know aught of Nizza Macascree? I know she 
 was taken to Oxford by the King, and subsequently disappeared." 
 
 "Then you know as much as I do of her, sir," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 "I was right, you see, Mr. Thirlby," interposed Judith with a 
 malicious grin. "I told you this youth would be utterly ignorant 
 of her retreat." 
 
 "My firm conviction is that she is in the power of Sir Paul Parra- 
 vicin," observed Leonard. " But it is impossible to say where she is 
 concealed." 
 
 "Then my last hope of finding her has fallen to the ground, *' 
 replied Thirlby with a look of great distress. "Ever since my re- 
 covery from the plague, I have been in search of her. I traced 
 her from Ashdown Park to Oxford, but she was gone before my 
 arrival at the latter place; and though 1 made every possible in- 
 quiry after her, and kept strict and secret watch upon the villain 
 whom 1 suspected, as you do, of carrying her off, 1 could gain no 
 due to her retreat. Having ascertained, however, that you were 
 seen in the neighbourhood of Oxford about the time of her disap- 
 pearance, I had persuaded myself you must have aided her escape. 
 But now," he added with a groan, "I find I was mistaken." 
 
 " You were so," replied Leonard mournfully. "I was in search 
 of my master's daughter, Amabel, who was carried off at the same 
 time by the Earl of Rochester, and my anxiety about her made me 
 
 rglectful of Nizza." 
 "I am not ignorant of your devoted attachment to her," re- 
 marked the stranger. 
 H^" You will never find Amabel again," observed Judith, bitterly. 
 
 "What mean you, woman?" asked Leonard. 
 
 "I mean what I say," rejoined Judith. "I repeat, you will 
 never see her again." , 
 
 "You would not speak thus positively without some motive," 
 returned Leonard, seizing her arm. " Where is she? What has 
 happened to her ?" 
 
 " That you shall never learn from me," returned Judith, with a 
 triumphant glance. 
 
 "Speak, or 1 will force you to do so," cried Leonard, furiously. 
 
 "Force me!" cried Judith, laughing derisively; "you know not 
 whom you threaten." 
 
 "But /do," interposed Thirlby. "This young man shall have 
 an answer to his question," he continued, addressing lier in ati au- 
 thoritative tone. ' ' Do you know anything of the girl ?" 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 255 
 
 "No,^' replied Judith ; '^ I was merely jesting with him." 
 
 ^' Shame on you, to trifle with his feehng thus," rejoined Thirlby. 
 " Step with me this way, young man. I wish to speak with you." 
 
 " Do not leave me here, Leonard," cried Blaize, " or I shall die 
 before you come back." 
 
 " I have no intention of leaving you," rejoined Leonard. "Are 
 you aware whether Doctor Hodges is still ahve, sir ?" he added, to 
 Thirlby. " I have just been to his residence in Great Knightrider 
 Street, and found it shut up." 
 
 "He has removed to Watling Street," replied the other ; " but 
 I have not seen him since my return to Loncfon. If you wish it, I 
 will go to his house at once, and send him4o look after your poor 
 friend." 
 
 Leonard was about to return thanks for the offer, when the de- 
 sign was frustrated by Blaize himself, who was so terrified by Ju- 
 dith's looks, that he could pay no attention to what was going for- 
 ward; and fearing, notwithstanding Leonard's assurance to the 
 contrary, that he should be left behind, he started to his feet, and 
 wrapping the blanket about him, ran up the steps leading to the 
 cathedral. Leonard and Thirlby followed, and seeing him dart into 
 the southern aisle, would have pursued him along it, but were afraid 
 of coming in contact with the many sick persons by whom it was 
 thronged. They contented themselves, therefore, with watching 
 his course, and were not a little surprised and alarmed to find the 
 whole troop of lazars set off after him, making the sacred walls 
 ring with their cries. Frightened by the clamour, Blaize redoubled 
 his speed, and with this ghastly train at his heels, crossed the lower 
 part of the mid aisle, and darting through the pillars, took refuge 
 within Bishop Kempe's Chapel, the door of which stood open, and 
 which he instantly closed after him. Judith, who had followed the 
 party from the subterranean church, laughed heartily at the chase 
 of the poor porter, and uttered an exclamation of regret at its 
 sudden conclusion. Leonard, however, being apprehensive Of 
 mischief from the crowd of sick persons collected before the door, 
 some of whom were knocking against it and trying to force it open, 
 addressed himself to a couple of the attendants, and prevailed on 
 them to accompany him to the chapel. The assemblage was speedily 
 dispersed, and Blaize hearing Leonard's voice, instantly opened the 
 door and admitted him ; and, as soon as his fears were allayed, he 
 was placed on a pallet within the chapel, and wrapped up in 
 blankets, while such remedies as were deemed proper were admi- 
 nistered to him. Committing him to the care of the attendants, 
 and promising to reward them well for their trouble, Leonard told 
 Blaize he should now go and bring Doctor Hodges to him. Accord- 
 ingly, he departed, and finding Thirlby waiting for him at the south 
 door, they went forth together. 
 
 " I am almost afraid of leaving the poor fellow," said Leonard, 
 hesitating as he was about to descend the steps. "Judith Malmayns 
 is so cunning and unscrupulous that she may find some means of 
 doing him an injury." 
 
256 OLD SAINT pall's. \ 
 
 " Have no fear," replied Thirlby. " She has promised me not 
 to molest him further." 
 
 " You appear to have a strange influence over her, then," ob- 
 served Leonard. " May I ask how you have obtained it." 
 
 "No matter," replied the other. "It must suffice that 1 am 
 willing to exercise it in your behalf." 
 
 " And you are not disposed to tell me the nature of the interest 
 you feel in Nizza Macascree?" pursued Leonard. 
 
 "Not as yet," replied Thirlby, with a look and tone calculated to 
 put a stop to further inquiries. 
 
 Passing through Saint Austin's Gate, they approached WatUng 
 Street, at the corner of which stood the house where Doctor Hodges 
 had taken up his temporary abode, that he might visit the sick in 
 the cathedral with greater convenience, and be more readily sum- 
 moned whenever his attendance might be required. Thirlby's 
 knock at the door was answered to Leonard's great satisfaction by 
 the old porter, who was equally dehghted to see him. It did not 
 escape Leonard that the porter treated the stranger with great res- 
 pect, and he inferred from this that he was a person of some con- 
 sideration, as indeed his deportment bespoke him. The old man 
 informed them that his master had been summoned on a case of 
 urgency early in the morning, and had not yet returned, neither 
 was he aware whither he was gone. He promised, however, to 
 acquaint him with Blaize's condition immediately on his return — 
 '' and I need not assure you," he added to Leonard, ' ' that he will 
 instantly go to him." 
 
 Thirlby then inquired of the porter whether Mike Macascree, the 
 blind piper, was still at Dame Lucas's cottage, in Finsbury Fields, 
 and was answered in the affirmative by the old man, who added, 
 however, in a voice of much emotion, that the good dame herself 
 was no more. "She died about a fortnight ago of the plague," he 
 said, "and is buried where she desired to be, beneath an old apple 
 tree in her garden." 
 
 " Alas!" exclaimed Leonard, brushing away a tear, "her own 
 foreboding is too truly reahzed." 
 
 " I am about to visit the old piper," observed Thirlby to the ap- 
 prentice. " Will you go with me?" 
 
 The other readily acquiesced, only stipulating that they should 
 call in Wood Street on the way, that he might inquire whether his 
 master wanted him. Thirlby agreeing to this, and the old porter 
 repeating his assurance that Leonard might make himself quite easy 
 as to Blaize, for he would send his master to him the instant he re- 
 turned, they set out. On reaching Wood Street, the apprentice 
 gave the customary signal, and the grocer answering it, he in- 
 formed him of his unexpected meeting with Blaize, and of the 
 state in which he had left him. Mr. Bloundel was much dis- 
 tressed by the intelligence, and telling Leonard that he should not 
 require him again that night, besought him to observe the utmost 
 caution. This the apprentice promised, and joining Thirlby, who 
 had walked- forward to a little distance, they struck into a narrow 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 257 
 
 street on the right, and proceeding along Aldermanbury, soon ar- 
 rived at the first postern in the city walls beyond Cripplegate. 
 
 Hitherto, Thirlby had maintained a profound silence, and ap- 
 peared lost in melancholy reflection. Except now and then casting 
 a commiserating glance at the wretched objects they encountered 
 on the road, he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the ground, and 
 walked at a brisk pace, as if desirous of getting out of the city as 
 quickly as possible. Notwithstanding his weakness, Leonard ma- 
 naged to keep up with him, and his curiosity being greatly aroused 
 by what had just occurred, he began to study his appearance and 
 features attentively. Thirlby was full six feet in height, and pos- 
 sessed a powerful and well proportioned figure, and would have 
 been considered extremely handsome but for a certain sinister ex- 
 pression about the eyes, which were large and dark, but lighted by 
 a fierce and pecuHar fire. His complexion was dark, and his coun- 
 tenance still bore the impress of the dreadful disease from which 
 he had recently recovered. A gloomy shade sat about his brow, 
 and it seemed to Leonard as if he had been led by his passions into 
 the commission of crimes of which he had afterwards bitterly re- 
 pented. His deportment was proud and commanding, and though 
 he exhibited no haughtiness towards the apprentice, but on the con- 
 trary treated him with great familiarity, it was plain he did so 
 merely from a sense of gratitude. His age was under forty, and his 
 habihments were rich, though of a sombre colour. 
 
 Passing through the postern, which stood wide open, the watch- 
 men having disappeared, they entered a narrow lane, skirted by a 
 few detached houses, all of which were shut up, and marked with 
 the fatal cross. As they passed one of these habitations, they were 
 arrested by loud and continued shrieks of the most heart-rending 
 nature, and questioning a watchman who stood at an adjoining 
 door, as to the cause of them, he said they proceeded from a poor 
 lady who had just lost the last of her family by the plague. '' Her 
 husband and all her children, except one daughter, died last week," 
 said the man, "and though she seemed deeply afflicted, yet she 
 bore her loss with resignation. Yesterday, her daughter was taken 
 ill, and she died about two hours ago, since when the poor mother 
 has done nothing but shriek in the way you hear. Poor soul ! she 
 will die of grief, as many have done before her at this awful time." 
 " Something must be done to pacify her," returned Thirlby, in a 
 voice of much emotion, — " she must be removed from her child." 
 "Where can she be removed to?" rejoined the watchman. 
 '* Who will receive her ?" 
 
 "At all eyents, we can remove the object that occasions her af- 
 fliction," rejoined Thirlby. "My heart bleeds for her. I never 
 heard shrieks so dreadful." 
 
 " The dead-cart will pass by in an hour," said the watchman ; 
 " and then the body can be taken away." 
 
 "An hour will be too late," rejoined Thirlby. "If she continues 
 in this frantic state, she will he dead before that time. You have a 
 hand-barrow t^ere. Take the body to the plague-pit at once, and I 
 will reward you for your trouble." 
 
 I 17 
 
258 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 *<We shall find some difficulty in getting into the house," said 
 the watchman, who evidently felt some repugnance to the task. 
 
 "Not so," replied Thirlby. And pushing forcibly against the 
 door, he hurst it open, and directed by the cries entered a room on 
 the right. The watchman's statement proved correct. Stretched 
 upon a bed in one corner lay the body of a beautiful girl, while the 
 poor mother was bending over it in a state bordering on distraction. 
 On seeing Thirlby, she fled to the further end of the room, but did 
 not desist from her cries. In fact, she was unable to do so, being 
 under the dominion of the wildest hysterical passion. In vain 
 Thirlby endeavoured to make her comprehend by signs the nature 
 of his errand. Waving him off, she continued shrieking more 
 loudly than ever. Half-stunned by the cries, and greatly agitated 
 by the sight of the child, whose appearance reminded him of his 
 own daughter, Thirlby motioned the watchman who had followed 
 him into the room to bring away the body, and rushed forth. His 
 injunctions were obeyed. The remains of the unfortunate girl were 
 wrapped in a sheet, and deposited in the hand-barrow. The mi- 
 serable mother followed the watchman to the door, but did not at- 
 tempt to interfere with him, and having seen the body of her child 
 disposed of in the manner above-described, turned back. The next 
 moment, a heavy sound proclaimed that she had fallen to the 
 ground, and her shrieks were hushed. Thirlby and Leonard ex- 
 changed sad and significant looks, but neither of them went back to 
 see what had happened to her. The watchman shook his head, 
 and setting the barrow in motion, proceeded along a narrow foot- 
 path across the fields. Remarking that he did not take the direct 
 road to the plague-pit, Leonard called to him, and pointed out the 
 quarter in which it lay. 
 
 " I know where the old plague-pit is, as well as you," replied the 
 watchman, " but it has been filled these three weeks. The new 
 pit hes in this direction." So saying, he pursued his course, and 
 they presently entered a field, in the middle of which lay the plague- 
 pit, as was evident from the immense mound of clay thrown out of 
 the excavation. 
 
 "That pit is neither so deep nor so wide as the old one," said 
 the watchman, "and if the plague goes on at this rate they will 
 soon have to dig another, — that is, if any one should be left alive 
 to undertake the job." And chuckling as if he had said a good 
 thing, he impelled his barrow forward more quickly. A few se- 
 conds brought them near the horrible chasm. It was more than 
 half full, and in all respects resembled the other pit, except that it 
 was somewhat smaller. There was the same heaving and putrify- 
 ing mass, — the same ghastly objects of every kind, — the grey- 
 headed old man, the dark-haired maiden, the tender infant, — all 
 huddled together. 
 
 Wheeling the barrow to the edge of the pit, the watchman cast 
 his load into it ; and without even tarrying to throw a handful of 
 soil over it, turned back, and rejoined Thirlby, who had halted at 
 ^me distance from the excavation. 
 
 While the latter was searching for his purse to reward the watch- 
 
THE SECOND PLAGCE-PIT. 5S59 
 
 man, they heard wild shrieks in the adjoining field, and the next 
 moment perceived the wretched mother running towards them. 
 Guessing her purpose from his former experience, Leonard called 
 to the others to stop her, and stretching out his arms placed him- 
 self in her path. But all their efforts were in vain. She darted 
 past them, and though Leonard caught hold of her she broke from 
 him, and, leaving a fragment of her dress in his grasp, flung her- 
 self into the chasm. 
 
 Well knowing that all help was vain, Thirlby placed a few pieces 
 of money in the watchman's hand, and hurried away. He was fol- 
 lowed by Leonard, who was equally eager to quit the spot. It so 
 chanced that the path they had taken led them near the site of the 
 old plague-pit, and Leonard pointed it out to his companion. The 
 latter stopped for a moment, and then, without saying a word, ran 
 quickly towards it. On reaching the spot, they found that the pit 
 was completely filled up. The vast cake of clay with which it was 
 covered had swollen and cracked in an extraordinary manner, and 
 .emitted such a horrible effluvium that they both instantly retreated. 
 
 " And that is the grave of my poor child," cried Thirlby, halting 
 and bursting into a passionate flood of tears. " It would have been 
 a fitting resting-place for a guilty wretch like me ; but for her it is 
 horrible." 
 
 Allowing time for the violence of his gried to subside, Leonard 
 addressed a few words of consolation to him, and then tried to turn 
 the current of his thoughts by introducing a different subject. With 
 this view, he proceeded to detail the piper's mysterious conduct as 
 to the packet, and concluded by mentioning the piece of gold which 
 Nizza wore as an amulet, and which she fancied must have some 
 connexion with her early history. 
 
 " I have heard of the packet and amulet from Doctor Hodges," 
 said Thirlby; "and should have visited the piper on my recovery 
 from the plague, but I was all impatience to behold Nizza, and 
 could not brook an instant's delay. But you know his cottage. We 
 cannot be far from it." 
 
 " Yonder it is," replied Leonard, pointing to the little habita- 
 tion which lay at a field's distance from them — "and we are certain 
 to meet with him, for I hear the notes of his pipe." Nor was he 
 deceived, for as they crossed the field, and approached the cottage, 
 the sound of a melancholy air played on the pipe became each in- 
 stant more distinct. Before entering the gate, they paused for a 
 moment to listen to the music, and Leonard could not help con- 
 trasting the present neglected appearance of the garden with the 
 neatness it exhibited when he last saw it. It was overgrown with 
 weeds, while the drooping flowers seemed to bemoan the loss of 
 their mistress. Leonard's gaze involuntarily wandered in search of 
 the old apple tree, and he presently discovered it. It was loaded 
 with fruit, and the rounded sod beneath it proclaimed the grave of 
 the ill-fated Dame Lucas. 
 
 Satisfied with this survey, Leonard opened the gate, but had no 
 sooner set foot in the garden than the loud barking of a dog was 
 heard, and Befl rushed forth. Leonard instantly called to her, and on 
 
260 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 bearing his voice, the little animal instantly changed her angry tones 
 to a gladsome whine, and skipping towards him fawned at his feet. 
 
 While he stooped to caress her, the piper, who had been alarmed 
 by the barking, appeared at the door, and called out to know who 
 was there? At the sight of him, Thirlby, who was close behind 
 Leonard, uttered a cry of surprise, and exclaiming, "It is he!" 
 rushed towards him. 
 
 The cry of recognition uttered by the stranger caused the piper 
 to start as if he had received a sudden and violent shock. The 
 ruddy tint instantly deserted his cheek, and was succeeded by a 
 deadly paleness ; his hmbs trenabled, and he bent forward with a 
 countenance of the utmost anxiety, as if awaiting a confirmation of 
 his fears. When within a couple of yards of him, Thirlby paused, 
 and having narrowly scrutinized his features, as if to satisfy himself 
 be was not mistaken, again exclaimed, though in a lower and 
 deeper tone than before, "It is he!" and seizing his arm, pushed 
 bim into the house, banging the door to after him in such a manner 
 as to leave no doubt in the apprentice's mind that his presence was 
 not desired, Accordingly, though extremely anxious to hear what 
 passed between them, certain their conversation must relate to 
 Nizza Macascree, Leonard did not attempt to follow, but accompa- 
 nied by Bell, who continued to gambol round him, directed his 
 steps towards the grave of Dame Lucas. Here he endeavoured 
 to beguile the time in meditation, but in spite of his efforts to 
 turn his thoughts into a different channel, they perpetually re- 
 curred to what he supposed to be taking place inside the house. 
 The extraordinary effect produced by Nizza Macascree on Thirlby 
 — the resemblance he had discovered between her and some person 
 dear to him — the anxiety he appeared to feel for her, as evidenced 
 by his recent search for her — the mysterious connexion which 
 clearly subsisted between him and the piper — all these circumstances 
 convinced Leonard that Thirlby was, or imagined himself connected 
 by ties of the closest relationship with the supposed piper's daughter. 
 
 Leonard had never been able to discern the slightest resemblance 
 either in manner or feature, or in those indescribably shght per- 
 sonal peculiarities that constitute a family likeness, between JNizza 
 and her reputed father, — neither could he now recall any particu- 
 lar resemblance between her and Thirlby; still, he could not help 
 thinking her beauty and high-bred looks savoured more of the 
 latter than the former. He came, therefore, to the conclusion that 
 she must be the offspring of some early and unfortunate attachment 
 on the part of Thirlby, whose remorse might naturally be the 
 consequence of his culpable conduct at that time. His. sole per- 
 plexity was the piper's connexion with the affair ; but he got over 
 this difficulty by supposing that Nizza's mother, whoever she was, 
 must have committed her to Macascree's care when an infant, 
 probably with strict injunctions, which circumstances might render 
 necessary, to conceal her even from her father. Such was Leo- 
 nard's solution of the mystery ; and feeling convinced that he had 
 made himself master of the stranger's secret, he resolved to give 
 him to understand as much as soon as he beheld him again. 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 261 
 
 More than half an hour having elapsed, and Thirlby not coming 
 forth, Leonard began to think sufficient time had been allowed him 
 for private conference with the piper, and he therefore walked to- 
 wards the door, and coughing to announce his approach, raised 
 the latch and entered the house. He found the pair seated close 
 together, and conversing in a low and earnest tone. The piper 
 had completely recovered from his alarm, and seemed perfectly at 
 ease with his companion, while all traces of anger had disappeared 
 from the countenance of the other. Before them on the table lay 
 several letters, taken from a packet, the cover of which Leonard 
 recognized as the one that had been formerly entrusted to him. 
 Amidst them was the miniature of a lady, — at least, it appeared so 
 to Leonard, in the hasty glance he caught of it; but he could not be 
 quite sure, for, on seeing him, Thirlby closed the case, and placing 
 his hand on the piper's mouth, to check his farther speech, arose. 
 ^'Forgive my rudeness," he said, to the apprentice, " but I have 
 been so deeply interested in what I have just heard, that I quite 
 forgot you were waiting without. I shall remain here some hours 
 longer, but will not detain you, especially as I am unable to admit 
 you to our conference. 1 will meet you at Doctor Hodges' in the 
 evening, and shall have much to say to you." 
 
 " I can anticipate some part of your communication," repUed 
 Leonard. " You will tell me you have a daughter still living." 
 
 "You are inquisitive, young man," rejoined Thirlby, sternly. 
 
 "You do me wrong, sir," replied Leonard. "I have no cu- 
 riosity as regards yourself; and if I had, would never lower myself 
 in my own estimation to gratify it. FeeHng a strong interest in 
 Nizza Macascree, I am naturally anxious to know whether my 
 suspicion that a near relationship subsists between yourself and 
 her is correct." 
 
 "1 cannot enter into farther explanation now," returned 
 Thirlby. " Meet me at Doctor Hodges' this evening, and you shall 
 know more. And now, farewell. I am in the midst of a deeply- 
 interesting conversation, which your presence interrupts. Do not 
 think me rude, — do not think me ungrateful. My anxiety must 
 plead my excuse." 
 
 ''None is necessary, sir," replied Leonard; "I will no longer 
 place any restraint upon you." So saying, and taking care not to 
 let Bell out, he passed through the door, and closed it after him. 
 Having walked to some distance across the fields, musing on what 
 had just occurred, and scarcely conscious whither he was going, he 
 threw himself down on the grass, and fell asleep. He awoke after 
 some time much refreshed, and finding he was considerably nearer 
 Bishopsgate than any other entrance into the city, determined to 
 make for it. A few minutes brought him to a row of houses with- 
 out the walls, none of which appeared to have escaped infection, and, 
 passing them, he entered the city gate. As he proceeded along the 
 once-crowded but now utterly-deserted thoroughfare that opened 
 upon him, he could scarcely believe he was in a spot which had 
 once been^ the busiest of the busy haunts of men, — so silent, so 
 desolate did it appear! On reaching- Cornhill, he found it equally 
 
262 
 
 deserted. The Exchange was closed, and, as Leonard looked at its 
 barred gates, a saddening train of reflection passed through his 
 mind. His head dechned upon his breast, and he continued lost in 
 a mournful reverie until he was roused by a hand laid on his shoul- 
 der, and starting, — for such a salutation at this season was alarm- 
 ing, — he looked round, and beheld Solomon Eagle. 
 
 "You are looking upon that structure," said the enthusiast, 
 *' and are thinking how much it is changed. Men who' possess 
 boundless riches imagine their power above that of their Maker, 
 and suppose they may neglect and defy him. But they are mis- 
 taken. Where are now the wealthy merchants who used to haunt 
 those courts and chambers ? — why do they not come here as of old ? 
 — why do they not buy and sell, and send their messengers and ships 
 to the farthest parts of the world? Because the Lord hath smitten 
 them and driven them forth — ' From the least of them even to the 
 greatest of them,' as the prophet Jeremiah saith, ' every one has 
 been given to covetousness.' The balances of deceit have been in 
 their hands. They have cozened their neighbours, and greedily 
 gained from them, and will find it true what the prophet Ezekiel 
 hath written, that ' the Lord will pour out his indignation upon 
 them, and consume them with the fire of his wrath.' Yea, I tell 
 you, unless they turn from their evil ways, — unless they cast aside 
 the golden idol they now worship, and set up the Holy One of Israel 
 in its stead, a fire will be sent to consume them, and that pile which 
 they have erected as a temple to their God shall be burnt to the 
 ground." 
 
 Leonard's heart was too full to make any answer, and the enthu- 
 siast, after a brief pause, again addressed him. 
 
 *' Have you seen Doctor Hodges pass this way ? I am in search of 
 him." 
 
 "On what account?" asked Leonard, anxiously. ''His advice, I 
 trust, is not needed on behalf of any one in whom I am interested." 
 
 "No matter," replied Solomon Eagle, in a sombre tone. "Have 
 you seen him ?" 
 
 "1 have not," rejoined the apprentice ; '' but he is probably at 
 Saint Paul's." 
 
 "I have just left the cathedral, and was told he had proceeded 
 to some house near Cornhill," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 
 " If you have been there, you can perhaps tell me how my master's 
 porter, Blaize Shotterel, is getting on," said Leonard. 
 
 " 1 can," replied the enthusiast. "I heard one of the chirurgeons 
 say that Doctor Hodges had pronounced him in a fair way of reco- 
 very. But 1 must either find the doctor, or go elsewhere. Fare- 
 well l" 
 
 ''. I will go with you in search of him," said Leonard. 
 
 "No, no, — you must not — shall not," cried Solomon Eagle. 
 
 " Wherefore not?" asked the apprentice. 
 
 *'Do not question me, — but leave me," rejoined the enthusiast. 
 
 *'Doyou know aught of Amabel — of her retreat?" persisted 
 Leonard, who had a strange misgiving that the enthusiast's errand 
 in M>me way referred to her. 
 
THE SECOND PLAGUE-PIT. 263 
 
 *'I do," replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily; " but I again advise 
 you not to press me further." 
 
 '' Answer me one question at least," cried Leonard. '' Is she 
 with the Earl of Rochester?" 
 
 *' She is," replied Solomon Eagle; *' but I shall allay your fears 
 in that respect when I tell you she is sick of the plague." 
 
 Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he fell 
 to the ground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness by a 
 sudden sense of strangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld two 
 dark figures bending over him, one of whom was kneeling on his 
 chest. A glance showed him that this person was Chowles ; and in- 
 stantly comprehending what was the matter, and aware that the 
 coffin-maker was stripping him previously to throwing him into the 
 dead-cart, which was standing hard-by, he cried aloud, and strug- 
 gled desperately to set himself free. Little opposition was offered ; 
 for, on hearing the cry, Chowles quitted his hold, and retreating 
 to a short distance, exclaimed, with a look of surprise, '*Why, the 
 fellow is not dead, after all 1" 
 
 *' I am neither dead, nor likely to die, as you shall find to your 
 cost, rascal, if you do not restore me the clothes you have robbed 
 me of," cried Leonard, furiously. And chancing to perceive a fork, 
 dropped by Chowles in his hasty retreat, he snatched it up, and 
 brandishing it over his head, advanced towards him. Thus threat- 
 ened, Chowles' tossed him a rich suit of livery. 
 
 "These are not mine," said the apprentice, gazing at the habi- 
 liments. 
 
 "They are better than your own," replied Chowles, "and there- 
 fore you ought to be glad of the exchange. But give me them back 
 again. I have no intention of making you a present." 
 
 *' This is the livery of the Earl of Rochester," cried Leonard. 
 "To be sure it is," replied Chowles, with a ghastly smile. "One 
 of his servants is just dead." 
 
 " Where is the profligate noble ?" cried Leonard, eagerly. 
 "There is the person who owned these clothes," replied Chowles 
 pointing to the dead-cart. "You had better ask him." 
 
 "Where is the Earl of Rochester, I say, villain?" cried Leonard, 
 menacingly. 
 
 "How should I know?" rejoined Chowles. "Here are your 
 clothes," he added, pushing them towards him. 
 " 1 will have an answer," cried Leonard. 
 
 " Not from me," repfied Chowles. And hastily snatching up the 
 livery, he put the cart in motion, and proceeded on his road. 
 
 Leonard would have followed him, but the state of his attire did 
 not permit him to do so. Having dressed himself, he hastened to the 
 cathedral, where he soon found the attendant who had charge of 
 Blaize. 
 
 " Doctor Hodges has been with him," said the man, in reply to 
 his inquiries after the porter, "and has good hopes of him. But 
 the patient is not entirely satisfied with the treatment he has re- 
 ceived, and wishes to try some remedies of his own. Were his re- 
 quest graiited, all would soon be over with him." 
 
264 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 *'That I am sure of," replied Leonard. ^*But let us go to 
 him." 
 
 t'You must not heed his complaints," returned the attendant. 
 ** I assure you he is doing as well as possible ; but he is so dread- 
 fully frightened at a trifling operation which Doctor Hodges finds it 
 necessary to perform upon him, that we have been obhged to fasten 
 him to the bed." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Leonard, suspiciously. " Has Judith Mal- 
 mayns had no hand in this arrangement ?" 
 
 "Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the 
 afternoon," said the man, "and another nurse has taken her place 
 in Saint Faith's. She has never been near Blaize since I have had 
 charge of him." 
 
 By this time, they had reached the pallet in which the porter was 
 laid. His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were alone 
 visible, his head being still enveloped by the linen cloth, while his 
 mouth was covered by blankets. He looked so anxiously at the ap- 
 prentice that the latter removed the covering from his mouth, and 
 enabled him to speak. " I am glad to find you are getting on so 
 well," said Leonard, in a cheerful tone. "Doctor Hodges has 
 been with you, I understand?" 
 
 "He has," groaned Blaize; "but he has done me no good, — 
 none whatever. I could doctor myself much better, if I might be 
 allowed ; for I know every remedy that has been prescribed for the 
 plague, but he would adopt none that I mentioned to him. 1 wanted 
 him to place a hot loaf, fresh from the oven, to the tumour, to 
 draw it ; but he would not consent. Then I asked for a cataplasm, 
 composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onions and garlic roastefd, 
 mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney where wood only has 
 been burnt. This he hked no better than the first. Next, I begged 
 for an ale posset with pimpernel soaked in it, assuring him that by 
 frequently drinking such a mixture, Secretary Naunton drew the in- 
 fection from his very heart. But the doctor would have none of it, 
 and seemed to doubt the fact." 
 
 " What did he do?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 "He applied oil of Saint John's wort to the tumour," replied 
 Blaize, with a dismal groan, " and said if the sc^r did not fall off, 
 he must cauterize it. Oh ! I shall never be able to bear the pain of 
 the operation." 
 
 " Becollect your life is at stake," rejoined Leonard. " You must 
 either submit to it, or die." 
 
 " I know I must," replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan ; " but 
 it is a terrible alternative." 
 
 "You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine," 
 rejoined Leonard; "and you know I speak from personal expe- 
 rience." 
 
 " You give me great comfort," said Blaize. '* And so you really 
 think I shall get better?" 
 
 "1 have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits," replied 
 Leonard. *' The worst is evidently over. Behave like a man." 
 ** I will try to do so," rejoined Blaize. '' I have been told that 
 
THE SECOND PLAGLE-PIT. 265 
 
 if a circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-botch, it 
 will fall off. Couldn't we just try the experiment?" 
 
 "It will not do to rely upon it," observed the attendant, with a 
 smile. "You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call 
 ' the button,' much more efficacious." 
 
 ^'Oh, dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Blaize, "I already feel that 
 dreadful button burning into my flesh." 
 
 " On the contrary, you won't feel it at all," rephed the attendant. 
 " The iron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is 
 no sensibiUty." 
 
 ' ' In that case, I don't care how soon the operation is performed," 
 replied Blaize. 
 
 '•Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it," said the at- 
 tendant. "In the mean time, here is a cup of barley broth for 
 you. You will find it do you good." 
 
 While the man applied the cup to the poor porter's lips, — for he 
 would not unloose the straps for fear of mischief, — Leonard, who 
 was sickened by the terrible scene around him, took his departure, 
 and quitted the cathedral by the great western entrance. Seating 
 himself on one of the great blocks of stone left there by the work- 
 men employed in repairing the cathedral, but who had long since 
 abandoned their task, he thought over all that had recently occurred. 
 Raising his eyes at length, he looked toward the cathedral. The ob- 
 lique rays of the sun had quitted the columns of the portico, which 
 looked cold and grey, while the roof and towers were glittering in 
 light. In ten minutes more only the summit of the central tower 
 caught the last reflection of the declining orb. Leonard watched 
 the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastly regarded 
 the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, until, at 
 length, each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, was 
 lost in one vast indistinct mass. Night had fallen upon the city, — 
 a night destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it. 
 And yet it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely 
 possible to imagine that it was unhealthy. The destroying angel 
 was, however, fearfully at work. Hundreds were falling beneath 
 his touch ; and as Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches 
 were at that^ moment released from suffering, it crossed him like an 
 icy chill that among' the number might be Amabel. So forcibly was 
 he impressed by this idea, that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud. 
 
 He was aroused by hearing the ringing of a bell , which announced 
 the approach of the dead-cart, and presently afterwards the gloomy 
 vehicle approached from Ludgate-hill, and moved slowly towards 
 the pbrtico of the cathedral, where it halted. A great number of 
 dead were placed within it, and the driver, ringing his bell, pro- 
 ceeded in the direction of Cheapside. A heavy dew had fallen, for, 
 as Leonard put his hand to his clothes, they felt damp, and his long 
 hair was filled with moisture. Reproaching himself with having 
 needlessly exposed himself to risk, he was about to walk away, 
 when he heard footsteps at a little distance, and looking in the 
 direction of the sound, perceived the tall figure of Thirlby. Calling 
 to him, the^other, who appeared to be in haste, halted for a mo- 
 
266 OLD SAINT PACL'S. 
 
 ment, and telling the apprentice he was going to Doctor Hodges', 
 desired him to accompany him thither, and went on. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HOISE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 
 
 On reaching Watling Street, Leonard and his companion found 
 Doctor Hodges was from home. This did not much surprise the 
 apprentice after the information he had received from Solomon 
 Eagle, but Thirlby was greatly disappointed, and eagerly questioned 
 the porter as to the probable time of his master's return. The man 
 replied that it was quite uncertain, adding, " He has been in since 
 you were last here, and has seen Blaize. He had not been gone to 
 the cathedral many minutes when a gentleman arrived desiring his 
 instant attendance upon a young woman who was sick of the plague." 
 
 ''Did you hear her name?" asked Leonard and Thirlby, in a 
 breath. 
 
 '* No," replied the porter, " neither did I obtain any information 
 respecting her from the gentleman, who appeared in great distress. 
 But I observed that my master on his return looked much surprised 
 at seeing him, and treated him with a sort of cold respect." 
 
 "Was the gentleman young or old?" demanded Leonard, hastily. 
 
 "As far as I noticed," repUed the porter, " for he kept his face 
 covered with a handkerchief, I should say he was young — very 
 young." 
 
 " You are sure it was not Lord Rochester?" pursued Leonard. 
 
 " How should I be sure of it," rejoined the porter, " since I have 
 never seen his lordship that I am aware of. But I will tell you all 
 that happened, and you can then judge for yourselves. My master, 
 as I have just said, on seeing the stranger, looked surprised and 
 angry, and bowing gravely, conducted him to his study, taking care 
 to close the door after him. 1 did not of course hear what passed, 
 but the interview was brief enough, and the gentleman issuing forth, 
 said, as he quitted the room, 'You will not fail to come?' To 
 which my master replied, ' Certainly not, on the terms I have men- 
 tioned.' With this, the gentleman hurried out of the house. 
 Shortly afterwards, the Doctor came out, and said to me, 'I am 
 going to attend a young woman who is sick of the plague, and may 
 be absent for some time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should 
 call, detain them till my return.'" 
 
 " My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit is 
 no other than Amabel," said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully. 
 
 "1 suspect it is Nizza Macascree," cried Thirlby. " Which way 
 did your master take?" 
 
 "I did not observe," replied the porter, " but he told me he 
 should cross London Bridge." 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 267 
 
 * ' 1 will go into Southwark in quest of him," said Thirlby. * ' Every 
 moment is of consequence now." 
 
 " You had better stay where you are," remarked the old porter ; 
 *' It is the surest way to meet with him. 
 
 Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, and 
 his impatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, 
 though from a different motive, they set forth together. 
 
 *' If I fail to find him, you may expect me back ere long," were 
 Thirlby's last words to the porter. Hurrying along Watling Street, 
 and taking the first turn on the right, he descended to Thames Street, 
 and made the best of his way towards the bridge. Leonard followed 
 him closely, and they pursued their rapid course in silence. By 
 the time they reached the north gate of the bridge, Leonard found 
 his strength faihng him, and halting at one of the openings between 
 the tall houses overlooking the river, where there was a wooden 
 bench for the accommodation of passengers, he sank upon it, and 
 begged Thirlby to go on, saying he would return to Watling Street 
 as soon as he recovered frorti his exhaustion. Thirlby did not at- 
 tempt to dissuade him from his purpose, but instantly disappeared. 
 
 The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beautiful. 
 It was almost as light as day, for the full harvest moon (alas! there 
 was no harvest for it to smile upon !) having just risen, revealed 
 every object with perfect distinctness. The bench on which Leo- 
 nard was seated lay on the right side of the bridge, and commanded 
 a magnificent reach of the river, that flowed beneath like a sheet of 
 molten silver. The apprentice gazed along its banks, and noted 
 the tall spectral-looking houses on the right, until his eye finally 
 settled on the massive fabric of Saint Paul's, the roof and towers of 
 which towered above the lesser structures. His meditations were 
 suddenly interrupted by the opening of a window in the house near 
 him, while a loud splash in the water told that a body had been 
 thrown into it. He turned away with a shudder, and at the same 
 moment perceived a watchman with a halbert upon his shoulder, 
 advancing slowly towards him from the Southwark side of the bridge. 
 Pausing as he drew near the apprentice, the watchman compas- 
 sionately inquired whether he was sick, and being answered in 
 the negative, was about to pass on, when Leonard, fancying he re- 
 cognised his voice, stopped him. 
 
 ''We have met somewhere before, friend," he said, "though 
 where, or under what circumstances, I cannot at this moment call 
 to mind." 
 
 " Not unlikely," returned the other roughly ; '* but the chances 
 are against our meeting again." 
 
 Leonard heaved a sigh at the remark. 
 
 " I now recollect where I met you, friend," he remarked. " It 
 was at Saint Paul's, when I was in search of my master's daughter, 
 who had been carried off by the Earl of Rochester. But you were 
 then in the garb of a smith." 
 
 "I recollect the circumstance, too, now you remind me of it," 
 replied the other. " Your name is Leonard Holt as surely as mine 
 is Robert Rainbird. I recollect also that you offended me about a 
 
268 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 dog belonging to the piper's pretty daughter, Nizza Macascree, which 
 I was about to destroy in'obedience to the Lord Mayor's commands. 
 However, I bear no malice, and if I did, this is not a time to rip up 
 old quarrels." 
 
 " You are right, friend," returned Leonard. " The few of us 
 left ought to be in charity with each other." 
 
 " Truly, ought we," rejoined Rainbird. " For my own part, I 
 have seen so much misery within the last few weeks, that my dis- 
 position is wholly changed. I was obliged to abandon my old occu- 
 pation of a smith, because my master died of the plague, and there 
 was no one else to employ me. I have therefore served as a watch- 
 man, and in twenty days have stood at the doors of more than 
 twenty houses. It would freeze your blood were I to relate the 
 scenes I have witnessed." 
 
 '' It might have done formerly," replied Leonard; " but my 
 feeHngs are as much changed as your own. I have had the plague 
 twice myself." 
 
 f' " Then, indeed, you can speak," replied Rainbird. '' Thank 
 God, I have hitherto escaped it ! Ah ! these are terrible times — 
 terrible times ! The worst that ever London knew. Although I 
 have been hitherto miraculously preserved myself, I am firmly per- 
 suaded no one will escape." 
 
 " 1 am almost inclined to agree with you," replied Leonard. 
 ' ' For the last week the distemper has raged fearfully — fearfully, 
 indeed," said Rainbird; " but yesterday and to-day have far ex- 
 ceeded all that have gone before. The distempered have died 
 quicker than cattle of the murrain. I visited upwards of a hundred 
 houses in the Borough this morning, and only found ten persons 
 alive ; and out of those ten not one I will venture to say is alive now. 
 It will, in truth, be a mercy if they are gone. There were distracted 
 mothers raving over their children, — a young husband lamenting 
 his wife, — two little children weeping over their dead parents, with 
 none to attend them, none to feed them, — an old man mourning 
 over his son, cut off in his prime. In short, misery and distress 
 in their worst form, — the streets ringing with shrieks and groans, 
 and the numbers of dead so great that it was impossible to carry 
 them off. You remember Solomon Eagle's prophecy ?" 
 
 '* Perfectly," replied Leonard ; " and I lament to see its fulfil- 
 ment." 
 
 " ' The streets shall be covered with grass, and the living shall 
 not be able to bury the dead,' — so it ran," said Rainbird. " And 
 it has come to pass. Not a carriage of any description, save the 
 dead cart, is to be seen in the broadest streets of London, which 
 are now as green as the fields without her walls, and as silent as 
 the grave itself. Terrible times, as 1 said before, — terrible times! 
 The dead are rotting in heaps in the courts, in the alleys, in the 
 very houses, and no one to remove them. What will be the end 
 of it all ? What will become of this great city ?" 
 
 " It is not difficult to foresee what willbecome of it," replied 
 Leonard, '* .unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm. 
 And something whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst. 
 
THE HOUSE IN PflCHOLilLS LANE. 269 
 
 The scourge cannot exceed its present violence without working 
 our ruin ; and deeply as we have sinned, little as we repent, I 
 cannot bring myself to believe that God will sweep his people 
 entirely from the face of the earth." 
 
 " I dare not hope otherwise," rejoined Rainbird, " though I 
 would fain do so. I discern no symptoms of abatement of the 
 distemper, but, on the contrary, an evident increase of malignity, 
 and such is the opinion of all I have spoken with on the subject. 
 Chowles told me he buried two hundred more yesterday than he 
 had ever done before, and yet he did not carry a third of the dead 
 to the plague pit. He is a strange fellow that Chowles. But for 
 his passion for his horrible calling, there is no necessity for him to 
 follow it, for he is now one of the richest men in London." 
 
 "He must have amassed his wealth by robbery, then," remarked 
 Leonard. 
 
 " True," returned Rainbird. "He helps himself without scruple 
 to the clothes, goods, and other property of all who die of the pes- 
 tilence, and after ransacking their houses, conveys his plunder in 
 the dead cart to his own dwelling." 
 
 " In Saint Paul's?" asked Leonard. 
 
 "No, a large house in Nicholas Lane, once belonging to a 
 wealthy merchant, who perished with his family of the plague," 
 replied Rainbird. "He has filled it from cellar to garret with the 
 spoil he has obtained." 
 
 ' ' And how has he preserved it ?" inquired the apprentice. 
 
 " The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird. " The 
 few authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his 
 proceedings ; or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting 
 a more favourable season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him 
 of his hoard, and punish him for his delinquencies; while in the 
 mean time they are glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his 
 services as a burier. Other people do not care to meddle with 
 him, and the most daring robber would be afraid to touch infected 
 money or clothes." 
 
 '^ If you are going towards Nicholas Lane," said Leonard, as if 
 struck with a sudden idea, " and will point out to me the house in 
 question, you will do me a favour." 
 
 Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards 
 Fish Street Hill. Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they 
 entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they 
 were obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with 
 a pile of carcasses deposited there by the buriers' assistants. Shaping 
 their course along Gracechurch Street, they turned off into Lom- 
 bard Street, and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' houses on 
 either side, which were all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the 
 doors, he could not help remarking to his companion, " the plague 
 has not spared any of these on account of their riches." 
 
 "True," replied the other, "and of the thousands who used 
 formerly to throng this street not one is left. Woe to London ! — 
 woe ! — woe !" 
 
 Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train 
 
270 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 of reflection. It has been more than once remarked that the par- 
 ticular day now under consideration was the one in which the 
 plague exercised its fiercest dominion over the city; and though at 
 first its dechne was as imperceptible as the gradual diminution of 
 the day after the longest has passed, yet still the alteration began. 
 On that day, as if Death had known that his power was to be 
 speedily arrested, he sharpened his fellest arrows, and discharged 
 them with unerring aim. To pursue the course of the Destroyer 
 from house to house — to show with what unrelenting fury he as- 
 sailed his victims — to describe their sufferings — to number the dead 
 left within their beds, thrown into the streets, or conveyed to the 
 plague-pits — would be to present a narrative as painful as revolting. 
 On this terrible night it was as hot as if it had been the middle of 
 June. No air was stirring, and the silence was so profound, that a 
 slight noise was audible at a great distance. Hushed in this seem- 
 ingly placid repose lay the great city, while hundreds of its inha- 
 bitants were groaning in agony, or breathing their last sigh. 
 
 On reaching the upper end of Nicholas Lane, Rainbird stood still 
 for a moment, and pointed out a large house on the right, just be- 
 low the old church dedicated to the saint from which the thorough- 
 fare took its name. They were about to proceed towards it, when 
 the smith again paused, and called Leonard's attention to two 
 figures quickly advancing from the lower end of the street. As the 
 apprentice and his companion stood in the shade, they could not be 
 seen, while the two persons, being in the moonlight, were fully 
 revealed. One of them it was easy to perceive was Chowles. He 
 stopped before the door of his dwelling and unfastened it, and while 
 he was thus occupied, the other person turned his face so as to 
 catch the full radiance of the moon, disclosing the features of Sir 
 Paul Parravicin. Before Leonard recovered from the surprise into 
 which he was thrown by this unexpected discovery, they had en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 He then hurried forward, but, to his great disappointment, found 
 the door locked. Anxious to ^et into the house without alarming 
 those who had preceded him, he glanced at the windows ; but the 
 shutters were closed and strongly barred. While hesitating what 
 to do, Rainbird came up, and guessing his wishes, told him there 
 was a door at the back of the house by which he might probably 
 gain admittance. Accordingly they hastened down a passage skirt- 
 ing the churchyard, which brought them to a narrow alley lying 
 between Nicholas Lane and Abchurch Lane. Tracking it for about 
 twenty yards, Rainbird paused before a small yard door, and trying 
 the latch, found it yielded to his touch. 
 
 Crossing the yard, they came to another door. It was locked, 
 and though they could have easily burst it open, they preferred 
 having recourse to an adjoining window, the shutter of which being 
 carelessly fastened, was removed without noise or difficulty. In 
 another moment they gained a small dark room on the ground 
 floor, whence they issued into a passage, where, to their great joy, 
 they found a lighted lantern placed on a chair. Leonard hastily 
 possessed himself of it, and was about to enter a room on the left 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 271 
 
 when his companion arrested him. "Before we proceed further," 
 he said, in a low voice, " I must know what you are about to do?" 
 
 "My purpose will be explained in a word," replied the ap- 
 prentice, in the same tone. " I suspect that Nizza Macascree is 
 confined here by Sir Paul Parravicin and Chowles, and if it turns 
 out I am right in my conjecture, I propose to hberate her. Will 
 you help me?" 
 
 " Humph !" exclaimed Rainbird, " I don't much fancy the job. 
 However, since I am here, I 'II not go back. I am curious to see 
 the coffin-maker's hoards. Look at yon heap of clothes. There 
 are velvet doublets and silken hose enow to furnish wardrobes for 
 a dozen court gallants. And yet, rich as the stuffs are, 1 would 
 not put the best of them on for all the wealth of London." 
 
 " Nor I," replied Leonard. " I shall make free, however, with 
 a sword," he added, selecting one from the heap. " I may need a 
 weapon." 
 
 "I require nothing more than my halbert," observed the smith ; 
 " and I would advise you to throw away that velvet scabbard. It 
 is a certain harbour for infection." 
 
 Leonard did not neglect the caution, and pushing open the door, 
 they entered a large room which resembled an upholsterer's shop, 
 being hterally crammed with chairs, tables, cabinets, moveable 
 cupboards, bedsteads, curtains, and hangings, all of the richest 
 description. 
 
 "What I heard is true," observed Rainbird, gazing around in 
 astonishment. "Chowles must have carried off everything he 
 could lay hands upon. What can he do with all that furniture ?" 
 
 "What the miser does with his store," replied Leonard: " feast 
 his eyes with it, but never use it." 
 
 They then proceeded to the next room. It was crowded with 
 books, looking-glasses, and pictures ; many of them originally of 
 great value, but greatly damaged by the careless manner in which 
 they were piled one upon another. A third apartment was filled 
 with flasks of wine, with casks probably containing spirits, and 
 boxes, the contents of which they did not pause to examine. A 
 fourth contained male and female habiliments, spread out like the 
 dresses in a theatrical wardrobe. Most of these garments were of 
 the gayest and costliest description, and of the latest fashion, and 
 Leonard sighed as he looked upon them, and thought of the fate of 
 those they had so lately adorned. 
 
 " There is contagion enough in those clothes to infect a whole 
 city," said Rainbird, who regarded them with different feeHngs. "I 
 have half a mind to set fire to them." 
 
 " It were a good deed to do so," returned Leonard; " but it 
 must not be done now. Let us go up stairs. These are the only 
 rooms below." Accordingly, they ascended the staircase, and en- 
 tered chamber after chamber, all of which were as full of spoil as 
 those they had just visited ; but they could find no one, nor was 
 there any symptom that the house was tenanted. They next 
 stood still within the gallery, and listened intently for some sound to 
 reveal tho^e they sought, but all was as still and silent as the grave. 
 
 i 
 
272 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 " We cannot be mistaken," observed Leonard. "It is clear 
 this house is the receptacle for Chowles's plunder. Besides, we 
 should not have found the lantern burning if they had gone forth 
 again. No, no; they must be hidden somewhere, and I will not 
 quit the place till I find them." 
 
 Their search, however, was fruitless. They mounted to the 
 garrets, opened every door, and glanced into every corner. Still, 
 no one was to be seen, " I begin to think Nizza cannot be here," 
 said the apprentice, " but I am resolved not to depart without 
 questioning Chowles on the subject." 
 
 " You must first find him," rejoined Rainbird. " If he is any- 
 where he must be in the cellar, for we have been into every room 
 in this part of the house. For my own part, I think you had better 
 abandon the search altogether. No good will come of it." 
 
 Leonard, however, was not to be dissuaded, and they went down 
 stairs. A short flight of stone steps brought them to a spacious 
 kitchen, but it was quite empty, and seemed to have been long 
 disused. They then peeped into the scullery adjoining, and were 
 about to retrace their steps, when Rainbird plucked Leonard's 
 sleeve to call his attention to a gleam of light issuing from a door 
 'which stood partly ajar, in a long narrow passage leading appa- 
 rently to the cellars. " They are there," he said in a whisper. 
 
 " So 1 see," replied Leonard, in the same tone. And raising 
 his finger to his lips in token of silence, he stole forward on the 
 points of his feet and cautiously opened the door. 
 
 At the further end of the cellar — for such it was — knelt Chowles, 
 examining with greedy eyes the contents of a large chest, which, 
 from the hasty glance that Leonard caught of it, appeared to be 
 filled with gold and silver plate. A hnk stuck against the wall 
 threw a strong Ught over the scene, and showed that the coffin- 
 maker was alone. As Leonard advanced, the sound of his foot- 
 steps caught Chowles's ear, and uttering a cry of surprise and 
 alarm, he let fall the fid of the chest and sprang to his feet. 
 *' What do you want?" he cried, looking uneasily round, as if in 
 search of some weapon. " Are you come to rob me?" 
 
 " No," replied Leonard ; " neither are we come to reclaim the 
 plunder you have taken from others. We are come in search of 
 Nizza Macascree." 
 
 "Then you have come on a fool's errand," replied Chowles, 
 regaining his courage, for she is not here. ' ' 1 know nothing of her." 
 " That is false," rejoined Leonard, '' You have just conducted 
 Sir Paul Parravicin to her." 
 
 This assertion on the part of the apprentice, which he thought 
 himself justified under the circumstances in making, produced a 
 strong effect on Chowles. He appeared startled and confounded. 
 " What right have you to play the spy upon me thus ?" he faltered. 
 ' ' The right that every honest man possesses to check the designs 
 of the wicked," rephed Leonard. " You admit that she is here.. 
 Lead me to her hiding-place without more ado." 
 
 " If you know where it is," rejoined Chowles, who no\v per- 
 ceived the trick that had been practised upon him, ' ' you will not 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. ^ 273 
 
 want me to conduct you to it. Neither Nizza nor Sir Paul Par- 
 ravicin are here." 
 
 " That is false, prevaricating scoundrel!" cried Leonard. " My 
 companion and I saw you enter the house with your profligate 
 employer. And as we gained admittance a few minutes after you, 
 it is certain no one can have left it. Lead me to Nizza's retreat 
 instantly, or I will cut your throat." And seizing Chowles by the 
 collar, he held the point of his sword to his breast. 
 
 " Use no violence," cried Chowles, struggling to free himself, 
 " and I will take you wherever you please. This way — this way." 
 
 And he motioned as if he would take them up stairs. 
 
 " Do not think to mislead me, villain," cried Leonard, tighten- 
 ing his grasp. " We have searched every room in the upper 
 part of the house, and though we have discovered the whole of 
 your ill-gotten hoards, we have found nothing else. No one is 
 there." 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined Chowles, " since the truth must out, 
 Sir Paul is in the next house. But it is his own abode. I have no- 
 thing to do with it, nothing whatever. He is accountable for his 
 own actions, and you will be accountable to him if you intrude 
 upon his privacy. Release me, and I swear to conduct you to him. 
 But you will take the consequences of your rashness upon your- 
 self. I only go upon compulsion." 
 
 " 1 am ready to take any consequences," replied Leonard, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " Come along, then," said Chowles, pointing down the passage. 
 
 "You mean us no mischief?" cried Leonard, suspiciously. " If 
 you do, the attempt will cost you your life." 
 
 Chowles made no answer, but moved along the passage as quickly 
 as Leonard, who kept fast hold of him, and walked by his side, 
 would permit. Presently, they reached a door, which neither the 
 apprentice nor Rainbird had observed before, and which admitted 
 them into an extensive vault, with a short staircase at the further 
 end, communicating with a passage that Leonard did not require 
 to be informed was in another house. 
 
 Here Chowles paused. 
 
 " I think it right to warn you you are running into a danger 
 from which ere long you will be glad to draw back, young man," 
 he said to the apprentice. " As a friend, I advise you to proceed 
 no further in the matter." 
 
 " Waste no more time in talking," cried Leonard, fiercely, and 
 forcing him forward as he spok^ " where is Nizza? Lead me to 
 her without an instant's delay." 
 
 "A wilful man must have his way," returned Chowles, hurry- 
 ing up the main staircase. " It is not my fault if any harm befalls 
 you." 
 
 They had just gained the landing when a door on the right was 
 suddenly thrown open, and Sir Paul Parravicin stood before them. 
 He looked surprised and startled at the sight of the apprentice, and 
 angrily demanded his business. 
 
 7 18 
 
274 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 ** I am come for Nizza Macascree," replied Leonard, " whom 
 you and Chowles have detained against her will." 
 
 Parravicin glanced sternly and inquiringly at the coffin-maker. 
 *' I have protested to him that she is not here, Sir Paul," said the 
 latter, " but he will not believe me, and has compelled me, by 
 threats of taking my life, to bring him and his companion to you." 
 
 " Then take them back again," rejoined Parravicin, turning 
 haughtily upon his heel. 
 
 " That answer will not suffice, Sir Paul," cried Leonard — " I 
 will not depart without her." 
 
 " How!" exclaimed the Knight, drawing his sword. " Do you 
 dare to intrude upon my presence. Begone, or I will punish your 
 presumption." And he prepared to attack the apprentice. 
 
 " Advance a footstep," rejoined Leonard, who had never re- 
 linquished his grasp of Chowles, " and I pass my sword through 
 this man's body. Speak, villain," he continued, in a tone so for- 
 midable that the coffin-maker shook with apprehension, — " is she 
 here or not ?" 
 
 Chowles gazed from him to the Knight, whose deportment was 
 equally menacing, and appeared bewildered with terror. 
 
 " It is needless," said Leonard, " your looks answer for you, 
 She i.9." 
 
 " Yes, yes, 1 confess she is," replied Chowles. 
 
 " You hear what he says. Sir Paul," remarked Leonard. 
 
 *' His fears would make him assert anything," rejoined Parravicin, 
 disdainfully. " If you do not depart instantly, I will drive you forth." 
 
 " Sir Paul Parravicin," rejoined Leonard, in an authoritative 
 tone, " I command you, in the King's name, to deliver up this girl." 
 
 Parravicin laughecl scornfully. " The King has no authority 
 here," he said. 
 
 "Pardon me. Sir Paul," rejoined Chowles, who began to be 
 seriously alarmed at his own situation, and eagerly grasped at the 
 opportunity that offered of extricating himself from it, — *' pardon 
 me. If it is the King's pleasure she should be removed, it materially 
 alters the case, and I can be no party to her detention." 
 
 "Both you and your employer will incur his Majesty's severest 
 displeasure by detaining her after this notice," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " Before I listen to the young man's request, let him declare that 
 it is his intention to deliver her up to the King," rejoined Parra- 
 vicin, coldly. 
 
 "It is my intention to deliver her up to one who has the best 
 right to take charge of her," retained Leonard. 
 
 ''You mean her father?" sneered Parravicin. 
 
 " Ay, but not the person you suppose to be her father," replied 
 Leonard. "An important discovery has been made respecting her 
 parentage." 
 
 *' Indeed 1" exclaimed Parravicin, with a look of surprise. " Who 
 has the honour to be her father?" 
 
 " A gentleman named Thirlby," replied Leonard. 
 
 "What!" cried Parravicin, starting, and turning pale. "Did 
 you say Thirlby?" 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 275 
 
 The apprentice reiterated his assertion. 
 
 Parravicin uttered a deep groan, and pressed his hand forcibly 
 against his brow for some moments, during which the apprentice 
 watched him narrowly. He then controlled himself by a powerful 
 effort, and returned his sword to its scabbard. "Come into this 
 room, young man," he said to the apprentice, " and let your com- 
 panion remain outside with Chowles. Fear nothing. I intend you 
 no injury." 
 
 " 1 do not distrust you," replied Leonard, " and if I did, should 
 have no apprehension." And motioning Rainbird to remain where 
 he was, he entered the room with the Knight, who instantly closed 
 the door. 
 
 Paravicin's first proceeding was to question him as to his reasons 
 for supposing Nizza to be Thirlby's daughter, and clearly perceiving 
 the deep interest his interrogator took in the matter, and the 
 favourable change that, from some unknown cause, had been 
 wrought in his sentiments, the apprentice did not think fit to hide 
 anything from him. Parravicin's agitation increased as he listened 
 to the recital ; and at last, overcome by emotion, he sank into a 
 chair, and covered his face with his hands. Recovering himself in 
 a short time, he arose, and began to pace the chamber to and fro. 
 
 " What 1 have told you seems to have disturbed you, Sir Paul," 
 remarked Leonard. ' ' May I ask the cause of your agitation ?" 
 
 " No, man, you may not," replied Parravicin angrily. And then 
 suddenly checking himself, he added, with forced calmness, " And 
 so you parted with Mr. Thirlby on London Bridge, and you think 
 he will return to Doctor Hodges's residence in Wathng Street ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it," rephed Leonard. 
 
 " I must see him without delay," rejoined Parravicin. 
 
 *' I will take you to him," remarked Leonard ; " but first I must 
 see Nizza." 
 
 Parravicin walked to a table, on which stood a small silver bell, 
 and ringing it, the summons was immediately answered by an old 
 woman. He was about to deliver a message to her, when the dis- 
 turbed expression of her countenance struck him, and he hastily 
 inquired the cause of it. 
 
 "You must not see the young lady to-night. Sir Paul," said the 
 old woman. 
 
 " Why not?" demanded the Knight, hastily. "Why not?" 
 
 " Because, — but you frighten me so that I dare not speak," was 
 the answer. 
 
 ' ' 1 will frighten you still more if you keep me in this state of 
 suspense," rejoined Parravicin, furiously. " Is she ill?" 
 
 " I fear she has got the plague," returned the old woman. "Now 
 you can see her if you think proper." 
 
 "J will see her," said Leonard. " I have no fear of infection." 
 
 The old woman looked hard at Parravicin, as if awaiting his 
 orders. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you can take him to her room," said the Knight, who 
 seemed con^letely overpowered by the intelligence, " if he chooses 
 to go thither. But why do you suppose it is the plague ?" 
 
276 OLD SAINT PAIX S. 
 
 *' One cannot well be deceived in a seizure of that kind," replied 
 the old woman, shaking her head. 
 
 " I thought the disorder never attacked the same person twice," 
 said Parravicin. 
 
 " I myself am an instance to the contrary," replied Leonard. 
 
 " And, as you have twice recovered, there may be a chance for 
 Nizza," said Parravicin. " This old woman will take you to her. 
 I will hasten to Doctor Hodges's residence, and if I should fail in 
 meeting him, will not rest till I procure assistance elsewhere. Do 
 not leave her till I return." 
 
 Leonard readily gave a promise to the desired effect, and accom- 
 panying him to tjfie door, told Rainbird what had happened. The 
 latter agreed to wait below to render any assistance that might be 
 required, and went down stairs with Parravicin and Chowles. The 
 two latter instantly quitted the house together, and hastened to 
 Watling Street. 
 
 With a beating heart, Leonard then followed the old woman to 
 Nizza's chamber. They had to pass through a small ante-room, 
 the door of which was carefully locked. The suite of apartments 
 occupied by the captive girl were exquisitely and luxuriously fur- 
 nished, and formed a striking contrast to the rest of the house. 
 The air was loaded with perfumes ; choice pictures adorned the 
 walls, and the tables were covered with books and china ornaments. 
 The windows, however, were strictly barred, and every precaution 
 appeared to be taken to prevent an attempt at escape. Leonard 
 cast an anxious look round as he entered the ante-room, and its 
 luxurious air filled him with anxiety. His conductress, however, 
 did not allow him time for reflection, but led him into another 
 room, still more richly furnished than the first, and Ughted by a 
 large coloured lamp, that shed a warm glow around it. An old 
 dwarfed African, in a fantastic dress, and with a large scimetar 
 stuck in his girdle, stepped forward on their approach, and shook 
 his head significantly. 
 
 " He is dumb," said the old woman, " but his gestures are easy 
 to be understood. He means that INizza is worse." 
 
 Leonard heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 Passing into a third room, they perceived the poor girl stretched 
 on a couch placed in a recess at one side. She heard their foot- 
 steps, and without raising her head, or looking towards them, said, 
 in a weak but determined voice — ' Tell your master 1 will see him 
 no more. The plague has again attacked me, and I am glad of it, 
 for it will deliver me from him. It will be useless to offer me 
 any remedies, for 1 will not take them." 
 
 "It is not Sir Paul Parravicin," replied the old woman. "I 
 have brought a stranger, with whose name 1 am unacquainted, to 
 see you." 
 
 " Then you have done very wrong,'' replied Nizza. "1 will see 
 no one." 
 
 '• Not even me. INizza?" asked Leonard, advancing. 
 
 The poor girl started at the sound of his voice, and raising herself 
 on one arm, looked wildly towards him. As soon as she was sa- 
 
TBE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS L4NE. 277 
 
 tisfied that her fancy had not deceived her, she uttered a cry of 
 deHght, and falling backwards on the couch, became insensible. 
 
 Leonard and the old woman instantly flew to the poor girl's as- 
 sistance, and restoratives being apphed, she speedily opened her 
 eyes, and fixed them tenderly and inquiringly on the apprentice. 
 Before replying to her mute interrogatories, Leonard requested 
 the old woman (o leave them, — an order very reluctantly obeyed, — 
 and as soon as they were left alone, proceeded to explain, as briefly 
 as he could, the manner in which he had discovered her place of 
 captivity. INizza listened to his recital with the greatest interest, 
 and though evidently suffering acute pain, uttered no complaint, 
 but endeavoured to assume an appearance of composure and tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 ' ' 1 must now tell you all that has befallen me since we last 
 met," she said, as he concluded. "I will not dwell upon the per- 
 secution I endured from the King, whose passion increased in pro- 
 portion to my resistance, — I will not dwell upon the arts, the in- 
 famous arts, used to induce me to comply with his wishes, — neither 
 will I dwell upon the desperate measure 1 had determined to resort 
 to, if driven to the last strait, — nor would I mention the subject 
 at all, except to assure you I escaped contamination, where few 
 .-escape it." 
 
 '^ You need not give me any such assurance," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " While 1 was thus almost driven to despair," pursued Nizza, "a 
 young female, who attended me, and affected to deplore my situa- 
 tion, offered to help me to escape. 1 eagerly embraced the offer ; 
 and one night, having purloined, as she stated, the key of the 
 chamber in which 1 was lodged, she conducted me by a back stair- 
 case into the palace gardens. Thinking myself free, I warmly 
 thanked my supposed deliverer, who hurried me towards a gate, 
 at which she informed me a man was waiting to guide me to a 
 cottage about a mile from the city, where I should be in perfect 
 safety." 
 
 " 1 see the device," cried Leonard. " But why — why did you 
 trust her ?" 
 
 " What could I do ?" rejoined Nizza. " To stay was as bad as 
 to fly, and might have been worse. At all events, 1 had no distrust. 
 My companion opened the gate, and called to some person without. 
 It was profoundly dark ; but 1 could perceive a carriage, or some 
 other vehicle, at a little distance. Alarmed at the sight, I whis- 
 pered my fears to my companion, and would have retreated ; but 
 she laid hold of my hand, and detained me. The next moment, I 
 felt a rude grasp upon my arm. Before 1 could cry out, a hand 
 was placed over my mouth so closely as almost to stifle me ; and I 
 was forced into the carriage by two persons, who seated themselves 
 on either side of me, threatening to put me to death if 1 made the 
 slightest noise. The carriage was then driven off at a furious pace. 
 For some miles it pursued the high road, and then struck into a 
 lane, where, in consequence of the deep and dangerous ruts, the 
 driver was^ obliged to relax his speed. But in spite of all his cau- 
 tion, one of the wheels sunk into a hole, and in the efforts to extri- 
 
278 
 
 cate it, the carriage was overturned. No injury was sustained 
 either by me or the others inside, and, the door being forced open 
 without much difficulty, we were let out. One of my captors kept 
 near me, while the other lent his assistance to the coachman to set 
 the carriage to-rights. It proved, however, to be so much damaged, 
 that it could not proceed ; and after considerable delay, my con- 
 ductors ordered the coachman to remain with it till further assistance 
 could be sent; and, taking the horses, one of them, notwithstanding 
 my resistance, placed me beside him, and galloped off. Having 
 ridden about five miles, we crossed an extensive common, and 
 passed an avenue of trees, which brought us to the entrance of an 
 old house. Our arrival seemed to be expected ; for the instant we 
 appeared the gate was opened, and the old woman you have just 
 seen, and who is called Mrs. Carteret, together with a dumb Afri- 
 can, named Hassan, appeared at it. Some muttered discourse 
 passed between my conductors and these persons, which ended in 
 my being committed to the care of Mrs. Carteret, who led me up- 
 stairs to a richly-furnished chamber, and urged me to take some 
 refreshment before I retired to rest, which, however, 1 dechned." 
 
 ' ' Still you saw nothing of Sir Paul Parravicin ?" asked Leo- 
 nard. 
 
 "" On going down stairs next morning, he was the first person I 
 beheld," replied Nizza. " Falling upon his knees, he implored my 
 pardon for the artifice he had practised, and said he had been com- 
 pelled to have recourse to it in order to save me from the King. 
 He then began to plead his own suit; but finding his protestations of 
 passion of no effect, he became yet more importunate ; when, at 
 this juncture, one of the men, who had acted as my conductor 
 on the previous night, suddenly entered the room, and told him he 
 must return to Oxford without an instant's delay, as the King's 
 attendants were in search of him. Casting a look at me that made 
 me tremble, he then departed ; and though I remained more than 
 two months in that house, 1 saw nothing more of him." 
 
 ' ' Did you not attempt to escape during that time ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 *' I was so carefully watched by Mrs. Carteret and Hassan that it 
 would have been vain to attempt it," she replied. " About a week 
 ago, the two men who had conducted me to my place of captivity 
 again made their appearance, and told me 1 must accompany them 
 to London. 1 attempted no resistance, well aware it would be use- 
 less ; and as the journey was made by by-roads, three days elapsed 
 before we reached the capital. We arrived at night, and I almost 
 forgot my own alarm in the terrible sights I beheld at every turn. 
 It would have been useless to call out for assistance, for there was 
 no one to afford it. I asked my conductors if they had brought me 
 there to die, and they answered me sternly, ' It depended on my- 
 self.' At Ludgate we met Chowles, the coffin-maker, and he brought 
 us to this house. Yesterday, Sir Paul Parravicin made his appear- 
 ance, and told me had brought me hither to be out of the King's 
 way. He then renewed his odious solicitations. I resisted him as 
 firmly as before;. but he was more determined, and I might have 
 been reduced to the last extremity but for your arrival, or for the 
 
THE HOUSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 279 
 
 terrible disorder that has seized me. But I have spoken enough of 
 myself. Tell me what has become of Amabel?" 
 
 " She too has got the plague," replied Leonard, mournfully. 
 
 " Alas! alas !" cried Niz^a, bursting into tears — " she is so dear 
 to you, that I grieve for her far more than for myself." 
 
 " I have not seen her since I last beheld you," said Leonard, 
 greatly touched by the poor girl's devotion. "She was carried off 
 by the Earl of Rochester on the same night that you were taken 
 from Kingston Lisle by the King." 
 
 ' ' And she has been in his power ever since ?" demanded Nizza, 
 . eagerly. 
 I *' Ever since," repeated Leonard. 
 
 '' The same Power that has watched over me 1 trust has protected 
 her," cried Nizza, fervently. 
 
 " I cannot doubt it," rephed Leonard. " She would not now be 
 alive were it otherwise. But I have now something of importance 
 to disclose to you. You remember the stranger we met near the 
 plague-pit in Finsbury-fields, and whose child I buried?" 
 
 *' Perfectly," replied Nizza. 
 
 " What if 1 tell you he is your father?" said Leonard. 
 
 '' What!" cried Nizza, in the utmost surprise. " Have I then 
 been mistaken all these years, in supposing the piper to be my 
 father?" 
 
 " You have," repHed Leonard. " I cannot explain more to you 
 at present, but a few hours will reveal all. Thirlby is the name 
 of your father. Have you ever heard it before ?" 
 
 "■ Never," returned Nizza. " It is strange what you tell me. I 
 have often reproached myself for not feeling a stronger affection for 
 the piper, who always treated me with the kindness of a parent. 
 But it now seems the true instinct was wanting. Tell me your 
 reasons for supposing this person to be my father." 
 
 As Leonard was about to reply, the door was opened by Mrs. 
 Carteret, who said that Sir Paul Parravicin had just returned with 
 Doctor Hodges and another gentleman. The words were scarcely 
 uttered, when Thirlby rushed into the roon, and flinging himself on 
 his knees before the couch, cried — " At last I have found you,— ^ 
 my child! my child!" 
 
 The surprise which Nizza must have experienced at such an ad- 
 dress was materially lessened by what Leonard had just told her, 
 and after earnestly regarding the stranger for some time, she ex- 
 claimed, in a gentle voice, "My father!" 
 
 Thirlby sprang to his feet, and would have folded her in his arms, 
 if Doctor Hodges, who by this time had reached the couch, had not 
 prevented him. 
 
 " Touch her not, or you destroy yourself," he cried. 
 
 " I care not if I do," rejoined Thirlby. " The gratification would 
 be cheaply purchased at the price of my life, and if I could preserve 
 hers by the sacrifice, I would gladly make it." 
 
 '' No more of this," cried Hodges, impatiently, "or you will de- 
 feat any attempt 1 may make to cure her. You had better not re- 
 main here. Your presence agitates her." 
 
280 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 Gazing wistfully at his daughter, and scarcely able to tear him- 
 self away, Thirlby yielded at last to the Doctor's advice, and quitted 
 the room. He was followed by Leonard, who received a hint to 
 the same effect. On reaching the adjoining room, they found Sir 
 Paul Parravicin walking to and fro in an agitated manner. He im- 
 mediately came up to Thirlby, and in an anxious but deferential 
 tone, inquired how he had found Nizza. The latter shook his head, 
 and sternly declining any further conversation, passed on with the 
 apprentice into an outer room. He then flung himself into a chair, 
 and appeared lost in deep and bitter reflection. Leonard was un- 
 willing to disturb him, but at last his own anxieties compelled him 
 to break silence. "Can you tell me aught of Amabel ?" he asked. 
 
 "Alas! no,' replied Thirlby, rousing himself. " I have had no 
 time to inquire about her, as you shall hear. After leaving you 
 on the bridge, I went into Southwark, and hurrying through all the 
 principal streets, inquired from every watchman 1 met whether he 
 had seen any person answering to Doctor Hodges's description, but 
 could hear nothing of him. At last, I gave up the quest, and re- 
 tracing my steps, was proceeding along Cannon Street, when I 
 descried a person a little in advance of me, whom I thought must 
 be the Doctor, and calling out to him, found I was not mistaken. I 
 had just reached him when two other persons turned the corner of 
 Nicholas Lane. On seeing us, one of them ran up to the Doctor, 
 exclaiming, ' By heaven, the very person I want!' It was Sir Paul 
 Parravicin, and he instantly explained his errand. Imagine the 
 feelings with which I heard his account of the illnels of my daughter. 
 Imagine, also, the horror I must have experienced in recognising in 
 her persecutor my " 
 
 The sentence was not completed, for al that moment the door 
 was opened by Sir Paul Parravicin, who, advancing towards Thirlby, 
 begged, in the same deferential tone as before, to have a few words 
 with him. 
 
 " I might well refuse you," replied Thirlby, sternly, " but it is 
 necessary we should have some explanation of what has occurred." 
 
 "It is," rejoined Parravicin, "and, therefore, I have sought 
 you." 
 
 Thirlby arose, and accompanied the Knight into the outer room, 
 closing the door after him. More than a quarter of an hour, — it 
 seemed an age to Leonard, — elapsed, and still no one came. List- 
 ening intently, he heard voices in the next room. They were loud 
 and angry as if in quarrel. Then all was quiet, and at last Thirlby 
 reappeared, and took a seat beside him. 
 
 '' Have you seen Doctor Hodges ?" inquired the apprentice, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I have," replied Thirlby — "and he speaks favourably of my 
 poor child. He has administered all needful remedies, but as it is 
 necessary to watch their effect, he will remain with her some time 
 longer." 
 
 And, meanwhile, I shall know nothing of Amabel," cried Leo- 
 
 nard, in a tone of bitter disappointment. 
 
 *' Your anxiety is natural," returned Thirlby, " but 
 
 you may rest 
 
THE HOrSE IN NICHOLAS LANE. 281 
 
 satisfied, if Doctor Hodges has seen her, he has done all that human 
 aid can effect. But as you must perforce wait his coming forth, I 
 will endeavour to beguile the tedious interval by relating to you so 
 much of my history as refers to Nizza Macascree." 
 
 "After a brief pause, he commenced : 
 
 " You must know, then, that in my youth I became desperately 
 enamoured of a lady named Isabella Morley. She was most beau- 
 tiful — but I need not enlarge upon her attractions, since you have 
 beheld her very image in Nizza. When I first met her she was at- 
 tached to another, but I soon rid myself of my rival. I quarrelled 
 with him, and slew him in a duel. After a long and urgent suit, 
 for the successful issue of which I was mainly indebted to my rank 
 and wealth, which gave great influence with her parents, Isabella 
 became mine. But I soon found out she did not love me. In con- 
 sequence of this discovery, I became madly jealous, and embittered 
 her life and my own by my constant, and I now know too well, 
 groundless suspicions. She had borne me a son, and in the excesses 
 of my jealous fury, fancying the child was not my own, I threatened 
 to put it to death. This violence led to the unhappy result I am 
 about to relate. Another child was born, a daughter — need I say 
 Nizza, or, to give her her proper name, Isabella, for she was so 
 christened after her mother, — and one night — one luckless night, 
 maddened by some causeless doubt, I snatched the innocent babe 
 from her mother's arms, and if I had not been prevented by the at- 
 tendants, who rushed into the room on hearing their mistress's 
 shrieks, should have destroyed her. After awhile, 1 became pa- 
 cified, and on reviewing my conduct more calmly on the morrow, 
 bitterly reproached myself, and hastened to express my penitence to 
 my wife. ' You will never have an opportunity of repeating your 
 violence,' she said ; ' the object of your cruel and unfounded sus- 
 picions is gone.' — ' Gone ! ' I exclaimed ; ' whither ?' And as I spoke 
 1 looked around the chamber. But the babe was nowhere to be 
 seen. In answer to my inquiries, my wife admitted she had caused 
 her to be removed to a place of safety, but refused, even on my 
 most urgent entreaties, accompanied by promises of amended con- 
 duct, to tell me where. I next interrogated the servants, but they 
 professed entire ignorance of the matter. For three whole days I 
 made ineffectual search for the child, and offered large rewards to 
 any one who would bring her to me. But they failed to produce 
 her ; and repairing to my wife's chamber, I threatened her with the 
 most terrible consequences if she persisted in her vindictive project. 
 She defied me, and, transported with rage, I passed my sword 
 through her body, exclaiming, as I dealt the murderous blow, ' You 
 have sent the brat to her father — to your lover, madam.' Horror 
 and remorse seized me the moment I had committed the ruthless 
 act, and I should have turned my sword against myself, if I had not 
 been stayed by the cry of my poor victim, who implored me to 
 hold my hand. ' Do not add crime to crime,' she cried ; ' you have 
 done me grievous wrong. I have not, indeed, loved you, because 
 my affections^ were not under my control, but I have been ever true 
 to you, and this I declare with my latest breath. I freely forgive 
 
282 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 you, and pray God to turn your heart.* And with these words, 
 she expired. I was roused from the stupefaction into which I was 
 thrown by the appearance of the servants. Heaping execrations 
 upon me, they strove to seize me ; but 1 broke through them, and 
 gained a garden at the back of my mansion, which was situated on 
 the banks of the Thames, not far from Chelsea. This garden ran 
 down to the river side, and was defended by a low wall, which I 
 leaped, and plunged into the stream. A boat was instantly sent in 
 pursuit of me, and a number of persons ran along the banks, all 
 eager for my capture. But being an excellent swimmer, 1 con- 
 trived to elude* them, and as I never appeared again, it was sup- 
 posed ] was drowned." 
 
 *'And Kizza, or, as I ought now to call her, Isabella, was con- 
 fided, I suppose, to the piper?" inquired Leonard. 
 
 "She was confided to his helpmate," rephed Thirlby, ''who had 
 been nurse to my wife. Mike Macascree was one of my father's 
 servants, and was in his younger days a merry, worthless fellow. 
 The heavy calamity under which he now labours had not then be- 
 fallen him. On taking charge of my daughter, his wife received 
 certain papers substantiating the child's origin, together with a 
 miniature, and a small golden amulet. The papers and miniature 
 were delivered by her on her death-bed to the piper, who showed 
 them to me to-night." 
 
 " And the amulet I myself have seen," remarked Leonard. 
 
 " To resume my own history," said Thirlby — "after the dreadful 
 catastrophe 1 have related, 1 remained concealed in London for 
 some months, and was glad to find the report of my death generally 
 believed. I then passed over into Holland, where 1 remained for 
 several years, in the course of which time 1 married the widow of a 
 rich merchant, who died soon after our union, leaving me one child." 
 
 And he covered his hands to hide his emotion. After a while, 
 he proceeded — "Having passed many years as peacefully as one 
 whose conscience was so heavily burdened as mine could hope to 
 pass them in Amsterdam, I last summer brought my daughter, 
 around whom ray affections were closely twined, to London, and 
 took uj) my abode in the eastern environs of the city. There again 
 1 was happy — too happy ! — until at last the plague came — but why 
 should I relate the rest of my sad story," he added, in a voice suffo- 
 cated with emotion — " you know it as well asl do." 
 
 "You said you had a son," observed Leonard, after a pause — 
 "Is he yet living?" 
 
 " He is," replied Thirlby, a shade passing over his countenance. 
 " On my return to England, I communicated to him through Judith 
 Malmayns, who is my faster-sister, that I was still alive, telling 
 him the name I had adopted, and adding, I should never disturb 
 him in the possession of his title and estates." 
 
 "Title!" exclaimed Leonard. 
 
 "Ay, title I" echoed Thirlby. "The title I once bore was that 
 of Lord Argentine." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Leonard, "for I began to fear Sir 
 Paul Parravicin was your son."' 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 283 
 
 '* Sir Paul Parravicin, or, rather, the Lord Argentine, for such 
 is his rightful title, is my son," returned Thirlby; " and I lament to 
 own I am his father. When among his worthless associates, — 
 nay, even with the King, — he drops the higher title, and assumes 
 that by which you have known him, and it is well he does so, for his 
 actions are sufficient to tarnish a far nobler name than that he 
 bears. Owing to this disguise I knew not he was the person who 
 carried off my daughter. But, thank heaven ! another, and fouler 
 crime, has been spared us. AH these things have been strangely 
 explained to me to-night. And thus you see, young man, the 
 poor piper's daughter turns out to be the Lady Isabella Argentine." 
 
 Before an answer could be returned, the door was opened by 
 Hodges, and both starting to their feet hurried towards him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 , THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. 
 
 It will now be necessary to return to the period of Amabel's 
 abduction from Kingston Lisle. The shawl thrown over her head 
 prevented her cries from being heard ; and notwithstanding her 
 struggles, she was placed on horseback before a powerful man, 
 who galloped off with her along the Wantage Road. After pro- 
 ceeding at a rapid pace for about two miles, her conductor came to 
 a halt, and she could distinguish the sound of other horsemen ap- 
 proaching. At first, she hoped it might prove a rescue. But she 
 was quickly undeceived. The shawl was removed, and she beheld 
 the Earl of Rochester, accompanied by Pillichody, and some half- 
 dozen mounted attendants. The Earl would have transferred her 
 to his own steed, but she offered, such determined resistance to the 
 arrangement, that he was compelled to content himself with 
 riding by her side. All his efforts to engage her in conversation 
 were equally unsuccessful. She made no reply to his remarks, but 
 averted her gaze from him ; and, whenever he approached, shrank 
 from him with abhorrence. The Earl, however, was not easily 
 repulsed, but continued his attentions, and discourse, as if both 
 had been favourably received. 
 
 In this way they proceeded for some miles, one of the Earl's at- 
 tendants, who was well acquainted .with the country, being, in 
 fact, a native of it, serving as their guide. They had quitted the 
 Wantage road, and leaving that ancient town, renowned as the 
 birth-place of the great Alfred, on the right, had taken the direc- 
 tion of Abingdon and Oxford. It was a lovely evening, and their 
 course led them through many charming places. But the dreariest 
 waste would have been as agreeable as the richest prospect to 
 Amabel. Sh^ noted neither the broad meadows, yet white from 
 the scythe, nor the corn-fields waving with their deep and abun- 
 
284 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 dant, though yet immature crops ; nor did she cast even a passins^ 
 glance at any of those green spots which every lane offers, an(l 
 upon which the eye of the traveller ordinarily dehghts to linger. 
 She rode beneath a natural avenue of trees, whose branches met 
 over-head like the arches of a cathedral, and was scarcely conscious 
 of their pleasant shade. She heard neither the song of the wooing 
 thrush, nor the cry of the startled blackbird, nor the evening hymn 
 of the soaring lark. AHke to her was the gorse-covered common, 
 along which they swiftly speeded, and the steep hill-side up which 
 they more swiftly mounted. She breathed not the delicious fra- 
 grance of the new-mown hay, nor listened to the distant lowing 
 herds, the bleating sheep, or the cawing rooks. She thought of 
 nothing but her perilous situation, — heard nothing but the voice of 
 Rochester, — felt nothing but the terror inspired by his presence. 
 
 As the Earl did not desire to pass through any village if he could 
 help it, his guide led them along the most unfrequented roads ; but, 
 in spite of his caution, an interruption occurred which had nearly 
 resulted in Amabel's deliverance. While threading a narrow lane, 
 they came suddenly upon a troop of haymakers, in a field on the 
 right, who, up to that moment, had been hidden from view by 
 the high hedges. On seeing them, Amabel screamed loudly for 
 assistance, and was instantly answered by their shouts. Rochester 
 ordered his men to gallop forward, but the road winding round the 
 meadow, the haymakers were enabled to take a shorter cut and 
 intercept them. Leaping the hedge, a stout fellow rushed towards 
 Amabel's conductor, and seized the bridle of his steed. He was 
 followed by two others, who would have instantly liberated the 
 captive girl, if the Earl had not, with great presence of mind, cried 
 out, "Touch her not, as you value your lives I She is ill of the 
 plague !" 
 
 At this formidable announcement, which operated like magic 
 upon Amabel's defenders, and made them fall back more quickly 
 than the weapons of the Earl's attendants could have done, they 
 retreated, and communicating their fears to their comrades, who 
 were breaking through the hedge in all directions, and hurrying to 
 their aid, the whole band took to their heels, and regardless of 
 Amabel's continued shrieks, never stopped till they supposed them- 
 selves out of reach of infection. The Earl was thus at liberty to 
 pursue his way unmolested, and laughing heartily at the success of 
 his stratagem, and at the consternation he had created among the 
 haymakers, pressed forward. 
 
 Nothing further occurred, till, in crossing the little river Ock, 
 near Lyford, the horse ridden by Amabel's conductor missed its 
 footing, and precipitated them both into the water. No ill conse- 
 quences followed the accident. Throwing himself into the shallow 
 stream, Rochester seized Amabel, and placed her beside him on 
 his own steed. A deathly paleness overspread her countenance, 
 and a convulsion shook her frame as she was thus brought into 
 contact with the Earl, who, fearing the immersion might prove 
 dangerous in her present delicate state of health, quickened his 
 pace to procure assistance. Before he had proceeded a hundred 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. . 285 
 
 yards, Amabel fainted. Gazing at her with admiration, and 
 pressing her inanimate frame to his breast, Rochester imprinted a 
 passionate kiss on her cheek. 
 
 "By my soul 1" he mentally ejaculated, " I never thought I could 
 be so desperately enamoured. I would not part with her for the 
 crown of these realms." 
 
 While considering whither he should take her, and much alarmed 
 at her situation, the man who acted as guide came to his relief. 
 Halting till the Earl came up, he said, '' If you want assistance for 
 the young lady, my lord, I can take you to a good country inn, not 
 far from this, where she will be well attended to, and where, as it is 
 kept by my father, I can answer that no questions will be asked." 
 
 "Precisely what I wish, Sherborne," replied Rochester. " We 
 will halt there for the night. Ride on as fast as you can." 
 
 Sherborne struck spurs into his steed, and passing Kingston Bag- 
 puze, reached the high road between Abingdon and Farringdon, at 
 the corner of which stood the inn in question, — a good-sized habi- 
 tation, with large stables and a barn attached to it. Here he halted, 
 and calling out in a loud and authoritative voice, the landlord in- 
 stantly answered the summons ; and on being informed by his son 
 of the rank of his guest, doffed his cap, and hastened to assist the 
 Earl to dismount. But Rochester dechned his services, and bidding 
 him summon his wife, she shortly afterwards made her appearance 
 in the shape of a stout middle-aged dame. Committing Amabel to 
 her care, the Earl then alighted, and followed them into the house. 
 
 The Plough, for so the inn was denominated, was thrown into 
 the utmost confusion by the arrival of the Earl and his suite. All 
 the ordinary frequenters of the inn were ejected, while the best 
 parlour was instantly prepared for the accommodation of his lordship 
 and Pillichody. But Rochester was far more anxious for Amabel 
 than himself, and could not rest for a moment till assured by Dame 
 Sherborne that she was restored to sensibiUty, and about to retire 
 to rest. He then became easy, and sat down to supper with Pilli- 
 chody. So elated was he by his success, that, yielding to his na- 
 tural inclination for hard drinking, he continued to revel so freely 
 and so long with his follower, that daybreak found them over their 
 wine, the one toasting the grocer's daughter and the other Patience, 
 when they both staggered off to bed. 
 
 A couple of hours sufficed Rochester to sleep off the effects of his 
 carouse. At six o'clock he arose, and ordered his attendants to 
 prepare to set out without delay. When all was ready, he sent for 
 Amabel, but she refused to come down stairs, and findmg his re- 
 peated messages of no avail, he rushed into her room, and bore 
 her, shrieking, to his steed. 
 
 In an hour after- this, they arrived at an old hall, belonging to 
 the Earl, in the neighbourhood of Oxford. Amabel was entrusted 
 to the care of a female attendant, named Prudence, and towards 
 evening, Rochester, who was burning with impatience for an inter- 
 view, learnt, to his infinite disappointment, that she was so se- 
 riously unwell, that if he forced himself into her presence her life 
 might be placed in jeopardy. She continued in the same state for 
 
286 OLD SAINT PACL's. 
 
 several days, at the end of which time the chirurgeon who attended 
 her, and who was a creature of the Earl's, pronounced her out of 
 danger. Rochester Ihen sent her word by Prudence that he must 
 see her in the course of that day, and a few hours after the delivery 
 of the message, he sought her room. She was much enfeebled by 
 illness, but received him with great self-possession. 
 
 "I cannot believe, my lord," she said, '-that you desire to 
 destroy me, and when I assure you — solemnly assure you, that if 
 you continue to persecute me thus, my death will be the conse- 
 quence, I am persuaded you will desist, and suffer me to depart." 
 
 " Amabel," rejoined the Earl, passionately, — " is it possible you 
 can be so changed towards me ? Nothing now interferes to prevent 
 our union." 
 
 " Except my own determination to the contrary, my lord," she 
 replied, " I can never be yours." 
 
 ' ' Wherefore not ?" asked the Earl, half angrily, half reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 ' ' Because I know and feel that I should condemn myself to 
 wretchedness," she repHed. " Because, for since your lordship 
 will force the truth from me, I must speak out, — I have learnt to 
 regard your character in its true light, — and because my heart is 
 wedded to heaven." 
 
 " Pshaw 1" exclaimed the Earl, contemptuously; '' you have been 
 listening so long to your saintly father's discourses, that you fancy 
 them applicable to yourself. But you are mistaken in me," he 
 added, altering his tone; "I see where the main difficulty lies. 
 You think 1 am about to delude you, as before, into a mock mar- 
 riage. But 1 swear to you you are mistaken. I love you so well 
 that I would risk my temporal and eternal happiness for you. It 
 will rejoice me to raise you to my own rank — to place you among 
 the radiant beauties of our sovereign's court, the brightest of whom 
 you will outshine, and to devote my whole hfe to your happiness." 
 
 *' It is too late," sighed Amabel. 
 
 *' Why too late?" cried the Earl, imploringly. "We have gone 
 through severe trials, it is true. I have been constantly baffled in 
 my pursuit of you, but disappointment has only made me love you 
 more devotedly. Why too late ? What is to prevent our nuptials 
 from taking place to-day — to-morrow — when you will ? The King 
 himself shall be present at the ceremony, and shall give you away. 
 Will this satisfy your scruples ? I know I have offended you. I 
 know I deserve your anger. But the love that prompted me to act 
 thus, must also plead my pardon." 
 
 "Strengthen me!" she murmured, looking supplicatingly up- 
 wards. '' Strengthen me, for my trial is very severe." 
 
 " Be not deceived, Amabel," continued Rochester, yet more ar- 
 dently; "that you love me I am well assured, however strongly 
 you may at this moment persuade yourself to the contrary. Be not 
 governed by your father's straight-laced and puritanical opinions. 
 Men, such as he is, cannot judge of fiery natures like mine. I myself 
 have had to conquer a stubborn and rebellious spirit, — the demon 
 pride. But 1 have conquered. Love has achieved the victory,— 
 
THE TRIALS OF AMABEL. ' 2^t 
 
 love for you. I offer you my heart, my hand, my title. A haughty 
 noble makes this offer to a grocer's daughter. Can you — will you 
 refuse me?" 
 
 " I can and do, my lord," she replied. " I have achieved a yet 
 harder victory. With me, principle has conquered love. I no 
 longer respect you, no longer love you — and, therefore, cannot 
 wed you." 
 
 " Rash and obstinate girl," cried the Earl, unable to conceal his 
 mortification ; ' ' you will bitterly repent your inconsiderate conduct. 
 I offer you devotion such as no other person could offer you, and 
 rank such as no other is likely to offer you. You are now in my 
 power, and you shall be mine, — in what way rests with yourself. 
 You shall have a week to consider the matter. At the end of that 
 time, I will again renew my proposal. If you accept it, well and 
 good. If not, you know the alternative." And without waiting for 
 a reply, he quitted the room. 
 
 He was as good as his word. During the whole of the week al- 
 lowed Amabel for consideration, he never intruded upon her, nor 
 was his name at any time mentioned by her attendants. If she had 
 been, indeed, Countess of Rochester, she could not have been 
 treated with greater respect than was shown her. The apartment 
 allotted her opened upon a large garden, surrounded by high walls, 
 and she walked within it daily. Her serenity of mind remained un- 
 disturbed ; her health visibly improved ; and, what was yet more 
 surprising, she entirely recovered her beauty. The whole of her 
 time, not devoted to exercise, was spent in reading, or in prayer. 
 
 On the appointed day, Rochester presented himself. She received 
 him with the most perfect composure, and with a bland look, from 
 which he augured favourably. He waved his hand to the attendants, 
 and they were alone. " I came for your answer, Amabel," he said ; 
 *' but I scarcely require it, being convinced from your looks that I 
 have nothing to fear. Oh ! why did you not abridge this tedious 
 interval ? Why not inform me you had altered your mind ? But I 
 will not reproach you. I am too happy to complain of the delay." 
 
 "I must undeceive you, my lord," returned Amabel, gravely. 
 " No change has taken place in my feelings. I still adhere to the 
 resolution I had come to when we last parted." 
 
 " How !" exclaimed the Earl, his countenance darkening, and the 
 evil look which Amabel had before noticed taking possession of it. 
 " One moment lured on, and next rebuffed. But no — no!" he 
 added, constraining himself, "you cannot mean it. It is not in 
 woman's nature to act thus. You have loved me — you love me still. 
 Make me happy — make yourself happy." 
 
 "My lord," she replied, strange and unnatural as my conduct 
 may appear, you will find it consistent. You have lost the sway 
 you once had over me, and for the reasons I have already given 
 you, I can never be yours." 
 
 " Oh, recall your words, Amabel," he cried in the most moving 
 tones he could command, "if you have no regard for me — at least 
 have compassion. I will quit the court if you desire it ; will abandon 
 title, rank, wealth, and live in the humblest station with you. You 
 
288 OLD SAINT PAIX S. 
 
 know not what I am capable of when under the dominion of passion. 
 I am capable of the darkest crimes, or of the brightest virtues. 
 The woman who has a man's heart in her power may mould it to 
 her own purposes, be they good or ill. Reject me, and you drive me 
 to despair, and plunge me into guilt. Accept me, and you may 
 lead me into any course you please." 
 
 " Were I assured of this — " cried Amabel. 
 
 "Rest assured of it," returned the Earl, passionately. "Oh, 
 yield to impulses of natural affection, and do not suffer a cold and 
 calculating creed to chill your better feehngs. How many a warm 
 and loving heart has been so frozen! Do not let yours be one of 
 them. Be mine ! be mine !" 
 
 Amabel looked at him earnestly for a moment; while he, assured 
 that he had gained his point, could not conceal a slightly triumphant 
 smile. " Now, your answer!" he cried. "My life hangs upon it." 
 
 " I am still unmoved," she repUed, coldly, and firmly. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the Earl with a terrible imprecation, and 
 starting to his feet. "You refuse me. Be it so. But think not 
 that you shall escape me. No, you are in my power, and I will use 
 it. You shall be mine, and without the priest's interference. I 
 will not degrade myself by an alliance with one so lowly born. The 
 strongest love is nearest allied to hatred, and mine has become 
 hatred — bitter hatred. You shall be mine, 1 tell you, and when I 
 am become indifferent to you, I will cast you off. Then, when you 
 are neglected, despised, shunned, you will regret — deeply but un- 
 avaihngly, — your rejection of my proposals." 
 
 " No, my lord, I shall never regret it," replied Amabel, " and I 
 cannot sufficiently rejoice that 1 did not yield to the momentary 
 weakness that inclined me to accept them. 1 thank you for the in- 
 sight you have afforded me into your character." 
 
 " You have formed an erroneous opinion of me, Amabd," cried 
 the Earl, seeing his error, and trying to correct it. "1 am well nigh 
 distracted by conflicting emotions. Oh, forgive my violence ; — 
 forget it." 
 
 " Readily," she repHed ; " but think not I attach the least credit 
 to your professions." 
 
 " Away, then, with further disguise," returned the Earl, relapsing 
 into his furious mood, " and recognise in me the person I am, — or 
 rather the person you would have me be. You say you are im- 
 movable. So am I ; nor will I further delay my purpose." 
 
 Amabel, who had watched him uneasily during this speech, re- 
 treated a step, and taking a small dagger from a handkerchief in 
 which she kept it concealed, placed its point against her breast. ' ' I 
 well know whom 1 have to deal with, my lord," she said, "and am, 
 therefore, provided against the last extremity. Attempt to touch 
 me, and 1 plunge this dagger into my heart." 
 
 " Your sense of rehgion will not allow you to commit so desperate 
 a deed," replied the Earl, derisively. 
 
 " My blood be upon your head, my lord," she rejoined ; "for it 
 is your hand that strikes the blow, and not my own. My honour is 
 dearer to me than life, and 1 will unhesitatingly sacrifice the one to 
 
THE M^RRUGE. 289 
 
 preserve the other. I have no fear but that the action, wrongful 
 though it be, will be forgiven me." 
 
 "Hold!" exclaimed the Earl, seeing from her determined look 
 and manner that she would unquestionably execute her purpose, 
 ' ' I have no desire to drive you to destruction. Think over what I 
 have said to you, and we will renew the subject to-morrow.*' 
 
 "Renew it when you please, my lord, my answer will still be the 
 same," she rephed. " I have but one refuge from you — the grave, 
 and thither, if need be, I will fly." And as she spoke, she moved 
 slowly towards the adjoining chamber, the door of which she fast- 
 ened after her. 
 
 " 1 thought I had some experience of her sex," said Rochester to 
 himself, " but I find I was mistaken. To-morrow's mood, how- 
 ever, may be unhke to-day's. At all events, 1 must take my mea- 
 sures differently." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 Unwilling to beheve he had become an object of aversion to 
 Amabel, Rochester renewed his solicitations on the following day, 
 and calling into play his utmost fascination of manner, endeavoured 
 to remove any ill impression produced by his previous violence. 
 She was proof, however, against his arts ; and though he never lost 
 his mastery over himself, he had some difficulty in concealing his 
 chagrin at the result of the interview. He now began to adopt a 
 different course, and entering into long discussions with Amabel, 
 strove by every effort of wit and ridicule to shake and subvert her 
 moral and religious principles. Rut here again he failed, and once 
 more shifting his ground, affected to be convinced by her arguments. 
 He entirely altered his demeanour, and though Amabel could not 
 put much faith in the change, it was a subject of real rejoicing to 
 her. Though scarcely conscious of it herself, he insensibly won 
 upon her regards, and she passed many hours of each day in his 
 society without finding it irksome. Seeing the advantage he had 
 gained, and well aware that he should lose it by the slightest indis- 
 cretion, Rochester acted with the greatest caution. The more at 
 ease she felt with him, the more deferential did he become ; and 
 before she was conscious of her danger the poor girl was once more 
 on the brink of the precipice. 
 
 It was about this time that Leonard Holt, as has been previously 
 intimated, discovered her retreat, and contrived by clambering up 
 a pear-tree, which was nailed against the wall of the house, to reach 
 her chamber window. Having received her assurance that she had 
 resisted all Rochester's importunities, the apprentice promised to 
 return on the following night with means to effect her liberation, 
 * 19 
 
290 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 and departed. Fully persuaded that she could now repose confi- 
 dence in the Earl, Amabel acquainted him, the next morning, with 
 Leonard's visit, adding that he would now have an opportunity of 
 proving the sincerity of his professions by deUvering her up to her 
 friends. 
 
 " Since you desire it," replied the Earl, who heard her with an 
 unmoved countenance, though internally torn with passion, '' I will 
 convey you to your father myself. I had hoped," he added with a 
 sigh, "that we should never part again." 
 
 *' I fear I have been mistaken in you, my lord," rejoined Amabel, 
 half repenting her frankness. 
 
 " Not so," he replied. "1 will do anything you require, except 
 deliver you to this hateful apprentice. If it is your pleasure, I 
 repeat, 1 will take you back to your father." 
 
 " Promise me this, my lord,, and I shall be quite easy," cried 
 Amabel, joyfully. 
 
 " I do promise it," he returned. " But oh! why not stay with 
 me, and complete the good work you have begun ?" 
 
 Amabel averted her head, and Rochester, sighing deeply, quitted 
 the room. An attendant shortly afterwards came to inform her 
 that the Earl intended to start for London without delay, and begged 
 her to prepare for the journey. In an hour's time, a carriage drove 
 to the door, and Rochester having placed her and Prudence in it, 
 mounted his horse, and set forth. Late on the second day, they 
 krrived in London, and passing through the silent and deserted 
 streets, the aspect of which struck terror into all the party, shaped 
 their course towards the city. Presently, they reached Ludgate, 
 but instead of proceeding to Wood Street, the carriage turned off 
 on the right, and traversing Thames Street, crossed London Bridge. 
 Amabel could obtain no explanation of this change from Prudence, 
 and her uneasiness was not diminished when the vehicle, which was 
 driven down a narrow street on the left immediately after quitting 
 the bridge, stopped at the entrance of a large court-yard. Roches- 
 ter, who had already dismounted, assisted her to alight, and in 
 answer to her hasty inquiries why he had brought her thither, told 
 her he thought it better to defer taking her to her father till the 
 morrow. Obliged to be content with this excuse, she was led into 
 the house, severely reproaching herself for her indiscretion. No- 
 thing, however, occurred to alarm her that night. The Earl was even 
 more deferential than before, and assuring her he would fulfil his 
 promise in the morning, confided her to Prudence. 
 
 The house whither she had been brought was large and old- 
 fashioned. The rooms had once been raagnificenily fitted up, but 
 the hangings and furniture were much faded, and had a gloomy 
 and neglected air. This was especially observable in the sleeping- 
 chamber appointed for her reception. It was large and lofty, pa- 
 nelled with black and shining oak. with a highly-polished floor of 
 the same material, and was filled with cumbrous chests and cabinets, 
 and antique high-backed chairs. But the most noticeable object was 
 a large state-bed, with a heavy square canopy, covered with the 
 richest damask woven with gold, and hung with curtains of the same 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 201 
 
 stuff, though now decayed and tarnished. A chill crept over Amabel 
 as she gazed around. "I cannot help thinking," she observed to 
 Prudence, " that I shall breathe my last in this room, and in that 
 bed." 
 
 " I hope not, madam," returned the attendant, unable to repress 
 a shudder. 
 
 Nothing more was said, and Amabel retired to rest. But not 
 being able to sleep, and having vainly tried to compose herself, she 
 arose and opened the window. It was a serene and beautiful night, 
 and she could see the smooth river sparkling in the starhght, and 
 flowing at a hundred yards' distance at the foot of the garden. 
 Beyond, she could indistinctly perceive the outline of the mighty 
 city, while nearer on the left lay the bridge. Solemnly across the 
 water came the sound of innumerable bells, tolling for those who 
 had died of the plague, and were now being borne to their last 
 home. While listening to these sad sounds, another, but more 
 doleful and appalling noise, caught her ears. It was the rumbhng 
 of cart-wheels in the adjoining street, accompanied by the ringing 
 of a hand-bell, while a hoarse voice cried, " Bring out your dead 1 
 bring out your dead !" On hearing this cry, she closed the window 
 and retired. Morning broke before sleep visited her weary eyelids, 
 and then, overcome by fatigue, she dropped into a slumber, from 
 which she did not awake until day was far advanced. She found 
 Prudence sitting by her bedside, and alarmed by the expression of 
 her countenance, anxiously inquired what was the matter? 
 
 " Alas! madam," repHed the attendant, "the Earl has been taken 
 suddenly ill. He set out for Wood Street the first thing this morn- 
 ing, and has seen your father, who refuses to receive you. On his 
 return, he complained of a slight sickness, which has gradually in- 
 creased in violence, and there can be little doubt it is the plague. 
 Advice has been sent for. He prays you not to disturb yourself on 
 his account, but to consider yourself sole mistress of this house, 
 whatever may befall him." 
 
 Amabel passed a miserably anxious day. A fresh interest had 
 been awakened in her heart in behalf of the Earl, and the precarious 
 state in which she conceived him placed, did not tend to diminish 
 it. She made many inquiries after him, and learned that he was 
 worse, while the fearful nature of the attack could no longer be 
 questioned. On the following day, Prudence reported that the 
 distemper had made such rapid and terrible progress, that his re- 
 covery was considered almost hopeless. " He raves continually of 
 you, madam," said the attendant, "and I have no doubt he will 
 expire with your name on his lips." 
 
 Amabel was moved to tears by the information, and withdrawing 
 into a corner of the room, prayed fervently for the supposed suf- 
 ferer. Prudence gazed at her earnestly and compassionately, and 
 muttering something to herself, quitted the room. The next day 
 was the critical one (so it was said) for the Earl, and Amabel awaited 
 in tearful anxiety the moment that was to decide his fate. It came, 
 and he was pronounced out of danger. When the news was 
 brought the anxious girl, she fainted. 
 
292 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 A week passed, and the Earl continued to improve, and all danger 
 of infection — if any such existed — being at an end, he sent a mes- 
 sage to Amabel, beseeching her to grant him an interview in his 
 own room. She willingly assented, and, following the attendant, 
 found him stretched upon a couch. In spite of his paleness and 
 apparent debility, however, his good looks were but little impaired, 
 and his attire, though negligent, was studiously arranged for effect. 
 On Amabel^s appearance, he made an effort to rise, but she hast- 
 ened to prevent him. After thanking her for her kind inquiries, 
 he entered into a long conversation with her, in the course of which 
 he displayed sentiments so exactly coinciding with her own that the 
 good opinion she had already begun to entertain for him was soon 
 heightened into the liveliest interest. They parted to meet again 
 in the same way on the following day — and on the day following 
 that. The bloom returned to the Earl's countenance, and he looked 
 handsomer than ever. A week thus passed, and at the end of it, 
 he said — "To-morrow I shall be well enough to venture forth 
 again, and my first business shall be to proceed to your father, and 
 see whether he is now able to receive you." 
 
 '' The plague has not yet abated, my lord," she observed, blush- 
 ingly. 
 
 " True," he replied, looking passionately at her. " Oh, forgive 
 me, Amabel," he added, taking her hand, which she did not attempt 
 to withdraw. ' ' Forgive me, if I am wrong. But I now think your 
 feelings are altered towards me, and that I may venture to hope 
 you will be mine ?" 
 
 Amabel's bosom heaved with emotion. She tried to speak, but 
 could not. Her head declined upon his shoulder, and her tears 
 flowed fast. 
 
 " I am answered," he cried, scarcely able to contain his rapture, 
 and straining her to his bosom. 
 
 " I know not whether I am doing rightly," she murmured, gaz- 
 ing at him through her tears, " but I believe you mean me truly. 
 God forgive you if you do not." 
 
 " Have no more doubts," cried the Earl. *' You have wrought 
 an entire change in me. Our union shall not be delayed an hour. 
 It shall take place in Saint Saviour's to-night." 
 
 " Not to-night," cried Amabel, trembling at his eagerness — " to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " To-night, to-night !" reiterated the Earl, victoriously. And he 
 rushed out of the room. 
 
 Amabel was no sooner left to herself than she repented what she 
 had done. "1 fear 1 have made a false step," she mused ; " but 
 it is now too late to retreat, and I will hope for the best. He cannot 
 mean to deceive me." 
 
 Her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Prudence, 
 who came towards her with a face full of glee. "My lord has in- 
 formed me of the good news," she said. " You are to be wedded 
 to him to-day. I have expected it all along, but it is somewhat sud- 
 den at last. He is gone in search of the priest, and in the mean 
 time has ordered me to attire you for the ceremony. I have se- 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 293 
 
 veral rich dresses for your ladyship-— for so I must now call you — 
 to choose from." 
 
 " The simplest will suit me best," replied Amabel; '^and do not 
 call me ladyship till I have a right to the title." 
 
 " That will be so soon that I am sure there can be no harm in 
 using it now," returned Prudence. " But pray let me show you 
 the dresses." 
 
 Amabel suffered herself to be led into another room, where she 
 saw several sumptuous female habiliments, and selecting the least 
 showy of them, was soon arrayed in it by the officious attendant. 
 
 More than two hours elapsed before Rochester returned, when 
 he entered Amabel's chamber, accompanied by Sir George Etherege 
 and Pillichody. A feeling of misgiving crossed Amabel as she be- 
 held his companions. 
 
 *'I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the 
 Earl, "for the rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. 
 His curate, however, will officiate for him, and is now in the church." 
 
 Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. " Why are these 
 gentlemen here ?" she asked. 
 
 " I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, " because, 
 as they were aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish them 
 to be present at its reparation." 
 
 " 1 am satisfied," she replied. 
 
 Taking her hand, the Earl then led her to a carriage which con- 
 veyed them to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the dead-cart 
 passed, and several bodies were brought towards it. Eager to 
 withdraw her attention from the spectacle, Rochester hurried her 
 into the old and beautiful church. In another moment, they were 
 joined by Etherege and PiUichody, and they proceeded to the altar, 
 where the priest, a young man, was standing. The ceremony was 
 then performed, and the Earl led his bride back to the carriage. 
 On their return, they had to undergo another ill-omened interrup- 
 tion. The dead-cart was stationed near the gateway, and some 
 delay occurred before it could be moved forward. Amabel, how- 
 ever, suffered no further misgiving to take possession of her. 
 Deeming herself wedded to the Earl, she put no constraint on her 
 affection for him, and her happiness, though shortlived, was deep 
 and full. 
 
 A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing occurred 
 in the slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester seemed only 
 to live for her — to think only of her. At the end of this time, some 
 indifference began to manifest itself in his deportment to her, and 
 he evinced a disposition to return to the court and to its pleasures. 
 
 ''I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," 
 said Amabel, reproachfully. 
 
 "For awhile I have," he replied, carelessly. 
 
 "You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined. 
 
 " If I must, I must," said the Earl. 
 
 *' You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, buvstipg into tears, 
 *' You calmot be so changed." 
 
294 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 **Ihave never changed since you first knew me," replied Ro- 
 chester. 
 
 "Impossible!" she cried, in a tone of anguish, "you have not 
 the faults — the vices, you once had." 
 
 *'l know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied 
 the Earl, sharply, "but I have the same qualities as heretofore." 
 
 "Am I to understand, then," cried Amabel, a fearful suspicion 
 of the truth breaking upon her, ** that you never sincerely repented 
 your former actions ?" 
 
 "You are to understand it," rephed Rochester. 
 
 "And you deceived me w^jen you affirmed the contrary?" 
 
 " I deceived you," he replied. 
 
 " I begin to suspect," she cried, with a look of horror and doubt, 
 "that the attack of the plague was feigned." 
 
 '' You are not far wide of the truth," was the reply. 
 
 "And our marriage?" she cried, "our marriage? Was that 
 feigned likewise ?" * 
 
 "It was," replied Rochester, calmly. 
 
 Amabel looked at him fixedly for a few minutes, as if she could 
 not credit his assertion, and then receiving no contradiction, uttered 
 a wild scream, and rushed out of the room. Rochester followed, 
 and saw her dart with lightning swiftness across the court-yard. 
 On gaining the street, he perceived her flying figure already at 
 some distance, and greatly alarmed, started in pursuit. The un- 
 fortunate girl was not allowed to proceed far. Two persons who 
 were approaching, and who proved to be Etherege and Pillichody, 
 caught hold of her, and detained her till Rochester came up. When 
 the latter attempted to touch her, she uttered such fearful shrieks, 
 that Etherege entreated him to desist. With some difficulty, she 
 was taken back to the house. But it was evident that the shock 
 had unsettled her reason. She alternately uttered wild piercing 
 screams, or broke into hysterical laughter. The EarFs presence 
 so much increased her frenzy that he gladly withdrew. 
 
 " This is a melancholy business, my lord," observed Etherege, 
 as they quitted the room together, ' ' and 1 am sorry for my share 
 in it. We have both much to answer for." 
 
 '' Do you think her life in danger?" rejoined Rochester. 
 
 "It would be well if it were so," returned the other; "but I 
 fear she will live to be a perpetual memento to you of the crime 
 you have committed." 
 
 Amabel's delirium produced a high fever, which continued for 
 three days. Her screams were at times so dreadful, that her 
 betrayer shut himself up in the farthest part of the house that he 
 might not hear them. When at last she sank into a sleep like that 
 of death, produced by powerful opiates, he stole into the room, and 
 gazed at her with teeUngs, which those who watched his coun- 
 tenance, did not envy. It was hoped by the chirurgeon in atten- 
 dance, that when the violence of the fever abated, Amabel's reason 
 would be restored. But it was not so. Her faculties were com- 
 pletely shaken, and the cause of her affliction being effaced from 
 
THE MARRIAGE. 29(1 
 
 her memory, she now spoke of the Earl of Rochester with her 
 former affection. 
 
 Her betrayer once ventured into her presence, but he did not 
 repeat the visit. Her looks and her tenderness were more than, 
 even his firmness could bear, and he hurried away to hide his 
 emotion from the attendants. Several days passed on, and as no 
 improvement took place, the Earl, who began to find the stings of 
 conscience too sharp for farther endurance, resolved to try to 
 deaden the pangs by again plunging into the dissipation of court. 
 Prudence had been seized by the plague, and removed to the pest- 
 house, and not knowing to whom to entrust Amabel, it at last 
 occurred to him that Judith Malmayns would be a fitting person, 
 and he accordingly sent for her from Saint Paul's, and communi- 
 cated his wishes to her, offering her a considerable reward for the 
 service. Judith readily undertook the office, and the Earl delayed 
 his departure for two days to see how all went on, and finding the 
 arrangement, to all appearances, answer perfectly, he departed 
 with Etherege and PiUichody. 
 
 Ever since the communication of the fatal truth had been made 
 to her by the Earl, his unfortunate victim had occupied the large 
 oak-panelled chamber, on entering which so sad a presentiment 
 had seized her; and she had never quitted the bed where she 
 thought she would breathe her last. On the night of Rochester's 
 departure, she made many inquiries concerning him from Judith 
 Malmayns, who was seated in an old broad-cushioned, velvet- 
 covered chair beside her, and was told that the King required his 
 attendance at Oxford, but that he would soon return. At this 
 answer, the tears gathered thickly in Amabel's dark eyelashes, and 
 she remained silent. Ry and by, she resumed the conversation. 
 *' Do you know, nurse," she said, with a look of extreme anxiety, 
 "I have forgotten my prayers. Repeat them to me, and I will say 
 them after you." 
 
 " My memory is as bad as your ladyship's," replied Judith, con- 
 temptuously. "It is so long since I said mine, that 1 have quite 
 forgotten them." 
 
 *' That is wrong in you," returned Amabel, "very wrong. When 
 I lived with my dear father we had prayers morning and evening, 
 and I was never so happy as then. I feel it would do me good if I 
 could pray as I used to do. 
 
 " Well, well, all m good time," replied Judith. "As soon as 
 you are better, you shall go back to your father, and then you can 
 do as you please." 
 
 ''No, no, 1 cannot go back to him," returned Amabel. "I am 
 the Earl of Rochester's wife — his wedded wife. Am I not Countess 
 of Rochester?" 
 
 "To be sure you are," replied Judith. " To be sure." 
 
 " I sometimes think otherwise," rejoined Amabel, mournfully. 
 *' And so my dear lord is gone to Oxford?" 
 
 ' "He is," returned Judith, "but he will be back soon. And 
 now," she added, with some impatience, "you have talked quite 
 
296 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 long enough. You must take your composing draught, and go 
 to sleep." 
 
 With this, she arose, and stepping to the table which stood by 
 the side of the bed, filled a wine-glass with the contents of a silver 
 flagon, and gave it to her. 
 
 Amabel drank the mixture, and complaining of its nauseous 
 taste, Judith handed her a plate of fruit from the table to remove 
 it. Soon after this, she dropped asleep, when the nurse arose, 
 and taking a light from the table, cautiously possessed herself of 
 a bunch of keys which were placed in a small pocket over Amabel's 
 head, and proceeded to unlock a large chest that stood near the 
 foot of the bed. She found it filled with valuables ; with chains of 
 gold, necklaces of precious stones, loops of pearl, diamond crosses, 
 and other ornaments. Besides these, there were shawls and stuffs 
 of the richest description. While contemplating these treasures, 
 and considering how she could carry them off without alarming the 
 household, she was startled by a profound sigh, and looking 
 towards the bed, perceived, to her great alarm, that Amabel had 
 opened her eyes, and was watching her. ''What are you doing 
 there, nurse?" she cried. 
 
 "Only looking at these pretty things, your ladyship," replied 
 Judith, in an embarrassed tone. 
 
 * ' 1 hope you are not going to steal them ?" said Amabel. 
 
 "Steal them !" echoed Judith, alarmed. — "Oh, no ! What should 
 make your ladyship think so?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Amabel ; " but put them by, and bring the 
 keys to me." 
 
 Judith feigned compliance, but long before she had restored the 
 things to the chest, Amabel had again fallen asleep. Apprised by 
 her tranquil breathing of this circumstance, Judith arose, and 
 shading the candle with her hand, crept noiselessly towards the 
 bed. Dark thoughts crossed her as she gazed at the unfortunate 
 sleeper, and moving with the utmost caution, she set the light on 
 the table behind the curtains, and had just grasped the pillow, with 
 the intention of plucking it from under Amabel's head, and of* 
 smothering her with it, when she felt herself restrained by a pow- 
 erful grasp, and turning in the utmost alarm, beheld the Earl of 
 Rochester. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CERTIFICATE. 
 
 ** Wretch!" cried the Earl. ''An instinctive dread that you 
 would do your poor charge some injury brought me back, and I 
 thank heaven 1 have arrived in time to prevent your atrocious purr 
 pose." 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 297 
 
 "Your lordship would have acted more discreetly in staying 
 away," replied Judith, recovering her resolution; "and I would 
 recommend you not to meddle in the matter, but to leave it to me. 
 No suspicion shall ahght on you, nor shall it even be known that 
 her end was hastened. Leave the house as secretly as you came, 
 and proceed on your journey with a Hght heart. She will never 
 trouble you further." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Rochester, who was struck dumb for the 
 moment by surprise and indignation, " do you imagine I would 
 Hsten to such a proposal ? Do you think 1 would sanction her mur- 
 der?" 
 
 " I am sure you would if you knew as much as I do," replied 
 Judith, calmly. " Hear me, my lord," she continued, drawing him 
 to a little distance from the bed, and speaking in a deep low tone. 
 " You cannot marry Mistress Mallet while this girl lives." 
 
 Rochester looked sternly and inquiringly at her. 
 
 " You think your marriage was feigned," pursued Judith ; " that 
 he was no priest who performed the ceremony ; and that no other 
 witnesses were present except Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. 
 But you are mistaken. I and Chowles were present ; and he who 
 officiated was a priest. The marriage was a lawful one, and yon 
 sleeping girl, who, but for your ill-timed interference, would, ere 
 this, have breathed her last, is to all intents and purposes Countess 
 of Rochester." 
 
 " A lie!" cried the Earl, furiously. 
 
 " I will soon prove it to be the truth," rejoined Judith. " Your 
 retainer, and unscrupulous agent, Major Pillichody, applied to 
 Chowles to find some one to personate a clergyman in a mock mar- 
 riage, which your lordship wished to have performed, and pro- 
 mised a handsome reward for the service. Chowles mentioned 
 the subject to me, and we speedily contrived a plan to outwit your 
 lordship, and turn the affair to our own advantage." 
 
 The Earl uttered an ejaculation of rage. 
 
 " Being acquainted with one of the minor canons of Saint Paul's, 
 a worthy and pious young man, named Vincent," pursued Judith, 
 utterly unmoved by Rochester's anger, " who resided hard by the 
 cathedral, we hastened to him, and acquainted him with the design, 
 representing ourselves as anxious to serve the poor girl, and defeat 
 your lordship's wicked design, — for such we termed it. With a 
 little persuasion, Mr. Vincent consented to the scheme. PiUichody 
 was easilv duped by Chowles's statement, and the ceremony was 
 fully performed." 
 
 " The whole story is a fabrication," cried the Earl, with affected 
 incredulity. 
 
 " I have a certificate of the marriage," replied Judith, " signed 
 by Mr. Vincent, and attested by Chowles and myself. If ever woman 
 was wedded to man, Amabel is wedded to your lordship." 
 
 " If this is the case, why seek to destroy her?" demanded the 
 Earl. " Her life must be of more consequence to you than her 
 removal." ^ 
 
 " I will deal frankly with you," replied Judith. " She discovered 
 
208 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 me in the act of emptying that chest, and an irresistible impulse 
 prompted me to make away with her. But your lordship is in the 
 right. Her life is valuable to me, and she shall live. But I repeat 
 you cannot marry the rich heiress, Mistress Mallet." 
 
 " Temptress !" cried the Earl. " You put frightful thoughts into 
 my head ?" 
 
 " Go your ways," replied Judith, ''and think no more about her* 
 All shall be done that you require. I claim as my reward the con- 
 tents of that chest." 
 
 " Your reward should be the gallows," rejoined the Earl, indig- 
 nantly. "I reject your proposal at once. Begone, wretch! or I 
 shall forget you are a woman, and sacrifice you to my fury. Be- 
 gone !" 
 
 '* As your lordship pleases," she repHed ; " but first, the Coun- 
 tess of Bochester shall be made acquainted with her rights." So 
 saying, she broke from him, and rushed to the bed. 
 
 " What are you about to do?" he cried. 
 
 '' Waken her," rejoined Judith, slightly shaking the sleeper. 
 
 '*Ah!" exclaimed Amabel, opening her eyes, and gazing at her 
 with a terrified and bewildered look. 
 
 *' His lordship is returned," said Judith. 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Amabel, raising herself in the bed. 
 *' Where is he? — Ah, 1 see him. — Come to me, my dear lord," she 
 added, stretching out her arms to him, "come to me." 
 
 But evil thoughts kept Bochester motionless. 
 
 " Oh! come to me, my lord," cried Amabel, in a troubled tone, 
 " or I shall begin to think what I have dreamed is true, and that 
 I am not wedded to you." 
 
 " It rvas merely a dream, your ladyship," observed Judith. " I 
 will bear witness you are wedded to his lordship, for I was present 
 at the ceremony." 
 
 " I did not see you," remarked Amabel. 
 
 " 1 was there neveitheless," replied Judith. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," rejoined Amabel. 
 
 " Your ladyship would rejoice if you knew all," returned Judith, 
 significantly. 
 
 *' Why so?" inquired the other, curiously. 
 
 '' Because the clergyman who married you is dead of the plague," 
 was the answer; " and it may chance in these terrible times that 
 the two gentlemen who were present at the ceremony may die of 
 the same distemper, and then there will be no one left but me and 
 another person to prove that your marriage was lawful." 
 
 " But its lawfulness will never be questioned, my dear lord, will 
 it?" asked Amabel, looking beseechingly at Bochester. 
 
 "Never," replied Judiih, producing a small piece of parchment, 
 "while I hold this certificate." 
 
 " Give me that document," said the Earl, in an undertone to her. 
 
 Judith directed her eyes towards the chest. 
 
 " It is yours," said the Earl, in the same tone as before. 
 
 "What are you whispering, my lord?" inquired Amabel, un- 
 easily. 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 299 
 
 ** I am merely telling her to remove that chest, sweetheart," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Do not send it away," cried Amabel. " It contains all the or- 
 naments and trinkets you have given me. Do you know," she added 
 in a whisper, " I caught her looking into it just now, and I suspect 
 she was about to steal something." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " cried the Earl — " she acted by my directions. Take 
 the chest away," he added to Judith. 
 
 " Has your lordship no further orders?" she rejoined, significant- 
 ly- 
 
 ^' None whatever," he replied with a frown. 
 
 "Before you go, give me the certificate," cried Amabel. "I 
 must have it." 
 
 Judith pretended not to hear her. 
 
 " Give it her," whispered the Earl, " I will remove it when she 
 falls asleep." 
 
 Nodding acquiescence, Judith took the parchment from her 
 bosom, and returned it to the bed. While this was passing, the 
 Earl walked towards the chest, arid cast his eye over such of its 
 contents as were scattered upon the floor. Judith watched him 
 carefully, and when his back was turned, drew a small lancet, and 
 affecting to arrange her dress, slightly punctured Amabel's neck. 
 The pain was trifling, but the poor girl uttered a cry. 
 
 " What is the matter?" cried the Earl, turning suddenly round. 
 
 " Nothing — nothing," replied Judith, " a pin in my sleeve pricked 
 her as I was fastening her cap, that was all. Her death is certain," 
 she added to herself, " she is inoculated with the plague-venom." 
 
 She then went to the chest, and replacing everything within it, 
 removed it by the help of the Earl of Rochester into the adjoining 
 room. 
 
 " I will send for it at midnight," she said. 
 
 " It shall be delivered to your messenger," rejoined the Earl; 
 * ' but you will answer for Chowles's secrecy ?" 
 
 " I will," returned Judith, with a meaning smile. " But you may 
 take my word for it you will not be troubled long with your wife. 
 If I have any judgment respecting the plague, she is already in- 
 fected." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Rochester, — " then — " but he checked himself, 
 and added, " I do not believe it. Begone." 
 
 *' He does believe it, for all that," muttered Judith, as she slunk 
 away. 
 
 Rochester returned to Amabel, and sat by her until she fell 
 asleep, when he took the parchment from beneath the pillow where 
 she had placed it. Examining it, he found it, as Judith had stated, 
 a certificate of his marriage, signed by Mark Vincent, the clergy- 
 man who had officiated, and duly attested. Having carefully pe- 
 rused it, he held it towards the taper, with the intention of de- 
 stroying it. 
 
 As he was about to perpetrate this unworthy action, he looked 
 towards the b^ed. The soft sweet smile that played upon the sleep- 
 er's features turned him from his purpose. Placing the parch- 
 
300 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 ment in his doublet, he left the room, and summoning a female 
 attendant, alleged some reason for his unexpected return, and 
 ordered her to watch by the bedside of her mistress. Giving some 
 further directions, he threw himself upon a couch and sought a 
 few hour's repose. 
 
 At daybreak, he repaired to Amabel's chamber, and finding her 
 wrapped in a peaceful slumber, he commended her to the attendant, 
 and departed. 
 
 On awaking, Amabel complained of an uneasy sensation on her 
 neck, and the attendant examining the spot, found to her great 
 alarm a small red pustule. Without making a single observation, 
 she left the room, and despatched a messenger after the Earl of 
 Rochester to acquaint him that the Countess was attacked by the 
 plague. Such was the terror inspired by this dread disorder, that 
 the moment it was known that Amabel was attacked by it, the 
 whole household, except an old woman, fled. This old w^oman, 
 whose name was Batley, and who acted as the Earl's housekeeper, 
 took upon herself the office of nurse. Before evening, the poor 
 sufferer, who had endured great agony during the whole of the 
 day, became so much worse, that Mrs. Batley ran out in search of 
 assistance. She met with a watchman who told her that a famous 
 apothecary, from Clerkenwell, named Sibbald, who was celebrated 
 for the cures he had effected, had just entered a neighbouring 
 house and offered to await his coming forth, and send him to her. 
 Thanking him, Mrs. Batley returned to the house, and presently 
 afterwards, Sibbald made his appearance. His looks and person 
 had become even more repulsive than formerly. He desired to be 
 led to the patient, and on seeing her shook his head. He examin- 
 ed the pustule, which had greatly increased in size, and turning 
 away, muttered, " I can do nothing for her." 
 
 " At least make the attempt," implored Mrs. Batley. " She is 
 the Countess of Rochester. You shall be well rewarded — and if 
 you cure her, the Earl will make your fortune." 
 
 " If his lordship would change stations with me, I could not 
 cure her," replied Sibbald. " Let me look at her again," he added, 
 examining the pustule. "There is a strange appearance about 
 this tumour. Has Judith Malmayns attended her?' 
 
 " She was here yesterday," replied Mrs. Batley. 
 
 * ' I thought so," he muttered. '* 1 repeat it is all over with her." 
 
 And he turned to depart. 
 
 ''Do not leave her thus, in pity do not," cried the old woman, 
 detaining him. "Make some effort to save her. My lord loves 
 her to distraction, and will abundantly reward you." 
 
 " All 1 can do is to give her something to allay the pain," return- 
 ed Sibbald. 
 
 And drawing a small phial from his doublet, he poured its con- 
 tents into a glass, and administered it to the patient. 
 
 " That will throw her into a slumber," he said, *' and when she 
 wakes, she will be without pain. But her end will not be far off." 
 
 Mrs. Batley took a purse from a drawer in one of the cabinets, 
 and gave it to the apothecary, who bowed and retired. As he hacl 
 
TUB CERTIFICATE. v 301 
 
 foretold, Amabel fell into a heavy lethargy, which continued during 
 the whole of the night. Mrs. Batley, who had never left her, no- 
 ticed that an extraordinary and fearful change had taken place in 
 her countenance, and she could not doubt that the apothecary's 
 prediction would be realized. The tumour had increased in size, 
 and was surrounded by a dusky brown circle, which she knew to 
 be a bad sign. The sufferer's 'eyes, when she opened them, and 
 gazed around, had a dim and glazed look. But she was perfectly 
 calm and composed, and as had been prognosticated, free from 
 pain. She had, also, fully regained her faculties, and seemed quite 
 aware of her dangerous situation. 
 
 But the return of reason brought with it no solace. On the con- 
 trary, the Earl's treachery rushed upon her recollection, and gave 
 her infinitely more anguish than the bodily pain she had recently en- 
 dured. She bedewed the pillow with her tears, and fervently prayed 
 for forgiveness for her involuntary fault. Mrs. Batley was deeply 
 moved by her affliction, and offered her every consolation in her 
 power. ' ' I would the plague had selected me for a victim instead 
 of your ladyship," she said. " It is hard to leave the world at your 
 age, possessed of beauty, honours, and wealth. At mine, it would 
 not signify." 
 
 " You mistake the cause of my grief," returned Amabel; " I do 
 not lament that my hour is at hand, but — " and her emotion so 
 overpowered her that she could not proceed. 
 
 " Do not disturb yourself further, dear lady," rejoined the old 
 woman. " Let the worst happen, I am sure you are well prepared 
 to meet your Maker." 
 
 " I once was," replied Amabel in a voice of despair, " but now 
 — Oh, Heaven forgive me 1" 
 
 " Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?" 
 said Mrs. Batley "one to whom you can pour forth the sorrows of 
 your heart ?" 
 
 " Do so 1 oh, do !" cried Amabel, "and do not call me lady. I 
 am not worthy to be placed in the same rank as yourself. 
 
 " Her wits are clean gone," muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at her 
 compassionately. 
 
 "Heed me not," cried Amabel; "but if you have any pity for the 
 unfortunate, do as you have promised." 
 
 "I will, — I will," said Mrs. Batley, departing. 
 
 Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor suf- 
 ferer, who was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. 
 Batley returned. She was accompanied by a tall man, whom Ama- 
 bel recognized as Solomon Eagle. 
 
 "I have not been able to find a clergyman," said the old woman, 
 " but 1 have brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. 
 * ' Can it be Mr. Bloundel's daughter ?" 
 
 "It is," returned Amabel, with a groan. " Leave us, my good 
 woman," she added to Mrs. Batley, " 1 have something to impart to 
 Solomon l^agle which is for his ear alone." 
 
S02 OLD SAINT PAIL S. 
 
 The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel briefly related her 
 hapless story to the enthusiast. "May 1 hope for forgiveness ?" she 
 inquired, as she concluded. 
 
 "Assuredly," replied Solomon Eagle, "assuredly! You have 
 not erred wilfully, but through ignorance, and therefore have com- 
 mitted no offence. You will be forgiven — but woe to your deceiver, 
 here and hereafter." 
 
 ^' Oh 1 say not so," she cried. "May Heaven pardon him, as I 
 do. While I have strength left, I will pray for him." And she 
 poured forth her supplications for the Earl in terms so earnest and 
 pathetic, that the tears flowed down Solomon Eagle's rough cheek. 
 At this juncture, hasty steps were heard in the adjoining passage, 
 and the door opening, admitted the Earl of Rochester, who rushed 
 towards the bed. 
 
 '' Back !" cried Solomon Eagle, pushing him forcibly aside. 
 "Back!" 
 
 * ' What do you here ?" cried Rochester, fiercely. 
 
 ''I am watching over the death-bed of your victim," returned 
 Solomon Eagle. "Retire, my lord. You disturb her." 
 
 " Oh, no," returned Amabel, meekly, "Let him come near me." 
 And as Solomon Eagle drew^ a little aside, and allowed the Earl to 
 approach, she added, "With my latest breath I forgive you, my 
 lord, for the wrong you have done me, and bless you." 
 
 The Earl tried to speak, but his voice was suffocated by emotion. 
 As soon as he could find words, he said, "Your goodness com- 
 pletely overpowers me, dearest Amabel. Heaven is my witness, that 
 even now I would make you all the reparation in my power, were 
 }t needful. But it is not so. The wrong I intended you, was never 
 committed. I myself was deceived. I intended a feigned marriage, 
 but it was rightfully performed. Time will not allow me to enter 
 into further particulars of the unhappy transaction, but you may 
 credit my assertion, when I tell you, you are indeed my wife, and 
 Countess of Rochester." 
 
 " If I thought so, I should die happy," replied Amabel. 
 
 "Behold this proof!" said Rochester, producing the certificate. 
 
 "I cannot read it," replied Amabel. '* But you could not have 
 the heart to deceive me now." 
 
 "1 will read it, and you well know /would not deceive you," 
 cried Solomon Eagle, casting his eye over it. — "His lordship has 
 avouched the truth," he continued. "It is a certificate of your 
 marriage with him, duly signed and attested." 
 
 "God be thanked!" ejaculated Amabel, fervently. "God be 
 thanked ! You have been spared that guilt, and 1 shall die con- 
 tent." 
 
 " I trust your life will long be spared," rejoined the Earl. 
 
 Amabel shook her head. 
 
 " There is but one man in this city who could save her," whis- 
 pered Solomon Eagle, " and 1 doubt even his power to do so." 
 
 "Who do you mean ?" cried Rochester, eagerly. 
 
 " Doctor Hodges," repUed the enthusiast. 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 303 
 
 *' I know him well," cried the Earl. '' I will fly to him instantly. 
 Remain with her till I return." 
 
 "My lord — my dear lord," interposed Amabel, faintly, '*you 
 trouble yourself needlessly. I am past all human aid." 
 
 '•Do not despair," replied the Earl. "Many years of happiness 
 are, I trust, in store for us. Do not detain me. I go to save you. 
 Farewell for a short time." 
 
 ''Farewell, forever, my lord," she said, gently pressing his 
 hand. "We shall not meet again. Your name will be coupled 
 with my latest breath." 
 
 "I shall be completely unmanned if I stay here a moment 
 longer," cried the Earl, breaking from her, and rushing out of the 
 room. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Amabel addressed herself once more to 
 prayer with Solomon Eagle, and in this way an hour passed by. The 
 Earl not returning at the end of that time, Solomon Eagle became 
 extremely uneasy, every moment being of the utmost consequence, 
 and summoning Mrs. Batley, committed the patient to her care, and 
 set off in search of Hodges. He hastened to the Doctor's house — he 
 was absent — to Saint Paul's — he was not there, but he learnt that a 
 person answering to the Earl's description had been making similar 
 inquiries after him. At last, one of the chirurgeon's assistants told 
 him that he thought the Doctor was gone towards Cornhill, and 
 hoping accidentally to meet with him, the enthusiast set off in that 
 direction. While passing near the Exchange, he encountered Leo- 
 nard, as before related, but did not think fit to acquaint him with 
 more than Amabel's dangerous situation ; and he had reason to 
 regret making the communication at all, on finding its effect upon 
 the poor youth. There was, however, no help for it, and placing 
 him in what appeared a situation of safety, he left him. 
 
 Rochester, meanwhile, had been equally unsuccessful in his search 
 for Hodges. Hurrying first in one direction and then in another, 
 at the suggestion of the chirurgeon's assistant, he at last repaired to 
 the Doctor's residence, determined to await his return. In half an 
 hour he came, and received the Earl, as the old porter stated to 
 Thirlby and Leonard, with angry astonishment. As soon as they 
 were alone, the Earl told him all that had occurred, and besought 
 him to accompany him to the poor sufferer, 
 
 "I will go to her," said Hodges, who had listened to the recital 
 with mixed feehngs of sorrow and indignation, "on one condition 
 ■ — and one only — namely, that your lordship does not see her again 
 without my permission." 
 
 "Why do you impose this restriction upon me, sir?" demanded 
 Rochester. 
 
 "1 do not think it necessary to give my reasons, my lord," re- 
 turned Hodges; "but I will only go upon such terms." 
 
 "Then 1 must perforce submit," replied the Earl; "but I entreat 
 you to set forth without a moment's delay, or you will be too 
 late." 
 
 "I will follow you instantly," rejoined Hodges. "Your lordship 
 can wait for me at the Southwark side of the bridge." He then 
 
304 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 opened the door, reiterating the terms upon which alone he would 
 attend, and the Earl departed. 
 
 Shortly afterwards he set out, and making the best of his way, 
 found Rochester at the appointed place. The latter conducted him 
 to the entrance of the habitation, and indicating a spot where he 
 would remain till his return, left him. 
 
 Hodges soon found his way to the chamber of the sufferer, and 
 at once perceived that all human aid was vain. She exhibited much 
 pleasure at seeing him, and looked round, as if in search of the 
 Earl. Guessing her meaning, the physician, who now began to 
 regret the interdiction he had placed upon him, told her that he was 
 the cause of his absence. 
 
 *'It is well," she murmured, — "well." She then made some in- 
 quiries after her relatives, and receiving a satisfactory answer, said, 
 "1 am glad you are come. You will be able to tell my father how I 
 died." 
 
 "It will be a great comfort to him to learn the tranquil frame in 
 which I have found you," replied Hodges. 
 
 " How long have I to live?" asked Amabel, somewhat quickly. 
 **Do not deceive me." 
 
 "You had better make your preparations without delay," returned 
 Hodges. 
 
 " I understand," she rephed. And joining her hands upon her 
 breast, she began to murmur a prayer. 
 
 Hodges, who up to this moment had had some difficulty in re- 
 pressing his emotion, withdrew to a short distance to hide his fast- 
 falling tears. He was roused shortly after, by a sudden and startling 
 cry from the old woman. "Oh, sir, she is going! she is going!" 
 ejaculated Mrs. Batley. 
 
 He found the exclamation true. The eyes of the dying girl were 
 closed. There was a slight quiver of the lips, as if she murmured 
 some name — probably Rochester's, — and then all was over. 
 
 Hodges gazed at her sorrowfully for some time. He then roused 
 himself, and giving some necessary directions to the old woman 
 respecting the body, quitted the house. Not finding the Earl at 
 the place he had appointed to meet him, after waiting for a short 
 time, he proceeded towards his own house. On the way he was 
 met by Thirlby and Parravicin, as previously related, and con- 
 ducted to the house in Nicholas Lane. It will not be necessary to 
 recapitulate what subsequently occurred. We shall, therefore, 
 proceed to the point of time when he quitted his new patient, and 
 entered the room where Thirlby and Leonard were waiting for 
 him. Both, as has been stated, rushed towards him, and the 
 former eagerly asked his opinion respecting his daughter. 
 
 " My opinion is positive," replied Hodges. " With care she will 
 undoubtedly recover." 
 
 " Heaven be thanked !" cried Thirlby, dropping on his knees. 
 
 " And now, one word to me, sir," cried Leonard. " What of 
 Amabel ?" 
 
 " Alas !" exclaimed the Doctor, " her troubles are ended." 
 
 " Dead!" shrieked Leonard. 
 
THE CERTIFICATE. 305 
 
 *' Ay, dead !" repeated the Doctor. " She died of the plague to- 
 night." 
 
 He then proceeded to detail briefly all that had occurred. Leo- 
 nard hstened like one stupified, till he brought his recital to a close, 
 and then asking where the house in which she had died was 
 situated, rushed out of the room, and made his way, he kuew not 
 how, into the street. His brain seemed on fire, and he ran so 
 quickly, that his feet appeared scarcely to touch the ground. A 
 few seconds brought him to London Bridge. He crossed it, and 
 turning down the street on the left, had nearly reached the house 
 to which he had been directed, when his career was suddenly 
 checked. The gate of the court-yard was opened, and two men, 
 evidently from their apparel buriers of the dead, issued from it. 
 They carried a long narrow board between them, with a body 
 wrapped in a white sheet placed upon it. A freezing horror rooted 
 Leonard to the spot where he stood. He could neither move nor 
 utter a cry. 
 
 The men proceeded with. their burden towards the adjoining 
 habitation, which was marked with the fatal red cross and in- 
 scription. Before it stood the dead-cart partly filled with corpses. 
 The foremost burier carried a lantern, but he held it so low that 
 its Hght did not fall upon his burthen. Leonard, however, did not 
 require to see the body to know whose it was. The moon was at 
 the full, and shed a ghastly light over the group, and a large bat 
 wheeled in narrow circles round the dead-cart. 
 
 On reaching the door of the house, the burier set down the 
 lantern near the body of a young man which had just been thrust 
 forth. At the same moment Chowles, with a lantern in his hand, 
 stepped out upon the threshold. " Who have you got, Jonas?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " 1 know not," replied the hindmost burier. " We entered yon 
 large house, the door of which stood open, and in one of the 
 rooms found an old woman in a fainting state, and the body of 
 this young girl, wrapped in a sheet, and ready for the cai^t. So 
 we clapped it on the board, and brought it away with us." 
 
 '•You did right," replied Chowles. "I wonder whose body 
 it is." 
 
 As he spoke he held up his lantern, and unfastening it, threw 
 the light full upon the face. The features were pale as marble, 
 calm in their expression, and like those of one wrapped in placid 
 slumber. The long fair hair hung over the side of the board. It 
 was a sad and touching sight. " Why, as I am a living man, it is 
 the grocer's daughter, Amabel, — somewhile Countess of Roches- 
 ter 1" exclaimed Chowles. 
 
 " It is, it is!" cried the Earl, suddenly rushing from behind a 
 building where he had hitherto remained concealed. '' Whither 
 are you about to take her? Set her down — set her down." 
 
 " Hinder them not, my lord," vociferated another person, also 
 appearing on the scene with equal suddenness. " Place her in the 
 cart," cried Solomon Eagle — for he it was — to the bearers. 
 
 m 20 
 
306 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 '* This is a just punishment upon yon, ray lord," he added to Ro- 
 chester, as his injunctions were obeyed — " oppose them not in 
 their duty." 
 
 It was not in the Earl's power to do so. Like Leonard, he was 
 transfixed with horror. The other bodies were soon placed in the 
 cart, and it was put in motion. 
 
 At this juncture, the apprentice's suspended faculties were for 
 an instant — and an instant only — restored to him. He uttered a 
 piercing cry, and staggering forward, fell senseless on the ground. 
 
 END OF THE FOIRTH BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 DECEJilBER, 1665. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE DECLINE OF THE PI^AGUE, 
 
 More than two months must be passed over in silence. During 
 that time, the pestilence had so greatly abated as no longer to oc- 
 casion alarm to those who had escaped its ravages. It has been 
 mentioned that the distemper arrived at its height about the 10th 
 of September, and though for the two following weeks the decHn6 
 was scarcely perceptible, yet it had already commenced. On the 
 last week in that fatal month, when all hope had been abandoned, 
 the Bills of Mortality suddenly decreased in number one thousand 
 eight hundred and thirty-four. And this fortunate change could 
 not be attributed to the want of materials to act upon, for the sick 
 continued as numerous as before, while the deaths were less fre- 
 quent. In the next week, there was a further decrease of six hun- 
 dred ; in the next after that of six hundred; and so on till the end 
 of October ; when the cold weather setting in, the amount was 
 reduced to nearly one thousand. 
 
 At first, when the distemper began to lose somewhat of its ma- 
 lignancy, a few scared individuals appeared in the streets, but 
 carefully shunned each other. In a few days, however, consider- 
 able numbers joined them, and for the first time for nearly three 
 months, there was something hke fife abroad. It is astonishing 
 how soon hope and confidence are revived. Now that it could no 
 longer be doubted that the plague was on the decline, it seemed as 
 if a miracle had been performed in favour of the city. Houses were 
 opened — shopkeepers resumed their business — and it was a marvel 
 to every one that so many persons were left alive. Dejection and 
 despair of the darkest kind were succeeded by frenzied deHght, and 
 no bound was put to the public satisfaction. Strangers stopped 
 each other in the streets, and conversed together like old friends. 
 The bells that had grown hoarse with tolhng fimerais, were now 
 cracked with joyous peals. The general joy extended even to the 
 sick, and many, buoyed up by hope, recovered, when in the former 
 season of despondency they would inevitably have perished. All 
 fear of the plague seemed to vanish with the flying disorder. Those 
 who were s^rcely out of danger joined in the throng, and it was 
 HO uncommon sight to see men with bandages round their necks, or 
 
308 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 supported by staves and crutches, shaking hands with their friends, 
 and even embracing them. 
 
 The consequence of this incautious conduct may be easily fore- 
 seen. The plague had received too severe a check, to burst forth 
 anew, but it spread further than it otherwise would have done, and 
 attacked many persons, who, but for their own imprudence, would 
 have escaped. Amongst others, a barber in Saint-Martin's-le-Grand, 
 who had fled into the country in August, returned to his shop in 
 the middle of October, and catching the disorder from one of his 
 customers, perished with the whole of his family. 
 
 But these, and several other equally-fatal instances, produced 
 no effect on the multitude. Fully persuaded that the virulence 
 of the disorder was exhausted, as indeed appeared to be the case, 
 they gave free scope to their satisfaction, which was greater 
 than was ever experienced by the inhabitants of a besieged city, 
 reduced by famine to the last strait of despair, and suddenly re- 
 stored to freedom and plenty. The more pious part of the com- 
 munity thronged to the churches, from which they had been so long 
 absent, and returned thanks for their unexpected deliverance. 
 Others, who had been terrified into seriousness and devotion, 
 speedily forgot their former terrors, and resumed their old habits. 
 Profaneness and debauchery again prevailed, and the taverns were 
 as well filled as the churches. Solomon Eagle continued his mid- 
 night courses through the streets, but he could no longer find an 
 audience as before. Those who listened to him only laughed at 
 his denunciations of a new judgment, and told him his preachings 
 and prophecyings were now completely out of date. 
 
 By this time, numbers of those who had quitted London having 
 returned to it, the streets began to resume their wonted appearance. 
 The utmost care was taken by the authorities to cleanse and purify 
 the houses, in order to remove all chance of keeping alive the infec- 
 tion. Every room in every habitation where a person had died of 
 the plague, — and there were few that had escaped the visitation, — 
 were ordered to be white-washed, and the strongest fumigations 
 were employed to remove the pestilential elfluvia. Brimstone, 
 and pitch were burnt in the houses of the poor; benjamin, myrrh, 
 resin, and other more expensive perfumes in those of the rich; 
 while vast quantities of powder were consumed in creating blasts 
 to carry off the foul air. Large and constant fires were kept in all 
 the houses, and several were burnt down in consequence of the 
 negligence of their owners. 
 
 All goods, clothes, and bedding capable of harbouring infection, 
 were condemned to be publicly burned, and vast bonfires were 
 lighted in Finsbury Fields and elsewhere, into which many hundred 
 cart-loads of such articles were thrown. The whole of Chowles's 
 hoard, except the plate, which he managed, with Judith's aid, to 
 carry off and conceal in certain hiding-places in the vaults of Saint 
 Faith's, were taken from tlie house in Nicholas Lane and cast into 
 the fire. 
 
 The cathedral was one of the first places ordered to be purified. 
 The pallets of the sick were removed and burned, and all the stains 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGLE. 309 
 
 and impurities with which its floor and coUimns were polluted 
 were cleansed. Nothing was left untried to free it from infection. 
 It was washed throughout with vinegar, fumigated with the strong- 
 est scents, and several large barrels of pitch were set fire to in the 
 aisles. 
 
 " It shall undergo another species of purification," said Solomon 
 Eagle, who was present during these proceedings ; "one that shall 
 search every nook within it — shall embrace all those columns, and 
 pierce every crack and crevice in those sculptured ornaments, — 
 and then, — and not till then, will it be thoroughly cleansed." 
 
 During all this time, the grocer had not opened his dwelling. 
 The wisdom of his plan was now made fully apparent. The plague 
 was now declining fast, and not an inmate of his house had been 
 attacked by it. Soon after the melancholy occurrence, he had been 
 informed by Doctor Hodges of Amabel's death, but the humane 
 physician concealed from him the painful circumstances undci* 
 which it occurred. It required all Mr. Bloundel's fortitude to sup- 
 port him under the shock of this intelligence, and he did not com- 
 municate the afflicting tidings to his wife, until he had prepared 
 her for their reception. But she bore them better than he had 
 anticipated, and though she mourned her daughter deeply and 
 truly, she appeared completely resigned to the loss. Sorrow per- 
 vaded the whole household for some weeks, and the grocer, who 
 never relaxed his system, shrouded his sufferings under the appear- 
 ance of additional austerity of manner. It would have been a 
 great consolation to him to see Leonard Holt, but the apprentice 
 had disappeared, and even Doctor Hodges could give no account 
 of him. 
 
 One night, in the middle of November, Mr. Bloundel signified to 
 his wife his intention of going forth early on the following morning 
 to satisfy himself that the plague was really abating. Accordingly, 
 after he had finished his devotions and broken his fast, he put his 
 design into execution. His first act on locking the door behind him, 
 which he did as a measure of precaution, was to fall on his knees, 
 and offer up prayers to heaven for his signal preservation. He 
 then arose, and stepping into the middle of the street, gazed at the 
 habitation which had formed his prison and refuge ifor nearly six 
 months. There it was, with its shutters closed and barred— a se- 
 cure asylum, with all afive within it, while every other dwelling in 
 the street was desolate. 
 
 The grocer's sensations were novel and extraordinary. His first 
 impulse was to enjoy his newly-recovered freedom, and to put 
 himself into active motion. But he checked the feeling as sinful, 
 and proceeded along the street at a slow pace. He did not meet a 
 single person until he reached Cheapside, where he found matters 
 completely changed. Several shops were already opened, and there 
 were a few carts and other vehicles tracking their way through the 
 broad and yet grass-grown street. It was a clear frosty morning, 
 and there was a healthfisl feel in the bracing atmosphere that pro- 
 duced an exhilarating effect on the spirits. The grocer pursued 
 his course through the middle of the street, carefully avoiding all 
 
3id OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 contact with such persons as be encountered, though he cordially 
 returned their greetings, and wandered on, scarcely knowing whi- 
 ther he was going, but deeply interested in all he beheld. 
 
 The aspect of the city was indeed most curious. The houses 
 were for the most part unoccupied — the streets overgrown with 
 grass — while every object, animate and inanimate, bore some 
 marks of the recent visitation. Still, all looked hopeful, and the 
 grocer could not doubt that the worst Was past. The different 
 demeanour of the various individuals he met struck him. Now he 
 passed a young man whistling cheerily, who saluted him, aiid said 
 — "I have lost my sweetheart by the plague, but I shall soon get 
 another." The next was a grave man, who muttered, "1 have 
 lost all," and walked pensively on. Then came others in different 
 moods, but all concurred in thinking that the plague was at ah end ; 
 and the grocer derived additional confirmation of the fact from 
 meeting numerous carts and other vehicles bringing families back 
 to their houses from the country. 
 
 After roaming about for several hours, and pondering oh all he 
 saw, he found himself before the great western entrance of Saint 
 Paul s. It chanced to be the morning on which the pallets and 
 bedding were brought forth, and he watched the proceeding at a 
 distance. All had been removed, and he was about to depart, 
 when he perceived a person seated on a block of stone, not far 
 from him, whom he instantly recognized. "Leonard," he cried, 
 "Leonard Holt, it it you?" 
 
 Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprehtice 
 looked up, and Mr. Bloundel started at the change that had taken 
 place in him. Profound grief was written in every hne of his thin 
 and haggard countenance ; his eyes were hollow^ and had the 
 most melancholy expression imaginable ; and his flesh was wasted 
 away from the bone. He looked the vet'y iitiage of hopeless afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 '* I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard," said the grocer, 
 in a tone of deep commiseration; "but 1 am well aware of the 
 cause. I myself have suffered severely, bitt 1 deem it my duty to 
 control my affliction." 
 
 '''I would coniroi it, if it were possible, Mr. Bloundel," replied 
 Leonard. ^' But hope is dead In iny breast. I shall never be happy 
 again." 
 
 ''1 trust otherwise," replied the grocer, kindly. " Your trials 
 have been very great, and so were those of the poor creature we 
 both of us deplore. But she is at peace, and therefore we need not 
 lament her." 
 
 ''Alasl" exclaimed Leonard, mournfully, " 1 am now only 
 anxious to rejoin her." 
 
 " It is selfish, if not sinful, to grieve in this way," rejoined Mr. 
 Bloundel, somewhat sternly. "You must bear your sorrow like 
 a man. Come home with me. 1 will be a father to you. Nay, 
 da not hesitate. 1 will have no refusal." So saying, he took Leo- 
 nard's arm, and let him in the direction of Wood Street. Nothing 
 passed between them on the way, nor did Leonard evince any 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE. 311 
 
 further emotion until he entered the door of the grocer's dwelling, 
 when he uttered a deep groan. Mrs. Bloundd was greatly affected 
 at seeing him, as were the rest of the family, and abundance of 
 tears were shed by all, except Mr. Bloundel, who maintained his 
 customary stoical demeanour throughout the meeting. 
 
 Satisfied that the pestilence had not declined sufficiently to 
 warrant him in opening his house, the grocer determined to await 
 the result of a few weeks. Indeed, that very night, he had reason 
 to think he had defeated his plans by precipitancy. While sitting 
 after prayers with his family, he was seized with a sudden shiver- 
 ing and sickness, which he could not doubt were the precursors of 
 the plague. He was greatly alarmed, but did not lose his command 
 over himself. 
 
 "I have been most imprudent," he said, "in thus exposing 
 myself to infecction. I have symptoms of the plague about me, 
 and will instantly repair to one of the upper rooms which I have 
 laid aside as a hospital, in case of an emergency like the present. 
 None of you must attend me, Leonard will fetch Doctor Hodges 
 and a nurse. 1 shall then do very well. Farewell, dear wife and 
 children 1 God bless you all, and watch over you. Remember 
 me in your prayers !" So saying, he arose and walked towards 
 the door. His wife and elder son would have assisted him, but he 
 motioned them away. 
 
 "Let me go with you, sir?" cried Leonard, who had arisen with 
 the others. ''I will nurse you. My life is of little consequence; 
 and I cannot be more satisfactorily employed." 
 
 The grocer reluctantly assented, and the apprentice assisted him 
 up stairs, and helped to place him in bed. No plague-token could 
 be found about his person, but as the same alarming symptoms still 
 continued, Leonard administered such remedies as he thought 
 needful, and then went in search of Doctor Hodges. 
 
 On reaching Watling Street, he found Doctor Hodges about to 
 retire to rest. The worthy physician was greatly distressed by the 
 apprentice's account of his master's illness; but was somewhat 
 reassured when the symptoms were more minutely described to 
 him. 
 
 While preparing certain medicines, and arming himself with his 
 surgical implements, he questioned Leonard as to the cause of his 
 long disappearance. "Having seen nothing of you," he said, 
 "since the fatal night when our poor Amabel's sorrows were 
 ended, I began to feel very apprehensive on your account. Where 
 have you been ?" 
 
 "You shall hear," replied Leonard, "though the relation will 
 be like opening my wounds afresh. On recovermg from the ter- 
 rible shock 1 had received, I found myself stretched upon a bed in 
 a house whither I had been conveyed by Rainbird. the watchman, 
 who had discovered me lying in a state of insensibility in the street. 
 For nearly a week I continued dehrious, and should probably have 
 lost my senses altogether but for the attentions of the watchman. 
 As soon as I was able to move, 1 wandered to the lesser plague-pit, 
 in Finsbury Fields, you will guess with what intent. My heart 
 
312 OLD SAINT PALLS. 
 
 seemed breaking, and I thought I should pour forth my very soul 
 in grief, as I gazed into that dreadful gulph, and thought she was 
 there interred. Still my tears were a relief. Every evening, for a 
 month, I went to that sad spot, and remained there till daybreak 
 admonished me to return to Rainbird's dweUing. At last, he was 
 seized by the distemper ; but though I nursed him, voluntarily ex- 
 posing myself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remained 
 untouched. Poor Rainbird died ; and having seen his body thrown 
 into the pit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days toilsome 
 travel on foot, reached Ashdown Park. It was a melancholy plea- 
 sure to behold the abode where she 1 had loved passed her last few 
 days of happiness, and where I had been near her. Her aunt, good 
 Mrs. Buscot, though overwhelmed by affliction at the sad tidings I 
 brought her, received me with the utmost kindness, and tried to 
 console me. My sorrow, however, was too deeply seated to be 
 removed. Wandering over the downs, I visited Mrs. Compton at 
 Kingston Lisle, from whose house Amabel was carried off by the 
 perfidious Earl. She, also, received me with kindness, and strove, 
 like Mrs. Buscot, to comfort me, and, like her, ineffectually. Find- 
 ing my strength declining, and persuaded that my days were draw- 
 ing to a close, 1 retraced my steps to London, hoping to find a final 
 resting-place near her 1 had loved." 
 
 *' You are, indeed, faithful to the grave, Leonard," said the phy- 
 sician, brushing away a tear; "and 1 never heard or read of af- 
 fection stronger than yours. Sorrow is a great purifier, and you 
 will come out all the better for your trial. You are yet young, and 
 though you never can love as you have loved a second time, your 
 heart is not utterly seared." 
 
 "Utterly, sir," echoed Leonard, *' utterly." 
 "You think so now," rejoined the physician. "But you will 
 find it otherwise hereafter. I can tell you of one person who has 
 suffered almost as much from your absence as you have done for 
 the loss of Amabel. The Lady Isabella Argentine has made con- 
 stant inquiries after you; and though I should be the last person to 
 try to rouse you from your present state of despondency, by awaken- 
 ing hopes of an alliance with the sister of a proud noble, yet it may 
 afford you consolation to know that she still cherishes the warmest 
 regard for you." 
 
 " I am grateful to her," replied Leonard, sadly, but without ex- 
 hibiting any other emotion. " She was dear to Amabel, and there- 
 fore will be ever dear to me. I would fain know," he added, his 
 brow suddenly contracting, and his Up quivering, "what has be- 
 come of the Earl of Rochester ?" 
 
 "He has married a wealthy heiress, the fair Mistress Mallet," 
 replied Hodges. 
 
 "Married, and so soon!" cried Leonard. *'And he has quite 
 forgotten his victim." 
 
 "Apparently so," replied the Doctor, with an expression of dis- 
 gust. 
 
 " And it was lor one who so lightly regarded her that she sacri- 
 ficed herself," groaned Leonard, his head dropping upon his breast. 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGIE. ' 313 
 
 '* Come," cried Hodges, taking his arm, and leading him out of 
 the room. "We must go and look after your master." 
 
 With this, they made the best of their way to Wood Street. Ar- 
 rived at the grocer's house they went up stairs, and Hodges imme- 
 diately pronounced Mr. Bloundel to be suffering from a slight 
 feverish attack, which a sudorific powder would remove. Having 
 administered the remedy, he descended to the lower room to allay 
 the fears of the family. Mrs. Bloundel received the happy tidings 
 with tears of joy, and the Doctor remained a short time to condole 
 with her on tjfie loss she had sustained. The good dame wept bit- 
 terly on hearing the whole particulars, with which she had been 
 hitherto unacquainted, attending her daughter's untimely death, 
 but she soon regained her composure. They then spoke of Leo- 
 nard, who had remained above with his master, — of his bhghted 
 hopes, and seemingly-incurable affliction. 
 
 " His is true love, indeed. Doctor," sighed Mrs. Bloundel. "Pity 
 it is that it could not be requited." 
 
 " 1 know not how it is," rejoined Hodges, "and will not question 
 the decrees of our All-Wise Buler, but the strongest affection 
 seldom, if ever, meets a return. Leonard himself was insensible 
 to the devotion of one, of whom I may say without disparagement 
 to our poor Amabel, that she was in my opinion her superior in 
 beauty." 
 
 " And does this person love him still?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel, 
 eagerly. " 1 ask, because I regard him as a son, and earnestly 
 desire to restore him to happiness." 
 
 " Alas!" exclaimed Hodges, " there are obstacles in the way 
 that cannot be removed. We must endeavour to cure him of his 
 grief in some other way." 
 
 The conversation then dropped, and Hodges took his leave, pro- 
 mising to return on the morrow, and assuring Mrs. Bloundel that 
 she need be under no further apprehension about her husband. 
 
 And so it proved. The powders removed all the grocer's fever- 
 ish symptoms, and when Doctor Hodges made his appearance the 
 next day, he fo md him dressed, and ready to go down stairs. 
 Having received the physician's congratulations on his entire re- 
 covery, Mr. Bloundel inquired from him when he thought he might 
 with entire safety open his shop. Hodges considered for a mo- 
 ment, and then rephed, " I do not see any great risk in doing so 
 now, but I would advise you to defer the step for a fortnight. I 
 would also recommend you to take the whole of your family for a 
 short time into the country. Pure air and change of scene are ab- 
 solutely necessary after their long confinement." 
 
 " Farmer Wingfield, of Kensal Green, who sheltered us on our 
 
 way to Ashdown Park, will, I am sure, receive you," observed 
 
 Leonard. 
 
 ' " If so, you cannot go to a better place,'' rejoined the physician. 
 
 ^ "I will think of it," returned Mr. Bloundel. And leading the 
 
 wk way down stairs, he was welcomed by his wife and children with 
 
.314 
 
 '' My fears, you perceive, were groundless," he remarked to 
 Mrs. Bloiindel. 
 
 *' Heaven be praised they were so !" she rejoined. " But I en- 
 treat you not to go forth again till all danger is at an end." 
 
 " Rest assured I will not." he answered. 
 
 Soon after this, Doctor Hodges tock his leave, and had already 
 reached the street door, when he was arrested by F^atience, who 
 inquired with much anxiety whether he knew anything of Blaize? 
 
 " Make yourself easy about him, child," replied the doctor, " I 
 am pretty sure he is safe and sound. - He has had the plague cer- 
 tainly, but he left the hospital at St. Paul's cured." 
 
 "0! then I shall see him again," cried Patience, joyfully. 
 *' Poor dear httle fellow, it would break my heart to lose him." 
 
 " 1 will make inquiries about him again," rejoined Hodges, 
 " and, if 1 can find him, will sfend him home." And without wait- 
 ing to receive the kitchen-maid's thanks, he departed. 
 
 For some days, the grocer continued to pursue pretty nearly the 
 same line of conduct that he had adopted during the height of the 
 pestilence. But he did not neglect to make preparations for re- 
 suming his business ; and here Leonard was of material assistance 
 to him. They often spoke of Amabel, and Mr. Bloundel strove, 
 by every argument he was master of, to remove the weight of 
 affliction under which his apprentice laboured. He so far suc- 
 ceeded that Leonard's health improved, though he still seemed a 
 prey to secret sorrow. Things were in this state when one day a 
 knock was heard at the street-door, and the summons being an- 
 swered by the grocer's eldest son, Stephen, he returned with the 
 intelligence that a person was without who desired to see Patience. 
 After some consideration, Mr. Bloundel summoned the kitchen- 
 maid, and told her she might admit the stranger into the passage, 
 and hear what he had to say. Patience hastened with a beating 
 heart to the door, expecting to learn some tidings of Blaize, and 
 opening it, admitted a man wrapped in a large cloak, and having a 
 broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows. Stepping into the passage, 
 he threw aside the cloak and raised the hat, discovering the figure 
 and features of Pillichody. 
 
 " What brings you here, sir ?" demanded Patience in alarm, and 
 glancing over her shoulder to see whether any one observed them. 
 *' What do you want?" 
 
 '' 1 have brought you news of Blaize," returned the bully. "But 
 how charmingly you look. By the coral lips of Venus ! your long 
 confinement has added to your attractions." 
 
 " Never mind my attractions, sir," rejoined Patience, impa- 
 tiently. " Where is' Blaize? Why did he not come with you ?" 
 
 "Alas!" replied Pillichody, shaking his head in a melancholy 
 manner, " he could not." 
 
 " Could not !" half screamed Patience. " Why not ?" 
 " Do not question me," replied Pillichody, feigning to brush 
 away a tear. " He was my friend, and 1 would rather banish him 
 from my memory. The sight of your beauty transports me so, that 
 
DECLINE OF THE PLAGLE. 315 
 
 by the treasures of Croesus ! I would rather have you without a 
 crown than the wealthiest widow in the country." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense to me in this way," sobbed Patience. 
 " I'm not in the humour for it." 
 
 " Nonsense," echoed Pillichody. " I swear to you I am in ear- 
 nest. By Cupid ! 1 am ravished with your charms." And he would 
 have seized her hand, but Patience hastily withdrew it ; and, pro- 
 voked at his impertinence, dealt him a sound box. on the ear. As 
 she did this, she thought she heard a suppressed laugh near her, 
 and looked round, but could see no one. The sound certainly 
 did not proceed from PiUichody, for he looked very red and very 
 angry. 
 
 " Do not repeat this affront, mistress." he said to her. " I can 
 bear anything but a blow from your sex." 
 
 " Then tell me what has become of Blaize?" she cried. 
 "I will no longer spare your feehngs," he rejoined. "He is 
 defunct." 
 
 '' Defunct !" echoed Patience, with a scream. " Oh dear me ! — 
 I shall never survive it, — I shall die." 
 
 " Not while I am left to supply his place," cried Pillichody, 
 catching her in his arms. 
 
 " You 1" cried Patience, contemptuously, " I would not have you 
 for the world. Where is he buried ?" 
 
 " In the plague-pit," replied Pillichody. "I attended him dur- 
 ing his illness. It was his second attack of the disorder. He spoke 
 of you." 
 
 "Did he? — dear little fellow," she exclaimed. "Oh, what did 
 he say?" 
 
 "'Tell her,' he cried," rejoined Pillichody, "'that my last 
 thoughts were of her.' " 
 
 " Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Patience, hysterically. 
 " ' Tell her also,' he added," pursued Pillichody, " ' that I trust 
 she will fulfil my last injunction.' " 
 
 " That I will," replied Patience. " Name it." 
 '* He conjured you to marry me," replied Pillichody. " I am 
 sure you will not hesitate to comply with the request." 
 
 " 1 don't believe a word of this," cried Patience. " Blaize was 
 a great deal too jealous to bequeath me to another." 
 
 "Right, sweetheart, right," cried the individual in question, 
 pushing open the door. "This has all been done to try your 
 fidelity. I am now fully satisfied of your attachment ; and am ready 
 to marry you whenever you please." 
 
 " So this was all a triok," cried Patience, pettishly, "I wish I 
 had known it, I would have retaliated upon you nicely. You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself, Major PiUichody, to lend a helping hand 
 in such a ridiculous affair." 
 
 "I did it to oblige my friend Blaize," replied Pillichody. "It 
 was agreed between us that if you showed any inconstancy, you 
 were to be mine." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Patience. "I would not advise you to 
 i^epeat the experiment, Mr. Blaize." 
 
316 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 *'I never intend to do so, my angel," replied the porter. '* I 
 esteem myself the happiest and most fortunate of men." 
 
 " Voii have great reason to do so," observed Pillichody. " I do 
 not despair of supplanting him yet," he muttered to himself. " And 
 now farewell!" he added aloud, ^' I am only in the way, and, be- 
 sides, I have no particular desire to encounter Mr. Bloundel or his 
 apprentice. " And winking his solitary orb significantly at Patience, 
 he strutted away. It was well he took that opportunity of depart- 
 ing, for the lovers' raptures were instantly afterwards interrupted 
 by the appearance of Mr. Bloundel, who was greatly delighted to 
 see the porter and gave him a hearty welcome. 
 
 "Ah, sir, I have had a narrow escape," cried Blaize, "and never 
 more expected to see you, or my mother, or Patience. I have had 
 the plague, sir, and a" terrible disorder it is." 
 
 " I heard of your seizure from Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloun- 
 del. " But where have you been since you left the hospital at Saint 
 Paul's?" 
 
 "In the country, sir," rejoined Blaize; " sometimes at one farm- 
 house, and sometimes at another. 1 only returned to London 
 yesterday, and met an old friend, whom I begged to go before me, 
 an(tsee that all was right before I ventured in." 
 
 " We have all been providentially spared," observed Mr. Bloun- 
 del, "and you will find your mother as well as when you last 
 quitted her. You had better go to her." 
 
 Blaize obeyed, and was received by old Josyna with a scream of 
 delight Having embraced him, and sobbed over him, she ran for 
 a bottle of sack, and poured its contents down his throat so hastily 
 as nearly to choke him. She then spread abundance of eatables 
 before him, and after he had eaten and drank his full, offered him 
 as a treat a little of the plague medicine, which she had in reserve. 
 
 " INo, thank you, mother," replied Blaize. " I have had enough 
 of that. But if there should be a box of rufuses amongst the store 
 you can bring it, as I think a couple might do me good." 
 
 Three days after this event, the apprentice was sent forth to 
 ascertain the precise state of the city, as, if all proved favourable, 
 the grocer proposed to open his house on the following day. Leo- 
 nard set out betimes, and was speedily convinced that all danger 
 was at an end. A severe frost had set in, and had completely 
 purified the air. For the last few days, there had been no deaths 
 of the plague, and but little mortality of any kind. Leonard tra- 
 versed several of the main streets, and some narrow thoroughfares, 
 and found evidences of restored health and confidence everywhere. 
 It is true there were many houses in which whole families had been 
 swept off still left untenanted. But these were only memorials of 
 the past calamity, and could not be referred to any existing danger. 
 Before returning to Wood Street, an irresistible impulse led him to 
 Finsbury Fields. He passed through the postern east of Cripple- 
 gate, and shaped his way towards the lesser plague-pit. The sun, 
 which had been bright all the morning, was now partially obscured ; 
 the air had grown thick, and a little snow fell. The ground was 
 blackened and bound by the hard frost, and the stiffened grass felt 
 
[ 
 
 DECLINE OF THE PL.iGlE. 31t 
 
 crisp beneath his feet. Insensible to all external circumstances, he 
 hurried forward, taking the most direct course, and leaping every 
 impediment in his path. Having crossed several fields, he at 
 length stood before a swollen heap of clay, round which a wooden 
 railing was placed. Springing over the enclosure, and uttering a 
 wild cry that evinced the uncontrollable anguish of his breast, he 
 flung himself upon the mound. He remained for some time in the 
 deepest affliction, and was at last roused by a hand laid upon his 
 shoulder, and raising himself, beheld Thirlby. 
 
 *' 1 thought it must be you," said the new-comer, in accents of 
 the deepest commiseration. " I have been visiting yonder plague- 
 pit for the same melancholy purpose as yourself, — to mourn over 
 my lost child. 1 have been in search of you, and have much to say 
 to you. Will you meet me in this place at midnight to-morrow?" 
 
 Leonard signified his assent. 
 
 *' I am in danger," pursued Thirlby, "for by some means the 
 secret of my existence has been made known, and the officers of 
 justice are in pursuit of me. I suspect that Judith Malmayns is my 
 betrayer. You will not fail me ?" 
 
 " 1 will not," returned Leonard. 
 
 Upon this, Thirlby hurried away, and leaping a hedge, disap- 
 peared from view. 
 
 Leonard slowly and sorrowfully returned to Wood Street. On 
 arriving there, he assured his master that he might with entire 
 safety open his house, as he proposed, on the morrow; and Doctor 
 Hodges, who visited the grocer the same evening, confirmed the 
 opinion. Early, therefore, the next morning, Mr. Bloundel sum- 
 moned his family to prayers; and, after pouring forth his supplica- 
 tions with peculiar fervour and solemnity, he went, accompanied 
 by them all, and threw open the street door. Again kneeling down 
 at the threshold, he prayed fervently as before. He then proceeded 
 to remove the bars and shutters from the windows. The transition 
 from gloom and darkness to bright daylight was almost overpower- 
 ing. For the first time for six months, the imprisoned family looked 
 forth on the external world, and were dazzled and bewildered by 
 the sight. The grocer himself, despite his sober judgment, could 
 scarcely believe he had not been in a trance during the whole 
 period. The shop was scarcely opened before it was filled with 
 customers, and Leonard and Stephen were instantly employed. 
 But the grocer would sell nothing. To those who asked for any 
 article he possessed, he presented them with it, but would receive 
 no payment. 
 
 He next despatched Blaize to bring together all the poor he could 
 find; and distributed among them the remainder of his store, — his 
 casks of flour, his salted meat, his cheeses, his biscuits, his wine, — 
 in short, all that was left. " This 1 give," he said, "as a thanks- 
 giving to the Lord, and as a humble testimony of gratitude for my 
 signal deliverance." 
 
318 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 
 
 The first day of his deliverance being spent by the grocer in the 
 praiseworthy manner before related, he laid his head upon his pillow 
 with a feeling of satisfaction such as he had not for months expe- 
 rienced. A very remarkable dream occurred to him that night, and 
 its recollection afterwards afforded him the greatest consolation. 
 While thinking of Amabel, and of the delight her presence would 
 have afforded him, slumber stole upon him, and his dreams were 
 naturally influenced by his previous meditations. It appeared to 
 him that he was alone within his house, and while visiting one of 
 the upper rooms which had formerly been appropriated to his lost 
 daughter, he noticed a small door in the wall that had never before 
 attracted his attention. He immediately pushed against it, and, 
 yielding to the touch, it admitted him to an apartment with which 
 he seemed acquainted, though he could not recall the time when he 
 had seen it. It was large and gloomy, panelled with dark and lus- 
 trous oak, and filled with rich but decayed furniture. At the further 
 end stood a large antique bed, hung round with tarnished brocade 
 curtains. The grocer shuddered at the sight, for he remembered 
 to have heard Doctor Hodges assert, that in such a bed, and in 
 such a room as this, his daughter had breathed her last. Some one 
 appeared to be within the bed, and rushing forward with a throb- 
 bing heart, and a foreboding of what was to follow, he beheld the 
 form of Amabel. Yes, there she was, with features like those she 
 wore on earth, but clothed with such celestial beauty, and bearing 
 the impress of such serene happiness, that the grocer felt awe-struck 
 as he gazed at her ! 
 
 "Approach, my father," said the visionary form, in a voice so 
 musical that it thrilled through his frame — "approach, and let 
 what you now hear be for ever graven upon your heart. Do not 
 lament me more, but rather rejoice that I am removed from trouble, 
 and in the enjoyment of supreme fehcity. Such a state you will 
 yourself attain. You have rup the good race, and will assuredly 
 reap your reward. Comfort my dear mother, my brothers, my 
 little sister, with the assurance ot what 1 tell you, and bid them dry 
 their tears. I can now re id the secrets of all hearts, and know how 
 true was Leonard Holt's love for me, and how deep a^d sincere i3 
 his present sorrow. But 1 am not permitted to appear to him as I 
 now appear to you. Often have I heard him invoke me in accents 
 of the wildest despair, and have floated past him on the midnight 
 breeze, but could neither impart consolation to him nor make him 
 sensible of my presence, because his grief was sinful. Bid him be 
 comforted, bid him put a due control upon his feehngs. Bid him 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 319 
 
 open his heart anew, and he shall yet be happy, yet love again, and 
 have his love requited. Farewell, dear father 1" 
 
 And with these words, the curtains of the bed closed. The 
 grocer stretched out his arm to draw them aside, and in the effort 
 awoke. He slept no more that night, but dwelt with unutterable 
 delight on the words he had heard. On rising, his first object was 
 to seek out Leonard, and to relate his vision to him. The appren- 
 tice listened in speechless wonder, and remained for some time 
 lost in reflection. 
 
 " From any other person than yourself, sir," he said, at length, 
 *' I might have doubted this singular story, but coming from you, I 
 attach implicit credence to it. I will obey your sainted daughter's 
 injunctions. I will struggle against the grief that overwhelms me, 
 and will try to hope that her words may be fulfilled." 
 
 " You will do wisely," rejoined Mr. Bloundel. " After break- 
 fast, we will walk together to the farmhouse you spoke of at Kensal 
 Green, and if its owner should prove willing to receive my family 
 for a few weeks, I will remove them thither at once." 
 
 Leonard applauded his master's resolution, expressing his firm 
 conviction that Farmer Wingfield would readily accede to the pro- 
 posal, and the rest of the family having by this time assembled, they 
 sat down to breakfast. As soon as the meal was over, Mr. Bloun- 
 del intrusted the care of the shop to Stephen and Blaize, and ac- 
 companied by Leonard, set forth. On the way to the west end of 
 the town, the grocer met one or two of his old friends, and they 
 welcomed each other hke men risen from the grave. Their course 
 took them through Saint Giles's, where the plague had raged with 
 the greatest severity, and where many houses were still without 
 tenants. 
 
 " If all had acted ag I have done," sighed the grocer, as he gazed 
 at these desolate habitations, ' ' how many lives, under God's pro- 
 vidence, would have been saved !" 
 
 " In my opinion, sir," replied Leonard, " you owe your preser- 
 vation as much to your piety as to your prudence." 
 
 "I have placed my trust on high," rejoined the grocer, "and 
 have not been forsaken. And yet many evil-doers have escaped. 
 Amongst others — " 
 
 " 1 know whom you mean, sir," interrupted Leonard, with some 
 fierceness, "but a day of retribution will arrive for him." 
 
 " No more of this," rejoined the grocer, severely. " Remember 
 the solemn injunction you have received." 
 
 At this moment, they observed a horseman, richly attired, and 
 followed by a couple of attendants, riding rapidly towards them. 
 Both instantly recognized him. The apprentice's cheek and brow 
 flushed with anger, and Mr. Bloundel had much ado to control his 
 emotion. It was the Earl of Rochester, and on seeing them he in- 
 stantly dismounted, and flinging his bridle to one of the attendants, 
 advanced towards them. Noticing the fury that gleamed in Leo- 
 nard's eyes, and apprehendmg some violence on his part, the gro- 
 cer laid his hand upon his arm, and sternly enjoined him to calm 
 himself. ? 
 
320 OLD SAINT PAIL S. 
 
 By this time, the Earl had reached them. " Mr. Bloundel," he 
 «aid, in a tone of much emotion, and with a look that seemed to 
 bespeak contrition, " 1 heard that you had opened your house yes- 
 terday, and was about to call upon you. I have a few words to say 
 to you on a subject painful to both of us, but doubly painful to me 
 — your daughter." 
 
 "I must decline to hear them, my lord," replied the grocer, 
 coldly ; ' ' nor shall you ever cross my threshold again with my con- 
 sent. My poor child is now at peace. You can do her no further 
 injury, and must settle your own account with your Maker." 
 
 *' Do not refuse me your forgiveness," implored the Earl. "I 
 will make every reparation in my power." 
 
 " You can make none," replied the grocer, repelling him ; "and 
 as to my forgiveness, 1 neither refuse it nor accord it. I pray your 
 lordship to let me pass. The sole favour 1 ask of you is to come 
 near me no more." 
 
 " I obey you," replied the E^arl. " Stay," he added to Leonard, 
 who stood by, regarding him with a look of deadly ammosity, " I 
 would give you a piece of caution. Your hfe is in danger." 
 
 " 1 can easily guess from whom," replied the apprentice, scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " You mistake," rejoined Rochester ; " you have nothing to ap- 
 prehend from me. You have promised to meet some one to-night," 
 he added, in so low a tone as to be inaudible to the grocer. "Do 
 not go." 
 
 " Your lordship's warning will not deter me," rejoined the ap- 
 prentice. 
 
 "As you will," rejoined Rochester, turning away. And spring- 
 ing upon his horse, and striking his spurs into his side, he dashed 
 off, while Leonard and the grocer took the opposite direction. In 
 less than half an hour, they reached the Uttle village of Paddington, 
 then consisting of a few houses, but now one of the most populous 
 and important parishes of the metropoHs, and speedily gained the 
 open country. Even at this dreary season, the country had charms, 
 which Mr. Bloundel, after his long confinement, could fully ap- 
 preciate. His eye roamed over the wide prospect ; and the leafless 
 trees, the bare hedges, and the frost-bound fields, seemed pleasant 
 in his sight. 
 
 He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the cold, 
 greatly enjoyed the exercise. Leonard pointed out to him the spots 
 where the fugitives from the plague had pitched their tents, and also 
 the pest-house near Westbourne Green, where he himself had been 
 received during his second attack of the distemper, and which was 
 now altogether abandoned. 
 
 Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal Green, and 
 approached the farm-house. Leonard descried Wingfield near one 
 of the barns, and hailing him, he immediately came forward. On 
 being informed of Mr. Bloundel's desire, he at once assented, and 
 taking them into the house, mentioned the matter to his dame, who 
 was quite of the same opinion as himself. 
 
 *' The only difference between us," he said to Mr. Bloundel — *'is 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETIKG. 321 
 
 as to the payment you propose. Now I will take none — not a 
 farthing. Come when you please, bring whom you please, and 
 stay as long as you please. But don't offer me anything if you 
 would not offend me. Recollect," he added, the moisture forcing 
 itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voice becoming husky with 
 emotion, "that I loved your daughter for her resemblance to my 
 poor child. She too is gone. I do this for her sake." 
 
 Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but 
 he made no further objection, resolved in his own mind to find some 
 other means of requiting his hospitality. It was then agreed that 
 the grocer should bring his family on the following day, and remain 
 there for a month, and every other arrangement being made, and a 
 hearty meal partaken of, he cordially thanked his host, and returned 
 with Leonard to Wood Street. 
 
 In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the 
 Earl's warning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind ; and 
 though he did not for a moment think of abandoning his purpose, 
 he resolved to attend the meeting armed. He told Mr. Bloundel 
 he should go out that night, but did not state his object, and the 
 grocer did not inquire it. Blaize sat up with him, and displayed 
 much anxiety to know whither he was going, but, as may be sup- 
 posed, his curiosity was not gratified. As the clock struck eleven, 
 Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and arming himself further- 
 more with his staff, proceeded towards the door, and bade Blaize 
 lock it after him. "I shall probably be back in a couple of hours," 
 he said, as he went forth. "You must sit up for me." 
 
 ^'I wonder where he is going?" thought Blaize. "From his 
 gloomy looks, and the weapon he has taken with him, I should 
 judge he is about to murder some one — perhaps the Earl of Ro- 
 chester. It must be prevented." 
 
 With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by 
 curiosity than any better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds to 
 allow the apprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the door 
 outside, put the key in his pocket, and followed him. The night 
 was profoundly dark, but he had noticed the direction taken by 
 Leonard, and running noiselessly along the street, soon perceived 
 him a little in advance. Regufating his pace by that of the 
 apprentice, and keeping about fifty yards behind him, he tracked 
 his course along several streets, until he saw him pass though the 
 second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate. Here he debated 
 with himself whether to proceed further or turn back, but at length 
 curiosity got the better of his fears, and he went on. A few steps 
 brought him into the open fields, and fancying he saw Leonard at 
 a httle distance before him, he hurried on in that direction. But 
 he soon found be had been deceived by the stump of a tree^ and 
 began to fear he must have taken the wrong course. He looked 
 around in vain for some object to guide him. The darkness was 
 so profound that he could see nothing, and he set off again at 
 random, and not without much self-reproach and misgiving. At 
 last, he reached a hedge, and continued to skirt it, until he per- 
 ceived though the bushes the light of a lantern in the adjoining 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 field. He immediately called out, but at the cry the light disap- 
 peared. This did not prevent him from making towards the spot 
 where he had seen it ; but he had not proceeded far when he was 
 forcibly seized by some unseen person, thrown on the ground, and 
 a drawn sword, — for he felt the point, — placed at his throat. 
 
 *' Utter a cry, and it is your last," cried a stern voice. "Where 
 is he?" 
 
 ' ' Who — who ?" demanded Blaize, half dead with terror. 
 "He whom you appointed to meet," replied the unknown. 
 "I appointed to meet no one," rejoined Blaize. 
 "Liarl" exclaimed the other — "if you do not instantly lead me 
 to him, I will cut your throat." 
 
 "1 will lead you wherever you please, if you will only let me 
 get up," rejoined Blaize, with difficultly repressing a cry. 
 
 "By the daughters of Nox and Acheron 1" exclaimed a voice 
 which sounded like music in the porter's ears, "1 think you are 
 mistaken in your man, my lord. It does not sound like the appren- 
 tice's voice." 
 
 " It is not the apprentice's voice, good Major Pillichody," rejoined 
 the porter. "It is mine, your friend — Blaize's." 
 
 "Blaize!" exclaimed Pillichody, unmasking a dark lantern, and 
 reveahng the terror-stricken countenance of the porter — "so it is. 
 In the devil's name, what are you doing here?" 
 
 " The devil himself, who put it into my head to come, only 
 knows," replied Blaize ; " but I followed Leonard Holt." 
 
 " Which way did he take ?" asked the person who had assailed 
 him. 
 
 " I cannot exactly say," replied Blaize, " but he seemed to go 
 straight into the fields." 
 
 " He is no doubt gone to the plague-pit," replied the other. "You 
 are now at liberty," he added to Blaize, " and I counsel you to 
 make the best of your way home. Say nothing to your master of 
 what has occurred. The city walls lie in that direction." 
 
 Overjoyed to be released, Blaize ran off as fast as his legs could 
 carry him, and never stopped till he reached Moorgate. 
 
 Meanwhile, Leonard had reached the place of meeting. As he 
 stood by the rail surrounding the plague-pit, he thought of Mr. 
 Bloundel's singular dream, and almost hoping to be similarly fa- 
 voured, flung himself on his knees, and besought Amabel, if it were 
 possible , to appear to him. But his entreaties produced no result. 
 The chill blast whistled past him, and mindful of what had been 
 told him, he was fain to interpret this into an answer to his re- 
 quest. The night was bitterly cold, and Leonard, whose limbs 
 were almost stiffened by long kneeling, walked round and round 
 the enclosure at a quick pace to put his blood into circulation. As 
 the hour of midnight was tolled forth by the neighbouring 
 ch;:rches, he heard footsteps^ and could fust detect a figure advanc- 
 ing towards him. ' ' Are you there ? " was asked in the voice of Thirl" 
 
 Leonard repHed in the affirmative, and the other instantly joined him. 
 " Have you mentioned our meeting to any one ?" inquired Leo- 
 
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING. 323 
 
 nard. ** I ask because I was warned by the Earl of Rochester not 
 to attend it." 
 
 *' Strange I" exclaimed Thirlby, musingly. '* However, do not 
 let us waste time. I am about to leave London, perhaps this coun- 
 try, — for ever. But 1 could not depart without an interview with 
 you. You are aware of my strong attachment to my poor lost 
 child. My daughter Isabella now supplies her place in my heart. 
 She is the only being I love on earth, for my son has alienated 
 himself from my affections. All I desire is to see her happy. This 
 I find can only be accomplished in one way." 
 
 Here he paused for a moment, but as Leonard made no remark, 
 he proceeded : " Why should I hesitate to declare it," he said, 
 " since it was for that object 1 brought you hither. She loves you 
 — devotedly loves you, and if her wishes were opposed, I should 
 tremble for the consequences. Now, Hsten to me. Situated as 
 you are, you never can wed her. I will, however, point out a 
 means by which you can raise yourself to distinction in a short 
 time, and so entitle yourself to claim her hand. I will supply you 
 with money — more than you can require — will place you at court 
 — near the King's person— and if you act under my direction, your 
 rise is certain. I have extorted a promise to this effect from my 
 son. I told him my object, and that if he did not make your for- 
 tune, I could ruin him by reveahng myself. I may, perhaps, pay 
 the penalty of my crime on the scaffold ; but I may also escape. In 
 the latter case, my reappearance would be fatal to him. He has 
 consented to co-operate with me — to watch over your fortunes — 
 and as soon as you have attained sufficient eminence, to bestow his 
 sister upon you. Now do you understand ?" 
 
 " I do," .replied Leonard ; " and I understand also against whom 
 the Earl of Rochester warned me." 
 
 "And you consent?" demanded Thirlby. 
 
 'Leonard was about to answer, when he felt a light and trembhng 
 hand placed upon his own. 
 ^' Do not answer inconsiderately, Leonard," said a low, sweet 
 voice, which he recognised as that of the Lady Isabella; " I am 
 here to receive your determination." 
 
 " I am glad of it," repUed the apprentice. " The deep devotion 
 you have displayed towards me deserves to be requited. I will 
 strive to render myself worthy of you, and I feel that by so doing 
 .1 shall best fulfil the injunctions of her who lies beside us. Hence- 
 forth, Lady Isabella, 1 wholly devote myself to you." 
 A murmur of deHght escaped her. 
 
 "My blessings on you both!" exclaimed her father. "Give 
 me your hand, Isabella," he added, taking it and placing it in that 
 of the apprentice. " Here, beside the grave of her whom you both 
 loved, 1 affiance you. Pursue the course I point out to you, Leo- 
 nard, and she will soon be yours." 
 
 As he spoke, the hght of a lantern was suddenly thrown upon 
 them, disclosing two persons who had noiselessly approached. 
 They were Lord Argentine and Pillichody. 
 
 "You affirm more than you have warrant for, my lord," said 
 
324 OLD SAJKT PAIL'«. 
 
 the former. ' ' I will never consent to this ill-assorted and dis- 
 honourable union; and so far from permitting it, will oppose it to 
 the utmost of my power. If this presumptuous apprentice dares 
 to raise his views towards my sister, let him look to himself. Your 
 safety hes in instant flight. The officers are in search of you." 
 
 " They shall find me," replied Thirlby, sternly. 
 
 ^' As you please," rejoined Argentine. ''Come with me, Isa- 
 bella," he added to his sister. * 
 
 But she flew with a cry towards Leonard. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed her brother, drawing his sword. " Do you 
 dare to detain her? Deliver her to me, villain, instantly ?" 
 
 "Not when thus menaced, my lord," rejoined Leonard, likewise 
 drawing his sword, and standing upon the defensive. 
 
 '' Then look to yourself," replied Argentine, assaulting him. 
 
 Isabella uttered a wild shriek, and Thirlby tried to rush between 
 them. But before they could be separated, Lord Argentine's fury 
 had exposed him to his adversary, whose sword passed through 
 his body. He fell to the ground, weltering in his blood. 
 
 While Leonard stood stupified and confounded at what had 
 occurred, and Isabella, uttering a loud cry, threw herself upon 
 the body and tried to stanch the wound, — two men, with halberts 
 in their hands, rushed forward, and seizing Thirlby, cried, " We 
 arrest you as a murderer 1 " 
 
 Thirlby, who seemed utterly overcome by surprise and horror, 
 offered no resistance. 
 
 At this juncture, Leonard felt his arm seized by a bystander — he 
 did not know whom — and scarcely conscious of w^hat was taking 
 place, suffered himself to be dragged from the scene. 
 
 ISND OF THE FIFTH BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE SIXTH, 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 1666. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FIRE-BALL. 
 
 About nine o'clock on the night of Saturday, the 2nd of Septem 
 ber, 1666 — and rather more than nine months after the incidents 
 last related, — three men took their way from Smithfield to Isling- 
 ton. They proceeded at a swift pace and in silence, until, having 
 mounted the steep hill on which the suburb in question is situated, 
 they halted at a short distance from the high walls surrounding the 
 great water-works formed by the New River-head. The night was 
 dark, but free from cloud, in consequence of a strong easterly wind 
 which prevailed at the time. 
 
 " It is dark in London now," observed one of the three persons 
 to his companions as he cast his eye in the direction of the great 
 city, that lay buried in gloom beneath them; " but there will be 
 Hght enough soon." 
 
 "A second dawn, and brighter than the first, shall arise upon 
 it," replied one of his companions, a tall gaunt man, whose sole 
 covering was a sheepskin, girded round his loins. " Such a flame 
 shall be kindled within it, as hath not been seen since showers of 
 of brimstone and fire descended upon the sinful cities of the plain. 
 ' The Lord shall come with flames of fire,'" he added, pointing his 
 long staff towards the city. " ' He shall make them like a fiery 
 oven, in the time of his wrath. They shall be utterly consumed.' " 
 
 *' Amen!" exclaimed the third person, who stood near him, in 
 a deep voice, and with something of a foreign accent. 
 
 "Not so loud, friends," rejoined the first speaker. "Let us set 
 about the task. I will ascertain that no one is on the watch." 
 
 With this, he moved towards the water-works, and skirting the 
 circular walls, to satisfy himself that all was secure, he returned to 
 his companions, and they proceeded to the principal entrance to 
 the place. Noiselessly unlocking the gates, the leader of the party 
 admitted the others into an open space of some extent, in the midst 
 of which was a large reservoir of water. He then gave each of 
 them a smalji key, and bidding them use despatch, they began to 
 turn the cocks of the leaden pipes connected with the reservoir, 
 whilp fee hastened to the further end of the enclosure, and em^ 
 
326 • OLD SAINT PAIX'S. 
 
 ployed himself in a similar manner. In this way, and in less than 
 a quarter of an hour, the whole of the cocks were stopped. 
 
 " And now give me the keys," said the leader. 
 
 Taking them as they wereolfered, he added his own to the num- 
 ber, and flung them as far as he could into the reservoir, laughing 
 slightly as the noise of the splash occasioned by their fall into the 
 water reached his ears. 
 
 "They will not be found till this pool is drained," he observed to 
 his companions. "And now let usgo. Our business here is done." 
 
 "Stay yet a moment," cried Solomon Eagle, who was standing at 
 the brink of the reservoir, with his eyes fixed upon it. "Stayl" 
 he cried, arresting him. "A vision rises before me. I see in this 
 watery mirror a representation of the burning city. And what are 
 those fearful forms that feed the flames ? Fiends, in our hkeness 
 — fiends ! And see how wide and far the conflagration spreads. 
 The whole city is swallowed up by an earthquake. It sinks to the 
 bottomless pit — down, down !" 
 
 "No more of this," cried the leader impatiently. " Come along." 
 And followed by the others, he rushed to the gates, and locking 
 them after him, flung the key away. 
 
 "A hundred pounds was paid to the servant of the chief officer of 
 the works to bring those keys to me." he said, "and he executed 
 his commission faithfully and well. Water will be vainly sought for 
 to quench the conflagration." 
 
 "1 like not the vision 1 have just beheld," said Solomon Eagle, 
 in a troubled tone. "It seems to portend mischief." 
 
 "Think of it no more," rejoined the leader, " or regard it as it 
 was, — a phantom created by your overheated imagination. YoU 
 city has sinned so deeply, that it is the will of Heaven it should be 
 destroyed ; and it has been put into our hearts by the Supreme 
 Power to undertake the terrible task. We are the chosen instru- 
 ments of the divine displeasure. Everything favours the design, 
 — the long-continued dry weather,— the strong easterly wind, which 
 will bear the flames into the heart of the city, — the want of water, 
 occasioned by the stopping of these pipes, the emptying of the various 
 aqueducts, and the destruction of the Thames water-tower, which 
 we have accomplished. Everything favours it, I say, and proves 
 that the hand of Heaven directs us. Yes, London shall fall. We 
 have received our commission from on high, and must execute it, 
 regardless of the consequences. For my own part, 1 feel as little 
 compunction at the task, as the thunderbolt launched from on high 
 does for the tree it shivers." 
 
 "Philip Grant has uttered my sentiments exactly," said the man, 
 who it has been mentioned spoke with a slight foreign accent. " I 
 have neither misgiving nor compunction. You appear to have for- 
 gotten your own denunciations, brother." 
 
 "Not so, Robert Hubert," rejoined the enthusiast," and I now 
 recognise in the vision a delusion of the Evil One to turn me from 
 my holy purpose. But it has failed. The impious and impenitent 
 city is doomed, and nothing can save it. And yet I would fain see 
 it once more, as 1 beheld it this morn when day arose upon it for 
 
THE FIRE-BALL. 321' 
 
 the last time, from the summit of Saint-PauPs. It looked so beauti- 
 ful that my heart smote me, and tears started to my eyes, to think 
 that those goodly habitations, those towers, temples, halls, and pa- 
 laces, should so soon be levelled with the dust." 
 
 " Hear what the prophet saith," rejoined Hubert. " ' Thou hast 
 defiled thy sanctuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, by the 
 iniquity of thy traffic. Therefore, will I bring forth a fire from the 
 midst of thee, and will bring thee to ashes upon the earth, in the 
 sight of all them that behold thee.'" 
 
 Solomon Eagle flung himself upon his knees, and his example 
 was imitated by the others. Having recited a prayer in a low deep 
 tone, he arose, and stretching out his arms, solemnly denounced the 
 city. As he pronounced the words, a red and fiery star shot from 
 the dark vault of the sky, and seemed to fall in the midst of the 
 city. 
 
 *' Did you not see that sign ?" cried Grant, eagerly. " It heralds 
 us to our task." 
 
 So saying, he ran swiftly down the hill, and, followed by the others, 
 did not slacken his pace till they reached the city. They then shaped 
 their course more slowly towards Saint Paul's, and having gained 
 the precincts of the cathedral, Solomon Eagle, who now assumed 
 the place of leader, conducted them to a small door on the left of the 
 great northern entrance, and unlocking it, ushered them into a nar- 
 row passage behind the rich carved work of the choir. Traversing 
 it, they crossed the mid aisle, and soon reached the steps leading 
 to Saint Faith's. It was profoundly dark, but they were all well ac- 
 quainted with the road, and did not miss their footing. It required, 
 however, some caution to thread the ranks of the mighty pillars filhng 
 the subterranean church. But at last this was accomplished, and 
 they entered the vault beyond the charnel, where they found Chowles 
 and Judith Malmayns. The former was wrapped in a long black cloak, 
 and was pacing to and fro within the narrow chamber. When So- 
 lomon Eagle appeared, he sprang towards him, and regarding him 
 inquiringly, cried, "Have you done it?— have you done it ?" 
 
 The enthusiast replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" exclaimed Chowles. And he skipped about 
 with the wildest expressions of delight. A gleam of satisfaction too 
 darted from Judith's savage eyes. She had neither risen nor altered 
 her position on the arrival of the party, but she now got up, and ad- 
 dressed the enthusiast. A small iron lamp, suspended by a chain from 
 the vaulted roof, lighted the chamber. The most noticeable figure 
 amidst the groop was that of Solomon Eagle, who with his blazing 
 eyes, long jet black locks, giant frame, and tawny skin, looked 
 like a supernatural being. Near him stood the person designated as 
 Robert Hubert. He was a young man, and appeared to have lived 
 a life of great austerity. His features were thin ; his large black eyes 
 set in deep caverns ; his limbs seemed almost destitute of flesh ; and 
 his looks wild and uncertain like those of an insane person. His tat- 
 tered and_^threadbare garb resembled that of a French ecclesiastic. 
 The third person, who went by the name of Phihp Grant, had a 
 
328 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 powerful frame, though somewhat bent, and a haughty deportment 
 and look, greatly at variance with his miserable attire and haggard 
 looks. His beard was long and grizzled, and his features, though 
 sharpened by care, retained some traces of noble expression. A few 
 minutes having passed in conversation, Grant observed to the enthu- 
 siast, "I must now leave you for a short time. Give me the key that 
 I may let myself out." 
 
 " You are not going to betray us?" cried Chowles, suspiciously. 
 
 " Why should I betray you?" rejoined Grant, sternly. "I am 
 too anxious for the event to disclose it." 
 
 " True, true," repHed Chowles. 
 
 " / do not distrust you, brother," observed Solomon Eagle, 
 giving him the key. 
 
 "1 know whither you are going," observed Judith Malmayns. 
 '* You are about to warn Mr. Bloundel and his partner, — appren- 
 tice no longer, — Leonard Holt, of the approaching conflagration. 
 But your care will be thrown away." 
 
 " Does she speak the truth, brother?" demanded Hubert, raising 
 his eyes from the Bible which he was reading in the corner of the 
 vault. 
 
 "I will do nothing to endanger th^e design," rejoined Grant. 
 '* Of that rest assured." 
 
 With this, he strode forth, traversed Saint Faith's, and, notwith- 
 standing the gloom, reached without difficulty the httle door by 
 which he had entered the cathedral. Issuing from it, he took the 
 way, as Judith had surmised, to Wood Street, and pausing before 
 the grocer's door, knocked against it. 
 
 The summons was presently answered by Blaize ; and to Grant's 
 inquiries whether his master was within, he replied, " Which of 
 my masters do you mean ? I have two." 
 
 "The younger," replied Grant, — "Leonard Holt. 
 
 **So far you are fortunate," rejoined Blaize. "Mr. Bloundel 
 has retired to rest, but Mr. Holt is still down stairs. Pray what 
 may be your business with him at this hour ? It should be im- 
 portant." 
 
 "It is important," rejoined Grant, "and does not admit of a 
 moment's delay. Tell him so." 
 
 Eyeing the stranger with a look of suspicion, the porter was 
 about to enter into a parley with him, when Leonard himself cut it 
 short, and learning the nature of the application, desired Grant to 
 follow him into the adjoining room. The nine months which had 
 passed over Leonard's head since he was last brought under notice, 
 had wrought a material change in his appearance. He had a grave 
 and thoughtful air, somewhat inclining to melancholy, but in other 
 respects he was greatly improved. His health was completely re- 
 stored, and the thoughtful expression added character to his hand- 
 some physiognomy, and harmonized well with his manly and de- 
 termined bearing. He was habited plainly, but with some degree 
 of taste. As Judith Malmayns had intimated, he was now Mr. 
 BlQundel's partner, and his whole appearance denoted his improved 
 
¥ 
 
 THE FIRE-BALL. 329 
 
 circumstances. The alteration did not escape the notice of the 
 stranger, who regarded him with much curiosity, and closed the 
 door behind him as he entered the room. 
 
 " You are looking much better than when we last met, Leonard 
 Holt," he said, in tones that made his hearer start, "and I am glad 
 to perceive it. Prosperity seems to attend your path, and you de- 
 serve it ; whereas, misery and every other ill — and I deserve them 
 — dog mine." 
 
 *' 1 did not recognise you at first, Mr. Thirlby," replied Leonard 
 — " for, in truth, you are much changed. But you desire to speak 
 with me on a matter of importance. Can I aid you ? You may 
 need money. Here is my purse." 
 
 "I do not want it," replied the other, scornfully rejecting the 
 offer. " I have a proposal to make to you." 
 
 " I shall be glad to hear it," replied Leonard. " But first tell me 
 how you effected your escape after your arrest on that disastrous 
 night when, in self-defence, and unintentionally, I wounded your 
 son, Lord Argentine." 
 
 ''Would you had killed him!" cried the other, fiercely. "I 
 have lost all feelings of a father for him. He it was who contrived 
 my arrest, and he would have gladly seen me borne to the scaffold, 
 certain it would have freed him from me for ever. I was hurried 
 away by the officers from the scene of strife, and conveyed to the 
 Tun at Cornhill, which you know has been converted into a round- 
 house, and where I was locked up for the night. But while I was 
 lying on the floor of my prison, driven well nigh frantic by what 
 had occurred, there were two persons without labouring to effect 
 my deliverance, — nor did they labour in vain. These were Chowles 
 and Judith, my foster-sister, and whom, you may remember, I sus- 
 pected, — and most unfairly, — of intending my betrayal. By means 
 of a heavy bribe, they prevailed on one of the officers to connive at 
 my escape. An iron bar was removed from the window of my 
 prison, and I got through the aperture. Judith concealed me for 
 some days in the vaults of Saint Faith's, after which I fled into the 
 country, where I wandered about for several months, under the 
 name of Phihp Grant. Having learnt that my son, though severely 
 hurt by you, had recovered from his wound, and that his sister, the 
 Lady Isabella, had accompanied him to his seat in Staffordshire, I 
 proceeded thither, and saw her, unknown to him. I found her heart 
 still true to you. She told me you had disappeared immediately 
 after the termination of the conflict, and had not been heard of till 
 her brother was out of danger, when you returned to Wood Street." 
 
 "The information was correct," replied Leonard. "I was 
 dragged away by a person whom 1 did not recognize at the time, 
 but who proved to be the Earl of Rochester. He conducted me to 
 a place of safety, thrust a purse into my hand, and left me. As 
 soon as I could do so with safety, I returned to my master's house. 
 But how long have you been in London ?" 
 
 "Nearly a month," replied Grant. "And now, let me ask you 
 one question.^ Do you ever think of Isabella ?" 
 
 ^' Often, .very often," replied Leonard, '^But as I dare not in? 
 
330 OLD SAINT pawl's. 
 
 dulge the hope of a union with her, I have striven to banish her 
 image from my mind." 
 
 "She cannot forget you, Leonard," rejoined Grant. "And now 
 to my proposal. 1 have another plan for your aggrandisement that 
 cannot fail. I am in possession of a monstrous design, the revelation 
 of which will procure you whatever you desire. Ask a title from 
 the King, and he will give it ; and when in possession of that title, 
 demand the hand of the Lady Isabella, and her proud brother will 
 not refuse you. Call in your porter — seize me. 1 will offer a 
 feigned resistance. Convey me before the King. Make your own 
 terms with him. He will accede to them. Will you do it ?" 
 
 "No," replied Leonard, "I will not purchase the daughter at 
 the price of the father's life." 
 
 "Heed me not," replied Grant, supplicatingly. "I am wholly 
 indifferent to life. And what matters it whether I am dragged to 
 the scaffold for one crime or another." 
 
 "You plead in vain," returned Leonard, firmly. 
 
 "Reflect," cried Grant, in an agonized tone. "A word from 
 you will not only win you Isabella, but save the city from destruc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Save the city 1" exclaimed Leonard. " What mean you ?" 
 
 "Swear to comply with my request, and you shall know. But 
 not otherwise," replied Grant. 
 
 "1 cannot — 1 cannot," rejoined Leonard; "and unfortunately 
 you have said too much for your own safety. I must, though 
 most reluctantly, detain you." 
 
 "Hear me, Leonard, and consider well what you do," cried 
 Grant, planting himself before the door. " 1 love you next to my 
 daughter, and chiefly because she loves you. I have told you I 
 have a design to discover, to which I am a party, — a heUish, horri- 
 ble design, — which threatens this whole city with destruction. It 
 is your duty, having told you thus much, to arrest me, and I will 
 offer no resistance. Will you not turn this to your own advan- 
 tage ? Will you not make a bargain with the King ?" 
 
 "I have said I will not," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 "Then be warned by me," rejoined Grant. *' Arouse your 
 master. Pack up all your goods, and make preparations for in- 
 stant flight, for the danger will invade you before you are aware 
 of it." 
 
 "Is it fire?" demanded Leonard, upon whose mind the denun- 
 ciation of Solomon Eagle now rushed. 
 
 "You will see," replied Grant with a terrible laugh. "You 
 will repent your determination when it is too late. Farewell." 
 
 " Hold 1" cried Leonard, advancing towards him, and trying to 
 lay hands upon him, "1 arrest you in the King's name." 
 
 "Olfl" exclaimed Grant, dashing him forcibly backwards. And 
 striking down Blaize, who tried to stop him in the passage, he threw 
 open the street door, and disappeared. 
 
 Fearful of pursuit. Grant took a circuitous route to Saint Paul's, 
 and it was full half an hour after the interview above related, be- 
 fore he reached the cathedral. Just as he passed through the small 
 
FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 331 
 
 door, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnip^ht, and when he 
 gained the mid aisle, he heard footsteps approaching, and encoun- 
 tered his friends. 
 
 "We had given you up," said Chowles, ^'and fearing you in- 
 tended us some treachery, were about to do the job without you." 
 
 "I have been unavoidably detained," replied Grant. "Let us 
 about it at once." 
 
 "I have got the fire-balls with me," observed Hubert. 
 
 "It is well," returned Grant. 
 
 Quitting the cathedral, they proceeded to Thames-Street, and 
 tracking it to Fish Street Hill, struck off on the right into an alley 
 that brought them to Pudding Lane. 
 
 "This is the house," said Chowles, halting before a two- 
 storied, wooden habitation, over the door of which was suspended 
 the sign of the Wheat Sheaf, with the name Thomas Farhi>er, 
 Baker, inscribed beneath it. 
 
 "And here," said Hubert, "shall begin the Great Fire of 
 London." 
 
 As he said this, he gave a fire-ball to Solomon Eagle, who 
 lighted the fuze at Chowles's lantern. The enthusiast then ap- 
 proached a window of the baker's shop, and breaking a small pane 
 of glass within it, threw the fire-ball into the room. It alighted 
 upon a heap of chips and fagots lying near a large stack of wood 
 used for the oven, and in a few minutes the whole pile had caught 
 and burst into a flame, which quickly mounting to the ceiling, set 
 fire to the old, dry, half-decayed timber that composed it. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Having seen the stack of wood kindled, and the flames attack the 
 building in such a manner as to leave no doubt they would destroy 
 it, the incendiaries separated, previously agreeing to meet together 
 in half an hour at the foot of London Bridge ; and while the others 
 started off in different directions, Chowles and Judith retreated to 
 a neighbouring alley commanding a view of the burning habitation. 
 
 " At last the great design is executed," observed Chowles, rub- 
 bing his hands gleefully. " The fire burns right merrily, and will 
 not soon be extinguished. Who would have thought we should 
 have found such famous assistants as the two madmen, Solomon 
 Eagle and Robert Hubert — and your scarcely less mad foster-bro- 
 ther, Philip Grant? I can understand the motives that influenced 
 the two first to the deed, but not those of the other." 
 
 " Nor 1, replied Judith, "unless he wishes in some way or other 
 to benefit Leonard Holt by it. For my part, I shall enjoy this fire 
 
332 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 quite as much on its own account as for the plunder it will bring us. 
 1 should like to see every house in this great city destroyed." 
 
 " You are in a fair way of obtaining your wish," replied Chowles, 
 — "but provided I have the sacking of them, I don't care how many 
 are saved. Not but that such a fire will be a grand sight, which I 
 should be sorry to miss. You forget, too, that if Saint Paul's should 
 be burnt down, we shall lose our hoards. However, there's no 
 chance of that." 
 
 '' Not much," replied Judith, interrupting him. " But see! the 
 baker has at last discovered that his dweUing is on fire. He bursts 
 open the window, and, as I live, is about to throw himself out of it." 
 
 As she spoke, one of the upper windows in the burning habitation 
 was burst open, and a poor terrified wretch appeared at it in his 
 night dress, vociferating in tones of the wildest alarm, " Fire ! fire I 
 —help ! help !" 
 
 ' ' Shall we go forward ?" said Chowles. 
 
 Judith hesitated for a moment, and then assenting, they hurried 
 towards the spot. 
 
 " Can we give you any help, friend?" cried Chowles. 
 
 " Take care of this," rejoined the baker, flinging a bag of money 
 to the ground, "and I will endeavour to let down my wife and child- 
 ren. The staircase is on fire, and we are almost stifled with 
 smoke. God help us !" 
 
 And the exclamation was followed by fearful shrieks from within, 
 followed by the appearance of a woman, holding two little children 
 in her arms, at the window. 
 
 " This must be money," said Judith, utterly heedless of the fear- 
 ful scene occurring above, and taking up the bag and fchinking it. 
 " Silver, by the sound. Shall we make off with it ?" 
 
 " No, no," rephed Chowles, " we must not run any risk for such 
 a paltry booty. Let us bide our time." 
 
 At this juncture, the baker, who had disappeared for a few se- 
 conds from the window, again presented himself at it, and, with 
 some difficulty, forced a feather bed through it, which was instantly 
 placed by Chowles in such a position beneath as to break the fall of 
 the descending parties. Tying a couple of sheets together, and 
 fastening one end round his wife's waist, the baker lowered her and 
 the children to the ground. They alighted in safety ; but just as he 
 was about to follow their example, the floor of the room gave way, 
 and though he succeeded in springing through the window, he 
 missed the feather bed, and broke his leg in the fall. He was picked 
 up by Chowles and Judith, and placed upon the bed in a state of in- 
 sensibility, and was soon afterwards conveyed with his family to the 
 house of a neighbour. 
 
 I\Ieanwhile, the fire had spread to the houses on either side of the 
 unfortunate man's habitation, and both of them being built entirely 
 of wood, tl>ey were almost instantly in flames. The alarm, too, 
 had become general, — the inhabitants of the adjoining houses were 
 filled with indescribable terror, and the narrow street was speedily 
 crowded with persons of both sexes who had rushed from their ^ 
 beds to a.scertain the extent of the danger. A!' was terrpr and coa7 ' 
 
FIRST NIGHT OV THE FlHE. . 333 
 
 fiision. The fire-bells of Saint Margaret's, Saint George's, and 
 Saint Andrew's, in Botolph Lane, began to toll, and shouts were 
 heard on every side, proving that the whole neighbourhood was 
 roused. 
 
 To add to the general distress, a report was raised that a house 
 in Fish Street Hill was on fire, and it was soon found to be true, as 
 an immense volume of flames burst forth in that quarter. While 
 the rest of the spectators, distracted by this calamity, and hardly 
 knowing what to do, hurried in the direction of the new fire, 
 Chowles and Judith eyed each other askance, and the former whis- 
 pered to his companion, " That is another piece of Hubert's handi- 
 work." 
 
 The two wretches now thought it time to bestir themselves. So 
 much confusion prevailed, that they were wholly unobserved,. and 
 under the plea of rendering assistance, they entered houses and 
 carried off whatever excited their cupidity, or was sufficiently por- 
 table. No wealthy house had been attacked as yet, and therefore 
 their spoil was but trifling. The poor baker seemed to be the bearer 
 of ill-luck, for he had not been many minutes in his new asylum 
 before it likewise caught fire. Another house, too, in Fish Street 
 Hill, and lower down than the first, was observed to be burning, 
 and as this was out of the current of the wind, and consequently 
 could not have been occasioned by the showers of sparks that 
 marked its course, a cry was instantly raised that incendiaries were 
 abroad, and several suspicious-looking persons were seized in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 Meantime, no efforts had been made to stop the progress of the 
 original conflagration in Pudding Lane, which continued to rage 
 with the greatest fury, spreading from house to house with asto- 
 nishing rapidity. All the buildings in this neighbourhood being 
 old, and of wood, which was as dry as tinder, a spark alighting 
 upon them would have sufficed to set them on fire. It may be con- 
 ceived, therefore, what must have been the effect of a vast volume 
 of flame, fanned by a powerful wind. House after house caught, 
 as if constructed of touchwood, and the fire roared and raged to 
 such a degree, that those who stood by were too much terrified to 
 render any effectual assistance. Indeed, the sole thought that now 
 seemed to influence all was the preservation of a portion of their 
 property. No one regarded his neighbour, or the safety of the city. 
 The narrow street was instantly filled with goods and furniture of 
 all kinds, thrown out of the windows or pushed out of the doors, 
 but such was the fierceness of the fire, and the extraordinary rapi- 
 dity with which it advanced, that the very articles attempted to be 
 saved were seized by it, and thus formed a means of conveying it 
 to the opposite houses. 
 
 In this way, a number of persons were enclosed for a short time 
 between two fires, and seemed in imminent danger of being burned 
 to death. The perilous nature of their situation was, moreover, 
 increased by a sudden and violent gust of wind, which, blowing the 
 flames right across the street, seemed to envelop all within them. 
 The shrieks that burst from the poor creatures thus involved were 
 
334 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 most appalling, Fortunately, they sustained no greater damage 
 than was occasioned by the fright and a slight scorching, for the 
 next moment the wind shifted, and, sweeping back the flames, they 
 were enabled to effect their retreat. Chowles and Judith were 
 among the sufferers, and in the alarm of the moment lost all the 
 booty they had obtained. 
 
 Soon after this, the whole street was on fire. All idea of pre- 
 serving their property was therefore abandoned by the inhabitants, 
 and they thought only of saving themselves. Hundreds of half-naked 
 persons of both sexes rushed towards Thames Street in search of 
 a place of refuge. The scene was wholly without parallel for 
 terror. Many fires had occurred in London, but none that raged 
 with such fierceness as the present conflagration, or promised to be 
 so generally destructive. It gathered strength and fury each mo- 
 ment, now rising high into the air in a towering sheet of flame, 
 now shooting forward like an enormous dragon vomiting streams 
 of fire upon its foes. 
 
 All at once, the flames changed colour, and were partially ob- 
 scured by a thick black smoke. A large warehouse filled with 
 resin, tar, and other combustible matters, had caught fire, and the 
 dense vapour proceeded from the burning pitch. But it cleared off 
 in a few minutes, and the flames burnt more brightly and fiercely 
 than ever. 
 
 Up to this time, none of the civic authorities having arrived, 
 several persons set off to give information of the calamity to the 
 Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Bludworth), and the other magistrates. 
 A small party of the watch were on the spot, but they were unable 
 to render any effectual assistance. As the conflagration advanced, 
 those occupying houses in its track quitted them, and left their 
 goods a prey to the numerous plunderers, who were now gathered 
 together pursuing their vocation like unhallowed beings amid the 
 raging element. The whole presented a scene of the wildest alarm, 
 confusion, and licence. Vociferations, oaths, shrieks, and outcries 
 of every description stunned the ear. Night was turned into day. 
 The awful roaring of the flames was ever and anon broken by the 
 thundering fall of some heavy roof. Flakes of fire were scattered 
 far and wide by the driving wind, carrying destruction wherever 
 they alighted, and spreading the conflagration on all sides till it 
 seemed like a vast wedge of fire driven into the heart of the city. 
 And thus it went on, swallowing up all before it, like an insatiate 
 monster, and roaring for very joy. 
 
 Meanwhile, the incendiaries had met, as concerted, near the foot 
 of the bridge, and all except Philip Grant seemed to rejoice in the 
 progress ol the conflagration. Chowles made some comment upon 
 his moody looks and silence, and whispered in his ear, " You have 
 now an opportunity of retrieving your fortune, and may make 
 yourself richer than your son. Take my advice and do not let it 
 pass." 
 
 "Away, tempter!" cried Grant — " I have lighted a fire within 
 my breast which never will be quenched." 
 
 '' Poh, poh I" rejoined Judith — " Do not turn faint-hearted now." 
 
FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 335 
 
 "The fire rages fiercely," cried Solomon Eagle, gazing at the 
 vast sheet of flame overtopping the buildings near them, " but we 
 must keep it alive. Take the remainder of the fire-balls, Hubert, 
 and cast them into some of the old houses in Crooked Lane. 
 Hubert prepared to obey. 
 
 *' I will go with you and point out the best spots," said Chowles. 
 *' Our next place of rendezvous must be the vaults beneath Saint 
 Faith's." 
 
 " Agreed !" exclaimed the others. And they again separated, — 
 Hubert and Chowles to kindle fresh fires, and Grant to watch the 
 conflagration at a distance. As to Solomon Eagle, he rushed to- 
 wards the scene of destruction, and forcing himself into the midst 
 of the crowd, mounted a post, crying in a loud voice — 
 
 "I told you a second judgment would come upon you on account 
 of your iniquities, and you now find that I avouched the truth. 
 The Lord himself hath come to preach to you, as he did in the 
 fiery mount of Sinai, and a terrible exhortation it shall be, and one 
 ye shall not easily forget. This fire shall not be quenched till the 
 whole city is laid prostrate. Ye doubted my words when I told 
 you of the plague; ye laughed at me, and scoffed me; but ye be- 
 came believers in the end, and now conviction is forced upon you 
 a second time. You will vainly attempt to save your dweUings. 
 It is the Lord's will they should be destroyed, and man's efforts to 
 avert the judgment will be ineffectual !" 
 
 While the majority Hstened to him with fear and trembling, and 
 regarded him as a prophet, a few took the opposite view of the 
 question, and coupling his appearance with the sudden outbreak of 
 the fire, were disposed to regard him as an incendiary. They, 
 therefore, cried out — " He has set fire to our houses. Down with 
 him! down with him I" 
 
 Other voices joined in the outcry, and an attempt was made to 
 carry the menace into effect ; but a strong party rallied round the 
 enthusiast, who derided the attempts of his opponents. Planting 
 himself on the steps of Saint Margaret's church, he continued to 
 pour forth exhortations to the crowd, until he was driven into the 
 interior of the pile by the fast-approaching flames. The whole 
 body of the church was filled with poor wretches who had sought 
 refuge within it, having brought with them such of their goods as 
 they were able to carry off. But it soon became evident that the 
 sacred structure would be destroyed, and their screams and cries 
 on quitting it were truly heart-rending. Solomon Eagle was the 
 last to go forth, and he delayed his departure till the flames burst 
 through the windows*. Another great storehouse of oil, tar, cord- 
 age, hemp, flax, and other highly-inflammable articles, adjoining 
 the church, had caught fire, and the flames speedily reached the 
 sacred fabric. The glass within the windows was shivered ; the 
 stone bars spfit asunder ; and the seats and other wood-work within- 
 side catching fire, the flames ascended to the roof, and kindled its 
 massive rafters. 
 
 Great efforts were now made to check the fire. A few of the 
 cumbrousT^and unmanageable engines of the day were brought to 
 
336 
 
 the spot, but no water could be obtained. All the aqueducts, pipes 
 and sluices were dry, and the Thames water-tower was found to 
 be out oi ci Jc7, and the pipes connected with it empty. To add 
 to the calamity, the tide was out, and it was not only difficult, but 
 dangerous, to obtain water from the river. The scanty supply 
 served rather to increase than check the flames. 
 
 All sorts of rumours prevailed among the crowd. It could no 
 longer be doubted that the fire, which kept continually breaking out 
 in fresh places, was the work of incendiaries, and it was now sup- 
 posed that it must have been caused by the French or the Dutch, 
 with both of which nations the country was then at war, and the 
 most fearful anticipations, that it was only the prelude of a sudden 
 invasion, were entertained. Some conjectured it might be the work 
 of the papists ; and it chancing that a professor of that rehgion was 
 discovered among the mob, he was with difficulty rescued from 
 their fury by the watch, and conveyed to Newgate. Other per- 
 sons, who were likewise suspected of being incendiaries, were 
 conveyed with him. 
 
 This, though it satisfied the multitude, did not check the progress 
 of the fire, nor put a stop to the terror and tumult that prevailed. 
 Every moment, a fresh family were turned into the street, and by 
 their cries added to the confusion. The plunderers had formed 
 themselves into bands, pillaging everything they could lay hands 
 on — carrying off boxes, goods, and coffers, breaking into cellars, 
 broaching casks of spirits and ale, and emptying flasks of wine. 
 Hundreds of persons wRo did not join in the pillage made free with 
 the contents of the cellars, and a large portion of the concourse was 
 soon in a state of intoxication. 
 
 Thus, wild laughter and exclaniations of frenzied mirth were 
 heard amid the waitings of women and the piteous cries of children. 
 It was indeed dreadful to see old and bed-ridden people forced into 
 the street to seek a home where they could; nor yet less dreadful 
 to behold others roused from a bed of sickness at dead of night, and 
 by such a fearful summons. Still, fanned by the wind, and fed by 
 a thousand combustible matters, the fire pressed fearfully on, 
 devouring all before it, and increasing in fury and power each 
 instant; while the drunken mob laughed, roared, shouted, and 
 rejoiced beside it, as if in emulation of the raging flames. 
 
 To proceed for a moment to Wood Street. When Philip Grant 
 quitted Leonard in the manner before related, the latter followed 
 him to the door, and saw him disappear in the gloom. But he did 
 not attempt pursuit, because he could not persuade himself that any 
 danger was really to be apprehended. He tliought it, however, 
 advisable to consult with Mr. Bloundel on the subject, and accord- 
 ingly proceeded to his room and roused him. 
 
 After hearing what had occurred, the grocer looked vei'y grave, 
 and said, ' ' 1 am not disposed to treat this matter so lightly as you 
 do, Leonard. 1 fear this unhappy man has some desperate design in 
 view. What it is I cannot — dare not — conjecture. But 1 confess 
 1 am full of apprehension. 1 shall not retire to rest to-night, but 
 shall hold myself in readiness to act in whatever way may be ne- 
 
FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE. 337 
 
 cessary. You had better go forth, and if anything occurs, give 
 notice to the proper authorities. We have not now such a Lord 
 Mayor as we had during the season of the plague. The firm and 
 courageous Sir John Lawrence is but ill succeeded by the weak and 
 vacillating Sir Thomas Bludworth. Still, the latter may be equal 
 to this emergency, and if anything happens, you must apply to him." 
 
 '^ I will follow your advice implicitly," rejoined Leonard. '' At 
 the same time, I think, there is nothing to apprehend." 
 
 " It is better to err on the safe side," observed the grocer. *' You 
 cannot then reproach yourself with want of caution." 
 
 Shortly after this, Leonard salhed forth, and having determined 
 what course to pursue in the first instance, proceeded to Saint 
 Paul's. He found every door in the sacred structure fast closed. 
 Not satisfied with this, he knocked at the great northern entrance 
 till the summons was answered by a verger, and stating his object, 
 demanded to be admitted, and to search the cathedral, as well as 
 Saint Faith's. The verger offered no objection, and having exa- 
 mined the old building throughout, without discovering any traces 
 of the person he was in quest of, Leonard quitted it. 
 
 More than ever convinced that he was right in his supposition, 
 and that no danger was to be apprehended, he was about to return 
 home, when the idea occurred to him that he might perhaps find 
 Grant at the plague-pit in Finsbury Fields, and he accordingly 
 shaped his course thither. A long period had elapsed since*h« had 
 last visited the melancholy spot, and it was not without much pain- 
 ful emotion that he drew near the vast mound covering the victims 
 of the pestilence. But Grant was not there, and though he paced 
 round and round the dreary enclosure for some time, no one came. 
 He then proceeded to the lesser plague-pit, and kneeling beside 
 the grave of Amabel, bedewed it with his tears. 
 
 As he arose, with the intention of returning to Wood Street, he 
 observed an extraordinary light in the sky a little to the left, evi- 
 dently produced by the reflection of a great fire in that direction. 
 On beholding this light, he said to himself, "Mr. Bloundel was 
 right. That is the danger with which the city was threatened. It 
 is now too late to avert it." 
 
 Determined, however, to ascertain the extent of the calamity 
 without an instant's loss of time, he set off at a swift pace, and in 
 less than half an hour reached Fish Street Hill, and stood beside 
 the conflagration. It was then nearly three o'clock, and a vast 
 chasm of blackening ruins proclaimed the devastation that had been 
 committed. Just as he arrived, the roof of. Saint Margaret's fell in 
 with a tremendous crash, and for a few minutes the fire was sub- 
 dued. It then arose with greater fury than ever; burst out on both 
 sides of the sacred structure, and caught the fine of houses leading 
 towards London Bridge. The first house was that of a vintner ; 
 and the lower part of the premises — the cellars and vaults — were 
 filled with wine and spirits. These instantly blazed up, and burnt 
 with such intensity that the adjoining habitation was presently in 
 flames. " I know who has done all thisl" exclaimed Leonard, half 
 involuntarily^, as he gazed at the work of destruction. 
 
 22 
 
838 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 ** Indeed!" exclaimed a bystander, gazing at him. " Who is it? 
 — the Dutchman or the Frenchman?" 
 
 " Neither," replied Leonard, who at that moment discovered 
 Grant among the group opposite him. " Yonder stands the in- 
 cendiary 1" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Instantly surrounded and seized by the mob, Grant offered no 
 resistance, but demanded to be led with his accuser before a ma- 
 gistrate. Almost as the words were uttered, a cry was raised that 
 the Lord Mayor and the Sheriffs were coming along Eastcheap, and 
 the prisoner and Leonard were immediately hurried off in that di- 
 rection. They met the civic authorities at the corner of Saint Cle- 
 ment's Lane ; but instead of paying any attention to them, the Lord 
 Mayor, who appeared to be in a state of great agitation and excite- 
 ment, ordered the javehn-men, by whom he was attended, to push 
 the mob aside. 
 
 '' I will not delay your worship an instant," cried Leonard — 
 **but this dreadful fire is the work of incendiaries, of whom that 
 man," pointing to Grant, " is the principal. 1 pray your worship 
 to question him. He may have important revelations to make." 
 
 *'Eh, what?" cried the Lord Mayor, addressing Grant. *'Is it 
 true you are an incendiary? Who are your accomplices? Where 
 are they?" 
 
 '* 1 have none," replied Grant, boldly, — " I deny the charge al- 
 together. Let my accuser prove it if he can." 
 
 *' You hear what he says, young man," said the Mayor. " Did 
 you see him set fire to any house ? Did you find any fireballs on his 
 person ?" 
 
 " I did not," replied Leonard. 
 
 *' /searched him your worship," cried Chowles, who was among 
 the bystanders, "the moment he was seized, and found nothing 
 upon him. It is a false and malicious charge." 
 
 " It looks like it, I must say," replied the Mayor. '* On what 
 grounds do you accuse him?" he added, angrily, to Leonard. 
 
 *'0n these," replied Leonard. ''He came to me three hours 
 ago, and confessed that he had a desperate design against the safety 
 of the city, and made certain proposals to me, to which 1 would 
 not listen. This is not the season for a full explanation of the mat- 
 ter. But I pray your worship, as you value the welfare of the city, 
 to have him secured. 
 
 '' There can be no harm in that," replied the Lord Mayor. *' His 
 appearance is decidedly against him. Let him be taken care of till 
 the morrow, when I will examine further into the matter. Your 
 name and place of abode, young man ?" 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 339 
 
 ** I am called Leonard Holt, and my business is that of a grocer, 
 in Wood Street," was the reply. 
 
 " Enough," rejoined the Mayor. " Take away the prisoner. I 
 will hear nothing further now. Lord ! Lord ! how the fire rages, 
 to be sure. We shall have the whole city burnt down, if we do not 
 take care." 
 
 "That we shall indeed," repHed Sir Robert Vyner, one of the 
 sheriffs, " unless the most prompt and decisive measures are imme- 
 diately adopted." 
 
 " What would you recommend ?" cried the Lord Mayor, despair- 
 ingly. 
 
 Sir Robert looked perplexed by the question. 
 
 ''If I might offer an opinion," interposed Leonard, "I would 
 advise your worship to pull down all the houses in the way of the 
 fire, as the only means of checking it." 
 
 " Pull down the houses !" cried the Lord Mayor. *' Who ever 
 heard of such an idea? Why, that would be worse than the fire. 
 No, no ; that will never do." 
 
 " The young man is in the right," observed Sir Joseph Sheldon, 
 the other sheriff. 
 
 " Well, well — we shall see," repUed the Mayor. *' But we are 
 losing time here. Forward! forward!" 
 
 And while Grant was borne off to Newgate by a guard of javehn- 
 men, the Lord Mayor and his company proceeded to Fish Street 
 Hill, where the whole conflagration burst upon them. The mo- 
 ment the Lord Mayor appeared, he was beset on all sides by hun- 
 dreds of families, soliciting his protection. Others came to give 
 him the alarming intelligence that a very scanty supply of water 
 only could be obtained, and that already two engines had been 
 destroyed, while the firemen who worked them had narrowly 
 escaped with life. Others again pressed him for instructions how 
 to act, — some suggesting one plan, — some another, — and being of 
 a weak and irresolute character, and utterly unequal to a fearful 
 emergency like the present, he was completely bewildered. Bid- 
 ding the houseless families take refuge in the churches, he ordered 
 certain officers to attend them, and affecting to doubt the statement 
 of those who affirmed there was no water, advised them to go to 
 the river, where they would find plenty. In vain they assured him 
 the tide was out, the Thames Water Tower empty, the pipes and 
 conduits dry. He would not believe anything of the sort, but, up- 
 braiding his informants with neglect, bade them try again. As to 
 instructions, he could give none. 
 
 At last, a reluctant assent being wrung from him by Sir Joseph 
 Sheldon that a house should be pulled down, as suggested by Leo- 
 nard, preparations were instantly made for putting the design in 
 execution. The house selected was about four doors from the top 
 of Fish Street Hill, and belonged to a birdcage-maker. But they 
 encountered an unexpected opposition. Having ascertained their 
 purpose, the owner fastened his doors, and refused to admit them. 
 He harangued^ the mob from one of the upper windows, and pro- 
 ducing a pistol, threatened to fire upon them if they attempted to 
 
340 . OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 gain a forcible entrance. The officers, however, having received 
 their orders, were not to be intimidated, and commenced breaking 
 down the door. The birdcage-maker then fired, but without effect ; 
 and before he had time to reload, the door had yielded to the com- 
 bined efforts of the multitude, who were greatly enraged at his 
 strange conduct. They rushed up stairs, but finding he had locked 
 himself in the room, left him there, supposing him secure, and 
 commenced the work of demolition. More than a hundred men 
 were engaged in the task, but, though they used the utmost exer- 
 tion, they bad little more than unroofed the building, when a cry 
 was raised by those in the street that the house was on fire. Alarmed 
 by the shout, they descended, and found the report true. Flames 
 were issuing from the room lately occupied by the birdcage-maker. 
 The wretch had set fire to his dwelhng, and then made his escape 
 with his family by a back staircase. Thus defeated, the workmen, 
 with bitter imprecations on the fugitive, withdrew, and Leonard, 
 who had lent his best assistance to the task, repaired to the Lord 
 Mayor. He found him in greater consternation than ever. 
 
 " We must go further off if we would do any good," said Leo- 
 nard ; " and as the present plan is evidently too slow, we must have 
 recourse to gunpowder." 
 
 " Gunpowder!" exclaimed the Lord Mayor. " Would you blow 
 up the city, like a second Guy Fawkes? I begin to suspect you are 
 one of the incendiaries yourself, young man. Lord, Lord ! what 
 will become of us !" 
 
 " If your worship disapproves of my suggestion, at least give 
 orders what is to be done," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " I have done all 1 can," replied the Mayor. " Who are you 
 that talk to me thus?" 
 
 " I have told your worship I am a simple tradesman," replied 
 Leonard. " But I have the welfare of the city at heart, and I can- 
 not stand by and see it burnt to the ground without an effort to 
 save it." 
 
 " Well, well, I dare say you mean very well, young man," re- 
 joined the Lord Mayor, somewhat pacified. "But don't you per- 
 ceive it's impossible to stop such a fire as this without water, or 
 engines. I'm sure I would willingly lay down my life to preserve 
 the city. But what can I do — what can any man do ?" 
 
 "Much may be done if there is resolution to attempt it," returned 
 Leonard. "1 would recommend your worship to proceed, in the 
 first place, to the wharfs on the banks of the Thames, and cause 
 the removal of the wood, coal, and other combustible matter with 
 which they are crowded." 
 
 "Well thought of," cried the Lord Mayor. "I will go thither 
 at once. Do you stay here. Yoiu- advice will be useful. I will 
 examine you touching the incendiary to-morrow — that is, if we 
 are any of us left alive, which I don't expect. Lord, Lord I what 
 will become of us." And with many similar ejaculations, he hurried 
 off with the sheriffs, and the greater part of his attendants, and 
 taking his way down Saint Martin's Lane, soon reached the river 
 side. 
 
PROGKESS OF THE FIRE. 341 
 
 By this time, the fire had approached the summit of Fish Street 
 Hill, and here the overhanging stories of the houses coming so close 
 together as almost to meet at the top, the flames speedily caught 
 the other side, and spread the conflagration in that direction. Two 
 other houses were hkewise discovered to be on fire in Crooked 
 Lane, and in an incredibly short space the whole dense mass of 
 habitations, lying at the west side of Fish Street Hill, and between 
 Crooked Lane and East Cheap, were in flames, and threatening the 
 venerable church of Saint Michael, which stood in the midst of them, 
 with instant destruction. To the astonishment of all who witnessed 
 it, the conflagration seemed to proceed as rapidly against the wind 
 as with it, and to be approaching Thames Street, both by Pudding 
 Lane and Saint Michael's Lane. A large stable, filled with straw 
 and hay, at the back of the Star Inn, in Little Eastcheap, caught 
 fire, and carrying the conflagration eastward, had already conveyed 
 it as far as Botolph Lane. 
 
 It chanced that a poor Catholic priest, travelHng from Douay to 
 England, had landed that night, and taken up his quarters at the 
 hotel above mentioned. The landlord, who had been roused by 
 the cries of fire, and alarmed by the rumours of incendiaries, im- 
 mediately called to mind this guest, and dragging him from his 
 room, thrust him, half naked, into the street. Announcing his 
 conviction that the poor priest was an incendiary, to the mob 
 without, they seized him, and in spite of his protestations and 
 explanations, which being uttered in a foreign tongue, they could 
 not comprehend, thfey were about to exercise summary punishment 
 upon him, by hanging him to the the signpost before the landlord's 
 door, when they were diverted from their dreadful purpose by 
 Solomon Eagle, who prevailed upon them to carry him to Newgate. 
 
 The conflagration had now assumed so terrific a character, that 
 it appalled even the stoutest spectator. It has been mentioned that 
 for many weeks previous to the direful calamity, the weather had 
 been remarkably dry and warm, a circumstance which had pre- 
 pared the old wooden houses, abounding in this part of the city, 
 for almost instantaneous ignition. Added to this, if the incen- 
 diaries themselves had deposited combustible materials at certain 
 spots to extend the conflagration, they could not have selected 
 better places than accident had arranged. All sorts of inflammable 
 goods were contained in the shops and warehouses, — oil, hemp, 
 flax, pitch, tar, cordage, sugar, wine, and spirits; and when any 
 magazine of this sort caught fire, it spread the conflagration with 
 tenfold rapidity. 
 
 The heat of the flames had now become almost insufferable, and 
 the sparks and flakes of fire fell so fast and thick that the spectators 
 were compelled to retreat to a considerable distance from the 
 burning buildings. The noise occasioned by the cracking of the 
 timbers, and the falling of walls and roofs, was awful in the extreme. 
 All the avenues and thoroughfares near the fire were now choked 
 up by carts, coaches, and other vehicles, which had been hastily 
 brought thither to remove the goods of the inhabitants, and the 
 hurry of the poor people to save a wreck of their property, and 
 
M2 OLD SAINT PAULS. 
 
 the attempts made by the gangs of plunderers to deprive them of 
 it, constituted a scene of unparalleled tumult and confusion. As 
 yet, no troops had appeared to maintain order, and seeing that as 
 much mischief was almost done by the plunderers as by the fire, 
 Leonard determined to go in search of the Lord Mayor, and 
 acquaint him with the mischief that was occurring. Having heard 
 that the fire had already reached London Bridge, he resolved to 
 ascertain whether the report was true. As he proceeded down 
 Saint Michael's Lane, he found the venerable church from which it 
 was designated, on fire, and with some difficulty forcing his way 
 through the crowd, reached Thames Street, where he discovered 
 that the conflagration had even made more fearful progress than 
 he had anticipated. Fishmongers' Hall, a large square structure, 
 was on fire, and burning swiftly, — the flames encircling its high 
 roof, and the turret by which it was surmounted. Streams of fire, 
 too, had darted down the numerous narrow alleys leading to the 
 river-side, and reaching the wharfs, had kindled the heaps of wood 
 and coal with which they were filled. The party under the com- 
 mand of the Lord Mayor had used their utmost exertions to get rid 
 of these combustible materials by flinging them into the Thames; 
 but they came too late, and were driven away by the approach of 
 the fire. Most of the barges and heavy craft were aground, and 
 they, too, caught fire, and were burned, with their contents. 
 
 Finding he could neither render any assistance, nor obtain speech 
 with the Lord Mayor, and anxious to behold the terrible, yet sublime 
 spectacle from the river, Leonard hastened to Old Swan Stairs, and 
 springing into a boat, ordered the waterman to row into the middle 
 of the Thames. He could then discern the full extent of the con- 
 flagration, and trace the progress it was making. All the houses 
 between Fishmongers' Hall and the bridge were on fire, and behind 
 them rose a vast sheet of flame. Saint Magnus' Church, at the 
 foot of the bridge, was next seized by the flame, and Leonard 
 watched its destruction. An ancient gateway followed, and soon 
 afterwards a large stack of houses, erected upon the bridge, burst 
 into flames. 
 
 The inhabitants of the houses on the bridge, having now become 
 thoroughly alarmed, flung bedding, boxes, and articles of furni- 
 ture, out of their windows into the river. A crowd of boats sur- 
 rounded the starlings, and the terrified occupants of the structures 
 above descending to them by the staircases in the interior of the 
 piers, embarked with every article they could carry off The river 
 presented a most extraordinary scene. Lighted by the red and 
 fierce reflection of the fire, and covered with boats, filled with 
 families who had just quitted their habitations either on the bridge 
 or in some other street adjoining it, its whole surface was speckled 
 with pieces of furniture, or goods that had been cast into it, and 
 which were now floating up with the tide. Great crowds were 
 collected on the Southwark shore to watch the conflagration, while 
 on the opposite side the wharfs and quays were thronged with per- 
 sons removing their goods, and embarking them in boats. One 
 circumstance, noted by Pepys, and which also struck Leonard, was 
 
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 343 
 
 the singular attachment displayed hy the pigeons, kept by the 
 owners of several houses on the bridge, to the spots they had been 
 accustomed to. Even when the flames attacked the building to 
 which the dovecots were attached, the birds wheeled round and 
 round them, until their pinions being scorched by the fire, they 
 dropped into the water. 
 
 Leonard remained on the river nearly two hours. He could 
 not, in fact, tear himself away from the spectacle, which pos- 
 sessed a strange fascination in his eyes. He began to think that all 
 the efforts of men were unavailing to arrest the progress of destruc- 
 tion, and he was for awhile content to regard it as a mere spec- 
 tacle. And never had he beheld a more impressive — a more terri- 
 ble sight. There lay the vast and populous city before him, which 
 he had once before known to be invaded by an invisible, but ex- 
 terminating foe, now attacked by a furious and far seen enemy. 
 The fire seemed to form a vast arch — many-coloured as a rain- 
 bow, — reflected in the sky, and re-reflected in all its horrible splen- 
 dour in the river. 
 
 . Nor was the aspect of the city less striking. The innumerable 
 towers and spires of the churches rose tall and dark through the 
 wavering sheet of flame, and every now and then one of them 
 would topple down and disappear, as if swallowed up by the de- 
 vouring element. For a short space, the fire seemed to observe 
 a regular, progressive movement, but when it fell upon better 
 material, it reared its blazing crest aloft, changed its hues, and 
 burnt with redoubled intensity. Leonard watched it thread narrow 
 alleys, and firing every lesser habitation in its course, kindle some 
 great hall or other structure, whose remoteness seemed to secure 
 it from immediate danger. At this distance, the roaring of the 
 flames resembled that of a thousand furnaces. Ever and anon, it 
 was broken by a sound like thunder, occasioned by the fall of some 
 mighty edifice. Then there would come a quick succession of 
 reports like the discharge of artillery, followed by a shower of fiery 
 flakes and sparks blown aloft, Hke the explosion of some stupen- 
 dous firework. Mixed with the roaring of the flames, the thunder 
 of falling roofs, the cracking of timber, was a wild hubbub of 
 human voices, that sounded afar off like a dismal wail. In spite 
 of its terror, the appearance of the fire was at that time beautiful 
 beyond description. Its varying colours — its fanciful forms — now 
 shooting out in a hundred different directions, hke hghtning flashes, 
 — now drawing itself up, as it were, and soaring aloft, — now split- 
 ting into a million tongues of flame, — these aspects so riveted the 
 attention of Leonard that he almost forgot in the sight the dreadful 
 devastation going forward. His eyes ached with gazing at the 
 fiery spectacle, and he was glad to rest them on the black masses 
 of buiiding> that stood in stern relief against it, and which there 
 could be httle doubt would soon become its prey. 
 
 It was now broad daylight, except for the mighty cloud of smoke 
 which o'er-canopied the city, creating an artificial gloom. Leo- 
 nard's troubled gaze wandered from the scene of destruction to 
 Saint Paul's — an edifice which, from the many events connected 
 
344 OLD SAINT PAIL S. 
 
 with his fortunes that had occurred there, had always a singular 
 interest in his eyes. Calling to mind the denunciations poured forth 
 by Solomon Eagle against this fane, he could not help fearing they 
 would now be fulfilled. What added to his misgivings was, that 
 it was now almost entirely surrounded by poles and scaffolding. 
 Ever since the cessation of the plague, the repairs, suspended 
 during that awful season, had been recommenced under the super- 
 intendence of Doctor Christopher Wren, and were now proceed- 
 ing with renewed activity. The whole of the building was imder 
 repair, and a vast number of masons were employed upon it, and 
 it was their scaffoldings that impressed Leonard with a dread of 
 what afterwards actually occurred. Accustomed to connect the 
 figure of Solomon Eagle with the sacred structure, he could not 
 help fancying that he discovered a speck resembling a human figure 
 on the central tower. If it were the enthusiast, what must his 
 feelings be at finding his prediction so fatally fulfilled I Litttle did 
 Leonard think how the prophecy had been accomplished ! 
 
 But his attention was speedily recalled to the progress of the 
 conflagration. From the increased tumult in the city, it was evi- 
 dent the inhabitants were now thoroughly roused, and actively be- 
 stirring themselves to save their property. This was apparent, 
 even on the river, from the multitude of boats, deeply laden with 
 goods of all kinds, which were now seen shaping their course to- 
 wards Westminster. The fire, also, had made rapid progress on 
 all sides. The vast pile of habitations at the north side of the 
 bridge was now entirely in flames. The effect of this was awfully 
 , fine. Not only did the flames mount to a greater height, and appear 
 singularly conspicuous from the situation of the houses, but every 
 instant some blazing fragment fell with a tremendous splash into 
 the water, where it hissed for a moment and then was for ever 
 quenched, floating a black mass upon the surface. From the foot 
 of the bridge to Coal Harbour Stairs, extended what Dryden finely 
 calls "a quay of fire." All the wharfs and warehouses were in 
 flames, and burning with astonishing rapidiU^, while this part of 
 Thames Street, " the lodge of all combustibles," had likewise be- 
 come a prey to the devouring element. The fire, too, had spread 
 in an easterly direction, and consuming three churches, namely 
 Saint Andrew's in Botolph Lane, Saint Mary's in Love Lane, and 
 Saint Dunstan's in the East, had invaded Tower Street, and .seemed 
 fast approaching the ancient fortress. 
 
 So fascinated was Leonard by the sight that he could have been 
 well content to remain all day gazing at it, but he now reflected 
 that he had other duties to perform, and directing the waterman to 
 land him at Queenhithe, ascended Bread Street Hill, andbetookhim- 
 self to Wood Street. 
 
INTERVIEW WITH THE KING. 345 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Leonard's interview with the king. 
 
 Some rumours of the conflagration, as will be supposed, had ere 
 this reached Mr. Bloundel, but he had no idea of the extent of the 
 direful calamity, and when informed of it by Leonard, lifted up his 
 hands despairingly, exclaiming in accents of the deepest affliction 
 — " Another judgment, then, has fallen upon this sinful city, — ■ 
 another judgment yet more terrible than the first. Man may have 
 kindled this great fire, but the hand of God is apparent in it. ' Alas! 
 alas ! for thee, thou great city ! Babylon ! Alas for thee, thou 
 mighty city ! for in one hour is thy judgment come. The kings of 
 the earth shall bewail thee, and lament for thee, when they see the 
 smoke of thy burning.' " 
 
 '' Your dweUing was spared in the last visitation, sir," ob- 
 served Leonard, after a pause, " and you were able to shut yourself 
 up, as in a strong castle, against the all-exterminating foe. But I 
 fear you will not be able to ward off the assaults of the present 
 enemy, and recommend you to remove your family and goods 
 without delay to some place of security far from this doomed city." 
 
 *' This is the Lord's day, Leonard, and must be kept holy," re- 
 plied the grocer. ' ' To morrow, if I am spared so long, 1 will en- 
 deavour to find some place of shelter." 
 
 " If the conflagration continues to spread as rapidly as it is now 
 doing, to morrow will be too late," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 "It may be so," returned the grocer, " but 1 will not violate 
 the Sabbath. If the safety of my family is threatened, that is ano- 
 ther matter, but I will not attempt to preserve my goods. Do not, 
 however, let me influence you. Take such portion of our stock as 
 belongs to you, and you know that a third of the whole is yours, 
 and convey it where you please." 
 
 On no account, sir," interrupted Leonard. " I should never 
 think of acting in opposition to your wishes. This will be a sad 
 Sunday for London." 
 
 *' The saddest she has ever seen," replied the grocer; "for 
 though the voice of prayer was silenced in her churches during 
 the awful season of the plague, yet then men's minds had been 
 gradually prepared for the calamity, and though filled with terror, 
 they were not taken by surprise, as must now be the case. But 
 let us to prayers, and may our earnest supplications avail in turning 
 aside the Divine dipleasure." 
 
 And summoning his family and household, all of whom were by 
 this time stirring, and in the utmost consternation at what they 
 had heard of the fire, he commenced a prayer adapted to the oc- 
 casion in a strain of the utmost fervour ; and as Leonard gazed at 
 
846 OLD SAINT PAlx'sr. 
 
 his austere countenance, now lighted up with holy zeal, and listened 
 to his earnest intercessions in behalf of the devoted city, he was 
 reminded of the prophet Jeremiah weeping for Jerusalem before 
 the throne of grace. 
 
 Prayers over, the whole party sat down to their morning repast, 
 after which, the grocer and his eldest son, accompanied by Leo- 
 nard and Blaize, mounted to the roof of the house, and gazing in 
 the direction of the conflagration, they could plainly distinguish the 
 vast cloud of yellow smoke commingled with flame, that marked 
 the scene of its ravages. As the wind blew from this quarter, 
 charged, as has been stated, with a cloud of sparks, many of the 
 fire-drops were dashed in their faces, and compelled them to shade 
 their eyes. The same awful roar which Leonard had heard on 
 the river, likewise broke upon their ears, while from all the ad- 
 joining streets arose a wild clamour of human voices, the burden of 
 whose cries was " Fire! Fire!" The church bells, which should 
 have been tolling to early devotion, were now loudly ringing the 
 alarm, while their towers were crowded, as were the roofs of most 
 of the houses, with persons gazing towards the scene of devasta- 
 tion. Nothing could be more opposite to the stillness and quiet of 
 a Sabbath morn, and as the grocer listened to the noise and tumult 
 prevailing around him, he could not repress a groan. " I never 
 thought my ears would be so much offended on this day," he said. 
 " Let us go down. I have seen and heard enough." 
 
 They then descended, and Stephen Bloundel, who was greatly 
 alarmed by what he had just witnessed, strongly urged his fa- 
 ther to remove immediately. '*■ There are seasons," said the 
 young man, " when even our duty to Heaven becomes a secondary 
 consideration, and 1 should be sorry if the fruit of your industry 
 were sacrificed to your reHgious scruples." 
 
 " There are no such seasons," replied the grocer, severely, 
 " and 1 grieve that a son of mine should think so. If the inhabit- 
 ants of this sinful city had not broken the Sabbath, and neglected 
 God's commandments, this heavy judgment would not have fallen 
 upon them. 1 shall neglect no precaution for the personal safety 
 of my family, but 1 place my worldly goods in the hands of Him 
 from whom I derived them, and to whom 1 am ready to restore 
 them, whenever it shall please him to take them." 
 
 " 1 am rebuked, father," replied Stephen, humbly; " and entreat 
 your pardon for having ventured to differ with you. 1 am now 
 fully sensible of the propriety of your conduct." 
 
 "And 1 have ever acquiesced in your wishes, be what they 
 may," said Mrs. Bloundel to her husband, "but 1 confess I am 
 dreadfully frightened. 1 hope you will remove the first thing to- 
 morrow. 
 
 "When midnight has struck, and the Sabbath is past, 1 shall 
 commence my preparations," replied the grocer. '* You must 
 rest content till then." 
 
 Mrs. Bloundel heaved a sigh, but said no more, and the grocer, 
 retiring to a side table, opened the Bible, and sat down calmly to 
 
IRTERVIEW WITH THE KING. 847 
 
 its perusal. But though no further remonstrances reached his ears, 
 there was great murmuring in the kitchen on the part of Blaize and 
 Patience. 
 
 " Goodness knows what will become of us !" cried the latter. 
 *' I expect we shall all be burnt alive, owing to our master's obsti- 
 nacy. What harm can there be in moving on a Sunday, I should 
 like to know? I'm sure I'm too much hurried and flurried to say 
 my prayers as I ought to do." 
 
 " And so am I," replied Blaize. " Mr. Bloundel is a great deal 
 too particular. What a dreadful thing it would be if the house 
 should be burnt down, and all my mother's savings, which were to 
 form a provision for our marriage, lost." 
 
 *' That would be terrible, indeed," cried Patience, with a look 
 of dismay. " I think the wedding had better take place as soon 
 as the fire is over. It can't last many days if it goes on at this 
 rate." 
 
 *' You are right," returned Blaize. " I have no objection. PU 
 speak to my mother at once." And stepping into the scullery, where 
 old Josyna was washing some dishes, he addressed her — *' Mother, 
 Pm sadly afraid this great fire will reach us before our master will 
 allow us to move. Hadn't you better let me take care of the money 
 you intended giving me on my marriage with Patience." 
 
 **No, no, myn goed zoon," replied Josyna, shaking her head — "I 
 musd zee you married virsd.'* 
 
 *'But I can't be married to-day," cried Blaize — "and there's no 
 time to lose. The fire will be upon us directly." 
 
 " I cand help dat," returned his mother. "We musd place our 
 drusd in God." 
 
 "There I quite agree with you, mother," replied Blaize — "but 
 we must also take care of ourselves. If you won't give me the 
 money, at least put it in a box to carry off at a moment's notice." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, myn zoon," replied Josyna. " I won'd forged 
 id." 
 
 "Pm sadly afraid you will, though," muttered Blaize, as he 
 walked away. " There's no doing any good with her," he added to 
 Patience. " She's as obstinate as Mr. Bloundel. 1 should hke to 
 see the fire of all things, but I suppose I mustn't leave the house." 
 *' Of course not," replied Patience, pettishly ; " at such a time, 
 it would be highly improper. 1 forbid that." 
 
 "Then I must needs submit," groaned Blaize. — "1 can't even 
 have my own way before marriage." 
 
 When the proper time arrived, the grocer, accompanied by all his 
 family and household, except old Josyna, who was left in charge of 
 the house, repaired to the neighbouring church of Saint Alban's, but 
 finding the doors closed, and that no service was to be performed, 
 he returned^ home with a sorrowful heart. 
 
 Soon after this, Leonard took Mr. Bloundel apart, and observed 
 to him, "I have a strong conviction that I could be useful in ar- 
 resting the progress of the conflagration, and as I cannot attend 
 church service, I will, with your permission, devote myself to that 
 object. It is my intention to proceed to Whitehall, and if possible, 
 
a48 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 obtain an audience of the King, and if I succeed in doing so, to lay a 
 plan before him, which I think would prove efficacious." 
 
 <* I will not ask what the plan is," rejoined the grocer, "because I 
 doubt its success. Neither will I oppose your design, which is praise- 
 worthy. Go, and may it prosper. Return in the evening, for I 
 may need your assistance, — perhaps, protection." 
 
 Leonard then prepared to set forth. Blaize begged hard to ac- 
 company him, but was refused. Forcing his way through the host 
 of carts, coaches, drays, and other vehicles thronging the streets, 
 Leonard made the best of his way to Whitehall, where he speedily 
 arrived. A large body of mounted troopers were stationed before 
 the gates of the palace, and a regiment of the foot-guards were 
 drawn up in the court. Drums were beating to arms, and other 
 martial sounds were heard, showing the alarm that was felt. Leo- 
 nard was stopped at the gate by a sentinel, and refused admittance, 
 and he would in all probability have been turned back, if at that 
 moment the Lords Argentine and Rochester had not come up. On 
 seeing him, the former frowned and passed quickly on, but the latter 
 halted. 
 
 " You seem to be in some difficulty," remarked Rochester. " Can 
 I help you ?" 
 
 Leonard was about to turn away, but he checked himself. " 1 
 will not suffer my resentful feelings to operate injuriously to others," 
 he muttered. "I desire to see the King, my lord," he added, to 
 the Earl. "I have a proposal to make to him, which 1 think would 
 be a means of checking the conflagration." 
 
 ' ' Say you so ?" cried Rochester. ' ' Come along, then. Heaven 
 grant your plan may prove successful, in which case, 1 promise you, 
 you shall be nobly rewarded." 
 
 " I seek no reward, my lord," replied Leonard. "Alll desire 
 is to save the city." 
 
 "Well, well," rejoined Rochester, " it will be time enough tore- 
 fuse his Majesty's bounty when offered." Upon this, he ordered 
 the sentinel to withdraw, and Leonard followed him into the pa- 
 lace. They found the entrance-hall filled with groups of officers 
 and attendants, all conversing together, it was evident from iheir 
 looks and manner, on the one engrossing topic, — the conflagration. 
 Ascending a magnificent staircase, and traversing part of a grand 
 gallery, they entered an ante-room, in which a number of 
 courtiers and pages, — amongst the latter of whom was Chiffinch, 
 — were assembled. At thedoor of the inner chamber stood a pouple 
 of ushers, and as the Earl approached, it was instantly thrown open. 
 As Leonard, however, who followed close behind his leader, passed 
 Chiffinch, the latter caught hold of his arm, and detained him. 
 Hearing the movement, Rochester turned, and said quickly to the 
 page, *'Let him pass, he is going with me." 
 
 " Old Rowley is in no humour for a jest to-day, my lord," repHed 
 Chiffinch, familiarly. " He is more serious than J have ever before 
 seen him, and takes this terrible fire sadly to heart, as well he may. 
 Mr. Secretary Pepys, of the Admiralty, is with him, and is detailing 
 all particulars of the calamity to him, I believe." 
 

 INTKRYIIW WITH THE KING. S49 
 
 *' It is in reference to the fire that I have brought this young man 
 with me," returned the Earl. '' Let him pass, I say. State your 
 plan boldly," he added, as they entered the audience-chamber. 
 
 At the further end of the long apartment, on a chair of state, and 
 beneath a canopy, sat Charles. He was evidently much disturbed, 
 and looked eagerly at the new comers, especially at Leonard, ex- 
 pecting to find him the bearer of some important intelligence. On 
 the right of the King, and near an open window, which, looking 
 towards the river, commanded a view of the fire on the bridge, as 
 well as of part of the burning city, stood the Duke of York. The 
 Duke did not appear much concerned at the calamity, but was 
 laughing with Lord Argentine, who stood close beside him. The 
 smile fled from the lips of the latter as he beheld Leonard , and he look- 
 ed angrily at Rochester, who did not, however, appear to notice his 
 displeasure. On the left of the royal chair was Mr. Pepys, engaged, 
 as Chiffinch had intimated, in detaihng to the King the progress of 
 the conflagration; and next to the secretary stood the Earl of Craven, 
 — a handsome, commanding, and martial-looking personage, though 
 somewhat stricken in years. Three other noblemen — namely, the 
 Lords Hollis, Arlington, and Ashley, — were likewise present. 
 
 "Who have you with you, Rochester?" demanded Charles, as 
 the Earl and his companion approached him. 
 
 " A young man, my liege, who desires to make known toy ou a 
 plan for checking this conflagration," rephed the Earl. 
 
 "Ah !" exclaimed the King. "Let him accomplish that for us, 
 and he shall ask what he will in return." - 
 
 "I ventured to promise him as much," observed Rochester. 
 
 ' 'Mine is a very simple and very obvious plan, sire," said Leonard, 
 *' but I will engage, on the peril of my life, if you will give me suffi- 
 cient authority, and means to work withal, to stop the further 
 progress of this fire." 
 
 "In what way?" asked Charles, impatiently. " In what way?" 
 
 ' ' Ry demolishing the houses around the conflagration with gun- 
 powder, so as to form a wide gap between those left and the flames," 
 rephed Leonard. 
 
 "A short and summary process, truly," replied the King. "Rut 
 it would occasion great waste of property, and might be attended 
 with other serious consequences." 
 
 " Not half so much property will be destroyed as if the slower 
 and seemingly-safer course of pulling down the houses is pursued," 
 rejoined Leonard. "That experiment has been tried and failed." 
 
 "1 am of the young man's opinion," observed the Earl of Craven. 
 
 "And I," added Pepys. "Retter lose half the city than the whole. 
 As it is, your Majesty is not safe in your palace." 
 
 "Why, you do not think it can reach Whitehall?" cried the King, 
 rising and walking to the window. "How say you, brother?" he 
 added, to the Duke of York — "shall we act upon this young man's 
 suggestion, and order the wholesale demolition of the houses which 
 he recommends?" 
 
 " 1 would not advise your Majesty to do so, — at least, not without 
 consideration," answered the Duke. "This is a terrible fire, no 
 
|y50 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 doubt, but the danger may be greatly exaggerated, and if any ill 
 consequences should result from the proposed scheme, the blame 
 will be entirely laid upon your Majesty." 
 
 "1 care not for that," replied the King, '* provided I feel assured 
 it is for the best." 
 
 *'The plan would do incalculably more mischief than the fire 
 itself,'' observed Lord Argentine, "and would be met by the most 
 determined opposition on the part of the owners of the habitations 
 condemned to destruction. Whole streets will have to be blown 
 up, and your Majesty will easily comprehend the confusion and 
 damage that will ensue." 
 
 "Lord Argentine has expressed my sentiments exactly," said the 
 Duke of York. 
 
 "There is nothing for it, then, but for your Majesty to call for a 
 fiddle, and amuse yourself, like Nero, while your city is burning," 
 remarked Rochester, sarcastically. 
 
 ^' Another such jest, my lord," rejoined the King, sternly, "and 
 it shall cost you your liberty. I will go upon the river instantly, 
 and view the fire myself, and then decide what course shall be 
 adopted." 
 
 * 'There are rumours that incendiaries are abroad, your Majesty," 
 remarked Argentine, glancing maliciously at Leonard, — "and it is 
 not unlikely that he who hghted the fire should know how to ex- 
 tinguish it." 
 
 " His lordship says truly," rejoined Leonard. " There «re incen- 
 diaries abroad, and the chief of them was taken by my hand, and 
 lodged in Newgate, where he lies for examination." 
 
 "Ha 1" exclaimed the King, eagerly. "Did you catch the mis- 
 creant in the fact?" 
 
 "No, my liege," replied Leonard; *'but he came to me a few 
 hours before the outbreak of the fire, intimating that he was in 
 possession of a plot against the city, — a design so monstrous, that 
 your Majesty would give any reward to the discloser of it. He 
 proposed to reveal this plot to me on certain terms." 
 '' And you accepted them ?' cried the King. 
 *' No, my hege," replied Leonard. " I refused them, and would 
 have secured him, but he escaped me at that time. 1 afterwards 
 discovered him among the spectators, near the fire, and caused 
 his arrest." 
 
 " And who is this villain ?" cried the King. 
 " 1 must refer your Majesty to Lord Argientine," replied Leonard. 
 "Do you know anything of the transaction, my lord?" said 
 Charles, appealing to him. 
 
 '' Not r, your Majesty," said Argentine, vainly endeavouring to 
 
 conceal his anger and confusion. ' ' The knave has spoken falsely." 
 
 "He shall rue it, if he has done so," rejoined the Monarch. 
 
 " What has the man you speak of to do with Lord Argentine ?" he 
 
 added, to Leonard. 
 
 "He is his father," was the reply. 
 
 Charles looked at Lord Argentine, and became convinced, from 
 the altered expression of his countenance, that the truth had been 
 
INTEBTIEW WITH THE KING. 351 
 
 spoken. He, therefore, arose, and motioning him to follow him, 
 led him into the recess of a window, where they remained in con- 
 versation for some minutes. While this was passing, the Earl of 
 Rochester observed, in an under-tone, to Leonard, "You have 
 made a mortal foe of Lord Argentine, but I will protect you." 
 
 ' ' I require no other protection than I can afford myself, my lord," 
 rejoined Leonard, coldly. 
 
 Shortly after this, Charles stepped forward with a graver aspect 
 than before, and said, " Before proceeding to view this conflagra- 
 tion, I must give some directions in reference to it. To you, my 
 Lord Craven, whose intrepidity I well know, I intrust the most im- 
 portant post. You will station yourself at the east of the conflagra- 
 tion, and if you find it making its way to the Tower, as I hear is the 
 case, check it at all hazards. The old fortress must be preserved at 
 any risk. But do not resort to gunpowder unless you receive an 
 order from me, accompanied by my signet ring. My Lords HoUis 
 and Ashley, you will have the care of the north-west of the city. 
 Station yourselves near Newgate Market. Rochester and Arlington, 
 your posts will be at Saint Paul's. Watch over the august cathe- 
 dral. I would not have it injured for half my kingdom. Brother," 
 he added to the Duke of York, "you will accompany me in my 
 barge, — and you, Mr. Pepys. You, young man," to Leonard, "can 
 follow in my train." 
 
 '* Has your Majesty no post for me ?" asked Argentine. 
 
 "No," replied Charles, turning coldly from him. 
 
 " Had not your Majesty better let him have the custody of your 
 gaol of Newgate?" remarked Rochester, sarcastically; " he has an 
 interest in its safe keeping." 
 
 Lord Argentine turned deadly pale, but he made no answer. 
 
 Attended by the Duke of York and Mr. Pepys, and followed at a 
 respectful distance by Leonard, the King then passed through the 
 the ante-room, and, descending the grand staircase, traversed a 
 variety of passages, until he reached the private stairs communicat- 
 ing with the river.^ At the foot lay the royal barge, in which he 
 embarked with his train. 
 
 Charles appeared greatly moved by the sight of the thousands of 
 his houseless subjects, whom he encountered in his passage down 
 the Thames, and whenever a feeble shout was raised for him, he 
 returned it with a blessing. When nearly opposite Queenhithe, he 
 commanded the rowers to pause. The conflagration had made 
 formidable progress since Leonard beheld it a few hours back, and 
 had advanced nearly as far as the Still-yard on the river side, while 
 it was burning upwards through thick ranks of houses, almost as 
 far as Cannon Street. The roaring of the flames was louder than 
 ever — and the crash of falling habitations, and the tumult and cries 
 of the affrighted populace yet more terrific. 
 
 Charles gazed at the appalling spectacle like one who could not 
 believe his senses, and it was some time before the overwhelming 
 truth could force itself upon him. Tears then started to his eyes, 
 and uttering an ejaculation of despair, he commanded the rowers 
 to make instantly for the shore. 
 
352 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW LEONARD SAVED THE KING's LIFE. 
 
 The royal barge landed at Queenhithe, and Charles instantly 
 disembarking, proceeded on foot, and at a pace that compelled his 
 attendants to move quickly to keep up with him, to Thames Street. 
 Here, however, the confusion was so great, owing to the rush of 
 people, and the number of vehicles employed in the removal of 
 goods, that he was obliged to come to a halt. Fortunately, at this 
 moment, a company of the train-bands rode up, and their leader 
 dismounting, offered his horse to the King, who instantly sprang 
 into the saddle, and scarcely waiting till the Duke of York could be 
 similarly accommodated, forced his way through the crowd as far 
 as Brewer Lane, where his progress was stopped by the intense 
 heat. At little more than a hundred yards from this point the whole 
 street was on fire, and the flames bursting from the windows and 
 roofs of the houses, with a roar like that which might be supposed 
 to be produced by the forges of the Cyclops, united in a vast blazing 
 arch overhead. It chanced, too, that in some places cellars filled 
 with combustible materials extended under the street, and here the 
 ground would crack and jets of fire shoot forth like the eruption of 
 a volcano. The walls and timbers of the, houses at some distance 
 from the conflagration were scorched and blistered with the heat, 
 and completely prepared for ignition. Overhead being a vast and 
 momentarily increasingcloud of flame-coloured smoke, which spread 
 all over the city, filling it as with a thick mist, while the glowing 
 vault above looked, as Evelyn expresses it, " lik^ the top of a burn- 
 ing oven." 
 
 Two churches, namely, Allhallows the Great, and Allhallows the 
 Less, were burnt down in the King's sight, and the lofty spire of a 
 third. Saint Lawrence Poulteney, had just caught fire, and looked 
 hke a flame-tipped spear. After contemplating this spectacle for 
 sometime, Charles roused himself from the state of stupefaction 
 into which he was thrown, and determined, if possible, to arrest 
 the further progress of the devouring element along the river side, 
 commanded all the houses on the west of Dowgate Dock to be in- 
 stantly demolished. A large body of men were, therefore, set upon 
 this difficult and dangerous, and, as it proved, futile task. Another 
 party were ordered to the same duty on Dowgate Hill, and the crash 
 of tumbling walls and beams was soon added to the general uproar, 
 while clouds ol dust darkened the air. It was with some difficulty 
 that a sufficient space could be kept clear for carrying these opera- 
 tions into effect ; and long before they were half completed, Charles 
 had the mortification of finding the fire gaining ground so rapidly 
 that they must prove ineffectual. Word was brought at this junc- 
 ture that a fresh fire had broken out in Elbow Lane, and while the 
 
LEONARD SAVES THE KING. 353 
 
 monarch was listening to this dreary intelHgence, a fearful cry was 
 heard near the river, followed, the next moment, by a tumultuous 
 rush of persons from that quarter. The fire, as if in scorn, had 
 leapt across Dowgate Dock, and seizing upon the half demoHshed 
 houses, instantly made them its prey. The rapidity with which the 
 conflagration proceeded was astounding, and completely baffled all 
 attempts to check it. The wind continued blowing as furiously as 
 ever, nor was there the slightest prospect of its abatement. All the 
 King's better qualities were called into play by the present terrible 
 crisis. With a courage and devotion that he seldom displayed, he 
 exposed himself to the greatest risk, personally assisting at all the 
 operations he commanded ; while humane attention to the sufferers 
 by the calamity almost reconciled them to their deplorable situation. 
 His movements were almost as rapid as those of the fire itself. 
 Riding up Cannon Street, and from thence by Sweeting's Lane to 
 Lombard Street, and so on by Fenchurch Street, to Tower Street, 
 he issued directions all the way, checking every disturbance, and 
 causing a band of depredators, who had broken into the house of 
 a wealthy goldsmith, to be carried off to Newgate. Arrived in 
 Tower Street, he found the Earl of Craven and his party stationed 
 a little beyond Saint Dustan's in the East. 
 
 All immediate apprehensions in this quarter appeared at an end. 
 The church had been destroyed, as before mentioned, but several 
 houses in its vicinity having been demoHshed, the fire had not ex- 
 tended eastward. Satisfied that the Tower was in no immediate 
 danger, the King retraced his course, and encountering the Lord 
 Mayor in Lombard Street, sharply reproved him for his want of zeal 
 and discretion. 
 
 " I do not deserve your Majesty's reproaches," replied the Lord 
 Mayor. '* Ever since the fire broke out I have not rested an instant, 
 and am almost worn to death with anxiety and fatigue. I am just re- 
 turned from Guildhall, where a vast quantity of plate belonging to the 
 city companies has been deposited. Lord I lord ! what a fire this is !" 
 
 "You are chiefly to blame for its getting so much ahead," replied 
 the King, angrily. ' ' Had you adopted vigorous measures at the 
 outset, it might have easily been got under. I hear no water was 
 to be obtained. How was that?" 
 
 " It is a damnable plot, your Majesty, designed by the Papists, or 
 the Dutch, or the French, — I don't know which — perhaps all three," 
 rejoined the Lord Major ; "and it appears that the cocks of all the 
 pipes at the waterworks at Islington were turned, while the pipes 
 and conduits in the city were empty. This is no accidental fire, 
 your Majesty." 
 
 " So 1 find," rephed the King ; " but it will be time enough to in- 
 quire into its origin hereafter. Meantime we must act, and ener- 
 getically, or we shall be equally as much to blame as the incendiaries. 
 Let a proclaniation be made, enjoining all those persons who have 
 been driven from their homes by the fire to proceed with such effects 
 as they have preserved to Moorfields, where their wants shall be 
 cared for." 
 
 23 
 
364 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 '« It shall be made instantly, your Majesty," replied the Lord 
 Mayor. 
 
 *' Your next business will be to see to the removal of all the 
 wealth from the goldsmiths' houses in this street, and in Grace- 
 church Street, to some places of security, — Guildhall, or the Royal 
 Exchange, for instance," continued the King. 
 
 " Your Majesty's directions shall be implicitly obeyed," replied 
 the Lord Mayor. 
 
 *' You will then pull down all the houses to the east of the fire,*' 
 pursued the King. " Get all the men you can muster — and never 
 relax your exertions till you have made a wide and clear breach 
 between the flames and their prey." 
 
 " I will — 1 will, your Majesty," groaned the Lord Mayor. 
 " About it, then," rejoined the King. And striking spurs into 
 his horse, he rode off with his train. 
 
 He now penetrated one of the narrow alleys leading to the Three 
 Cranes in the Viutry, where he ascended to the roof of the habi- 
 tation that he might view the fire. He saw that it was making such 
 rapid advances towards him that it must very soon reach the build- 
 ing on which he stood, and, half-suffocated with the smoke and 
 scorched with the fire-drops, he descended. 
 
 Not long after this, Waterman's Hall was discovered to be on fire, 
 and stirred by the sight, Charles made fresh efforts to check the 
 progress of the conflagration, by demolishing more houses. So 
 eagerly did he occupy himself in the task, that his life had well-nigh 
 fallen a sacrifice to his zeal. He was standing below a building 
 which the workmen were unroofing, when all at once the whole of 
 the upper part of the wall gave way, dragging several heavy beams 
 with it, and would have infallibly crushed him, if Leonard, who was 
 stationed behind him, had not noticed the circumstance, and rush- 
 ing forward with the greatest promptitude, dragged him out of 
 harm's way. An engineer, with whom the King was conversing at 
 the time of the accident, was buried in the ruins, and when taken 
 out was found fearfully mutilated, and quite dead. Both Charles 
 and his preserver were covered with dust and rubbish, and Leo- 
 nard received a severe blow on the shoulder from a falling brick. 
 On recovering from the shock which for some moments deprived 
 him of the power of speech, Charles inquired for his deliverer, and 
 on being shown him, said, with a look of surprise and pleasure, 
 " What, is it you, young man ? I am glad of it. Depend upon it, 
 I shall not forget the important service you have rendered me." 
 
 "If he remembers it, it will be the first time he has ever so 
 exercised his memory," observed Chiffinch in a loud whisper to 
 Leonard. "1 advise you as a friend not to let his gratitude cool." 
 Undeterred by his late narrow escape, Charles ordered fresh 
 houses to be demolished, and stimulated the workmen to exertion 
 by his personal superintendence of their operations. He commanded 
 Leonard to keep constantly near him, laughingly observing, " I 
 shall feel safe while you are by. You have a better eye for a falling 
 house than any of my attendants." 
 
LEONABD SAVES THE KING. 355 
 
 Worn out, at length, with fatigue, Charles proceeded with the 
 Duke of York and his immediate attendants to Painter's Hall in 
 Little Trinity Lane, in quest of refreshment, where a repast was 
 hastily prepared for him, and he sat down to it with an appetite 
 such as the most magnificent banquet could not, under other cir- 
 cumstances, have provoked. His hunger satisfied, he dispatched mes- 
 sengers to command the immediate attendance of the Lord Mayor, 
 the sheriffs, and aldermen, and when they arrived, he thus ad- 
 dressed them, — " My Lord Mayor and Gentlemen, it has been re- 
 commended to me by this young man," pointing to Leonard, "that 
 the sole way of checking the further progress of this disastrous con- 
 flagration, which threatens the total destruction of our city, will be 
 by blowing up the houses with gunpowder, so 5s to form a wide 
 gap between the flames and the habitations yet remaining unseized. 
 This plan will necessarily involve great destruction of property, 
 and may, notwithstanding all the care that can be adopted, be at- 
 tended with some loss of life, but I conceive it will be effectual. Be- 
 fore ordering it, however, to be put into execution, I desire to learn 
 your opinion of it. How sky you, my Lord Mayor and Gentlemen ? 
 Does the plan meet with your approbation?" 
 
 " I pray your Majesty to allow me to confer for a moment with 
 my brethren," replied the Lord Mayor, cautiously, "before I re- 
 turn an answer. It is too serious a matter to decide upon at once." 
 
 " Be it so," replied the King. 
 
 And the civic authorities withdrew with the King. Leonard heard, 
 though he did not dare to remark upon it, that the Duke of York 
 leaned forward as the Lord Mayor passed him, and whispered in 
 his ear, " Take heed what you do. He only desires to shift the 
 responsibility of the act from his own shoulders to yours." 
 
 " If they assent," said the King to Leonard, " I will place you at 
 the head of a party of engineers." 
 
 "I beseech your Majesty neither to regard me or them," replied 
 Leonard. '' Use the authority it has pleased Heaven to bestow 
 upon you for the preservation of the city, and think and act for 
 yourself, or you will assuredly regret your want of decision. It has 
 been my fortune, with the assistance of God, to be the humble 
 instrument of accomplishing your Majesty's deliverance from peril, 
 and 1 have your royal word that you will not forget it." 
 
 "Nor will I," cried the King, hastily. 
 
 " Then suffer the petition I now make to you to prevail," cried 
 Leonard, falHng on his knees. " Be not influenced by the opinion 
 of the Lord Mayor and his brethren, whose own interests may lead 
 them to oppose the plan, but if you think well of it, instantly adopt 
 it." 
 
 Charles looked irresolute, but might have yielded, if the Duke of 
 York had nOt stepped forward. 
 
 " Your Majesty had better not act too precipitately," said the 
 Duke. *' Listen to the councils of your prudent advisers. A false 
 ^ep in such a case will be irretrievable." 
 
 " Nay, brother," rejoined the King, "I see no particular risk in 
 it after all, and I incline towards the young man's opinion." 
 
556 OLD SAINT PALLS. 
 
 *' At least hear what they have got to say," rejoined the Duke. 
 " And here they come. They have not been long in deliberation." 
 
 " The result of it may be easily predicted," said Leonard, rising. 
 
 As Leonard had foreseen, the civic authorities were adverse to 
 the plan. The Lord Mayor, in the name of himself and his bre- 
 thren, earnestly solicited the King to postpone the execution of his 
 order till all other means of checking the progress of the confla- 
 gration had been tried, and till such time, at least, as the property 
 of the owners of the houses to be destroyed could be removed. 
 He further added that it was the unanimous opinion of himself and 
 his brethren that the plan was fraught with great peril to the safety of 
 the citizens, and that they could not bring themselves to assent to 
 it. If, therefore > his Majesty chose to adopt it they must leave the 
 responsibility with him. 
 
 " I told your Majesty how it would be," observed the Duke of 
 York, triumphantly. 
 
 "I am sorry to find you are right, brother," replied the King, 
 frowning. ' ' We are overruled, you see, friend," he added to Leonard. 
 
 " Your Majesty has signed the doom of your city," rejoined Leo- 
 nard, mournfully. 
 
 " I trust not— I trust not," replied Charles, hastily, and with an 
 imeasy shrug of the shoulder. " Fail not to remind me when all 
 is over of the obligation I am under to you." 
 
 *'Your Majesty has refused the sole boon I desired to have 
 granted," rejoined Leonard. 
 
 " And do you not see the reason, friend ?" returned the King. 
 " These worthy and wealthy citizens desire to remove their pro- 
 perty. Their arguments are unanswerable. I must give them 
 time to do it. But we waste time here," he added, rising. "Re- 
 member," to Leonard, " my debt is not discharged. And I com- 
 mand you, on pain of my sovereign displeasure, Hot to omit to 
 claim its payment." 
 
 "I will enter it in my memorandum-book, and will put your 
 Majesty in mind of it at the fitting season," observed Chiffinch, 
 who had taken a great fancy to Leonard. 
 
 The King smiled good-humouredly, and quitting the hall with his 
 attendants proceeded to superintend the further demolition of 
 houses. He next visited all (he posts, saw that the different noble- 
 men were at their appointed stations, and by his unremitting exer- 
 tions contrived to restore something like order to the tumultuous 
 streets. Thousands of men were now employed in different quar- 
 ters in puUing down houses, and the most powerful engines of war 
 were employed in the work. The confusion that attended these 
 proceedings is indescribable. The engineers and workmen wrought 
 in clouds of dust and smoke, and crash of falling timber and walls 
 was deafening. In a short time, the upper part of Cornhill was 
 rendered y/holly impassable, owing to the heaps of rubbish, and 
 directions were given to the engineers to proceed to the Poultry, 
 and demolish the houses as far as the Conduit in Cheapside, by 
 which means it was hoped that the Royal Exchange would be saved. 
 
 Meanwhile, all the wealthy goldsmiths and merchants in Lom- 
 
LEONARD SATES THE KING. 357 
 
 bard Street and Gracechurch Street had been actively employed in 
 removing all their money, plate, and goods to places of security. A 
 vast quantity was conveyed to Guildhall, as has been stated, and the 
 rest to different churches and halls remote from the scene of con- 
 flagration. But in spite of all their caution much property was 
 carried off by the depredators, and amongst others by Chowles and 
 Judith, who contrived to secure a mass of plate, gold, and jewels, 
 that satisfied even their rapacious souls. 
 
 While this was passing in the heart of the burning city, vast 
 crowds were streaming out of its gates, and encamping themselves 
 in pursuance of the royal injunction in Finsbury Fields, and Spital 
 Fields. Others crossed the water to Southwark and took refuge in 
 Saint George's Fields — and it was a sad and touching sight to see 
 all these families collected, without shelter or food, most of whom 
 a few hours before were in possession of all the comforts of hfe, 
 but were now reduced to the condition of beggars. 
 
 To return to the conflagration. While one party continued to 
 labour incessantly at the work of demolition, and ineffectually sought 
 to quench the flames, by bringing a few engines to play upon them, 
 — a scanty supply of water having now been obtained, — the fire, 
 disdaining such puny opposition, and determined to show its giant 
 strength, leaped over all the breaches, drove the water-carriers 
 back, compelled them to relinquish their buckets and to abandon 
 their engines, which it made its prey, and seizing upon the heaps of 
 timber and other fragments occasioned by the demolition, consumed 
 them, and marched onwards with furious exultation. 
 
 It was now proceeding up Gracechurch Street, Saint Clement's 
 Lane, Nicholas Lane, and Abchurch Lane at the same time, de- 
 stroying all in its course. The whole of Lombard Srf'eet was 
 choked up with the ruins and rubbish of demohshed houses, through 
 which thousands of persons were toiling to carry off goods, either 
 for the purposes of assistance or of plunder. The King was at the 
 west end of the street, near the church of Saint Mary Woolnoth, 
 and the fearful havoc and destruction going forward drew tears 
 from his eyes. A scene of greater confusion cannot be imagined. 
 Leonard was in the midst of it, and, careless of his own safety, 
 toiled amid the tumbling fragments of the houses to rescue some 
 article of value for its unfortunate owner. While he was thus em- 
 ployed, he observed a man leap out of a window of a partly-demo- 
 lished house, disclosing in the action that he had a casket concealed 
 under his cloak. 
 
 A second glance showed him that this individual was Pillichody, 
 and satisfied that he had been plundering the house, he instantly 
 seized him. The bully struggled violently, but at last dropping the 
 casket, made his escape, vowing to be revenged. Leonard laughed 
 at his threats, and the next moment had the satisfaction of restor- 
 ing the casket to its rightful owner, an old merchant who issued 
 from the house, and who warmly thanking him, told him it con- 
 tained jewels of immense value. 
 
 Not half an hour after this, the flames poured upon Lombard 
 Street from the four avenues before-mentioned, and the whole 
 
358 OLD SAINT pall's. 
 
 neighbourhood was on fire. With inconceivable rapidity, they 
 then ran up Birchin Lane, and reaching Cornhiil, spread to the 
 right and left in that great thoroughfare. The conflagration had 
 now reached the highest point of the city, and presented the grand- 
 est and most terrific aspect it had yet assumed from the river. 
 Thus viewed, it appeared, as Pepys describes it, ^' as an entire arch 
 of fire from the Three Cranes to the other side of the bridge, and 
 in a bow up the hill, for an arch of above a mile long : it made 
 weep to see it.'''' Vincent also likens its appearance at this juncture 
 to that of a bow. " A dreadful bow it was," writes this eloquent 
 non-conformist preacher, " such as mine eyes had never before 
 seen ; a bow which had God's arrow in it with a flaming point ; a 
 shining bow, not like that in the cloud which brings water with it, 
 and withal signifieth God's covenant not to destroy the world any 
 more with water, but a bow having fire in it, and signifying God's 
 anger, and his intention to destroy London with fire." 
 
 As the day drew to a close, and it became darker, the spectacle 
 increased in terror and sublimity. The tall black towers of the 
 churches assumed ghastly forms, and to some eyes appeared like 
 infernal spirits plunging in a lake of flame, while even to the most 
 reckless the conflagration seemed to present a picture of the terrors 
 of the Last Day. 
 
 Never before had such a night as that which ensued fallen upo» 
 London. None of its inhabitants thought of retiring to rest, or if 
 they sought repose after the excessive fatigue they had undergone, 
 it was only in such manner as would best enable them to vise and 
 renew their exertions to check the flames, which were continued 
 throughout the night, but wholly without success. The conflagra- 
 tion apii^ared to proceed at the same appalling rapidity. Halls, 
 towers, churches, public and private buildings were burning to the 
 number of more than ten thousand, while clouds of smoke covered 
 the vast expanse of more than fifty miles. Travellers approaching 
 London from the north-east were enveloped in it ten miles off, and 
 the fiery reflection in. the sky could be discerned at an equal dis- 
 tance. The " hideous storm," as Evelyn terms the fearful and as- 
 tounding noise produced by the roaring of the flames and the falling 
 of the numerous fabrics, continued without intermission during the 
 whole of this fatal night. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 It was full ten o'clock before Leonard could obtain permissioB 
 to quit the King's party, and he immediately hurried to Wood 
 Street. He had scarcely entered it, when the cry of "fire" smote 
 his ears, and rushing forward in an agony of apprehension, he be- 
 
THE grocer's house WAS BURNT. 359 
 
 held Mr. Bloundel's dwelling in flames. A large crowd was col- 
 lected before the burning habitation, keeping guard over a vast 
 heap of goods and furniture that had been removed from it. 
 
 So much beloved was Mr. Bloundel, and in such high estimation 
 was his character held, that all his neighbours, on learning that his 
 house was on fire, flew to his assistance, and bestirred themselves 
 so actively, that in an extraordinary short space of time they had 
 emptied the house of every article of value, and placed it out of 
 danger in the street. In vain the grocer urged them to desist: his 
 entreaties were disregarded by his zealous friends, and when he 
 told them they were profaning the Sabbath, they repUed that the 
 responsibihty of their conduct would rest entirely on themselves, 
 and they hoped they might never have anything worse to answer 
 for. In spite of his disapproval of what was done, the grocer 
 could not but be sensibly touched by their devotion, and as to his 
 wife, she said, with tears in her eyes, that " it was almost worth 
 while having a fire to prove what good friends they had." 
 
 It was at this juncture that Leonard arrived. Way was instantly 
 made for him, and leaping over the piles of chests and goods that 
 blocked up the thoroughfare, he flew to Mr. Bloundel, who was 
 standing in front of his flaming habitation with as calm and un- 
 moved an expression of countenance, as if nothing was happening, 
 and presently ascertained from him in what manner the fire had 
 originated. 
 
 It appeared that while the whole of the family were assembled at 
 prayers, in the room ordinarily used for that purpose, they were 
 alarmed at supper by a strong smell of smoke, which seemed to 
 arise from the lower part of the house, and that as soon as their 
 devotions were ended, for Mr. Bloundel would not allow them to 
 stir before, Stephen and Blaize had proceeded to ascertain the 
 cause, and on going down to the kitchen, found a dense smoke issu- 
 ing from the adjoining cellar, the door of which stood ajar. Hearing 
 a noise in the yard, they darted up the back steps, communicating 
 with the cellar, and discovered a man trying to make his escape 
 over the wall by a rope ladder. Stephen instantly seized him, and 
 the man drawing a sword, tried to free himself from his captor. 
 In the struggle, he dropped a pistol, which Blaize snatching up, 
 discharged with fatal effect against the wretch, who on examination 
 proved to be Pillichody. 
 
 Efforts were made to check the fire, but in vain. The villain had 
 accomplished his diabolical purpose too well. Acquainted with the 
 premises, and with the habits of the family, he had got into the 
 yard by means of a rope-ladder, and hiding himself till the servants 
 were summoned to prayers, stole into the cellar, and placing a 
 fire-ball amid a heap of fagots and coals, and near several large 
 casks of ^il and other inflammable matters, struck a fight and set 
 fire to it. 
 
 ' ' I shall ever reproach myself that I was away when this calamity 
 occurred," observed Leonard, as the grocer brought his relation 
 to an end. 
 
 ''Then you will do so without reason," replied Mr. Bloundel, 
 
360 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 " for you could have rendered no assistance, and you see my good 
 neighbours have taken the matter entirely out of my hands." 
 
 " Whither do you intend removing, sir," rejoined Leonard. "If 
 I might suggest, I would advise you to go to Farmer Wingfield's, 
 at Kensal Green." 
 
 '^ You have anticipated my intention," replied the grocer: " but 
 we must now obtain some vehicles to transport these goods thither." 
 
 " Be that my part," replied Leonard. And in a short space 
 of time, he had procured half a dozen large carts, into which the 
 whole of the goods were speedily packed, and a coach having been 
 likewise fetched by Blaize, Mrs. Bloundel and the three younger 
 children, together with old Josyna and Patience, were placed in it. 
 
 '* I hope your mother has taken care of her money," whispered 
 the latter to the porter, as he assisted her into the vehicle. 
 
 "Never mind whether she has or not," rejoined Blaize, in the 
 same tone, "we shan't want it. I am now as rich as my master, 
 — perhaps richer. On stripping that rascal Pillichody, 1 found a 
 large bag of gold, besides several caskets of jewels, upon him, all 
 of which 1 consider lawful spoil, as he fell by my hand." 
 
 " To be sure," rejoined Patience. " 1 dare say he did not come 
 very honestly by the treasures, but you can't help that, you know." 
 
 Blaize made no reply, but pushing her into the coach, shut the 
 door. 
 
 All being now in readiness, directions were given to the drivers 
 of the carts whither to proceed, and they were put in motion. At 
 this moment, the grocer's firmness deserted him. Gazing at the 
 old habitation, which was now wrapped in a sheet of flame, he 
 cried, in a voice broken with emotion, " In that house I have dwelt 
 nearly thirty years — in that house all my children were born — in 
 that house 1 found a safe refuge from the devouring pestilence. It 
 is hard to quit it thus." 
 
 Controlling his emotion, however, the next moment, he turned 
 away. But his feelings were destined to another trial. His neigh- 
 bours flocked round him to bid him farewell in tones of such sym- 
 pathy and regard that his constancy again deserted him. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," he cried, pressing in turn each hand 
 that was offered him. " Your kindness will never be effaced from 
 my memory. God bless you all, and may He watch over you and 
 protect you!" And with these words, he broke from them. 
 
 So great was the crowd and confusion in Cheapside that nearly 
 two hours elapsed before they reached Newgate ; and indeed, if it 
 had not been for the interference of the Earl of Bochester, they 
 would not, in all probability, have got out of the city at all. The 
 Earl was stationed near the Old 'Change, at the entrance to Saint 
 Vaul's Churchyard, and learning their distress, ordered a party of 
 the guard by whom he was attended to force a passage for them. 
 Both Mr. Bloundel and Leonard would have declined this assistance 
 if they had had the power of doing so, but there was no help in the 
 present case. 
 
 They encountered no further difficulties, but were necessarily 
 compelled to proceed at a slow pace, and did not reach Paddington 
 
THE grocer's HOtSE WAS BURNT. 361 
 
 for nearly two hours, being frequently stopped by persons, eagerly 
 asking as to the progress of the fire. One circumstance struck the 
 whole party as remarkable. Such was the tremendous glare of the 
 conflagration that even at this distance the fire seemed close beside 
 them, and if they had not known the contrary, they would have 
 thought it could not be further off than Saint Giles's. The whole 
 eastern sky in that direction seemed on fire, and glowed through 
 the clouds of yellow smoke with which the air was filled with fearful 
 splendour. After halting for a short time at the Wheat Sheaf, 
 which they found open, — for, indeed, no house was closed that 
 night, — to obtain some refreshment, and allay the intolerable thirst 
 by which they were tormented, the party pursued their journey 
 along the Harrow Road, and in due time approached Wingfield's 
 residence. 
 
 The honest farmer, who, with his wife and two of his men, was 
 standing in a field at the top of the hill, gazing at the conflagration, 
 hearing the noise occasioned by the carts, ran to the road side to 
 see what was coming, and encountered Mr. Bloundel and Leonard, 
 who had walked up the ascent a httle more quickly than the others. 
 
 " I have been thinking of you," he said, after a cordial greeting 
 had passed between them, "and wondering what would become of 
 you in this dreadful fire. Nay, I had just told my dame I should go 
 and look after you, and see whether I could be of any service to you. 
 Well, I should be better pleased to see you in any way but this, 
 though you could not be welcomer. 1 have room in the barn and 
 outhouses for all you have brought, and hope and trust you have 
 not lost much." 
 
 " 1 have lost nothing except the old house," replied the grocer, 
 heaving a sigh. 
 
 " Another will soon be built," rejoined Wingfield, " and till that 
 is done you shall not quit.mine." 
 
 The coach having by this time arrived, Wingfield hastened to- 
 wards it, and assisted its occupants to alight. Mrs. Bloundel was 
 warmly welcomed by Dame Wingfield, and being taken with her 
 children to the house, was truly happy to find herself under the 
 shelter of its hospitable roof. The rest of the party, assisted by 
 Wingfield and his men, exerting themselves to the utmost, the carts 
 were speedily unloaded, and the goods deposited in the barns and 
 outhouses. This done, the drivers were liberally rewarded for 
 their trouble by Mr. Bloundel, and after draining several large jugs 
 of ale brought them by the farmer, made the best of their way back, 
 certain of obtaining further employment during the night. 
 
 Fatigued as he was, Leonard, before retiring to rest, could not 
 help lingering on the brow of the hill to gaze at the burning city. 
 The same effect was observable here as at Paddington, and the 
 conflagratioi^ appeared little more than a mile off. The whole 
 heavens seenied on fire, and a distant roar was heard like the rush 
 of a high wind through a mighty forest. Westminster Abbey and 
 Saint Paul's could be distinctly seen in black relief against the sheet 
 of flame, together with innumerable towers, spires, and other build- 
 ings, the whole constituting a picture unsurpassed for terrific gran- 
 
862 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 deur since the world began, and only to be equalled by its final 
 destruction. 
 
 Having gazed at the conflagration for some time, and fancied that 
 he could even at this distance discern the fearful progress it made, 
 Leonard retired to the barn, and throwing himself upon a heap of 
 straw, instantly fell asleep. He was awakened the next morning 
 by Farmer Wingfield, who came to tell him breakfast was ready, 
 and having performed his ablutions, they adjourned to the house. 
 Finding Mr. Bloundel comfortably established in his new quarters, 
 Leonard proposed as soon as breakfast was over to proceed to town, 
 and Wingfield volunteered to accompany him. Blaize, also, having 
 placed his treasures, except a few pieces of gold, in the custody of 
 Patience, begged to make one of the party, and his request being 
 acceded to, the trio set out on foot, and gleaning fresh particulars 
 of the fearful progress of the fire as they advanced, passed along 
 Oxford Road, and crossing Holborn Bridge, on the western side of 
 which they were now demolishing the houses, mounted Snow Hill, 
 and passed through the portal of Newgate. 
 
 Here they learnt that the whole of Wood Street was consumed, 
 that the fire had spread eastward as far as Gutter Lane, and that 
 Saint Michael's church, adjoining Wood Street, Goldsmith's Hall, 
 and the church of Saint John Zachary were in flames. They were 
 also told that the greater part of Cheapside was on fire, and wholly 
 impassable — while the destructive element was invading at one and 
 the same time Guildhall and the Royal Exchange. They further- 
 more learnt that the conflagration had spread fearfully along the 
 side of the river, had passed Queenhithe, consuming all the wharfs 
 and warehouses in its way, and having just destroyed Paul's Wharf, 
 was at that time assailing Baynard's Castle. This intelligence de- 
 termined them not to attempt to proceed further into the city, which 
 they saw was wholly impracticable ; and they accordingly turned 
 down Ivy Lane, and approached the cathedral with the intention, 
 if possible, of ascending the central tower. They found a swarm 
 of booksellers' porters and assistants at the northern entrance, en- 
 gaged in transporting immense bales of books and paper to the 
 vaults in Saint Faith's, where it was supposed the stock would be in 
 safety, permission to that effect having been obtained from the Dean 
 and Chapter. 
 
 Forcing their way through this crowd, Leonard and his compa- 
 nions crossed the transept, and proceeded towards the door of the 
 spiral staircase leading to the central tower. It was open, and they 
 passed through it. On reaching the summit of the tower, which 
 they found occupied by some dozen or twenty persons, a spectacle 
 that far exceeded the utmost stretch of their imaginations burst 
 upon them. Through clouds of tawny smoke scarcely distinguish- 
 able from flame, so thickly were they charged with sparks and fire- 
 flakes, they beheld a line of fire spreading along Cheapside and 
 Cornhill, as far as the Royal Exchange, which was now in flames, 
 and branching upwards in another line through Lawrence Lane to 
 Guildhall, which was likewise burning. Nearer to them, on the 
 north, the fire kindled by the wretched Pillichody, who only, per- 
 
THE GROCERS HOUSE WAS BURNT. 363 
 
 haps, anticipated the work of destruction hy a few hours, had, as 
 they had heard, proceeded to Goldsmiths' Hall, and was rapidly 
 advancing down Saint Anne's Lane to Aldersgate. But it was on 
 the right, and to the south-east, that the conflagration assumed its 
 most terrific aspect. There, from Bow Church to the river side, 
 beyond the bridge as far as Billingsgate, and from thence up Mincing 
 Lane, crossing Fenchurch Street and Lime Street to Gracechurch 
 and Cornhill, describing a space of more than two miles in length 
 and one in depth, every habitation was on fire. The appearance 
 of this bed of flame was like an ocean of fire agitated by a tempest, 
 in which a number of barks were struggling, some of them being 
 each moment engulfed. The stunning and unearthly roar of the 
 flames aided this appearance, which was further heightened by the 
 enormous billows of flame that ever and anon rolled tumultuously 
 onward as they were caught by some gust of wind of more than 
 usual violence. The spires of the churches looked like the spars of 
 " tall ammirals" that had foundered, while the blackening ruins of 
 the halls and larger buildings well represented the ribs and beams 
 of mighty hulks. 
 
 Leaving Leonard and his companions to the contemplation of this 
 tremendous spectacle, we shall proceed to take a nearer view of its 
 ravages. 
 
 Every effort had been used to preserve the Royal Exchange by 
 the city authorities, and by the engineers headed by the King in 
 person. All the buildings in its vicinity were demolished. But in 
 vain. The irresistible and unrelenting foe drove the defenders 
 back as before — seized upon their barricades, and used them, like 
 a skilful besieger, against the fortress they sought to protect. Solo- 
 mon Eagle, who was mounted upon a heap of ruins, witnessed this 
 scene of destruction, and uttered a laugh of exultation as the flames 
 seized upon their prey. 
 
 *' I told you," he cried," that the extortioners and usurers who 
 resorted to that building, and made gold their God, would be driven 
 forth, and their temple destroyed. And my words have come to 
 pass. It burns — it burns — and so shall they if they turn not from 
 their ways." 
 
 Hearing this wild speech, and beholding the extraordinary figure 
 of the enthusiast, whose scorched locks and smoke-begrimed hmbs 
 gave him almost the appearance of an infernal spirit, the King in- 
 quired with some trepidation from his attendants who, or what he 
 was, and being informed, ordered them to seize him. But the 
 enthusiast set their attempts at nought. Springing with wonderful 
 agihty from fragment to fragment of the ruins, and continuing his 
 vociferations, he at last plunged through the flame into the Exchange 
 itself, rendering further pursuit, of course, impossible, unless 
 those who desired to capture him, were determined to share his 
 fate, which now seemed inevitable. To the astonishment of all, 
 however, he appeared a few minutes afterwards on the roof of the 
 blazing pile, and continued his denunciations till driven away by the 
 flames. He seemed, indeed, to bear a charmed life, for it was 
 rumoured — though the report was scarcely credited — that he had 
 
364 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 escaped from the burning building?, and made good his retreat 
 to Saint Paul's. Soon after this the Exchange was one mass of 
 flame. Having gained an entrance to the galleries, the fire ran round 
 them with inconceivable swiftness, as was the case in the confla- 
 gration of this later structure, and filling every chamber, gushed 
 out of the windows, and poured down upon the courts and walks 
 below. Fearful and prodigious was the ruin that ensued. The 
 stone walls cracked with the intense heat — tottered and fell — the 
 pillars shivered and broke asunder — the statues dropped from their 
 niches, and were destroyed, one only surviving the wreck — that of 
 the illustrious founder Sir Thomas Gresham. 
 
 Deploring the fate of the Royal Exchange, the King and his at- 
 tendants proceeded to Guildhall. But here they were too late, nor 
 could they even rescue a tithe of the plate and valuables lodged 
 within it for security. The effects of the fire as displayed in this 
 structure, were singularly grand and surprising. The greater part 
 of the ancient fabric being composed of oak of the hardest kind, it 
 emitted little flame, but became after a time red hot, and remained 
 in this glowing state till night, when it resembled, as an eye-witness 
 describes it, "a mighty palace of gold, or great building of bur- 
 nished brass." 
 
 The greatest fury of the conflagration was displayed at the 
 Poultry, where five distinct fires met, and united their forces, — one 
 which came roaring down Cornhill from the Royal Exchange — a 
 second down Threadneedle Street — a third up Walbrook — a fourth 
 along Bucklersbury — and the fifth, that marched against the wind 
 up Cheapside, all these uniting, as at a focus, a whirl of flame, an 
 intensity of heat, and a thundering roar were produced, such as 
 were nowhere else experienced. 
 
 To return to the party on the central tower of the cathedral. 
 Stunned and half stifled by the roar and smoke, Leonard and his 
 companions descended from their lofty post, and returned to the 
 body of the fane. They were about to issue forth, when Leonard 
 glancing down the northern aisle, perceived the Earl of Rochester 
 and Lord Argentine standing together at the lower end of it. Their 
 gesture showed that it was not an amicable meeting, and mindful 
 of what had passed at Whitehall, Leonard resolved to abide the 
 result. Presently, he saw Lord Argentine turn sharply round, and 
 strike his companion in the face with his glove. The clash of 
 swords instantly succeeded, and Leonard and Wingfield started 
 forward to separate the combatants. Blaize followed, but more 
 cautiously, contenting himself with screaming at the top of his 
 voice, "Murder! murder! sacrilege! a duel ! a duel!" 
 
 Wingfield was the first to arrive at the scene of strife, but just as 
 he reached the combatants, who were too much blinded by passion 
 to notice his approach, Lord Argentine struck his adversary's 
 weapon from his grasp, and would have followed up the advan- 
 tage if the farmer had not withheld his arm. Enraged at the inter- 
 ference, Argentine turned his fury against the new comer, and 
 strove to use his sword against him, — but in the terrible struggle 
 that ensued, and at the close of which they fell together, the 
 
THE <JBOCER's HOISB WAS BIRNT. 365 
 
 weapon, as if directed by the hand of an avenging fate, passed 
 through his own breast, inflicting a mortal wound. 
 
 " Susan Wingfield is avenged," said the farmer, as he arose, 
 drenched in the blood of his opponent. 
 
 '' Susan Wingfield !" exclaimed the wounded man, — " what was 
 she to you?" 
 
 "Much," repHed the farmer. "She was my daughter." 
 "Ah 1" exclaimed Argentine, with an expression of unutterable 
 anguish. " Let me have your forgiveness," he groaned. 
 
 "You have it," replied Wingfield, kneeling beside him, "and 
 may God pardon us both — you for the wrong you did my daughter, 
 me for being accidentally the cause of your death. But I trust 
 you are not mortally hurt ?" 
 
 ''I have not many minutes to live," replied Argentine. "But 
 is not that Leonard Holt ?" 
 
 "It is," said Rochester, stepping forward. 
 "I can, then, do one rightful act before I die," he said, raising 
 himself on one hand, and holding the other forcibly to his side, so 
 as to stanch in some degree the effusion of blood. " Leonard 
 Holt," he continued, ''my sister Isabella loves you — deeply, devo- 
 tedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, but in vain. You have 
 my consent to wed her." 
 
 "I am a witness to your words, my lord," said Rochester, "and 
 I call upon all present to be so hkewise." 
 
 " Rochester, you were once my friend," groaned Argentine, 
 "and may yet be a friend to the dead. Remember the King sells 
 titles. Teach this young man how to purchase one. My sister 
 must not wed one of his degree." 
 
 "Make yourself easy on that score," replied Rochester; "he 
 has already sufficient claim upon the King. He saved his life 
 yesterday." 
 
 " He will trust to a broken reed if he trusts to Charles's gratitude," 
 replied Argentine. "Buy the title — buy it, I say. My sister left 
 me yesterday. I visited my anger on her, and she fled. 1 believe 
 she took refuge with Doctor Hodges, but I am sure he can tell you 
 where she is. One thing more," continued the dying man, fixing 
 his glazing eyes on Leonard. "Go to Newgate — to — to a prisoner 
 there — an incendiary — and obtain a document from him. Tell 
 him, with my dying breath I charged you to do this. It will 
 enable you to act as I have directed. Promise me you will go. 
 Promise me you will fulfil my injunctions." 
 " 1 do," replied Leonard. 
 
 ''Enough," rejoined Argentine. "May you be happy with 
 Isabella." And removing his hand from his side, a copious effu- 
 sion of blood followed, and sinking backwards, he expired. 
 
366 OLD SAINT PAUL'S. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Several other persons having by this time come up, the body of 
 Lord Argentine was conveyed to Bishop Kempe's chapel, and left 
 there till a fitting season should arrive for its removal. Confounded 
 by the tragical event that had taken place, Leonard remained with 
 his eyes fixed upon the blood-stained pavement, until he was 
 roused by an arm which gently drew him away, while the voice of 
 the Earl of Rochester breathed in his ear, " This is a sad occur- 
 rence, Leonard, and yet it is most fortunate for you, for it removes 
 the only obstacle to your union with the Lady Isabella. You see 
 how fleeting life is, and how easily we may be deprived of it. I 
 tried to reason Lord Argentine into calmness, but nothing would 
 satisfy him except my blood, and there he lies, though not by my 
 hand. Let his fate be a lesson to us, and teach us to hve in cha- 
 rity with each other. 1 have wronged you — deeply wronged you — 
 but I will make all the atonement in my power, and let me think I 
 am forgiven." 
 
 The blood rushed tumultuously to Leonard's heart, as he list- 
 ened to what the Earl said, but overcoming his feelings of aver- 
 sion by a powerful effort, he took the proffered hand. 
 " 1 do forgive you, my lord," he said. 
 
 "These words have removed a heavyweight from ray sou I" 
 replied Rochester, " and if Death should trip up my heels as sud- 
 denly as he did his who perished on this spot, 1 shall be better pre- 
 pared to meet him. And now let me advise you to repair to New- 
 gate without delay, and see the wretched man, and obtain the 
 document from him. The fire will reach the gaol ere long, and 
 the prisoners must of necessity be removed. Amid the confusion 
 his escape might be easily accomplished. 
 
 " Recollect, my lord, that the direful conflagration now pre- 
 vaihng without is owing to him," replied Leonard. " 1 will never 
 be accessary to his escape." '*' 
 
 " And yet his death by the public executioner" — urged Rochester. 
 " Think of its effects on his daughter." 
 
 " Justice must take its course," rejoined Leonard. " I would 
 not aid him to escape if he were my own father." 
 
 " In that case, nothing more is to be said," replied Rochester. 
 " But at all events see him as quickly as you can. I would accom* 
 pany you, but my duty detains me here. When you return f r m 
 your errand you will find me at my post near the entrance of the 
 churchyard in front of Saint Michael's le Quern, — that is, if I am 
 not beaten from it. Having seen the father, your next business 
 must be to seek out the daughter, and remove her from this dan- 
 gerous neighbourhood. You have heard where she is to be found.'' 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT ^ACL'S. ZQI 
 
 Upon this, they separated, — Leonard and his two companions 
 quitting the cathedral by the great western entrance, and proceed- 
 ing towards Paul's Alley, and the Earl betaking himself to the 
 north-east corner of the churchyard. The former got as far as 
 Ivy Lane, but found it wholly impassable, in consequence of the 
 goods and furniture with which it was blocked up. They were, 
 therefore, obliged to return to the precincts of the cathedral, where 
 Blaize, who was greatly terrified by what he had seen, expressed 
 his determination of quitting them, and hurried back to the sacred 
 pile. Leonard and the farmer next essayed to get up Ave-Maria 
 Lane, but finding it impassable, they made for Ludgate, and after 
 a long delay and severe struggle, got through the portal. The 
 Old Bailey was entirely filled with persons removing their goods, 
 and they were here informed, to their great dismay, that the con- 
 flagration had already reached Newgate Market, which was burn- 
 ing with the greatest fury, and was at that moment seizing upon 
 the gaol. No one, however, in answer to Leonard's inquiries, 
 could tell him what had become of the prisoners. 
 
 " I suppose they have left them to burn," observed a by-stander 
 who heard the question, with a mahcious look; '' and it is the best 
 way of getting rid of them." 
 
 Paying no attention to the remark, nor to the brutal laugh ac- 
 companying it, Leonard, assisted by Wingfield, fought his way 
 through the crowd till he reached the prison. Flames were burst- 
 ing through its grated windows, and both wings, as well as the 
 massive gate connecting them, were on fire. Regardless of the 
 risk he ran, Leonard forced ^ his way to the Lodge door, where 
 two turnkeys were standing, removing their goods. 
 
 " What has become of the prisoners," he asked. 
 
 " The debtors are set free," replied the turnkey addressed, "and 
 all but one or two of the common felons are removed." 
 
 " And where are those poor creatures?" cried Leonard, horror 
 stricken. 
 
 " In the Stone Hold," replied the turnkey. 
 
 " And have you left them to perish there ?" demanded Leonard. 
 
 " We couldn't help it," rejoined the turnkey. " It would have 
 been risking our lives to venture near them. One is a mur- 
 derer, taken in the fact, and the other is quite as bad, for he set 
 the city on fire ; so it is right and fair he should perish by his own 
 contrivance." 
 
 " Where does the Stone Hold lie?" cried Leonard, in a tone that 
 startled the turnkey. " I must get these prisoners out." 
 
 " You can't, I tell you," rejoined the turnkey, doggedly. " They 
 are burnt to a cinder by this time." 
 
 " Give me your keys, and show me the way to the cell," cried 
 Leonard, authoritatively. " I will at least attempt to save them." 
 
 " Well, il" you're determined to put an end to yourself, you may 
 try," replied the turnkey ; " but I've warned you as to what you may 
 expect. This way," he added, opening a door, from which a thicK 
 volume of smoke issued, " if any of 'em's alive, you'll soon know it 
 by the cries." 
 
368 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 And, as if in answer to the remark, a most terrific shriek at 
 that moment burst on their ears. 
 
 "Here are the keys," cried the turnkey, dehvering them to 
 Leonard. '* You're not going, too?" he added, as Wingfield pushed 
 past him. " A couple of madmen! I shouldn't wonder if they 
 were incendiaries." 
 
 Directed by the cries, Leonard pressed forward through the 
 blinding and stifling smoke. After proceeding about twenty yards, 
 he arrived at a cross passage where the smoke was not quite so 
 dense, as it found an escape through a small grated aperture in 
 the wall. And here a horrible sight was presented to him. At 
 the further extremity of this passage was a small cell, from which 
 the cries he had heard issued. Not far from it the stone roof had 
 fallen in, and from the chasm thus caused the flames were pouring 
 into the passage. Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonard dashed 
 forward, and reaching the cell, beheld Grant, still living, but in 
 such a dreadful state that it was evident his sufferings must soon 
 be ended. His hair and beard were singed close to his head and 
 face, and his flesh was blistered, blackened, and scorched to the 
 bone. On seeing Leonard, he uttered a hoarse cry, and attempted 
 to speak, but the words rattled in his throat. He then staggered 
 forward, and to Leonard's inexpressible horror, thrust his arms 
 through the bars of the cage, which were literally red-hot. Seeing 
 he had something in one hand, though he could not unclose his 
 fingers, Leonard took it from him, and the wretched man fell back- 
 wards. At this moment a loud crack was heard in the wall behind. 
 Several ponderous stones dropped from their places, admitting a 
 volume of flame that filled the whole cell, and disclosing another 
 body on the floor, near which lay that of Grant. Horrified by the 
 spectacle, Leonard staggered off, and catching Wingfield's arm 
 sought to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, the smoke 
 being so dense that they could not see a foot before them, and were 
 obhged to feel their way along the wall. On arriving at the cross 
 passage, Wingfield would fain have turned off to the right, but 
 Leonard drew him forcibly in the opposite direction, and most 
 fortunate was it that he did so, or the worthy farmer would in- 
 evitably have perished. At last they reached the lodge, and sank 
 down on a bench from exhaustion. 
 
 "So, my masters," observed the turnkej^, with a grim smile, 
 "you were not able to rescue them, 1 perceive ?" But receiving 
 no answer, he added, " Well, and what did you see ?" 
 
 " A sight that would have moved even your stony heart to com- 
 passion," returned Leonard, getting up and quitting the lodge. 
 Followed by Wingfield, and scarcely knowing where he was going, 
 he forced his way through the crowd, and dashing down Snow 
 Hill, did not stop till he reached Holborn Conduit, where seizing a 
 leathern bucket, he filled it with water, and plunged his head into 
 it. Refreshed by the immersion, he now glanced at the document 
 committed to him by Grant. It was a piece of parchment, and 
 showed by its shrivelled and scorched appearance the agony which 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT PALL's. 369 
 
 its late possessor must have endured. Leonard did not open it, 
 but thrust it with a shudder into his doublet. 
 
 Meditating on the strange and terrible evenfs that had just oc- 
 curred, Leonard's thoughts involuntarily wandered to the Lady 
 Isabella, whose image appeared to him like a bright star shining 
 on troubled waters, and for the first time venturing to indulge a 
 hope that she might indeed be his, he determined immediately to 
 proceed in search of her. 
 
 It was now high-noon, but the mid-day sun was scarcely visible, 
 or, visible at all as it struggled through the masses of yellow va- 
 pour, it looked red as blood. Bands of workmen were demolish- 
 ing houses on the western side of Fleet Ditch, and casting the 
 rubbish into the muddy sluice before them, by which means it was 
 confidently but vainly hoped that the progress of the fire would be 
 checked. Shaping their course along the opposite side of the ditch, 
 and crossing to Fleet Bridge, Leonard and his companion passed 
 through Sahsbury Court to Whitefriars, and taking a boat, directed 
 the waterman to land them at Puddle Dock. The river was still 
 covered with craft of every description laden with goods, and Bay- 
 nard's Castle, an embattled stone structure of great strength and 
 solidity, built at the beginning of the fifteenth century, on the site of 
 another castle as old as the Conquest, being now wrapped in flames 
 from foundation to turret, offered a magnificent spectacle. From 
 this point the four ascents leading to the cathedral, namely, Addle 
 Hill, Saint Bennet's Hill, Saint Peter's Hill, and Lambert Hill, with 
 all their throng of habitations were burning — the black fines of 
 ruined walls standing in bold rehef against the white sheet of flame. 
 Billows of fire rolled upwards every moment towards Saint Paul's, 
 and threatened it with destruction. 
 
 Landing at the appointed place, Leonard and his companion 
 ascended Saint Andrew's Hill, and, proceeding along Carter Lane, 
 soon gained the precincts of the cathedral. Here the whole mass 
 of habitations on the summit of Saint Bennet's Hill, extending from 
 the eastern end of Carter Lane to Distaff Lane, was on fire, and 
 the flames were dashed by the fierce wind against the south-east 
 corner of the cathedral. A large crowd was collected at this point, 
 and great efforts were made to save the venerable pile, but Leonard 
 saw that its destruction was inevitable. Forcing a way through 
 the throng with his companion, they reached Doctor Hodges's 
 residence at the corner of WatUng Street, and Leonard, without 
 waiting to knock, tried the door, which yielded to his touch. The 
 habitation was empty, and from the various articles scattered 
 about, it was evident its inmates must have fled with the greatest 
 precipitation. Alarmed at this discovery, Leonard rushed forth 
 with Wingfield, and sought to ascertain from the crowd without 
 whither Dr. Hodges was gone, but could learn nothing more than 
 that he had departed with his whole household a few hours before. 
 At last, it occurred to him that he might obtain some information 
 from the Earl of Bochester, and he was about to cross to the other 
 side of the churchyard, when he was arrested by a simultaneous 
 cry of horror from the assemblage. Looking upwards, for there 
 
 •24 
 
370 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 he saw the general gaze directed, he perceived that the scaffolding 
 around the roof and tower of the cathedral had kindled, and was 
 enveloping the whole npper part of the fabric in a net-work of fire. 
 Flames were likewise bursting from the belfry, and from the lofty 
 pointed windows below it, flickering and playing round the hoary 
 buttresses, and disturbing the numerous jackdaws that built in their 
 time-worn crevices, and now flew screaming forth. As Leonard 
 gazed at the summit of the tower, he discerned through the circling 
 eddies of smoke that enveloped it, the figure of Solomon Eagle 
 standing on the top of the battlements and waving his staff, and 
 almost fancied he could hear his voice. After remaining in this 
 perilous situation for some minutes, as if to raise anxiety for his 
 safety to the highest pitch, the enthusiast sprang upon a portion of 
 the scaffolding that was only partly consumed, and descended from 
 pole to pole, regardless wiie(her burning or not, with marvellous 
 swiftness, and apparently without injury. Alighting on the roof, 
 he speeded to the eastern extremity of the fane, and there com- 
 menced his exhortations to the crowd below. 
 
 It now became evident also, from the strange roaring noise pro- 
 ceeding from the tower, that the flames were descending the spiral 
 staircase, and forcing their way through some secret doors or 
 passages to the roof. Determined to take one last survey of the 
 interior of the cathedral before its destruction, which he now saw 
 was inevitable, Leonard motioned to Wingfield, and forcing his 
 Way through the crowd, which was now considerably thinned, 
 entered the southern door. He had scarcely gained the middle of 
 the transept, when the door opened behind him, and two persons, 
 whom, even in the brief glimpse he caught of them, he knew to be 
 Chowles and Judith, darted toward the steps leading to Saint Faith's. 
 They appeared to be carrying a large chest, but Leonard was too 
 much interested in what was occurring to pay much attention to 
 them. There were but few persons besides himself and his com- 
 panion within the cathedral, and these few were chiefly booksellers' 
 porters, who were hurrying out of Saint Faith's in the utmost 
 trepidation. By and by, these were gone, and they were alone, — 
 alone within that vast structure, and at such a moment. Their 
 situation, though perilous, was one that awakened thrilling and 
 sublime emotions. The cries of the multitude, coupled with the 
 roaring of the conflagration, resounded from without, while the 
 fierce glare of the flames lighted up the painted windows at the 
 head of the choir with unwonted splendour. Overhead was heard 
 a hollow rumbling noise like that of distant thunder, which con- 
 tinued for a short time, while fluid streams of smoke crept through 
 the mighty rafters of the roof, and gradually filled the whole interior 
 of the fabric with vapour. Suddenly a tremendous cracking was 
 heard, as it the whole pile were tumbling in pieces. So appalling 
 was this sound, that Leonard and his companion would have fled, 
 but they were completely transfixed by terror. 
 
 While they were in this state, the flames, which had Igng been 
 burning in secret, burst through the roof at the further end of the 
 choir, and instantaneously spread over its whole expanse. At this 
 
THE BURNING OF SAINT PALL's. 371 
 
 juncture, a cry of wild exultation was heard in the great northern 
 gallery, and looking up, Leonard beheld Solomon Eagle, hurrying 
 with Ughtning swiftness round it, and shouting in tones of exul- 
 tation, '* My words have come to pass — it burns — it burns — and 
 will be utterly consumed 1" 
 
 The vociferations of the enthusiast were answered by a piercing 
 cry from below, proceeding from Blaize, who at that moment 
 rushed from the entrance of Saint Faith's. On seeing the porter, 
 Leonard shouted to him, and the poor fellow hurried towards him. 
 At this juncture, a strange hissing sound was heard, as if a heavy 
 shower of rain was descending upon the roof, and through the 
 yawning gap over the choir there poured a stream of mqlten lead 
 of silvery brightness. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful 
 than this shining yet terrible cascade, which descended with 
 momentarily increasing fury, sparkling, flashing, hissing, and con- 
 suming all before it. All the elaborately-carved wood- work and 
 stalls upon which it fell were presently in flames. Leonard and his 
 companions now turned to fly, but they had scarcely moved a few 
 paces when auother fiery cascade burst through the roof near the 
 great western entrance, for which they were making, flooding the 
 aisles and plashing against the massive columns. At the sam6 
 tooment, too, a third stream began to fall over the northern transept, 
 not far from where Blaize stood, and a few drops of the burning 
 metal reaching him, caused him to utter the most fearful outcries. 
 Seriously alarmed, Leonard and Wingfield now rushed to one of 
 the monuments in the northern aisle, and hastily clambering it, 
 reached a window, which they burst open. Blaize followed them, 
 but not without receiving a few accidental plashes from the fiery 
 torrents, which elicited from him the most astounding yells. Hav- 
 ing helped him to chmb the monument, Leonard pushed him 
 through the window after Wingfield, and then cast his eye round 
 the building before he himself descended. The sight was magnifi- 
 cent in the extreme. From the flaming roof three silvery cascades 
 descended. The choir was in flame, and a glowing stream like 
 lava was spreading over the floor, and slowly trickling down the 
 steps leading to the body of the church. The transepts and the 
 greater part of the nave were similarly flooded. Above the roar 
 of the flames and the hissing plash of the descending torrents, was 
 heard the wild laughter of Solomon Eagle. Perceiving him in one 
 of the arcades of the southern gallery, Leonard shouted to him to 
 descend, and make good his escape while there was yet time, adding 
 that in a few moments it would be too late. 
 
 " I shall never quit it more," rejoined the enthusiast, in a voice 
 of thunder, " but shall perish with the fire I have kindled. No mo- 
 narch on earth ever hghted a nobler funeral pyre." 
 
 And as Li^onard passed through the window, he disappeared 
 along the gallery. Breaking through the crowd collected round 
 Wingfield and Blaize, and caUing to them to follow him, Leonard 
 made his way to the north-east of the churchyard, where he found 
 aarge assemblage of persons, in the midst of which were the King, 
 teDukeof York, Rochester, Arlington, and many others. As Leo- 
 
372 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 nard advanced, Charles discerned him amid the crowd, and mo- 
 tioned him to come forward. A passage was then cleared for him, 
 through which Wingfield and Blaize, who kept close heside him, 
 were permitted to pass. 
 
 " 1 am glad to find no harm has happened to you, friend," said 
 Charles, as he approached. " Rochester informed me you were 
 gone to Newgate, and as the gaol has been burnt down, I feared 
 you might have met with the same mishap. I now regret that I 
 did not adopt your plan, but it may not be yet too late." 
 
 *' It is not too late to save a portion of your city, sire," rephed 
 Leonard ; " but, alas ! how much is gone !" 
 
 *' It is so," replied the King, mournfully. 
 
 Further conversation was here interrupted by the sudden break- 
 ing out of the fire from the magnificent rose window of the cathe- 
 dral, the effect of which, being extraordinarily fine, attracted the 
 monarch's attention. By this time Solomon Eagle had again 
 ascended the roof, and making his way to the eastern extremity, 
 clasped the great stone cross that terminated it with his left hand, 
 while with his right he menaced the King and his party, uttering 
 denunciations that were lost in the terrible roar prevailing around 
 him. The flames now raged with a fierceness wholly inconceivable, 
 considering the material they had to work upon. The molten lead 
 poured down in torrents, and not merely flooded the whole interior 
 of the fabric, but ran down in a wide and boiling stream almost as 
 far as the Thames, consuming everything in its way, and rendering 
 the very pavement red-hot. Every stone spout and gutter in the 
 sacred pile, of which there were some hundreds, added to this fatal 
 shower, and scattered destruction far and wide; nor will this be 
 wondered at when it is considered that the quantity of lead thus^ 
 melted covered a space of no less than six acres. Having burned 
 with incredible fury and fierceness for some time, the whole roof 
 of the sacred structure fell in at once, with a crash heard at an 
 amazing distance. After an instant's pause, the flames burst forth 
 from every window in the fabric, producing such an intensity of 
 heat that the stone pinnacles, transom beams, and mullions split and 
 cracked with a sound like volleys of artillery, shivering and flying- 
 in every direction. The whole interior of the pile was now one 
 vast sheet of flame, which soared upwards, and consumed even the 
 very stones. Not a vestige of the reverend structure was left un- 
 touched, — its bells — its plate — its woodwork — its monuments — its 
 mighty pillars — its galleries— its chapels — all, all were destroyed. 
 The fire raged throughout all that night and the next day, till it 
 bad consumed all but the mere shell, and rendered the venerable 
 cathedral, " one of the most ancient pieces of piety in the Christian 
 world," to use the words of Evelyn, a heap of ruins and ashes. 
 
LEONARD RESCUES LADY ISABELLA. 873 
 
 CHAPTER VIH. 
 
 HOW LEONARD RESCUED THE LADY ISABELLA. 
 
 The course ©f events, having been somewhat anticipated in the 
 last Chapter, it will now be necessary to return to an earlier stage 
 in the destruction of the cathedral, namely, soon after the furious 
 bursting forth of the flames from the great eastern windows. While 
 Leonard in common with the rest of the assemblage was gazing at 
 this magnificent spectacle, he heard a loud cry of distress behind 
 him, and turning at the sound, beheld Doctor Hodges rush forth 
 from an adjoining house, the upper part of which was on fire, 
 almost in a state of distraction. An elderly man and woman, and 
 two or three female servants, all of whom were crying as loudly as 
 himself, followed him. But their screams fell on indifferent ears, 
 for the crowd had become by this time too much accustomed to such 
 appeals to pay any particular attention to them. Leonard, however, 
 instantly rushed towards the Doctor and anxiously inquired what 
 was the matter ; the latter was so bewildered that he did not re- 
 cognize the voice of the speaker, but gazing up at the house, with 
 indescribable anguish cried, "Merciful God! the flames have by 
 this time reached her room — she will be burned — horror!" 
 
 " Who will be burned?" cried Leonard, seizing his arm, and 
 gazing at him with a look of apprehension and anguish equal to his 
 own—" Not the Lady Isabella?" 
 
 " Yes, Isabella," replied Hodges, regarding the speaker, and for 
 the first time perceiving by whom he was addressed. '* Not a mo- 
 ment is to be lost if you would save her from a terrible death. She 
 was left in a fainting state in one of the upper rooms by a female 
 attendant, who deserted her mistress to save herself. The staircase 
 is on fire, or I myself would have saved her." 
 
 " A ladder! a ladder!" cried Leonard. 
 
 " Here is one !" cried Wingfield, pointing to one propped against 
 an adjoining house. 
 
 And in another moment, by the combined efforts of the crowd, 
 the ladder was brought and placed against the burning building. 
 
 " Which is the window ?" cried Leonard. 
 
 "That on the right, on the second floor," replied Hodges. 
 " Gracious heaven ! the flames are bursting from it." 
 
 But Leonard's foot was now on the ladder, and rushing up with 
 inconceivable swiftness he plunged through the window regardless 
 of the flame. All those who witnessed this daring deed, regarded 
 his destruction as certain, and even Hodges gave him up for lost. 
 But the next moment he appeared at the window, bearing the faint- 
 ing female form in his arms, and with extraordinary dexterity ob- 
 taining a firm footing and hold of the ladder, descended in safety. 
 The shout that burst from such part of the assemblage as had wit- 
 
8T4 OLD SAINT PACL's. 
 
 nessed this achievement, and its successful termination, attracted 
 the King's attention, and he inquired the cause of the clamour. 
 
 "I will ascertain it for your Majesty," replied Rochester, and 
 proceeding to the group, he learnt, to his great satisfaction, what 
 had occurred. 
 
 Having gained this intelligence, he flew hack to the King, and 
 briefly explained the situation of the parties. Doctor Hodges, it 
 appeared, had just removed to the house in question, which be- 
 longed to one of" his patients, as a temporary asylum, and the Lady 
 Isabella had accompanied him. She was in the upper part of the 
 house when the fire broke out, and was so much terrified that she 
 swooned away, in which condition her attendant left her ; nor was 
 the latter so much to blame as might appear, for the stairs were 
 burning at the time, and a moment's delay would have endangered 
 her own safely. 
 
 *' Fate, indeed, seems to have brought these young persons to- 
 gether," replied Charles, as he listened to Rochester's recital, who 
 took this opportunity of acquainting him with Lord Argentine's 
 dying injunctions, "and it would be a pity to separate them." 
 
 " I am sure your Majesty has no such intention," said Rochester. 
 
 *' You will see," rejoined the Monarch. 
 
 And as he spoke, he turned his horse's head, and moved towards 
 the spot where Leonard was kneeling beside Isabella and support- 
 ing her. Some restoratives having beep applied by Doctor Hodges, 
 she had regained her sensibility, and was murmuring her thanks to 
 her deliverer. 
 
 " She has not lost her beauty, I perceive," cried Charles, gazing 
 at her with admiration, and feeling something of his former passion 
 revive within his breast. 
 
 " Your Majesty, I trust, will not mar their happiness," said Ro- 
 chester, noticing the monarch's libertine look with uneasiness. 
 "Remember, you owe your life to that young man." 
 
 " And I will pay the debt royally," replied Charles ; '* I will give 
 him permission to marry her." 
 
 '^ Your Majesty's permission is scarcely needed," muttered Ro- 
 chester. 
 
 ** There you are wrong, my lord," replied the King. " She 
 is now my ward, and I can dispose of her in marriage as I please ; 
 nor will 1 so dispose of her except to her equal in rank." 
 
 " I discern your Majesty's gracious intentions," replied Rochester, 
 gratefully inclining his head. 
 
 " 1 almost forget my deliverer's name,'* whispered Charles, 
 with a smile, "but it is of no consequence, since he will so speedily 
 change it." 
 
 " His name is Leonard Holt," replied Rochester, in the same tone. 
 
 "Ah!— true," returned the King. "What ho! good master 
 Leonard Holt," he added, addressing the young man, "commit 
 the Lady Isabella Argentine to the care of our worthy friend Doctor 
 Hodges for a moment, and stand up before me." ilis injunctions 
 being complied with, he continued, " The Lady Isabella Argentine 
 and 1 owe our lives to you, and we must both evince our gratitude 
 
LEONi^RD RESCUES LADY ISABELLA. 375 
 
 — she by devoting that life, which, if I am not misinformed, she 
 will be right willing to do, to you, and I by putting you in a position 
 to unite yourself to her. The title of Argentine has been this day 
 extinguished by most unhappy circumstances ; I therefore confer 
 the tjtle on you, and here in this presence create you Baron Argen-r 
 tine, of Argentine, in Staffordshire. Your patent shall be made 
 out with all convenient despatch, and with it you shall receive the 
 hand of the sole representative of that ancient and noble house." 
 
 "Your Majesty overwhelms me," replied Leonard, faUipg on hi^ 
 knee and pressing the King's hand, which was kindly extended 
 towards him, to his lips. " 1 can scarcely persuade myself I am 
 not in a dream." 
 
 " You will soon awaken to the sense of the joyful reality," re- 
 turned the King. "Have I not now discharged my debt?" he 
 added, to Rochester. 
 
 " Right royally, indeed, my liege," replied the Earl, in a tone of 
 unaffected emotion. " My lord," he added, grasping Leonard's 
 hand, "I sincerely congratulate you on your newly-acquired dig- 
 nities, nor less in the happiness that awaits you there." 
 
 *' If 1 dp not answer you fittingly, my lord," replied the new- 
 made peer, " it is not because I do not feel ymir kindness. But njy 
 brain reels. Pray heaven my senses may not desert me." 
 
 " You must not forget the document you obtained this morn- 
 ing, my lord," replied Rochester, endeavouring to divert his 
 thoughts into a new channel. * ' The proper moment for consulting 
 it may have arrived." 
 
 Lord Argentine, for we shall henceforth give him his title, thrust 
 his hand into his doublet and drew forth the parchment. He 
 opened it and endeavoured to read it, but a mist swam before his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Let me look at it," said Rochester, taking it from him. *' It is 
 a deed of gift," he said, after glancing at it for a moment, "from 
 the late Lord Argentine — 1 mean the elder baron — of a large estate 
 in Yorkshire, which he possessed in right of his wife, to you, my 
 lord, here described as Leonard Holt, provided you shall marry the 
 Lady Isabella Argentine. Another piece of good fortune. Again 
 and again, I congratulate you." 
 
 "And now," said Charles, "other and less pleasing matters 
 claim our attention. Let the Lady Isabella be removed under the 
 charge of Doctor Hodges to Whitehall, where apartmerfls shall be 
 provided for her at once, together with fitting attendants, and 
 where she can remain till this terrible conflagration is over, which, 
 I trust, soon will be, when I will no longer delay her happiness, 
 but give her away in person. Chiffinch," he added to the chief 
 page, " see all this carried into effect." 
 
 "I will, my liege, and right willingly," replied Chiffinch. 
 
 *' I would send you with her, my lord," pursued Charles to Ar- 
 gentine, " but 1 have other duties for you to fulfil. The plan you 
 proposed of demolishing the houses with gunpowder, shall be im- 
 paediately put into operation under your own superintendence." 
 
 A chair was now brought, and the Lady Isabella, after a tender 
 
376 OLD SAINT PALL S. 
 
 parting with her lover, being placed within it, she was thus trans- 
 ported, under the charge of Hodges and Chiffinch, to Whitehall, 
 where she arrived in safety, though not without having sustained 
 some hinderance and inconvenience. 
 
 She had not been gone many minutes when the conflagration of 
 the cathedral assumed its most terrific character ; the whole of the 
 mighty roof falhng in, and the flames soaring upwards as before 
 related. L^p to this time, Solomon Eagle had maintained his po- 
 sition at the eastern end of the roof, and still grasped the stone cross. 
 His situation now attracted universal attention, and it was evident 
 he must speedily perish. 
 
 " Poor wretch !" exclaimed the King, shuddering, '' 1 fear there 
 is no way of saving him." 
 
 " None whatever my liege," replied Rochester, "nor do I believe 
 he would consent to it if there was. But he is again menacing 
 your Majesty." 
 
 As Rochester spoke, Solomon Eagle shook his arm menacingly at 
 the royal party, raising it aloft, as if invoking the vengeance of 
 heaven. He then knelt down upon the sloping ridge of the roof, 
 as if in prayer, and his figure, thus seen relieved against the mighty 
 sheet of flame, might have been taken for an image of Saint John 
 the Baptist, carved in stone. Not an eye in the vast crowd below 
 but was fixed on him. In a few moments, he rose again, and toss- 
 ing his arms aloft, and shrieking in a voice distinctly heard above 
 the awful roar around him, the single word, " Itesurgamr flung 
 himself headlong into the flaming abyss. A simultaneous cry of 
 horror rose from the whole assemblage on beholding this desperate 
 action. 
 
 '* The last exclamation of the poor wretch may apply to the ca- 
 thedral as well as to himself," remarked the monarch to a middle- 
 aged personage with a pleasing and highly-intellectual countenance, 
 standing near him : " for the old building shall rise again, like the 
 phoenix from its fires, with renewed beauty, and under your super- 
 intendence, Doctor Christopher Wren." 
 The great architect bowed. 
 
 " I cannot hope to erect such another structure," he said, mo- 
 destly ; "but I will endeavour to design an edifice that shall not 
 disgrace your Majesty's city." 
 
 "You must build me another city at the same time. Doctor 
 Wren," ^hed the King. "Ah!" he added, "is not that Mr. Lilly, 
 the almanack-maker, whom 1 see among the crowd?" 
 " It is," replied Rochester. 
 
 " Bid him come to me," replied the King. And the order being 
 obeyed, he said to the astrologer, "Well, Mr. Lilly, your second 
 prediction has come to pass. We have had the Plague, and now 
 we have the Fire. You may thank my clemency that I do not order 
 you to be cast into the flames, like the poor wretch who has just 
 perished before our eyes, as a wizard and professor of the black 
 art. How did you obtain information of these fatal events?" 
 
 "By a careful study of the heavenly bodies, sire," replied Lilly, 
 "and by long and patient calculations, which, if your Majesty or 
 
LEONARD RESCUES LADY ISABELLA. 377 
 
 any of your attendants had had leisure or inclination to make, would 
 have afforded you the same information, /make no pretence to 
 the gift of prophecy, but this calamity was predicted in the last 
 century." 
 
 " Indeed ! by whom?" asked the King. 
 
 " By Michael Nostradamus," rephed Lilly. ''His prediction runs 
 thus : — 
 
 " * Le sang du juste a Londres fera faute, 
 Bruslez par feu, le vingt et trois, les Six ; 
 La Dame antique cherra de place haute, 
 De meme secte plusienrs seront occis.' * 
 
 And thus I venture to explain it. The ' blood of the just' refers to 
 the impious and execrable murder of your Majesty's royal father of 
 blessed memory. ' Three-and-twenty and six gives the exact year 
 of the calamity, and it may likewise give us, as will be seen by 
 computation hereafter, the amount of habitations to be destroyed. 
 The ' Ancient Dame ' undoubtedly refers to the venerable pile now 
 burning before us, which, as it stands in the most eminent spot in 
 the city, clearly ' falls from its high place.' The expression 'of the 
 same sect,' refers not to men, but churches, of which a large 
 number, I grieve to say it, are already destroyed." 
 
 " The prophecy is a singular one," remarked Charles, musingly, 
 " and you have given it a plausible interpretation." And for some 
 moments, he appeared lost in reflection. Suddenly rousing him- 
 self, he took forth his tablets, and hastily tracing a few lines upon 
 a leaf, tore it out, and delivered it with his signet ring to Lord Ar- 
 gentine. "Take this, my lord," he said, " to Lord Craven. You 
 will find him at his post in Tower Street. A band of my attendants 
 shall go with you. Embark at the nearest stairs you can — those 
 at Blackfriars I should conceive the most accessible. Bid the men 
 row for their lives. As soon as you join Lord Craven, commence 
 operations. The Tower must be preserved at all hazards. Mark 
 me! — at all hazards." 
 
 '' I understand your Majesty," replied Argentine — " your com- 
 mands shall be implicitly obeyed. And if the conflagration has not 
 gone too far, 1 will answer with my life that I preserve the for- 
 tress." 
 
 And he departed on his mission. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Having now seen what occurred outside Saint Paul's, we shall 
 proceed to^the vaults beneath it. Chowles and Judith, it has been 
 
 * The blood of the just shall be vvatiting in London, 
 Burnt by fire of three-and twenty, the Six; 
 The ancient Dame shall fall from her high place, 
 Of the same sect many shall be killed. 
 
37S OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 mentioned, were descried by Leonard, just before the outbreak of 
 the fire, stealing into Saint Faith's, and carrying a heavy chest be* 
 tween them. This chest contained some of the altar-plate, which 
 they had pillaged from the Convocation House. As they traversed 
 the aisles of Saint Faith's, which were now filled with books and 
 paper, they could distinctly hear the raging of the fire without, and 
 Judith, who was far less intimidated than her companion, observed, 
 " Let it roar on. It cannot injure us." 
 
 ^' 1 am not so sure of that," replied Chowles, doubtfully, '< I wish 
 we had taken our hoards elsewhere." 
 
 '' There is no use in wishing that now," rejoined Judith. *' And 
 it would have been wholly impossible to get them out of the city. 
 But have no fear. The fire, I tell you, cannot reach us. It could 
 as soon burn into the solid earth as into this place." 
 
 *' It comforts me to hear you say so," replied Chowles. " And 
 when 1 think of those mighty s'one floors above us, 1 feel we are 
 quite safe. No, no, it can never make its way through them." 
 
 Thus discoursing, they reached the charnel at the further end of 
 the church, where Chowles struck a fight, and producing a flask of 
 strong waters, took a copious draught himself and handed the flask 
 to Judith, who imitated his example. Their courage being thus 
 stimulated, they opened the chest, and Chowles was so enraptured 
 with its glittering contents that he commenced capering round the 
 vault. Recalled to quietude by a stern reproof from Judith, he 
 opened a secret door in the wall, and pushed the chest into a narrow 
 passage beyond it. Fearful of being discovered in their retreat, 
 they took a basket of provisions and liquor with them, and then 
 closed the door. For some time, they proceeded along the passage, 
 pushing the chest before them, until they came to a descent of a 
 few steps, which brought them to a large vault, half-filled with bags 
 of gold, chests of plate, caskets, and other plunder. At the further 
 end of this vault was a strong wooden door. Pushing the chest 
 into the middle of the chamber, Chowles seated himself upon it, and 
 opening the basket of provisions, took out the bottle of spirits, and 
 again had recourse to it. 
 
 " How comfortable and secure we feel in this quiet place," he 
 said ; " while all above us is burning. I declare 1 feel quite merry, 
 hal ha!" And he forced a harsh and a discordant laugh. 
 
 " Give me the bottle," rejoined Judith, sternly, "and don't grin 
 like a death's head. 1 don't like to see the frightful face you make." 
 
 " It's the first time you ever thought my face frightful," replied 
 Chowles, "and 1 begin to think you are afraid." 
 
 '* Afraid!" echoed Judith, forcing a derisive laugh in her turn; 
 ** afraid- of what?" 
 
 *']Nay, I don't know," replied Chowles; "only I feel a little 
 uncomfortable. What if we should not be able to breathe here? 
 The very idea gives me a tightness across the chest." 
 
 " Silence !" cried Judith, with a fierceness that effectually ensured 
 obedience to her command. 
 
 Chowles again had recourse to the bottle, and deriving a false 
 courage from it, as before, commenced skipping about the chamber 
 
FATE OF CHOWLES AND JUDITH. 379 
 
 in his usual fantastical manner. Judith did not attempt to check 
 him, but remained with her chin resting upon her hand gazing at 
 him. 
 
 *' Do you remember the Dance of Death, Judith?" he cried, ex- 
 ecuting some of the wildest flourishes he had then performed, *'and 
 how I surprised the Earl of Rochester and his crew?" 
 
 " I do," rephed Judith, sternly, " and I hope we may not soon 
 have to perform that dance together in reality." 
 
 *' It was a merry night," rejoined Chowles, who did not hear 
 what she said, " a right merry night — and so to-night shall be, in 
 spite of what is occurring overhead. Ha! ha!" And he took an- 
 other long pull at the flask. " 1 breathe freely now." And he con- 
 tinued his wild flourishes until he was completely exhausted. He 
 then sat down by Judith, and would have twined his bony arms 
 round her neck, but she roughly repulsed him. 
 
 With a growl of displeasure, he then proceeded to open and ex- 
 amine the various bags, chests, and caskets piled upon the floor, 
 and the sight of their contents so excited Judith, that, shaking off 
 her misgivings, she joined him, and they continued opening case 
 after case, glutting their greedy eyes, until Chowles became aware 
 that the vault was filled with smoke. As soon as he perceived this, 
 he started to his feet in terror. 
 
 " We are lost! — we shall be suffocated!" he cried. 
 
 Judith Hkewise arose, and her looks showed that she shared in hi^ 
 apprehensions. 
 
 " We must not stay here," cried Chowles; "and yet," he added, 
 with an agonized look at the rich store before him, "the treasure! 
 the treasure!" 
 
 '^ Ay, let us, at least, take something with us," rejoined Judith, 
 snatching up two or three of the most valuable caskets. 
 
 While Chowles gazed at the heap before him, hesitating what to 
 select, the smoke grew so dense around them, that Judith seized 
 his arm and dragged him away. 
 
 " 1 come — I come !" he cried, snatching up a bag of gold. 
 
 They then threaded the narrow passage, Judith leading the way 
 and bearing the light. The smoke grew thicker and thicker as 
 they advanced, but regardless of this, they hurried to the secret 
 door leading to the charnel. Judith touched the spring, but as 
 ^he did so, a sheet of flame burst in and drove her back. Chowles 
 dashed past her, and with great presence of mind shut the door, 
 excluding the flame. They then hastily retraced their steps, feel- 
 ing that not a moment was to be lost if they would escape. The 
 air in the vault, thickened by the smoke, had become so hot that 
 they could scarcely breathe ; added to which, to increase their 
 terror, they heard the most awful cracking of the walls overhead, 
 as if the wh^le fabric was breaking asunder to its foundation. 
 
 '* The cathedral is tumbling upon us ! We shall be buried 
 alive !" exclaimed Chowles, as he listened with indescribable terror 
 to the noise overhead. 
 
 " I owe my death to you, wretch !" cried Judith, fiercely. " You 
 persuaded me to come hither." 
 
380 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 *' 1 !" cried Chowles. *' It is a lie ! You were the person who 
 proposed it. But for you, I should have left our hoards here, and 
 come for them after the fire was over." 
 
 " It is you who lie," returned Judith, with increased fury, " that 
 was my proposal." 
 
 '' Hold your tongue, you she-devil," cried Chowles, *' it is you 
 who have brought me into this strait — and if you do not cease 
 taunting me, I will silence you for ever." 
 
 " Coward and fool !" cried Judith, " I will at least have the satis- 
 faction of seeing you die before me." 
 
 And as she spoke, she rushed towards him, and a desperate 
 struggle commenced. And thus, while the walls were cracking 
 overhead, threatening them with instant destruction, the two 
 wretches continued their strife, uttering the most horrible blasphe- 
 mies and execrations. Judith, being the stronger of the two, had 
 the advantage, and she had seized her opponent by the throat with 
 the intention of strangling him, when a most terrific crash was 
 heard, causing her to loose her gripe. The air instantly became 
 as hot as the breath of a furnace, and both started to their feet. 
 
 ' ' What has happened ?" gasped Chowles. 
 
 *' I know not," replied Judith, " and I dare not look down the 
 passage." 
 
 " Then I will," replied Chowles, and he advanced a few paces 
 up it, and then hastily returned, shrieking, " it is filled with boiling 
 lead, and the stream is flowing towards us." 
 
 Scarcely able to credit the extent of the danger, Judith gazed 
 down the passage, and there beheld a glowing silvery stream 
 trickling slowly onwards. She saw too well, that if they could not 
 effect their retreat instantly, their fate was sealed. 
 
 *' The door of the vault !" she cried, pointing towards it, '* where 
 is the key ! where is the key ?" 
 
 *'I have not got it," replied Chowles, distractedly, **1 cannot 
 tell where to find it." 
 
 " Then we are lost," cried Judith, with a terrible execration. 
 
 "Not so," replied Chowles, snatching up a pick-axe; "if I 
 cannot unlock the door, I can break it open." 
 
 With this, he commenced furiously striking against it, while 
 Judith, who was completely horror-stricken, and filled with the 
 conviction that her last moments were at hand, fell on her knees 
 beside him, and gazing down the passage, along which she could 
 see the stream of molten lead, now nearly a foot in depth, gradually 
 advancing, and hissing as it came, shrieked to Chowles to increase 
 his exertions. He needed no incitement to do so, but nerved by 
 fear, continued to deal blow after blow against the door, until at 
 last he effected a small breach just above the lock. But this only 
 showed him how vain were his hopes, for a stream of fire and 
 smoke poured through the aperture. Nothwithstanding this, he 
 continued his exertions, Judith shrieking all the time, until the lock 
 at last yielded. He then threw open the door, but finding the whole 
 passage involved in flame, was obliged to close it. Judith had now 
 risen, and their looks at each other at this fearful moment were 
 
CONCLUSION. 381 
 
 terrible in the extreme. Retreating to either side of the cell, they 
 glared at each other like wild beasts. Suddenly, Judith casting her 
 eyes to the entrance of the vault, uttered a yell of terror that 
 caused her companion to look in that direction, and he perceived 
 that the stream of molten lead had gained it, and was descending 
 the steps. He made a rush towards the door at the same time with 
 Judith, and another struggle ensued, in which he succeeded in 
 dashing her upon the floor. He again opened the door, but was 
 again driven backwards by the terrific flame, and perceived that the 
 fiery current had reached Judith, who was writhing and shriek- 
 ing in its embrace. Before Chowles could again stir, it was upon 
 him. With a yell of anguish, he fell forward, and was instantly 
 stifled in the glowing torrent, which in a short time flooded the 
 whole chamber, burying the two partners in iniquity, and the 
 whole of their ill-gotten gains, in its burning waves. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Lord Argentine proceeded, as directed by the King, to the east- 
 ern end of Tower Street, where he found Lord Craven, and having 
 delivered him the King's missive, and shown him the signet, they 
 proceeded to the western side of the Tower dock, and having pro- 
 cured a sufficient number of miners and engineers, together with a 
 supply of powder from the fortress, commenced undermining the 
 whole of the row of habitations called Tower Bank, on the edge of the 
 dock, having first, it is scarcely necessary to state, taken care to clear 
 them of their inhabitants. The powder deposited, the trains were 
 fired, and the buildings blown into the air. At this time, the whole of 
 the western side of the Tower moat was covered with low wooden 
 houses and sheds, and mindful of the King's instructions. Lord Ar- 
 gentine suggested to Lord Craven that they should be destroyed. 
 The latter acquiescing, they proceeded to their task, and in a short 
 time, the whole of the buildings of whatever description, from the 
 bulwark-gate to the city postern, at the north of the Tower, and 
 nearly opposite the Bowyer Tower, were destroyed. Long before 
 this was accomphshed they were joined by the Duke of York, who 
 lent his utmost assistance to the task, and when night came on, a 
 clear space of at least a hundred yards in depth, had been formed 
 between the ancient fortress, and the danger with which it was 
 threatened,. 
 
 Meantime, the conflagration continued to rage with unabated 
 fury. It burnt throughout the whole of Monday night, and having 
 destroyed Saint Paul's, as before related, poured down Ludgate Hill, 
 consuming all in its way, and crossing Fleet Bridge, commenced its 
 ravages upon the great thoroughfare adjoining it. 
 
382 OLD SAINT Paul's. 
 
 On Tuesday, an immense tract was on fire. All Fleet Street, as 
 far as the Inner Temple, Liidgate Hill, and the whole of the city 
 eastwards, along the banks of the Thames, up to the Tower Dock, 
 where the devastation was checked by the vast gap of houses demo- 
 lished, were in flames. From thence the boundary of the fire ex- 
 tended to the end of Mark Lane, Lime Street, and Leadenhall, the 
 strong walls of which resisted its fury. Ascending again by the stan- 
 dard on Cornhill, Threadneedle Street, and Austin Friars, it em- 
 braced Draper's Hall, and the whole mass of buildings to the west 
 of Throgmorton Street. It next proceeded to the then new buildings 
 behind Saint Margaret's, Lothbury, and so on westward to the upper 
 end of Cateaton Street, whence it spread to the second postern in 
 London Wall, and destroying the ramparts and suburbs as far as 
 Cripplegate, consumed Little Wood Street, Mungwell Street, and 
 the whole of the city wall on the west as far as Aldersgate. Passing 
 a httle to the north of Saint Sepulchre's, which it destroyed, it cros- 
 sed Holborn Bridge, and ascending Saint Andrew's Hill passed the 
 end of Shoe Lane, and so on to the end of Fetter Lane. The whole 
 of the buildings contained within this boundary were now on fire, 
 and burning with terrific fury. And so they continued till the middle 
 of Wednesday, when the wind abating, and an immense quantity of 
 houses being demolished, according to Lord Argentine's plan, the 
 conflagration was got under; and though it broke out in several 
 places after that time, little mischief was done, and it may be said to 
 have ceased on the middle of that day. 
 
 On Saturday morning in that week, soon after daybreak, a young 
 man, plainly yet richly attired in the habiliments then worn by per- 
 sons of high rank, took his way over the smouldering heaps of 
 rubbish, and along the ranks of ruined and blackened walls denot- 
 ing the habitations that had once constituted Fleet Street. It was 
 with no little risk, and some difficulty, that he could force his way 
 — now clambering over heaps of smouldering ashes, now passing 
 by some toppling wall, which fell with a terrific crash after he had 
 just passed it — now creeping under an immense pile of blackened 
 rafters — but he at length reached Fleet Bridge, where he paused 
 to gaze at the scene of devastation around him.. It was, indeed, a 
 melancholy sight, and drew tears to his eyes. The ravages of the 
 fire were almost inconceivable. Great beams were burnt to char- 
 coal — stones calcined, and as white as snow, and such walls and 
 towers as were left standing were so damaged that their instant 
 fall was to be expected. The very water in the wells and fountains 
 was boiling, and even the muddy Fleet sent forth a hot steam. The 
 fire still lingered in the lower parts of many habitations, especially 
 where wine, spirits, or inflammable goods had been kept ; and these 
 *'voragos of subterranean cellars," as Evelyn terms them, still 
 emitted flames, together with a prodigious smoke and stench. Un- 
 dismayed by the dangers of the path he had to traverse, the young 
 man ascended Ludgate Hill, still encountering the same devastation ; 
 and passing through the ruined gateway, the end ol which remained 
 perfect, approached what had once been Saint Paul's Cathedral. 
 Mounting a heap of rubbish at the end of Ludgate Street, he gazed 
 
CONCLUSION. 383 
 
 at the mighty ruin, which looked more hke the remains of a city 
 than those of a single edifice. 
 
 The solid walls and buttresses were split and rent asunder; 
 enormous stones were sphntered and calcined by the heat ; and 
 Vast flakes having scaled from off the pillars, gave them a hoary 
 and almost ghostly appearance. Its enormous extent was now 
 for the first time clearly seen, and strange to say, it looked twice 
 as large in ruins as when entire. The central tower was still 
 standing — but chipped, broken, and calcined like the rest of the 
 structure, by the vehement heat of the flames. Part of the roof 
 in its fall broke through the solid floor of the choir, which was of 
 immense thickness, into Saint Faith's, and destroyed the magazine 
 of books and paper deposited there by the booksellers. The por- 
 tico, erected by Inigo Jones, and which found so much favour in 
 Evelyn's eyes, that he describes it as "comparable to any in Eu- 
 rope," and particularly deplores its loss, shared the fate of the rest 
 of the building, — the only part left uninjured being the architrave, 
 the inscription on which was undefaced. 
 
 Having satiated himself with this sad but striking prospect, the 
 young man, with some toil and trouble, crossed the churchyard and 
 gained Cheapside, where a yet more terrific scene of devastation 
 than that which he had previously witnessed burst upon him. On 
 the right to London Bridge, which he could discern through the 
 chasms of the houses, and almost to the Tower, were nothing but 
 ruins, while a similar waste lay on the left. Such was the terrible 
 change that had been wrought in the aspect of the ruined city, that 
 if the young man had not had some maiks to guide him, he would 
 not have known where he was. The tower and ruined walls of 
 Saint Peter's church pointed out to him the entrance to Wood 
 Street, and entering it, he traversed it with considerable difficulty, 
 — for the narrow thoroughfares were much fuller of rubbish, and 
 much less freed from smoke and fiery vapour, than the wider, — 
 until he reached a part of it with which he had once been well 
 acquainted. But, alas ! how changed was that familiar spot. The 
 house he sought was a mere heap of ruins. While gazing at them, 
 he heard a voice behind him, and turning, beheld Mr. Bloundel 
 and his son Stephen forcing their way through what had once 
 been Maiden Lane. A warm greeting passed between them, and 
 Mr. Bloundel gazed for some time in silence upon the wreck of his 
 dweUing. Tears forced themselves into his eyes, and his compa- 
 nions were no less moved. As he turned to depart, he observed 
 to the young man with some severity, " How is it, Leonard, that I 
 see you in this gay apparel? Surely, the present is not a fitting 
 season for such idle display." 
 
 Lord Argentine, for such it was, now explained to the wonder- 
 stricken grocer all that had occurred to him, adding that he had 
 intended cl)ming to him that very day, if he had not been thus an- 
 ticipated, to give him the present explanation. 
 
 ''And where are Farmer Wingfield and Blaize ?" asked Mr. 
 Bloundel. " We have been extremely uneasy at your prolonged 
 absence." 
 
384 OLD SAINT pail's. 
 
 *' They are both at the palace," replied Argentine, " and have 
 both been laid up with slight injuries received during the confla- 
 gration, but I believe —nay, I am sure, they will get out to-day." 
 
 *'That is well," replied Mr. Bloundel — " and now let me con- 
 gratulate you, Leonard — that is, my lord — how strange such a title 
 sounds! — on your new dignity." 
 
 "And accept my congratulations, too, my lord," said Stephen. 
 
 "Oh ! do not style me thus," said Argentine. "With you, at least, 
 let me be ever Leonard Holt." 
 
 " You are still my old apprentice, I see," cried the grocer, 
 warmly grasping his hand. 
 
 *' And such I shall ever continue in feehng," returned the other, 
 cordially returning the pressure. 
 
 Three days after this. Lord Argentine w^as united to the Lady 
 Isabella— the King, as he had promised, giving away the bride. The 
 Earl of Rochester was present, together with the grocer and his wife 
 and the whole of their family. Another marriage also took place 
 on the same day between Blaize and Patience. Both unions, it is 
 satisfactory to be able to state, were extremely happy, though it 
 would be uncandid not to mention, that in the latter case, to use a 
 homely but expressive phrase, "the grey mare proved the better 
 horse." Blaize, however, was exceedingly content under his go- 
 vernment. He settled at Willesden with his wife, where they 
 lived to a good old age, and where some of his descendants may 
 still be found. 
 
 Mr. Bloundel sustained only a trifling loss by the fire. Another 
 house was erected on the site of the old habitation, where he carried 
 on his business as respectably and as profitably as before, until in 
 the course of nature he was gathered to his fathers, and succeeded 
 by his son Stephen, leaving an unblemished character behind him 
 as a legacy to his family. Nor was it his only legacy, in a wordly 
 sense, for his time had not been misspent, and he had well-husband- 
 ed his money. Allhisfamilyturned out well, and were successful in the 
 world. Stephen rose to the highest civic dignities, and the younger 
 obtained great distinction. Their daughter Christiana became Lady 
 Argentine, being wedded to the eldest son of the Baron and Baroness. 
 
 Mike Macascree, the piper, and Bell, found a happy asylum with 
 the same noble family. 
 
 As to Lord and Lady Argentine, theirs was a life of uninterrupted 
 happiness. Devotedly attached to her lord, the Lady Isabella seem- 
 ed only to live for him, and he well repaid her affection. By se- 
 dulously cultivating his talents and powers, which were considera- 
 ble, he was enabled to reflect credit upon the high rank to which 
 it had pleased a grateful sovereign to elevate him. He lived to see 
 the new cathedral completed by Sir Christopher Wren, and often 
 visited it with feelings of admiration, but never with the same sen- 
 timents of veneration and awe that he had experienced, when in 
 times long gone by, he had repaired to Old Saint Paul's. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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