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 completely 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 bedside of his son, though he could not make out the object of his solicitude, Wyvil decided upon attempting an entrance by the backyard. 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 securing 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 I 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, Parravicin. 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, I attend you."

IV.

THE INTERVIEW.

Maurice Wyvil, as his friends conjectured, had found his way into the house. Creeping through the window, and entering a passage, 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 bedroom.

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 on 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, repeated 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 delirium 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," replied 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," replied 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."

"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 forgiveness. 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. I have prepared all for it. I 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 distress at the intelligence. I thought it would have killed me. I determined, 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 accomplished my purpose. I entered the house unobserved. I overheard 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 I 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! how I envy that innocent!" 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—I dare not," cried Amabel, resisting him with all her force.

"You must 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 surprise 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 matter, child?" cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Why have you fastened the door? Is there any one in the room with you?"

"She hears us," whispered Amabel. "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."

"Hold!" 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 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 require 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 design 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 more to tell, dear mother," replied Amabel, "except that Maurice Wyvil has been in the room ever since you left it, and might, perhaps, have carried me off in spite of my resistance, if you had not returned when you did."

"It was, indeed, a providential interference," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel. "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 Amabel. "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 woman 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 had my own way, he should leave it through the window," said Mrs. Bloundel; "and if he tarries a minute longer, I will give the alarm."

"You hear this, sir," cried Amabel:—"go, I entreat you."

"I yield to circumstance, 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 believed such depravity existed. Quit the house, sir, directly, or I will have you turned out of it."

"Do not remain another moment," implored Amabel. "Do not, do not!"

"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 discovery, Mrs. Bloundel then directed the gallant to the back staircase, and he had got about halfway down, when he was surprised 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 boiling 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 a 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 I did my strict duty, I should seize him and give him in charge to the watch. He has come here for the purpose of stealing my master's chief valuable—his daughter."

"I am aware of it," replied Mrs. Bloundel, "and nothing but consideration for my husband prevents my delivering him up to justice. As it is, he may go free. But should he return—"

"If I catch him here again," interrupted Leonard, "I will shoot him as I would a dog, though I 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 inferior may give wholesome advice. Are you certain you are acting as your worthy husband would, 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 Amabel. "For my sake, let Mr. Wyvil go."

"I have considered the matter, Leonard," returned Mrs. Bloundel, "and trust I am acting rightly. At all events, I 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 I had your permission, I 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 you, therefore, give full license to your scurrile 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 passed 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 companions 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 astrologer, 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, if old Rowley is to be believed, has great skill in the occult sciences, lives somewhere in Friday-street, not a stone's throw from this place. Let us go and find him out."

"Agreed," replied Lydyard.

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 carelessness all the mischief that had just occurred. Not meeting with 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, having 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.

"Swelling!" ejaculated Blaize,—"there's a tumour as big as an egg."

"Is id possible?" exclaimed Josyna, in great alarm. "Do let 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."

"Dat wond hinder me from drying to zaave you," replied his mother, affectionately. "I must see vad is de madder vid you, or I cannod cure you."

"I am past your doctoring, mother," groaned Blaize. "Leave me alone, I say. You hurt me shockingly!"

"Poor child!" cried Josyna, soothingly, "I'll be as dender as possible. I'll 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 nails! 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," responded 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. I said I should be the next victim. And my words are come true."

"You are as clever as a conjurer," sobbed Patience; "but I wish you hadn't been right in this instance. However, comfort yourself. I'll die with you. We'll be carried to the grave in the same plague-cart."

"That's cold comfort," returned Blaize, angrily. "I beg you'll never mention the plague-cart again. The thought of it makes me 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 upstairs 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," replied the apprentice, "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.'"

"But 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 his 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 I 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'll die in the street rather than under his hands."

And bursting from them, he would have made good his retreat, but for the entrance 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.

"Eh, day!" 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. "I am 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 Patience. "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, I am 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 remedies at all, 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, trembling; "I am quite well."

"He complains of a fixed pain near de haard, docdor," interposed his mother, "and says he has a large dumour on his side. But he wond let 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 cudgel."

"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?"

"Yes, it's a terrible carbuncle," replied Blaize; "but don't cauterize 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 party, 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, and gum-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," replied 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 cataplasm 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 known 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 private 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 undertone:

"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 explanation, but the apprentice instantly left him, and set out upon his 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-armoniac, hartshorn-shavings, saffron, and syrup of wood-sorrel. I long to taste it. But then it would be running in the doctor's teeth. Thirdly, there is a phial labelled Aqua Theriacalis Stillatitia—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 Epidemica, 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 I've 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 garlics—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, endeavoured 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; "but 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. "I 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."

"I never smoke," replied Bloundel, "and hold it as a filthy and mischievous habit, which nothing but necessity should induce me to practise."

"It is advisable now," returned Hodges, "and you should neglect no precaution. Take my word for it, Mr. Bloundel, 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, I 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, supplying it with the drugs and herbs left by the doctor. About four o'clock, a loud knocking was heard. Instantly answering the summons, 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 intoxicated, 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 tomorrow 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 I will give you timely notice."

"If you are in want of a nurse, I can recommend an experienced 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.

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 in length—in the middle of the door; tracing above it, in large characters, the melancholy formula—"LORD, HAVE MERCY UPON US!"

VI.

THE LIBERTINE PUNISHED.

Sir Paul 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 encountered 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 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. Mentioning 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 Pillichody, "exterminate him—spare him not. By Bellerophon! that's my way. My only apprehension 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, "I have just bethought me of an engagement."

"An engagement at this hour—impossible!" cried Parravicin.

"An assignation, I ought to say," returned Pillichody.

"Couches 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," replied Parravicin. "But be your inamorata whom she may—even the rich widow of Watling-street, of whom you prate so much—you must put her off to-night."

"But, Sir Paul——"

"I 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 harebrained coxcomb enters the house, I will see whether a light 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 improvements), 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," replied Pillichody; "her husband—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 you see some one 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 rheumatism. I should prefer keeping guard inside."

"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 silence, if he valued his life.

"Is your companion in the house?" demanded 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 libertine—you who encouraged me to play with him, telling 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 Pillichody, abjectedly. "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 off as fast as his legs could carry him. Disbrowe looked after him for a moment, as if uncertain whether to follow, and then hurrying to the house, stationed 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 himself into 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 favourite retreat of the fair mistress of the abode. Parravicin gazed curiously round, as if anxious to gather from what he saw some idea of the person he so soon expected to encounter. Everything betokened a refined and luxurious taste. A few French romances, the last plays of Etherege, Dryden, and Shadwell, a volume of Cowley, and some amorous songs, lay on the table; and not far from them were a loomask, 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, Parravicin turned to a couch on which a cittern was thrown, while beside it, on a cushion, were a pair of tiny embroidered velvet slippers. 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 Disbrowe'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 you promised to return early. I have felt your absence severely, and have been suffering from a violent headache, which has almost distracted me. I 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?"

"MARGARET."

"Charming creature!" exclaimed Parravicin, as the paper dropped 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? Lydyard's warning, I suppose. That fellow, who is the veriest rake among us, is always preaching. Confound him! I wish he had not mentioned 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'll 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 brunette, with raven hair, and eyes of night. I am on fire 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. Wrapping 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 just quitted. Articles of feminine attire, of the richest kind, were hung against the walls, 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, filligree cassets, japan patch-boxes, scent-bottles, and pomatum-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 Parravicin, approaching the bed, and seating himself behind the curtains.

"I know not," she replied. "I was seized with a dreadful headache 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.

"What!" cried Mrs. Disbrowe, raising herself in the bed. "I would requite your perfidy—terribly requite it!"

"Then learn that Captain Disbrowe is faithless," cried Parravicin, throwing back the curtains, and disclosing himself. "Learn that he loves another, and is with her now. Learn that he cares so little 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 countenance suddenly fell, and an expression of horror and alarm took possession of it. He appeared rooted to the spot, and instead of attempting 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."

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 hoping something would take him off; but though he tried his constitution hard, it was too tough to yield. However, he's likely to go now. If I 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 pillow 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 proceed. 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 southwest corner of the cathedral, and passing under the shrouds and cloisters of 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, I 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 half that time, and increases in violence (as God grant it 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 extremity, 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 deposited 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 relieved 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 towards the pallet. His mother and the young man were still in attendance, and the former, on seeing her daughter-in-law, exclaimed, 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 tone 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 affection 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," replied 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 frightful 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," replied Judith. "During the last month, I have nursed more than a dozen patients, and never knew any of them so violent. I 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 I shan't be wanted any more," observed Kerrich, "now you're come back to nurse your husband, Mrs. Malmayns? 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'll insure you against the pestilence."

Kerrich 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 Kerrich hasn't got the plague?" said the old woman, in a tremulous tone.

"I am afraid he has," replied the daughter-in-law, "but I didn't like to alarm him."

"Mercy on us!" cried the other, getting up. "What a dreadful scourge it is."

"You would say so, if you had seen whole families swept off by it, as I have," replied Judith. "But it mostly attacks old persons and children."

"Lord help us!" 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 tremblingly 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 I 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, entertained 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.

"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 preparing 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 life. 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."

"No 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," rejoined 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!" 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," replied Judith, impatiently. "Good-night, 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 I 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 condition. 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 ointment. The man offered to place the blankets on the pallet, but Judith would not let him.

"I can do it 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," replied 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 permit, 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 loud 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 sexton; "Dr. 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 wife, 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, producing a pot of dark-coloured ointment, and rubbing his shoulder with it. "It was given me by Sibbald, the apothecary of Clerkenwell 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 I ever put under ground."

"He is making his fortune now," said Judith.

"By the plague, eh?" replied Matthew. "I don't envy him. Money so gained won't stick to him. He will never prosper."

"I wish you 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 be," 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 mocking laugh,—"a secret hoard—a chest of gold—ha! ha!"

"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 better not 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 will 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 me," replied 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," replied 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 my 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 incredulity. "I don't believe a word you tell me. You have found no treasure."

"If this is the last word I shall ever utter, I have," he returned; —"a mighty treasure. But you shall never possess it—never!—ah! ah!"

"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.

"I am chilled to the heart," grasped the sexton, shivering from 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 delirious, 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 assumed, 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."

VIII.

THE MOSAICAL RODS.

In pursuance of their design of seeking out an astrologer, Maurice 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, protected by a grating, was open 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 anteroom, 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 rose on their appearance, and gravely but courteously saluted them. He was a tall man, somewhat advanced in life, being then about sixty-three, with an aquiline 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 penetrating, and yet there were certain indications of credulity about it, showing that he was as likely to be imposed upon himself as to delude others. It is scarcely necessary to say that this way Lilly.

The person on his right, whose name was John Booker, and who, like himself, was a proficient in astrology, was so buried in calculation, 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 Manchester, 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 successful 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 Saint Paul's, named Thomas 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, and 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 ask your 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 information 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," replied Wyvil.

"So I inferred from your appearance, sir," rejoined Lilly, smiling. "Venus was strong in your nativity, though well-dignified; and I should, therefore, say you were not unfrequently entangled 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," replied Wyvil.

"Is she of your own rank?" asked Lilly.

"Scarcely so," replied 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 Venus 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 hopeless. I should recommend you to persevere."

"Juggler!" exclaimed "Wyvil between his teeth.

"I am no juggler!" replied Lilly, angrily; "and to prove I am 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 acquaintance with our features, I pretend not to determine."

"In either case, my lord,—for it is useless, since you have 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 frankness, "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 questions 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 Monarchy 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 blind 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 12th 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 calculations 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."

"Undoubtedly," replied Booker.

"I am all impatience to search for it," said Quatremain. "Let us 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 slight preparation, Lilly produced two hazel 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 mattocks, 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 subterranean 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 had 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 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 the 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, renewing 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; 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 like 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.

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 ascertain the state of health of the rest of the family. Satisfied that all the household (including Blaize, who, being a little out of order from the quantity of medicine he had swallowed, kept his bed) were uninfected, he went upstairs, and finding the two boys quite well, and playing with their little sister Christiana, in the happy unconsciousness 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 engaged. 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."

"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 little doubt of bringing the youth round."

"You reconcile me to the deprivation, doctor," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel; "but can you insure my husband against the distemper?"

"I can insure 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 downstairs."

"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 profession, 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 describe 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 worth. Never, I grieve to say, was there a season when such universal profligacy prevailed as at present. Never was it so necessary for a young maiden, possessed of beauty like yours, to act with discretion. Never was a court so licentious as that of our sovereign, 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 immorality 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 guard upon your conduct."

Amabel faintly murmured her thanks.

"You speak as my husband himself would have spoken," said Mrs. Bloundel. "Ah! we little 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 replied, drawing a small miniature from her bosom.

"I am glad I 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 from contamination?"

"As I live, I am," she replied. "But you recognise the likeness?"

"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."

Uttering an exclamation of surprise and terror, Amabel fell back in her chair.

"I thought it must be that wicked nobleman," cried Mrs. Bloundel. "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."