X. THE PEST-HOUSE 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 overpowered by conflicting emotions that she could not speak; while her father, who could not help reproaching himself for the harshness 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 transports 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 regained their composure, when he wished to have some serious conversation 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 among the crowd, and addressing inquiries to all whom he thought likely to afford him information, he perceived a man pushing his way towards him. As this person drew near, he recognised Pillichody, and would have got out of his way had it been possible.
"You are looking for your apprentice, I understand, Mr. Bloundel," 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 apprentice 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 tête-à-tête in Bishop Kempe's chapel with Nizza Macascree, the blind piper's daughter."
"It is false, sir," replied the grocer, incredulously.
"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 I will convince you that I speak the truth, and if you have any shame in your composition, 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 Pillichody, 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 already 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 forgiveness, 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 destroyed. 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 inexcusable."
"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 caution. 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 continued, "do not the repeated proofs you have received of this wicked nobleman's perfidy, and of Leonard's devotion—do they not, I say, open your eyes to the truth, and show you which of the two really loves you, and merits your regard?"
"I will hide nothing from you, mother," replied Amabel. "In spite of his perfidy, in spite of my conviction of his unworthiness, 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 would shut up his house. That 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 yourself, 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. He remained in the shop all day, except at meal-times, when he said little, and appeared to be labouring under a great weight of anxiety. As Amabel took leave of him for the night, he dismissed her with coldness; and though he bestowed his customary blessing upon her, the look that accompanied it was not such as it used to be.
On the following day things continued in the same state. The grocer was cold and inscrutable, and his wife, fearing he was meditating some severe course against Amabel, and aware of his inflexible nature, if a resolution was once formed, shook off her habitual awe, and thus addressed him:
"I fear you have not forgiven our daughter. Be not too hasty in your judgment. However culpable she may appear, she has been as much deceived as yourself."
"It may be so," replied Bloundel. "Still she has acted with such indiscretion that I can never place confidence in her again, and without confidence affection is as nought. Can I say to him who may seek her in marriage, and whom I may approve as a husband,—'Take her! she has never deceived me, and will never deceive you?' No. She has deceived me, and will, therefore, deceive others. I do not know the precise truth of the story of her abduction (if such it was) by Leonard Holt, neither do I wish to know it, because I might be compelled to act with greater severity than I desire towards her. But I know enough to satisfy me she has been excessively imprudent, and has placed herself voluntarily in situations of the utmost jeopardy."
"Not voluntarily," returned Mrs. Bloundel. "She has been lured into difficulties by others."
"No more!" interrupted the grocer, sternly. "If you wish to serve her, keep guard upon your tongue. If you have any preparations to make, they must not be delayed. I shall shut up my house to-morrow."
"Whether Leonard returns or not?" asked Mrs. Bloundel.
"I shall wait for no one," returned her husband, 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 Saint Paul's to see whether he could obtain any tidings of him, and learnt, to his great dismay, from one of the vergers, that a young man, answering to the description of the apprentice, had been attacked by the pestilence, and having been taken to the vaults of Saint Faith's, had 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 conveyed, 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 hastened 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 recently 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 entering 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 apprentice, if you think proper."
Mr. Bloundel hesitated, but his humanity overcame his apprehension, 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 anticipations. 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 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 appeared, 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 blinded gaze to discover Leonard, but, as will be anticipated, 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 narrowly scrutinized every countenance; but, to his great relief, recognised 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 unaccomplished. 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; namely, that the limbs of these unfortunate victims of the pestilence 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 departed. Convinced that he had been deceived by the coffin-maker, he now began to hope that the whole story was false; but he determined 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 toward Cripplegate, and, passing through the postern, stopped at an apothecary's shop, and got his apparel fumigated and sprinkled with spirits of hartshorn and sulphur.
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 extraordinary brilliancy. His figure was slight and erect, and his gestures as impassioned as his looks. He spoke with great rapidity; and his eloquence, combined with his fervent manner and expression, completely entranced his audience. He was habited in a cassock 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 religious habits and general excellence of character, held him up as an example to 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 slight 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 retaliated, and a general affray 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 the most opprobrious epithets, dealt him several seemingly severe blows, and would have further maltreated him, if Mr. Bloundel had not interposed, and, pushing aside his assailants, gave 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 have received a blow on the head, which has stunned me. The faintness will go off presently. You were the cause of this disturbance, Bambolio."
"I, Doctor Maplebury?" replied Bambolio. "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 you in his discourse, and which I am persuaded you deserve, you will extend your hospitality towards him."
"Readily," replied the grocer. "Here, Blaize, assist the reverend gentleman within, and bid your mistress come down stairs immediately."
Doctor Maplebury was then conveyed between the porter and Bambolio into the inner room, where he sank into a chair in a complete 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 restoratives. These applied, Doctor Maplebury was soon able to rouse himself 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 to 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 Patience. "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'll 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."
XI. HOW THE GROCER SHUT UP HIS HOUSE.
Placed in a warm bed, and carefully tended by the humane physician, 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 his wants; and, provisions being set before him, 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 composition, she would worthily requite you. But I do not expect it. How different is her conduct from that of the piper's pretty daughter. 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, alas! I cannot. Amabel does not love the Earl of Rochester more blindly, more constantly, than I 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 I trust I shall be able to arrange matters without compromising Amabel. I wish I could forward your suit 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 qualities of your noble rival at present so dazzle her eyes, that your own solid worth is completely overlooked. It 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," observed 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 upstairs, 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," 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 embarrassment that for some minutes 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 motive, when I ask you whether you still retain the same affection as formerly for Amabel?"
"Unfortunately for myself, I do," replied Leonard.
"And unfortunately for me too," sighed Nizza. "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 sedulously avoid you. Till I saw you, I was happy, and indifferent to all else, my affections being centred in my father and in my dog. Now I am restless and miserable. My former pursuits are abandoned, 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 I had not resolved to see you no more."
"Despise you!" echoed Leonard. "On 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 counsel me to shun."
"It is too true," replied Leonard; "but she is beset by temptations from which I hope to preserve her."
"That excuse will not avail 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 I 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 agony 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 like 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 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 accomplished 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 Tyburn. But to change the subject. I am sincerely interested about you, Nizza, and I 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 concerning 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 Judith, it could not be brought home to them.
We shall now proceed to Wood-street, and ascertain what took place there. Refreshments were placed before the supposed Doctor Maplebury 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 control, and will live quite as well as his lordship."
"I have some scruples," hesitated Blaize.
"Scruples! pshaw!" cried Pillichody. "You can have no hesitation 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 Rochester, you will dwell in a magnificent country mansion—a palace, I ought to 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 Blaise. "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 Pillichody. "I will take care of you. You shall be my housekeeper."
"Hold!" cried Blaize. "I cannot admit 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 Pillichody. "Consent, sweetheart," he added, in a whisper to Patience; "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 such a 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," returned Patience.
"I have just told you I will," rejoined Blaize. "But he must not continue his attentions. I feel I 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 as well to prepare 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 precisely to their views, and exerting his matchless conversational powers to their full extent, he so charmed them that they thought they could listen to him for ever. While thus engaged, he contrived ever and anon to steal a glance at Amabel, and on these occasions, 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 forward. Mr. Bloundel could not reprobate the earl's conduct more strongly than his guest did; and he assailed himself with such virulence that, in spite of her uneasiness, Amabel could not repress a smile. In short, he so accommodated himself to the grocer's opinion, and so won upon his regard, that the latter offered him an asylum in his house during the continuance of the pestilence. This was eagerly accepted, and the earl, hazarding a look at Amabel at the moment, perceived her change colour and become greatly agitated. Mrs. Bloundel also noticed her confusion, but attributing it to any other than the right cause, begged her, in a low tone, to control herself.
At length, the opportunity for which the earl had been secretly sighing occurred. Mr. Bloundel called his wife out of the room 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 you once more accompany 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 deceive 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 manner the vengeance of Heaven. I have had a severe struggle with myself. But at length 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 I 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 girl, I entreat of you," cried the earl imploringly. "Your indiscretion will ruin all. There are a thousand reasons why your father should not be consulted on the matter."
"There are none that weigh with me," she interrupted, decidedly. "I have been bewildered—beside myself,—but, thank Heaven, I have recovered before it is too late."
"You are beside yourself at this moment," cried Rochester, unable 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 Rochester'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 was not, however, kept long in suspense. Throwing 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 believe 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," replied 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," replied 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 repeated still more peremptorily, he repeated carelessly,—"I 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 Bloundel. 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 expression of her father's countenance.
"What are you about to do?" gasped Rochester, struggling 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. Bloundel. "Pray interfere between them. My husband will attend 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 recovery 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 I shall spend here for some months," he said; "perhaps 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.
BOOK THE THIRD.
JUNE, 1665.