a short time, and see what was done by Maurice Wyvil after the alarming
announcement made to him by the apprentice. Of a selfish nature and
ungovernable temper, and seeking only in the pursuit of the grocer's
daughter the gratification of his lawless desires, he was filled, in the
first instance, with furious disappointment at being robbed of the
prize, at the very moment he expected it to fall into his hands. But
this feeling was quickly effaced by anxiety respecting his mistress,
whose charms, now that there was every probability of losing her (for
Leonard's insinuation had led him to believe she was assailed by the
pestilence), appeared doubly attractive to him; and scarcely under the
governance of reason, he hurried towards Wood-street, resolved to force
his way into the house, and see her again, at all hazards. His wild
design, however, was fortunately prevented. As he passed the end of the
court leading to the ancient inn (for it was ancient even at the time of
this history), the Swan-with-two-Necks, in Lad-lane, a young man, as
richly attired as himself, and about his own age, who had seen him
approaching, suddenly darted from it, and grasping his cloak, detained
him.
"I thought it must be you, Wyvil," cried this person. "Where are you
running so quickly? I see neither angry father, nor jealous apprentice,
at your heels. What has become of the girl? Are you tired of her
already?"
"Let me go, Lydyard," returned Wyvil, trying to extricate himself from
his companion's hold, who was no other than the gallant that had
accompanied him on his first visit to the grocer's shop, and had played
his part so adroitly in the scheme devised between them to procure an
interview with Amabel,--"let me go, I say, I am in no mood for jesting."
"Why, what the plague is the matter?" rejoined Lydyard. "Has your
mistress played you false? Have you lost your wager?"
"The plague _is_ the matter," replied Wyvil, sternly. "Amabel is
attacked by it. I must see her instantly."
"The devil!" exclaimed Lydyard. "Here is a pretty termination to the
affair. But if this is really the case, you must _not_ see her. It is
one thing to be run through the arm,--which you must own I managed as
dexterously as the best master of fence could have done,--and lose a few
drops of blood for a mistress, but it is another to brave the plague on
her account."
"I care for nothing," replied Wyvil; "I _will_ see her."
"This is madness!" remonstrated Lydyard, still maintaining his grasp.
"What satisfaction will it afford you to witness her sufferings--to see
the frightful ravages made upon her charms by this remorseless
disease,--to throw her whole family into consternation, and destroy the
little chance she may have of recovery, by your presence? What good will
this do? No,--you must pay your wager to Sedley, and forget her."
"I cannot forget her," replied Wyvil. "My feelings have undergone a
total change. If I _am_ capable of real love, it is for her."
"Real love!" exclaimed Lydyard, in an incredulous tone. "If the subject
were not too serious, I should laugh in your face. No doubt you would
marry her, and abandon your design upon the rich heiress, pretty
Mistress Mallet, whom old Rowley recommended to your attention, and whom
the fair Stewart has more than half-won for you?"
"I would," replied the other, energetically.
"Nay, then, you are more insane than I thought you," rejoined Lydyard,
relinquishing his hold; "and the sooner you take the plague the better.
It may cure your present brain fever. I shall go back to Parravicin, and
the others. You will not require my assistance further."
"I know not," replied Wyvil, distractedly; "I have not yet given up my
intention of carrying off the girl."
"If you carry her oft in this state," rejoined the other, "it must be to
the pest-house. But who told you she was attacked by the plague?"
"Her father's apprentice," replied Wyvil.
"And you believed him?" demanded Lydyard, with a derisive laugh.
"Undoubtedly," replied Wyvil. "Why not?"
"Because it is evidently a mere trick to frighten you from the house,"
rejoined Lydyard. "I am surprised so shallow a device should succeed
with _you_."
"I wish I could persuade myself it was a trick," returned Wyvil. "But
the fellow's manner convinced me he was in earnest."
"Well, I will not dispute the point, though I am sure I am right,"
returned Lydyard. "But be not too precipitate. Since the apprentice has
seen you, some alteration may be necessary in your plans. Come with me
into the house. A few minutes can make no difference."
Wyvil suffered himself to be led up the court, and passing through a
door on the left, they entered a spacious room, across which ran a long
table, furnished at one end with wine and refreshments, and at the other
with cards and dice.
Three persons were seated at the table, the most noticeable of whom was
a dissipated-looking young man, dressed in the extremity of the
prevailing mode, with ruffles of the finest colbertine, three inches in
depth, at his wrists; a richly-laced cravat round his throat; white silk
hose, adorned with gold clocks; velvet shoes of the same colour as the
hose, fastened with immense roses; a silver-hilted sword, supported by a
broad embroidered silk band; and a cloak and doublet of
carnation-coloured velvet, woven with gold, and decorated with
innumerable glittering points and ribands. He had a flowing wig of
flaxen hair, and a broad-leaved hat, looped with a diamond buckle, and
placed negligently on the left side of his head. His figure was slight,
but extremely well formed; and his features might have been termed
handsome, but for their reckless and licentious expression. He was
addressed by his companions as Sir Paul Parravicin.
The person opposite to him, whose name was Disbrowe, and who was
likewise a very handsome young man, though his features were flushed and
disturbed, partly by the wine he had drunk, and partly by his losses at
play, was equipped in the splendid accoutrements of a captain in the
king's body-guard. His left hand convulsively clutched an empty purse,
and his eyes were fixed upon a large sum of money, which he had just
handed over to the knight, and which the latter was carelessly
transferring to his pocket.
The last of the three, whose looks betrayed his character--that of a
sharper and a bully--called himself Major Pillichody, his pretensions to
military rank being grounded upon his service (so ran his own statement,
though it was never clearly substantiated) in the king's army during the
civil wars. Major Pillichody was a man of remarkably fierce exterior.
Seamed with many scars, and destitute of the left eye, the orifice of
which was covered, with a huge black patch; his face was of a deep
mulberry colour, clearly attesting his devotion to the bottle; while his
nose, which was none of the smallest, was covered with "bubukles, and
whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire." He was of the middle size,
stoutly built, and given to corpulency, though not so much so as to
impair his activity. His attire consisted of a cloak and doublet of
scarlet cloth, very much stained and tarnished, and edged with gold
lace, likewise the worse for wear; jack-boots, with huge funnel tops;
spurs, with enormous rowels, and a rapier of preposterous length. He
wore his own hair, which was swart and woolly, like that of a negro; and
had beard and moustaches to match. His hat was fiercely cocked; his
gestures swaggering and insolent; and he was perpetually racking his
brain to invent new and extra-ordinary oaths.
"So soon returned!" cried Parravicin, as Wyvil appeared. "Accept my
congratulations?"
"And mine!" cried Pillichody. "We wild fellows have but to be seen to
conquer. Sugar and spice, and all that's nice!" he added, smacking his
lips, as he filled a glass from a long-necked bottle on the table; "May
the grocer's daughter prove sweeter than her father's plums, and more
melting than his butter! Is she without? Are we to see her?"
Wyvil made no answer, but, walking to the other end of the room, threw
himself into a chair, and, covering his face with his hands, appeared
wrapped in thought. Lydyard took a seat beside him, and endeavoured to
engage him in conversation; but, finding his efforts fruitless, he
desisted.
"Something is wrong," observed Parravicin, to the major. "He has been
foiled in his attempt to carry off the girl. Sedley has won his wager,
and it is a heavy sum. Shall we resume our play?" he added, to Disbrowe.
"I have nothing more to lose," observed the young man, filling a large
goblet to the brim, and emptying it at a draught. "You are master of
every farthing I possess."
"Hum!" exclaimed Parravicin, taking up a pack of cards, and snapping
them between his finger and thumb. "You are married, Captain Disbrowe?"
"What if I am?" cried the young man, becoming suddenly pale; "what if I
am?" he repeated.
"I am told your wife is beautiful," replied Parravicin.
"Beautiful!" ejaculated Pillichody; "by the well-filled coffers of the
widow of Watling-street! she is an angel. Beautiful is not the word:
Mrs. Disbrowe is divine!"
"You have never seen her," said the young man, sternly.
"Ha!--fire and fury! my word doubted," cried the major, fiercely. "I
have seen her at the play-houses, at the Mulberry-garden, at court, and
at church. Not seen her! By the one eye of a Cyclops, but I have! You
shall hear my description of her, and judge of its correctness.
_Imprimis_, she has a tall and majestic figure, and might be a queen for
her dignity."
"Go on," said Disbrowe, by no means displeased with the commencement.
"Secondly," pursued Pillichody, "she has a clear olive complexion,
bright black eyes, hair and brows to match, a small foot, a pretty
turn-up nose, a dimpling cheek, a mole upon her throat, the rosiest lips
imaginable, an alluring look--"
"No more," interrupted Disbrowe. "It is plain you have never seen her."
"Unbelieving pagan!" exclaimed the major, clapping his hand furiously
upon his sword. "I have done more--I have spoken with her."
"A lie!" replied Disbrowe, hurling a dice-box at his head.
"Ha!" roared Pillichody, in a voice of thunder, and pushing back his
chair till it was stopped by the wall. "Death and fiends! I will make
mincemeat of your heart, and send it as a love-offering to your wife."
And, whipping out his long rapier, he would have assaulted Disbrowe, if
Sir Paul had not interposed, and commanded him authoritatively to put up
his blade.
"You shall have your revenge in a safer way," he whispered.
"Well, Sir Paul," rejoined the bully, with affected reluctance, "as you
desire it, I will spare the young man's life. I must wash away the
insult in burgundy, since I cannot do so in blood."
With this, he emptied the flask next him, and called to a drawer, who
was in attendance, in an imperious tone, to bring two more bottles.
Parravicin, meanwhile, picked up the dice-box, and, seating himself,
spread a large heap of gold on the table.
"I mentioned your wife, Captain Disbrowe," he said, addressing the young
officer, who anxiously watched his movements, "not with any intention of
giving you offence, but to show you that, although you have lost your
money, you have still a valuable stake left."
"I do not understand you, Sir Paul," returned Disbrowe, with a look of
indignant surprise.
"To be plain, then," replied Parravicin, "I have won from you two
hundred pounds--all you possess. You are a ruined man, and, as such,
will run any hazard to retrieve your losses. I give you a last chance. I
will stake all my winnings, nay, double the amount, against your wife.
You have a key of the house you inhabit, by which you admit yourself at
all hours; so at least the major informs me. If I win, that key shall be
mine. I will take my chance for the rest. Do you understand me now?"
"I do," replied the young man, with concentrated fury. "I understand
that you are a villain. You have robbed me of my money, and would rob me
of my honour."
"These are harsh words, sir," replied the knight, calmly; "but let them
pass. We will play first, and fight afterwards. But you refuse my
challenge?"
"It is false!" replied Disbrowe, fiercely, "I accept it." And producing
a key, he threw it on the table. "My life is, in truth, set on the die,"
he added, with a desperate look--"for if I lose, I will not survive my
shame."
"You will not forget our terms," observed Parravicin. "I am to be your
representative to-night. You can return home to-morrow."
"Throw, sir--throw," cried the young man, fiercely.
"Pardon, me," replied the knight; "the first cast is with you. A single
main decides it."
"Be it so," returned Disbrowe, seizing the box. And as he shook the dice
with a frenzied air, the major and Lydyard drew near the table, and even
Wyvil roused himself to watch the result.
"Twelve!" cried Disbrowe, as he removed the box. "My honour is saved! My
fortune retrieved--Huzza!"
"Not so fast," returned Parravicin, shaking the box in his turn. "You
were a little too hasty," he added, uncovering the dice. "I am twelve,
too. We must throw again."
"This to decide," cried the young officer, again rattling the dice.
"Six!"
Parravicin smiled, took the box, and threw ten.
"Perdition!" ejaculated Disbrowe, striking his brow with his clenched
hand. "What devil tempted me to my undoing?--My wife trusted to this
profligate! Horror!--it must not be!"
"It is too late to retract," replied Parravicin, taking up the key, and
turning with a triumphant look to his friends.
Disbrowe noticed the smile, and stung beyond endurance, drew his sword,
and called to the knight to defend himself.
In an instant, passes were exchanged. But the conflict was brief.
Fortune, as before, declared herself in favour of Parravicin. He
disarmed his assailant, who rushed out of the room, uttering the wildest
ejaculations of rage and despair.
"I told you you should have your revenge," observed the knight to
Pillichody, as soon as Disbrowe was gone. "Is his wife really as
beautiful as you represent her?"
"Words are too feeble to paint her charms," replied the major. "Shafts
of Cupid! she must be seen to be appreciated."
"Enough!" returned Parravicin. "I have not made a bad night's work of
it, so far. I'faith, Wyvil, I pity you. To lose a heavy wager is
provoking enough--but to lose a pretty mistress is the devil."
"I have lost neither yet," replied Wyvil, who had completely recovered
his spirits, and joined in the general merriment occasioned by the
foregoing occurrence. "I have been baffled, not defeated. What say you
to an exchange of mistresses? I am so diverted with your adventure, that
I am half inclined to give you the grocer's daughter for Disbrowe's
wife. She is a superb creature--languid as a Circassian, and passionate
as an Andalusian."
"I can't agree to the exchange, especially after your rapturous
description," returned Parravicin, "but I'll stake Mrs. Disbrowe against
Amabel. The winner shall have both. A single cast shall decide, as
before."
"No," replied Wyvil, "I could not resign Amabel, if I lost. And the luck
is all on your side to-night."
"As you please," rejoined the knight, sweeping the glittering pile into
his pocket. "Drawer, another bottle of burgundy. A health to our
mistresses!" he added, quaffing a brimmer.
"A health to the grocer's daughter!" cried Wyvil, with difficulty
repressing a shudder, as he uttered the pledge.
"A health to the rich widow of Watling-street," cried Pillichody,
draining a bumper, "and may I soon call her mine!"
"I have no mistress to toast," said Lydyard; "and I have drunk wine
enough. Do not forget, gentlemen, that the plague is abroad."
"You are the death's-head at the feast, Lydyard," rejoined Parravicin,
setting down his glass. "I hate the idea of the plague. It poisons all
our pleasures. We must meet at noon to-morrow, at the Smyrna, to compare
notes as to our successes. Before we separate, can I be of any further
service to you, Wyvil? I came here to enjoy _your_ triumph; but, egad, I
have found so admirable a bubble in that hot-headed Disbrowe, whom I met
at the Smyrna, and brought here to while away the time, that I must
demand your congratulations upon _mine_."
"You have certainly achieved an easy victory over the husband," returned
Wyvil; "and I trust your success with the wife will be commensurate. I
require no further assistance. What I have to do must be done alone.
Lydyard will accompany me to the house, and then I must shift for
myself."
"Nay, we will all see you safe inside," returned Parravicin, "We shall
pass by the grocer's shop. I know it well, having passed it a hundred
times, in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of its lovely inmate."
"I am glad it _was_ a vain hope," replied Wyvil. "But I must scale a
wall to surprise the garrison."
"In that case you will need the rope-ladder," replied Lydyard; "it is in
readiness."
"I will carry it," said Pillichody, picking up the ladder which was
lying in a corner of the room, and throwing it over his shoulders.
"Bombs and batteries! I like to be an escalader when the forts of love
are stormed."
The party then set out. As they proceeded, Parravicin ascertained from
the major that Disbrowe's house was situated in a small street leading
out of Piccadilly, but as he could not be quite sure that he understood
his informant aright, he engaged him to accompany him and point it out.
By this time they had reached Wood-street, and keeping in the shade,
reconnoitred the house. But though Wyvil clapped his hands, blew a
shrill whistle, and made other signals, no answer was returned, nor was
a light seen at any of the upper windows. On the contrary, all was still
and silent as death.
The grocer's was a large, old-fashioned house, built about the middle of
the preceding century, or perhaps earlier, and had four stories, each
projecting over the other, till the pile seemed 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."