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
was Lilly.
The person on his right, whose name was John Booker, and who, like
himself, was a proficient in astrology, was so buried in 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.