disguise as a page, and her forcible abduction by Parravicin. He was
frequently interrupted by the groans of his hearer, who at last gave
vent to his rage and anguish in words.
"Heaven's direst curse upon her ravisher!" he cried. "May he endure
worse misery than I now endure. She is lost for ever."
"She may yet be preserved," rejoined Leonard. "Doctor Hodges thinks he
has discovered her retreat, and I will not rest till I find her."
"No--no, you will never find her," replied the piper, bitterly; "or if
you do, it will be only to bewail her ruin."
His rage then gave way to such an access of grief, that, letting his
head fall on Leonard's shoulder, he wept aloud.
"There is a secret connected with that poor girl," he said, at length,
controlling his emotion by a powerful effort, "which must now go to the
grave with me. The knowledge of it would only add to her distress."
"You view the matter too unfavourably," replied Leonard; "and if the
secret is of any moment, I entreat you to confide it to me. If your
worst apprehensions should prove well founded, I promise you it shall
never be revealed to her."
"On that condition only, I will confide it to you," replied the piper;
"but not now--not now--to-morrow morning, if I am alive."
"It may be out of your power then," returned Leonard, "For your
daughter's sake, I urge you not to delay."
"It is for her sake I am silent," rejoined the piper. "Come along--come
along," he added, hurrying forward. "Are we far from the pest-house? My
strength is failing me."
On arriving at their destination, they were readily admitted to the
asylum; but a slight difficulty arose, which, however, was speedily
obviated. All the couches were filled, but on examining them it was
found that one of the sick persons had just been released from his
sufferings, and the body being removed, the piper was allowed to take
its place. Leonard remained by him for a short time, but, overpowered by
the pestilential effluvia, and the sight of so many miserable objects,
he was compelled to seek the open air. Returning, however, shortly
afterwards, he found the piper in a very perturbed state. On hearing
Leonard's voice he appeared greatly relieved, and, taking his gown from
beneath his pillow, gave it to him, and desired him to unrip a part of
the garment, in which it was evident something was sewn. The apprentice
complied, and a small packet dropped forth.
"Take it," said the piper; "and if I die,--and Nizza should happily be
preserved from her ravisher, give it her. But not otherwise--not
otherwise. Implore her to forgive me--to pity me."
"Forgive you--her father?" cried Leonard, in astonishment.
"That packet will explain all," replied the piper in a troubled tone.
"You promised to take charge of poor Bell," he added, drawing forth the
little animal, who had crept to the foot of the bed, "here she is.
Farewell! my faithful friend," he added, pressing his rough lips to her
forehead, while she whined piteously, as if beseeching him to allow her
to remain; "farewell for ever."
"Not for ever, I trust," replied Leonard, taking her gently from him.
"And now you had better go," said the piper. "Return, if you can,
to-morrow."
"I will,--I will," replied Leonard; and he hurried out of the room.
He was followed to the door by the young chirurgeon--the same who had
accompanied Mr. Bloundel during his inspection of the pest-house,--and
he inquired of him if he thought the piper's case utterly hopeless.
"Not utterly so," replied the young man. "I shall be able to speak more
positively in a few hours. At present, I think, with care and attention,
there _is_ a chance of his recovery."
Much comforted by this assurance, Leonard departed, and afraid to put
Bell to the ground lest she should run back to her master, he continued
to carry her, and endeavoured to attach her to him by caresses and
endearments. The little animal showed her sense of his kindness by
licking his hands, but she still remained inconsolable, and ever and
anon struggled to get free. Making the best of his way to Wood-street,
he entered the hutch, and placing a little straw in one corner for Bell,
threw himself on a bench and dropped asleep. At six o'clock he was
awakened by the barking of the dog, and opening the door beheld
Dallison. The grocer was at the window above, and about to let down a
basket of provisions to them. To Leonard's eager inquiries after Amabel,
Mr. Bloundel replied by a melancholy shake of the head, and soon
afterwards withdrew. With a sad heart, the apprentice then broke his
fast,--not forgetting at the same time the wants of his little
companion,--and finding he was not required by his master, he proceeded
to Doctor Hodges' residence. He was fortunate enough to find the
friendly physician at home, and, after relating to him what had
occurred, committed the packet to his custody.
"It will be safer in your keeping than mine," he said; "and if anything
should happen to me, you will, I am sure, observe the wishes of the poor
piper."
"Rely upon it, I will," replied Hodges. "I am sorry to tell you I have
been misled as to the clue I fancied I had obtained to Nizza's retreat.
We are as far from the mark as ever."
"Might not the real name of the villain who has assumed the name of Sir
Paul Parravicin be ascertained from the Earl of Rochester?" rejoined
Leonard.
"So I thought," replied Hodges; "and I made the attempt yesterday, but
it failed. I was at Whitehall, and finding the earl in the king's
presence, suddenly asked him where I could find his friend Sir Paul
Parravicin. He looked surprised at the question, glanced significantly
at the monarch, and then carelessly answered that he knew no such
person."
"A strange idea crosses me," cried Leonard. "Can it be the king who has
assumed this disguise?"
"At one time I suspected as much," rejoined Hodges; "but setting aside
your description of the person, which does not tally with that of
Charles, I am satisfied from other circumstances it is not so. After
all, I should not wonder if poor Bell," smoothing her long silky ears as
she lay in the apprentice's arms, "should help us to discover her
mistress. And now," he added, "I shall go to Wood-street to inquire
after Amabel, and will then accompany you to the pest-house. From what
you tell me the young chirurgeon said of the piper, I do not despair of
his recovery."
"Poor as his chance may appear, it is better, I fear, than Amabel's,"
sighed the apprentice.
"Ah!" exclaimed Hodges, in a sorrowful tone, "hers is slight indeed."
And perceiving that the apprentice was greatly moved, he waited for a
moment till he had recovered himself, and then, motioning him to follow
him, they quitted the house together.
On reaching Mr. Bloundel's habitation, Leonard pulled the cord in the
hutch, and the grocer appeared at the window.
"My daughter has not left her bed this morning," he said, in answer to
the doctor's inquiries, "and I fear she is much worse. My wife is with
her. It would be a great satisfaction to me if you would see her again."
After some little hesitation, Hodges assented, and was drawn up as
before. He returned in about half an hour, and his grave countenance
convinced Leonard that his worst anticipations were correct. He
therefore forbore to question him, and they walked towards Cripplegate
in silence.
On emerging into the fields, Hodges observed to his companion, "It is
strange that I who daily witness such dreadful suffering should be
pained by the gradual and easy decline of Amabel. But so it is. Her case
touches me more than the worst I have seen of the plague."
"I can easily account for the feeling," groaned Leonard.
"I am happy to say I have prevailed on her, if she does not improve in a
short time,--and there is not the slightest chance of it,--to try the
effect of a removal to the country. Her father also consents to the
plan."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Leonard. "But whither will she go, and
who will watch over her?"
"That is not yet settled," rejoined Hodges.
"Oh! that I might be permitted to undertake the office!" cried Leonard,
passionately.
"Restrain yourself," said Hodges, in a tone of slight rebuke. "Fitting
attendance will be found, if needed."
The conversation then dropped, and they walked briskly forward. They
were now within a short distance of the pest-house, and Leonard, hearing
footsteps behind him, turned and beheld a closed litter, borne by two
stout porters, and evidently containing a plague-patient. He stepped
aside to let it pass, when Bell, suddenly pricking her ears, uttered a
singular cry, and bursting from him, flew after the litter, leaping
against it and barking joyfully. The porters, who were proceeding at a
quick pace, tried to drive her away, but without effect, and she
continued her cries until they reached the gates of the pest-house. In
vain Leonard whistled to her, and called her back. She paid no attention
whatever to him.
"I almost begin to fear," said Hodges, unable to repress a shudder,
"that the poor animal will, indeed, be the means of discovering for us
the object of our search."
"I understand what you mean," rejoined Leonard, "and am of the same
opinion as yourself. Heaven grant we may be mistaken!"
And as he spoke, he ran forward, and, followed by Hodges, reached the
pest-house just as the litter was taken into it.
"Silence that accursed dog," cried one of the porters, "and bid a nurse
attend us. We have a patient for the women's ward."
"Let me see her," cried Hodges. "I am a physician."
"Readily, sir," replied the porter. "It is almost over with her, poor
soul! It would have saved time and trouble to take her to the plague-pit
at once. She cannot last many hours. Curse the dog! Will it never cease
howling?"
Leonard here seized Bell, fearing she might do some mischief, and with a
sad foreboding beheld the man draw back the curtains of the litter. His
fears proved well founded. There, stretched upon the couch, with her
dark hair unbound, and flowing in wild disorder over her neck, lay Nizza
Macascree. The ghastly paleness of her face could not, however, entirely
rob it of its beauty, and her dark eyes were glazed and lustreless. At
the sight of her mistress, poor Bell uttered so piteous a cry, that
Leonard, moved by compassion, placed her on the pillow beside her, and
the sagacious animal did not attempt to approach nearer, but merely
licked her cheek. Roused by the touch, Nizza turned to see what was near
her, and recognising the animal, made a movement to strain her to her
bosom, but the pain she endured was so intense that she sank back with a
deep groan.
"From whom did you receive this young woman?" demanded Hodges, of one of
the porters.
"She was brought to us by two richly-attired lacqueys," replied the man,
"in this very litter. They paid us to carry her here without loss of
time."
"You have an idea whose servants they were?" pursued Hodges.
"Not the least," replied the fellow; "but I should judge, from the
richness of their dress, that they belonged to some nobleman."
"Did they belong to the royal household?" inquired Leonard.
"No, no," rejoined the man. "I am certain as to that."
"The poor girl shall not remain here," observed Hodges, to the
apprentice. "You must convey her to my residence in Great
Knightrider-street," he added, to the porters.
"We will convey her wherever you please," replied the men, "if we are
paid for our trouble."
And they were about to close the curtains, when Nizza, having caught
sight of the apprentice, slightly raised herself, and cried, in a voice
of the utmost anxiety, "Is that you, Leonard?"
"It is," he replied, approaching her.
"Then I shall die happy, since I have seen you once more," she said.
"Oh, do not stay near me. You may catch the infection."
"Nizza," said Leonard, disregarding the caution, and breathing the words
in her ear; "allay my fears by a word. You have not fallen a victim to
the villain who carried you away?"
"I have not, Leonard," she replied, solemnly, "I resisted his
importunities, his threats, his violence, and would have slain myself
rather than have yielded to him. The plague, at length, came to my
rescue, and I have reason to be grateful to it; for it has not only
delivered me from him, but has brought me to you."
"I must now impose silence upon you," interposed Hodges, laying his
finger on his lips; "further conversation will be hurtful."
"One question more, and I have done," replied Nizza. "How came Bell with
you--and where is my father? Nothing has happened to him?" she
continued, observing Leonard's countenance change. "Speak! do not keep
me in suspense. Your silence fills me with apprehension. Speak, I
implore you. He is dead?"
"No," replied Leonard, "he is not dead--but he is an inmate of this
place."
"Ah!" exclaimed Nizza, falling back senseless upon the pillow.
And in this state she was conveyed with the greatest expedition to the
doctor's residence.
Leonard only tarried to visit the piper, whom he found slightly
delirious, and unable to hold any conversation with him, and promising
to return in the evening, he set out after the litter. Nizza was placed
in the best apartment of the doctor's house, and attended by an
experienced and trustworthy nurse. But Hodges positively refused to let
Leonard see her again, affirming that the excitement was too much for
her, and might militate against the chance of her recovery.
"I am not without hopes of bringing her through," he said, "and though
it will be a severe struggle, yet, as she has youth and a good
constitution on her side, I do not despair. If she herself would second
me, I should be yet more confident."
"How mean you?" inquired Leonard.
"I think if she thought life worth a struggle--if, in short, she
believed you would return her attachment, she would rally," answered
Hodges.
"I cannot consent to deceive her thus," rejoined Leonard, sadly. "My
heart is fixed elsewhere."
"Your heart is fixed upon one who will soon be in her grave," replied
the doctor.
"And with her my affections will be buried," rejoined Leonard, turning
away to hide his tears.
So well was the doctor's solicitude rewarded, that three days after
Nizza had come under his care, he pronounced her out of danger. But the
violence of the attack left her so weak and exhausted, that he still
would not allow an interview to take place between her and Leonard.
During all this time Bell never left her side, and her presence was an
inexpressible comfort to her. The piper, too, was slowly recovering, and
Leonard, who daily visited him, was glad to learn from the young
chirurgeon that he would be able to leave the pest-house shortly. Having
ascertained from Leonard that his daughter was under the care of Doctor
Hodges, and likely to do well, the piper begged so earnestly that the
packet might not be delivered to her, that, after some consultation with
Hodges, Leonard restored it to him. He was delighted to get it back,
felt it carefully over to ascertain that the seals were unbroken, and
satisfied that all was safe, had it again sewn up in his gown, which he
placed under his pillow.
"I would rather disclose the secret to her by word of mouth than in any
other way," he said.
Leonard felt doubtful whether the secret would now be disclosed at all,
but he made no remark.
Night was drawing on as he quitted the pest-house, and he determined to
take this opportunity of visiting the great plague-pit, which lay about
a quarter of a mile distant, in a line with the church of
All-Hallows-in-the-Wall, and he accordingly proceeded in that direction.
The pit which he was about to visit was about forty feet long, twenty
wide, and the like number deep. Into this tremendous chasm the dead were
promiscuously thrown, without regard to sex or condition, generally
stripped of their clothing, and covered with a slight layer of earth and
quick lime.
The sun was setting as Leonard walked towards this dismal place, and he
thought he had never witnessed so magnificent a sight. Indeed, it was
remarked that at this fatal season the sunsets were unusually splendid.
The glorious orb sank slowly behind Saint Paul's, which formed a
prominent object in the view from the fields, and threw out its central
tower, its massive roof, and the two lesser towers flanking the portico,
into strong relief. Leonard gazed at the mighty fabric, which seemed
dilated to twice its size by this light, and wondered whether it was
possible that it could ever be destroyed, as predicted by Solomon Eagle.
Long after the sun had set, the sky was stained with crimson, and the
grey walls of the city were tinged with rosy radiance. The heat was
intense, and Leonard, to cool himself, sat down in the thick grass--for,
though the crops were ready for the scythe, no mowers could be
found--and, gazing upwards, strove to mount in spirit from the tainted
earth towards heaven. After a while he arose, and proceeded towards the
plague-pit. The grass was trampled down near it, and there were marks of
frequent cart-wheels upon the sod. Great heaps of soil, thrown out of
the excavation, lay on either side. Holding a handkerchief steeped in
vinegar to his face, Leonard ventured to the brink of the pit. But even
this precaution could not counteract the horrible effluvia arising from
it. It was more than half filled with dead bodies; and through the
putrid and heaving mass many disjointed limbs and ghastly faces could be
discerned, the long hair of women and the tiny arms of children
appearing on the surface. It was a horrible sight--so horrible, that it
possessed a fascination peculiar to itself, and, in spite of his
loathing, Leonard lingered to gaze at it. Strange and fantastic thoughts
possessed him. He fancied that the legs and arms moved--that the eyes of
some of the corpses opened and glared at him--and that the whole rotting
mass was endowed with animation. So appalled was he by this idea that he
turned away, and at that moment beheld a vehicle approaching. It was the
dead-cart, charged with a heavy load to increase the already redundant
heap.
The same inexplicable and irresistible feelings of curiosity that
induced Leonard to continue gazing upon the loathly objects in the pit,
now prompted him to stay and see what would ensue. Two persons were with
the cart, and one of them, to Leonard's infinite surprise and disgust,
proved to be Chowles. He had no time, however, for the expression of any
sentiment, for the cart halted at a little distance from him, when its
conductors, turning it round, backed it towards the edge of the pit. The
horse was then taken out, and Chowles calling to Leonard, the latter
involuntarily knelt down to guide its descent, while the other
assistant, who had proceeded to the further side of the chasm, threw the
light of a lantern full upon the grisly load, which was thus shot into
the gulf below.
Shovelling a sufficient quantity of earth and lime into the pit to cover
the bodies, Chowles and his companion departed, leaving Leonard alone.
He continued there a few moments longer, and was about to follow them,
when a prolonged and piercing cry smote his ear; and, looking in the
direction of the sound, he perceived a figure running with great
swiftness towards the pit. As no pursuers appeared, Leonard could
scarcely doubt that this was one of the distracted persons he had heard
of, who, in the frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of their
sores, would often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and he
therefore resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt.
Accordingly, he placed himself in the way of the runner, and
endeavoured, with outstretched arms, to stop him. But the latter dashed
him aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit,
uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, "She is here! she is here!--I
shall find her amongst them!"--flung himself into the abyss.
As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this dreadful
action, Leonard ran to the pit, and, gazing into it, beheld him by the
imperfect light struggling in the horrible mass in which he was
partially immersed. The frenzied man had now, however, begun to repent
his rashness, and cried out for aid. But this Leonard found it
impossible to afford him; and, seeing he must speedily perish if left to
himself, he ran after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as it
reached Moor-gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him to
return.
"There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, in a tone
of indifference. "We shall have to take him back in a couple of hours.
No, no--let him remain where he is. There is scarcely a night that some
crazy being does not destroy himself in the same way. We never concern
ourselves about such persons except to strip them of their apparel."
"Unfeeling wretch!" cried Leonard, unable to restrain his indignation.
"Give me your fork, and I will pull him out myself."
Instead of surrendering the implement, Chowles flourished it over his
head with the intention of striking the apprentice, but the latter
nimbly avoided the blow, and snatching it from his grasp, ran back to
the plague-pit. He was followed by Chowles and the burier, who
threatened him with loud oaths. Regardless of their menaces, Leonard
fixed the hook in the dress of the struggling man, and exerting all his
strength, drew him out of the abyss. He had just lodged him in safety on
the brink when Chowles and his companion came up.
"Keep off!" cried Leonard, brandishing his fork as he spoke; "you shall
neither commit robbery nor murder here. If you will assist this
unfortunate gentleman, I have no doubt you will be well rewarded. If
not, get hence, or advance at your peril."
"Well," returned Chowles, who began to fancy something might be made of
the matter, "if you think we should be rewarded, we would convey the
gentleman back to his own home provided we can ascertain where it is.
But I am afraid he may die on the way."
"In that case you can apply to his friends," rejoined Leonard. "He must
not be abandoned thus."
"First, let us know who he is," returned Chowles. "Is he able to speak?"
"I know not," answered Leonard. "Bring the lantern this way, and let us
examine his countenance."
Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate person. His
attire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied by the loathsome
mass in which he had been plunged. He was in the flower of youth, and
his features must have been remarkable for their grace and beauty, but
they were now of a livid hue, and swollen and distorted by pain. Still
Leonard recognised them.
"Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed. "It is Sir Paul Parravicin."
"Sir Paul Parravicin!" echoed Chowles. "By all that's wonderful, so it
is! Here is a lucky chance! Bring the dead-cart hither, Jonas--quick,
quick! I shall put him under the care of Judith Malmayns."
And the burier hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Had I known who it was," exclaimed Leonard, gazing with abhorrence at
the miserable object before him, "I would have left him to die the death
he so richly merits!"
A deep groan broke from the sufferer.
"Have no fear, Sir Paul," said Chowles. "You are in good hands. Every
care shall be taken of you, and you shall be cured by Judith Malmayns."
"She shall not come near me," rejoined Parravicin, faintly. "You will
take care of me?" he added in an imploring tone, to Leonard.
"You appeal in vain to me," rejoined the apprentice, sternly. "You are
justly punished for your treatment of Nizza Macascree."
"I am--I am," groaned Parravicin, "but she will be speedily avenged. I
shall soon join her in that pit."
"She is not there," replied Leonard, bitterly, "She is fast recovering
from the plague."
"Is she not dead?" demanded Parravicin, with frightful eagerness. "I was
told she was thrown into that horrible chasm."
"You were deceived," replied Leonard. "She was taken to the pest-house
by your orders, and would have perished if she had not found a friend to
aid her. She is now out of danger."
"Then I no longer desire to die," cried Parravicin, desperately. "I will
live--live."
"Do not delude yourself," replied Leonard, coldly; "you have little
chance of recovery, and should employ the short time left you in praying
to Heaven for forgiveness of your sins."