worthy of a fury.
"By my soul, you are wrong," cried Chowles. "I have never touched
it,--never even approached the hiding-place, except in your presence."
"Liar!" returned Judith, "the whole hoard is gone;--the plunder I
obtained in Newgate,--the Earl of Rochester's plate,--all the rings,
trinkets, and rich apparel I have picked up since,--everything is
gone;--and who but you can be the robber?"
"It is difficult to say," rejoined Chowles. "But I swear to you, you
suspect me wrongfully."
"Restore it," replied Judith, "or tell me where it is hidden. If not, I
will be the death of you!"
"Let us go to the hiding-place," replied Chowles, whose uneasiness was
not diminished by the menace. "You may be mistaken, and I hope you are."
Though he uttered the latter part of his speech with seeming confidence,
his heart misgave him. To conceal his trepidation, he snatched up a
lamp, and passing through the secret door, hurried along the narrow
stone passage. He was about to open the cell, when he perceived near it
the tall figure of the enthusiast.
"There is the robber," he cried to Judith. "I have found him. It is
Solomon Eagle. Villain! you have purloined our hoard!"
"I have done so," replied Solomon Eagle, "and I will carry off all other
spoil you may obtain. Think not to hide it from me. I can watch you when
you see me not, and track you when you suppose me afar off."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Chowles, trembling. "I begin to think he is
possessed of supernatural power," he added, in an undertone to Judith.
"Go on," pursued Solomon Eagle, "continue to plunder and destroy. Pursue
your guilty career, and see what reward you will reap."
"Restore what you have robbed us of," cried Judith in a menacing tone,
"or dread the consequences."
"Woman, you threaten idly," returned Solomon Eagle. "Your ill-gotten
treasure is gone--whither, you will never know. Get hence!" he added, in
a terrible tone, "or I will rid the earth of you both."
So awed were they by his voice and gestures, that they slunk away with a
discomfited air, and returned to the crypt.
"If we are always to be robbed in this manner," observed Chowles, "we
had better shift our quarters, and practise elsewhere."
"He shall not repeat the offence with impunity," returned Judith. "I
will speedily get rid of him."
"Beware!" cried a voice, which they recognised as that of Solomon Eagle,
though whence proceeding they could not precisely determine. The pair
looked at each other uneasily, but neither spoke a word.
Meanwhile, Leonard Holt did not omit to pay a daily visit to the
cathedral. It was a painful contemplation, and yet not without deep
interest, to behold the constant succession of patients, most of whom
were swept away by the scourge in the course of a couple of days, or
even in a shorter period. Out of every hundred persons attacked, five
did not recover; and whether the virulence of the distemper increased,
or the summer heats rendered its victims more easily assailable, certain
it is they were carried off far more expeditiously than before. Doctor
Hodges was unremitting in his attentions, but his zeal and anxiety
availed nothing. He had to contend with a disease over which medicine
exercised little control.
One morning, as he was about to enter the cathedral, he met Leonard
beneath the portico, and as soon as the latter caught sight of him, he
hurried towards him.
"I have been in search of you," he said, "and was about to proceed to
your residence. Mr. Bloundel wishes to see you immediately. Amabel is
worse."
"I will go with you at once," replied the doctor.
And they took the way to Wood-street.
"From a few words let fall by my master, I imagine he intends sending
Amabel into the country to-morrow," said Leonard, as they proceeded.
"I hope so," replied Hodges. "He has already delayed it too long. You
will be glad to hear that Nizza Macascree is quite recovered. To-morrow,
or the next day, she will be able to see you with safety."
"Heaven knows where I may be to-morrow," rejoined Leonard. "Wherever
Amabel goes, I shall not be far off."
"Faithful to the last!" exclaimed Hodges. "Well, I shall not oppose you.
We must take care the Earl of Rochester does not get a hint of our
proceeding. At this time a chance meeting (were it nothing more) might
prove fatal to the object of our solicitude."
Leonard said nothing, but the colour fled his cheek, and his lips
slightly quivered. In a few seconds more they reached the grocer's
house.
They found him at the window anxiously expecting them; and Doctor
Hodges, being drawn up in the same way as before, was conducted to
Amabel's chamber. She was reclining in an easy-chair, with the Bible on
her knee; and though she was much wasted away, she looked more lovely
than ever. A slight hectic flush increased the brilliancy of her eyes,
which had now acquired that ominous lustre peculiar to persons in a
decline. There were other distressing symptoms in her appearance which
the skilful physician well knew how to interpret. To an inexperienced
eye, however, she would have appeared charming. Nothing could exceed the
delicacy of her complexion, or the lovely mould of her features, which,
though they had lost much of their fulness and roundness, had gained in
expression; while the pencilled brows clearly traced upon her snowy
forehead, the long dark eyelashes shading her cheek, and the rich satin
tresses drooping over her shoulders, completed her attractions. Her
mother stood by her side, and not far from her sat little Christiana,
amusing herself with some childish toy, and ever and anon stealing an
anxious glance at her sister. Taking Amabel's arm, and sighing to
himself to think how thin it was, the doctor placed his finger upon her
pulse. Whatever might be his secret opinion, he thought fit to assume a
hopeful manner, and looking smilingly at her, said, "You are better than
I expected, but your departure to the country must not be deferred."
"Since it is my father's wish that I should do so," replied Amabel,
gently, "I am quite willing to comply. But I feel it will be of no
avail, and I would rather pass the rest of my life here than with
strangers. I cannot be happier than I am now."
"Perhaps not," replied Hodges; "but a few weeks spent in some salubrious
spot will remove all apprehensions as to your health. You will find your
strength return, and with it the desire of life."
"My life is in the hands of my Maker," replied Amabel, "and I am ready
to resign it whenever it shall be required of me. At the same time,
however anxious I may be to quit a world which appears a blank to me, I
would make every effort, for the sake of those whose happiness is dearer
to me than my own, to purchase a complete restoration to health. If my
father desires me to try a removal to the country, and you think it will
have a beneficial effect, I am ready to go. But do not urge it, unless
you think there is a chance of my recovery."
"I will tell you frankly," replied the doctor, "if you remain here, you
have not many weeks to live."
"But if I go, will you promise me health?" rejoined Amabel. "Do not
deceive me. Is there a hope?"
"Unquestionably," replied the doctor. "Change of air will work wonders."
"I beseech you not to hesitate--for my sake do not, dearest daughter,"
said Mrs. Bloundel, with difficulty repressing tears.
"And for mine," added her father, more firmly, yet with deep emotion.
"I have already expressed my readiness to accede to your wishes,"
replied Amabel. "Whenever you have made arrangements for me, I will set
out."
"And now comes the question--where is she to go?" remarked Hodges.
"I have a sister, who lives as housekeeper at Lord Craven's seat,
Ashdown Park," replied Mr. Bloundel. "She shall go thither, and her aunt
will take every care of her. The mansion is situated amid the Berkshire
hills, and the air is the purest and best in England."
"Nothing can be better," replied Hodges; "but who is to escort her
thither?"
"Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloundel. "He will gladly undertake the
office."
"No doubt," rejoined Hodges; "but cannot you go yourself?"
"Impossible!" returned the grocer, a shade passing over his countenance.
"Neither do I wish it," observed Amabel. "I am content to be under the
safeguard of Leonard."
"Amabel," said her father, "you know not what I shall endure in thus
parting with you. I would give all I possess to be able to accompany
you, but a sense of duty restrains me. I have taken the resolution to
remain here with my family during the continuance of the pestilence, and
I must abide by it. I little thought how severely my constancy would be
tried. But hard though it be, I must submit I shall commit you,
therefore, to the care of an all-merciful Providence, who will not fail
to watch over and protect you."
"Have no fear for me, father," replied Amabel; "and do not weep, dear
mother," she added to Mrs. Bloundel, who, unable to restrain her grief,
was now drowned in tears; "I shall be well cared for. If we meet no more
in this world, our reunion is certain in that to come. I have given you
much pain and uneasiness, but it will be an additional grief to me if I
think you feel further anxiety on my account."
"We do not, my dear child," replied Mr. Bloundel. "I am well assured all
is for the best, and if it pleases Heaven to spare you, I shall rejoice
beyond measure in your return. If not, I shall feel a firm reliance that
you will continue in the same happy frame, as at present, to the last,
and that we shall meet above, where there will be no further
separation."
"I cannot bear to part with her," cried Mrs. Bloundel, clasping her arms
round her daughter--"I cannot--I cannot!"
"Restrain yourself, Honora," said her husband; "you will do her an
injury."
"She must not be over excited," interposed Hodges, in a low tone, and
gently drawing the afflicted mother away. "The sooner," he added to Mr.
Bloundel, "she now sets out the better."
"I feel it," replied the grocer. "She shall start to-morrow morning."
"I will undertake to procure horses," replied Hodges, "and Leonard will
be ready at any moment."
With this, he took his leave, and descending by the pulley, communicated
to Leonard what had occurred.
In spite of his fears on her account, the prospect of again beholding
Amabel so transported the apprentice that he could scarcely attend to
what was said respecting her. When he grew calmer, it was arranged that
all should be in readiness at an early hour on the following morning;
that a couple of horses should be provided; and that Amabel should be
let down fully equipped for the journey. This settled, Leonard, at the
doctor's request, accompanied him to his residence.
They were scarcely out of sight, when a man, who had been concealed
behind the hutch, in such a position that not a word that had passed
escaped him, issued from his hiding-place, and darting down the first
alley on the right, made the best of his way to Whitehall.
Up to this time, Doctor Hodges had not judged it prudent to allow a
meeting between Leonard and Nizza Macascree, but now, from reasons of
his own, he resolved no longer to delay it. Accordingly, on reaching his
dwelling, he took the apprentice to her chamber. She was standing in a
pensive attitude, near a window which looked towards the river, and as
she turned on his entrance, Leonard perceived that her eyes were filled
with tears. Blushing deeply, she advanced towards him, and greeted him
with all the warmth of her affectionate nature. She had quite recovered
her good looks, and Leonard could not but admit that, had he seen her
before his heart was plighted to another, it must have been given to
her. Comparisons are ungracious, and tastes differ more perhaps as to
beauty than on any other point; but if Amabel and the piper's daughter
had been placed together, it would not have been difficult to determine
to which of the two the palm of superior loveliness should be assigned.
There was a witchery in the magnificent black eyes of the latter--in her
exquisitely-formed mouth and pearly teeth--in her clear nut-brown
complexion--in her dusky and luxuriant tresses, and in her light elastic
figure, with which more perfect but less piquant charms could not
compete. Such seemed to be the opinion of Doctor Hodges, for as he gazed
at her with unaffected admiration, he exclaimed, as if to himself--
"I'faith, if I had to choose between the two, I know which it would be."
This exclamation somewhat disconcerted the parties to whom it referred,
and the doctor did not relieve their embarrassment by adding, "Well, I
perceive I am in the way. You must have much to say to each other that
can in nowise interest me. Excuse me a moment, while I see that the
horses are ordered."
So saying, and disregarding Leonard's expostulating looks, he hurried
out of the room, and shut the door after him.
Hitherto, the conversation had been unrestrained and agreeable on both
sides, but now they were left alone together, neither appeared able to
utter a word. Nizza cast her eyes timidly on the ground, while Leonard
caressed little Bell, who had been vainly endeavouring by her gamesome
tricks to win his attention.
"Doctor Hodges spoke of ordering horses," said Nizza, at length breaking
silence. "Are you going on a journey?"
"I am about to take Amabel to Ashdown Park, in Berkshire, to-morrow
morning," replied Leonard. "She is dangerously ill."
"Of the plague?" asked Nizza, anxiously.
"Of a yet worse disorder," replied Leonard, heaving a deep sigh--"of a
broken heart."
"Alas! I pity her from my soul!" replied Nizza, in a tone of the deepest
commiseration. "Does her mother go with her?"
"No," replied Leonard, "I alone shall attend her. She will be placed
under the care of a near female relative at Ashdown."
"Would it not be better,--would it not be safer, if she is in the
precarious state you describe, that some one of her own sex should
accompany her?" said Nizza.
"I should greatly prefer it," rejoined Leonard, "and so I am sure would
Amabel. But where is such a person to be found?"
"I will go with you, if you desire it," replied Nizza, "and will watch
over her, and tend her as a sister."
"Are you equal to the journey?" inquired Leonard, somewhat doubtfully.
"Fully," replied Nizza. "I am entirely recovered, and able to undergo
far more fatigues than an invalid like Amabel."
"It will relieve me from a world of anxiety if this can be
accomplished," rejoined Leonard. "I will consult Doctor Hodges on the
subject on his return."
"What do you desire to consult me about?" cried the physician, who had
entered the room unobserved at this juncture.
The apprentice stated Nizza's proposal to him.
"I entirely approve of the plan," observed the doctor; "it will obviate
many difficulties. I have just received a message from Mr. Bloundel, by
Dallison, the porter, to say he intends sending Blaize with you. I will
therefore provide pillions for the horses, so that the whole party can
be accommodated."
He then sat down and wrote out minute instructions for Amabel's
treatment, and delivering the paper to Leonard, desired him to give it
to the housekeeper at Ashdown Park.
"Heaven only knows what the result of all this may be!" he exclaimed.
"But nothing must be neglected."
Leonard promised that his advice should be scrupulously attended to; and
the discourse then turning to Nizza's father, she expressed the utmost
anxiety to see him before she set out.
Hodges readily assented. "Your father has been discharged as cured from
the pest-house," he said, "and is lodged at a cottage, kept by my old
nurse, Dame Lucas, just without the walls, near Moorgate. I will send
for him."
"On no account," replied Nizza. "I will go to him myself."
"As you please," returned Hodges. "Leonard shall accompany you. You will
easily find the cottage. It is about two hundred yards beyond the gate,
on the right, near the old doghouses."
"I know the spot perfectly," rejoined Leonard.
"I would recommend you to put on a mask," observed the doctor to Nizza;
"it may protect you from molestation. I will find you one below."
Leading the way to a lower room, he opened a drawer, and, producing a
small loo mask, gave it her. The youthful pair then quitted the house,
Nizza taking Bell under her arm, as she intended leaving her with her
father. The necessity of the doctor's caution was speedily manifested,
for as they crossed Saint Paul's churchyard they encountered Pillichody,
who, glancing inquisitively at Nizza, seemed disposed to push his
inquiries further by attempting to take off her mask; but the fierce
look of the apprentice, who grasped his staff in a menacing manner,
induced him to abandon his purpose. He, however, followed them along
Cheapside, and would have continued the pursuit along the Old Jewry, if
Leonard had not come to a halt, and awaited his approach. He then took
to his heels, and did not again make his appearance.
As they reached the open fields and slackened their pace, Leonard deemed
it prudent to prepare his companion for her interview with her father by
mentioning the circumstance of the packet, and the important secret
which he had stated he had to disclose to her.
"I cannot tell what the secret can relate to, unless it is to my
mother," rejoined Nizza. "She died, I believe, when I was an infant. At
all events, I never remember seeing her, and I have remarked that my
father is averse to talking about her. But I will now question him. I
have reason to think this piece of gold," and she produced the amulet,
"is in some way or other connected with the mystery."
And she then explained to Leonard all that had occurred in the vault
when the coin had been shown to Judith Malmayns, describing the nurse's
singular look and her father's subsequent anger.
By this time, they had entered a narrow footpath leading across the
fields in the direction of a little nest of cottages, and pursuing it,
they came to a garden-gate. Opening it, they beheld the piper seated
beneath a little porch covered with eglantine and roses. He was playing
a few notes on his pipe, but stopped on hearing their approach. Bell,
who had been put to the ground by Nizza, ran barking gleefully towards
him. Uttering a joyful exclamation, the piper stretched out his arms,
and the next moment enfolded his daughter in a strict embrace. Leonard
remained at the gate till the first transports of their meeting were
over, and then advanced slowly towards them.
"Whose footsteps are those?" inquired the piper.
Nizza explained.
"Ah, is it Leonard Holt?" exclaimed the piper, extending his hand to the
apprentice. "You are heartily welcome," he added; "and I am glad to find
you with Nizza. It is no secret to me that she likes you. She has been
an excellent daughter, and will make an excellent wife. He who weds her
will obtain a greater treasure than he expects."
"Not than he expects," said Leonard.
"Ay, than he expects," reiterated the piper. "You will one day find out
that I speak the truth."
Leonard looked at Nizza, who was blushing deeply at her father's remark.
She understood him.
"Father," she said, "I understand you have a secret of importance to
disclose to me. I am about to make a long journey to-morrow, and may not
return for some time. At this uncertain season, when those who part know
not that they shall meet again, nothing of this sort ought to be
withheld."
"You cannot know it while I live," replied the piper, "but I will take
such precautions that, if anything happens to me, it shall be certainly
revealed to you."
"I am satisfied," she rejoined, "and will only ask you one farther
question, and I beseech you to answer it. Does this amulet refer to the
secret?"
"It does," replied her father, sullenly; "and now let the subject be
dropped."
He then led the way into the cottage. The good old dame who kept it, on
learning who they were, and that they were sent by Doctor Hodges, gave
them a hearty welcome, and placed refreshments before them. Leonard
commented upon the extreme neatness of the abode and its healthful
situation, and expressed a hope that it might not be visited by the
plague.
"I trust it will not," rejoined the old woman, shaking her head; "but
when I hear the doleful bell at night--when I catch a glimpse of the
fatal cart--or look towards yon dreadful place," and she pointed in the
direction of the plague-pit, which lay only a few hundred yards to the
west of her habitation--"I am reminded that the scourge is not far off,
and that it must needs reach me ere long."
"Have no fear, Dame Lucas," said the piper; "you see it has pleased a
merciful Providence to spare the lives of myself, my child, and this
young man, and if you should be attacked, the same benificent Being may
preserve you in like manner."
"The Lord's will be done!" rejoined Dame Lucas. "I know I shall be well
attended to by Doctor Hodges. I nursed him when he was an infant, and he
has been like a son to me. Bless his kind heart!" she exclaimed, her
eyes filling with tears of gratitude, "there is not his like in London."
"Always excepting my master," observed Leonard, with a smile at her
enthusiasm.
"I except no one," rejoined Dame Lucas. "A worthier man never lived,
than Doctor Hodges. If I die of the plague," she continued, "he has
promised not to let me be thrown into that horrible pit--ough!--but to
bury me in my garden, beneath the old apple-tree."
"And he will keep his word, dame, I am sure," replied Leonard. "I would
recommend you, however, as the best antidote against the plague, to keep
yourself constantly employed, and to indulge as few gloomy notions as
possible."
"I am seldom melancholy, and still more seldom idle," replied the good
dame. "But despondency will steal on me sometimes, especially when the
dead-cart passes and I think what it contains."
While the conversation was going forward, Nizza and the piper withdrew
into an inner room, where they remained closeted together for some time.
On their re-appearance, Nizza said she was ready to depart, and taking
an affectionate farewell of her father, and committing Bell to his
charge, she quitted the cottage with the apprentice.
Evening was now advancing, and the sun was setting with the gorgeousness
already described as peculiar to this fatal period. Filled with the
pleasing melancholy inspired by the hour, they walked on in silence.
They had not proceeded far, when they observed a man crossing the field
with a bundle in his arms. Suddenly, he staggered and fell. Seeing he
did not stir, and guessing what was the matter, Leonard ran towards him
to offer him assistance. He found him lying in the grass with his left
hand fixed against his heart. He groaned heavily, and his features were
convulsed with pain. Near him lay the body of a beautiful little girl,
with long fair hair, and finely-formed features, though now disfigured
by purple blotches, proclaiming the disorder of which she had perished.
She was apparently about ten years old, and was partially covered by a
linen cloth. The man, whose features bore a marked resemblance to those
of the child, was evidently from his attire above the middle rank. His
frame was athletic, and as he was scarcely past the prime of life, the
irresistible power of the disease, which could in one instant prostrate
strength like his, was terribly attested.
"Alas!" he cried, addressing the apprentice, "I was about to convey the
remains of my poor child to the plague-pit. But I have been unable to
accomplish my purpose. I hoped she would have escaped the polluting
touch of those loathly attendants on the dead-cart."
"She _shall_ escape it," replied Leonard; "if you wish it, I will carry
her to the pit myself."
"The blessing of a dying man rest on your head," cried the sufferer;
"your charitable action will not pass unrequited."