few scared individuals appeared in the streets, but carefully shunned
each other. In a few days, however, considerable numbers joined them,
and for the first time for nearly three months there was something like
life abroad. It is astonishing how soon hope and confidence are revived.
Now that it could no longer be doubted that the plague was on the
decline, it seemed as if a miracle had been performed in favour of the
city. Houses were opened--shopkeepers resumed their business--and it was
a marvel to every one that so many persons were left alive. Dejection
and despair of the darkest kind were succeeded by frenzied delight, and
no bound was put to the public satisfaction. Strangers stopped each
other in the streets, and conversed together like old friends. The
bells, that had grown hoarse with tolling funerals, were now cracked
with joyous peals. The general joy extended even to the sick, and many,
buoyed up by hope, recovered, when in the former season of despondency
they would inevitably have perished. All fear of the plague seemed to
vanish with the flying disorder. Those who were scarcely out of danger
joined in the throng, and it was no uncommon sight to see men with
bandages round their necks, or supported by staves and crutches, shaking
hands with their friends, and even embracing them.
The consequence of this incautious conduct may be easily foreseen. The
plague had received too severe a check to burst forth anew; but it
spread further than it otherwise would have done, and attacked many
persons, who but for their own imprudence would have escaped. Amongst
others, a barber in Saint Martin's-le-Grand, who had fled into the
country in August, returned to his shop in the middle of October, and,
catching the disorder from one of his customers, perished with the whole
of his family.
But these, and several other equally fatal instances, produced no effect
on the multitude. Fully persuaded that the virulence of the disorder was
exhausted--as, indeed, appeared to be the case--they gave free scope to
their satisfaction, which was greater than was ever experienced by the
inhabitants of a besieged city reduced by famine to the last strait of
despair, and suddenly restored to freedom and plenty. The more pious
part of the community thronged to the churches, from which they had been
so long absent, and returned thanks for their unexpected deliverance.
Others, who had been terrified into seriousness and devotion, speedily
forgot their former terrors, and resumed their old habits. Profaneness
and debauchery again prevailed, and the taverns were as well filled as
the churches. Solomon Eagle continued his midnight courses through the
streets; but he could no longer find an audience as before. Those who
listened to him only laughed at his denunciations of a new judgment, and
told him his preachings and prophesyings were now completely out of
date.
By this time numbers of those who had quitted London having returned to
it, the streets began to resume their wonted appearance. The utmost care
was taken by the authorities to cleanse and purify the houses, in order
to remove all chance of keeping alive the infection. Every room in every
habitation where a person had died of the plague--and there were few
that had escaped the visitation--was ordered to be whitewashed, and the
strongest fumigations were employed to remove the pestilential effluvia.
Brimstone, resin, and pitch were burnt in the houses of the poor;
benjamin, myrrh, and other more expensive perfumes in those of the
rich; while vast quantities of powder were consumed in creating blasts
to carry off the foul air. Large and constant fires were kept in all the
houses, and several were burnt down in consequence of the negligence of
their owners.
All goods, clothes, and bedding, capable of harbouring infection, were
condemned to be publicly burned, and vast bonfires were lighted in
Finsbury Fields and elsewhere, into which many hundred cart-loads of
such articles were thrown. The whole of Chowles's hoard, except the
plate, which he managed, with Judith's aid, to carry off and conceal in
certain hiding-places in the vaults of Saint Faith's, was taken from the
house in Nicholas-lane, and cast into the fire.
The cathedral was one of the first places ordered to be purified. The
pallets of the sick were removed and burned, and all the stains and
impurities with which its floor and columns were polluted were cleansed.
Nothing was left untried to free it from infection. It was washed
throughout with vinegar, fumigated with the strongest scents, and
several large barrels of pitch were set fire to in the aisles.
"It shall undergo another species of purification," said Solomon Eagle,
who was present during these proceedings; "one that shall search every
nook within it--shall embrace all those columns, and pierce every crack
and crevice in those sculptured ornaments; and then, and not till then,
will it be thoroughly cleansed."
During all this time the grocer had not opened his dwelling. The wisdom
of this plan was now made fully apparent. The plague was declining fast,
and not an inmate of his house had been attacked by it. Soon after the
melancholy occurrence, he had been informed by Doctor Hodges of Amabel's
death; but the humane physician concealed from him the painful
circumstances under which it occurred. It required all Mr. Bloundel's
fortitude to support him under the shock of this intelligence, and he
did not communicate the afflicting tidings to his wife until he had
prepared her for their reception. But she bore them better than he had
anticipated; and though she mourned her daughter deeply and truly, she
appeared completely resigned to the loss. Sorrow pervaded the whole
household for some weeks; and the grocer, who never relaxed his system,
shrouded his sufferings under the appearance of additional austerity of
manner. It would have been a great consolation to him to see Leonard
Holt; but the apprentice had disappeared; and even Doctor Hodges could
give no account of him.
One night, in the middle of November, Mr. Bloundel signified to his wife
his intention of going forth, early on the following morning, to satisfy
himself that the plague was really abating. Accordingly, after he had
finished his devotions, and broken his fast, he put his design into
execution. His first act, after locking the door behind him, which he
did as a measure of precaution, was to fall on his knees and offer up
prayers to Heaven for his signal preservation. He then arose, and,
stepping into the middle of the street, gazed at the habitation which
had formed his prison and refuge for nearly six months. There it was,
with its shutters closed and barred--a secure asylum, with all alive
within it, while every other dwelling in the street was desolate.
The grocer's sensations were novel and extraordinary. His first impulse
was to enjoy his newly-recovered freedom, and to put himself into active
motion. But he checked the feeling as sinful, and proceeded along the
street at a slow pace. He did not meet a single person, until he reached
Cheapside, where he found matters completely changed. Several shops were
already opened, and there were a few carts and other vehicles tracking
their way through the broad and yet grass-grown street. It was a clear,
frosty morning, and there was a healthful feel in the bracing atmosphere
that produced an exhilarating effect on the spirits. The grocer pursued
his course through the middle of the street, carefully avoiding all
contact with such persons as he encountered, though he cordially
returned their greetings, and wandered on, scarcely knowing whither he
was going, but deeply interested in all he beheld.
The aspect of the city was indeed most curious. The houses were for the
most part unoccupied--the streets overgrown with grass--while every
object, animate and inanimate, bore some marks of the recent visitation.
Still, all looked hopeful, and the grocer could not doubt that the worst
was past. The different demeanour of the various individuals he met
struck him. Now he passed a young man whistling cheerily, who saluted
him, and said, "I have lost my sweetheart by the plague, but I shall
soon get another." The next was a grave man, who muttered, "I have lost
all," and walked pensively on. Then came others in different moods; but
all concurred in thinking that the plague was at an end; and the grocer
derived additional confirmation of the fact from meeting numerous carts
and other vehicles bringing families back to their houses from the
country.
After roaming about for several hours, and pondering on all he saw, he
found himself before the great western entrance of Saint Paul's. It
chanced to be the morning on which the pallets and bedding were brought
forth, and he watched the proceeding at a distance. All had been
removed, and he was about to depart, when he perceived a person seated
on a block of stone, not far from him, whom he instantly recognised.
"Leonard," he cried--"Leonard Holt, is it you?"
Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprentice looked up,
and Mr. Bloundel started at the change that had taken place in him.
Profound grief was written in every line of his thin and haggard
countenance; his eyes were hollow, and had the most melancholy
expression imaginable; and his flesh was wasted away from the bone. He
looked the very image of hopeless affliction.
"I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard," said the grocer, in a
tone of deep commiseration; "but I am well aware of the cause. I myself
have suffered severely; but I deem it my duty to control my affliction."
"I _would_ control it, if it were possible, Mr. Bloundel," replied
Leonard. "But hope is dead in my breast. I shall never be happy again."
"I trust otherwise," replied the grocer, kindly. "Your trials have been
very great, and so were those of the poor creature we both of us
deplore. But she is at peace, and therefore we need not lament her."
"Alas!" exclaimed Leonard, mournfully, "I am now only anxious to rejoin
her."
"It is selfish, if not sinful, to grieve in this way," rejoined Mr.
Bloundel, somewhat sternly. "You must bear your sorrows like a man. Come
home with me. I will be a father to you. Nay, do not hesitate. I will
have no refusal."
So saying, he took Leonard's arm, and led him in the direction of
Wood-street. Nothing passed between them on the way, nor did Leonard
evince any further emotion until he entered the door of the grocer's
dwelling, when he uttered a deep groan. Mrs. Bloundel was greatly
affected at seeing him, as were the rest of the family, and abundance of
tears were shed by all, except Mr. Bloundel, who maintained his
customary stoical demeanour throughout the meeting.
Satisfied that the pestilence had not declined sufficiently to warrant
him in opening his house, the grocer determined to await the result of a
few weeks. Indeed, that very night, he had reason to think he had
defeated his plans by precipitancy. While sitting after prayers with his
family, he was seized with a sudden shivering and sickness, which he
could not doubt were the precursors of the plague. He was greatly
alarmed, but did not lose his command over himself.
"I have been most imprudent," he said, "in thus exposing myself to
infection. I have symptoms of the plague about me, and will instantly
repair to one of the upper rooms which I have laid aside as an hospital,
in case of any emergency like the present. None of you must attend me.
Leonard will fetch Doctor Hodges and a nurse. I shall then do very well.
Farewell, dear wife and children! God bless you all, and watch over you.
Remember me in your prayers." So saying, he arose and walked towards the
door. His wife and eldest son would have assisted him, but he motioned
them away.
"Let me go with you, sir," cried Leonard, who had arisen with the
others; "I will nurse you; my life is of little consequence, and I
cannot be more satisfactorily employed."
The grocer reluctantly assented, and the apprentice assisted him
upstairs, and helped to place him in bed. No plague-token could be found
about his person, but as the same alarming symptoms still continued,
Leonard administered such remedies as he thought needful, and then went
in search of Doctor Hodges.
On reaching Watling-street, he found Doctor Hodges about to retire to
rest. The worthy physician was greatly distressed by the apprentice's
account of his master's illness; but was somewhat reassured when the
symptoms were more minutely described to him. While preparing certain
medicines, and arming himself with his surgical implements, he
questioned Leonard as to the cause of his long disappearance. "Having
seen nothing of you," he said, "since the fatal night when our poor
Amabel's sorrows were ended, I began to feel very apprehensive on your
account. Where have you been?"
"You shall hear," replied Leonard, "though the relation will be like
opening my wounds afresh. On recovering from the terrible shock I had
received, I found myself stretched upon a bed in a house whither I had
been conveyed by Rainbird the watchman, who had discovered me lying in a
state of insensibility in the street. For nearly a week I continued
delirious, and should, probably, have lost my senses altogether but for
the attentions of the watchman. As soon as I was able to move, I
wandered to the lesser plague-pit, in Finsbury Fields, you will guess
with what intent. My heart seemed breaking, and I thought I should pour
forth my very soul in grief, as I gazed into that dreadful gulf, and
thought she was there interred. Still my tears were a relief. Every
evening, for a month, I went to that sad spot, and remained there till
daybreak admonished me to return to Rainbird's dwelling. At last, he was
seized by the distemper; but though I nursed him, voluntarily exposing
myself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remained
untouched. Poor Rainbird died; and having seen his body thrown into the
pit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days' toilsome travel on
foot, reached Ashdown Park. It was a melancholy pleasure to behold the
abode where she I had loved passed her last few days of happiness, and
where I had been near her. Her aunt, good Mrs. Buscot, though
overwhelmed by affliction at the sad tidings I brought her, received me
with the utmost kindness, and tried to console me. My sorrow, however,
was too deeply seated to be removed. Wandering over the downs, I visited
Mrs. Compton at Kingston Lisle, from whose house Amabel was carried off
by the perfidious earl. She, also, received me with kindness, and
strove, like Mrs. Buscot, to comfort me, and, like her, ineffectually.
Finding my strength declining, and persuaded that my days were drawing
to a close, I retraced my steps to London, hoping to find a final
resting-place near her I had loved."
"You are, indeed, faithful to the grave, Leonard," said the physician,
brushing away a tear; "and I never heard or read of affection stronger
than yours. Sorrow is a great purifier, and you will come out all the
better for your trial. You are yet young, and though you never can love
as you _have_ loved, a second time, your heart is not utterly seared."
"Utterly, sir," echoed Leonard, "utterly."
"You think so, now," rejoined the physician. "But you will find it
otherwise hereafter. I can tell you of one person who has suffered
almost as much from your absence as you have done for the loss of
Amabel. The Lady Isabella Argentine has made constant inquiries after
you; and though I should be the last person to try to rouse you from
your present state of despondency, by awakening hopes of alliance with
the sister of a proud noble, yet it may afford you consolation to know
that she still cherishes the warmest regard for you."
"I am grateful to her," replied Leonard, sadly, but without exhibiting
any other emotion. "She was dear to Amabel, and therefore will be ever
dear to me. I would fain know," he added, his brow suddenly contracting,
and his lip quivering, "what has become of the Earl of Rochester?"
"He has married a wealthy heiress, the fair Mistress Mallet," replied
Hodges.
"Married, and so soon!" cried Leonard. "And he has quite forgotten his
victim?"
"Apparently so," replied the doctor, with an expression of disgust.
"And it was for one who so lightly regarded her that she sacrificed
herself," groaned Leonard, his head dropping upon his breast.
"Come," cried Hodges, taking his arm, and leading him out of the room;
"we must go and look after your master."
With this, they made the best of their way to Wood-street. Arrived at
the grocer's house, they went upstairs, and Hodges immediately
pronounced Mr. Bloundel to be suffering from a slight feverish attack,
which a sudorific powder would remove. Having administered the remedy,
he descended to the lower room to allay the fears of the family. Mrs.
Bloundel received the happy tidings with tears of joy, and the doctor
remained a short time to condole with her on the loss she had sustained.
The good dame wept bitterly on hearing the whole particulars, with which
she had been hitherto unacquainted, attending her daughter's untimely
death, but she soon regained her composure. They then spoke of Leonard,
who had remained above with his master,--of his blighted hopes, and
seemingly incurable affliction.
"His is true love, indeed, doctor," sighed Mrs. Bloundel. "Pity it is
that it could not be requited."
"I know not how it is," rejoined Hodges, "and will not question the
decrees of our All-Wise Ruler, but the strongest affection seldom, if
ever, meets a return. Leonard himself was insensible to the devotion of
one, of whom I may say, without disparagement to our poor Amabel, that
she was, in my opinion, her superior in beauty."
"And does this person love him still?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel, eagerly.
"I ask, because I regard him as a son, and earnestly desire to restore
him to happiness."
"Alas!" exclaimed Hodges, "there are obstacles in the way that cannot be
removed. We must endeavour to cure him of his grief in some other way."
The conversation then dropped, and Hodges took his leave, promising to
return on the morrow, and assuring Mrs. Bloundel that she need be under
no further apprehension about her husband. And so it proved. The
powders removed all the grocer's feverish symptoms, and when Doctor
Hodges made his appearance the next day, he found him dressed, and ready
to go downstairs. Having received the physician's congratulations on his
entire recovery, Mr. Bloundel inquired from him when he thought he might
with entire safety open his shop. Hodges considered for a moment, and
then replied, "I do not see any great risk in doing so now, but I would
advise you to defer the step for a fortnight. I would, also, recommend
you to take the whole of your family for a short time into the country.
Pure air and change of scene are absolutely necessary after their long
confinement."
"Farmer Wingfield, of Kensal-Green, who sheltered us on our way down to
Ashdown Park, will, I am sure, receive you," observed Leonard.
"If so, you cannot go to a better place," rejoined the physician.
"I will think of it," returned Mr. Bloundel. And leading the way
downstairs, he was welcomed by his wife and children with the warmest
demonstrations of delight.
"My fears, you perceive, were groundless," he remarked to Mrs. Bloundel.
"Heaven be praised, they were so!" she rejoined. "But I entreat you not
to go forth again till all danger is at an end."
"Rest assured I will not," he answered. Soon after this, Doctor Hodges
took his leave, and had already reached the street-door, when he was
arrested by Patience, who inquired with much anxiety whether he knew
anything of Blaize.
"Make yourself easy about him, child," replied the doctor; "I am pretty
sure he is safe and sound. He has had the plague, certainly; but he left
the hospital at Saint Paul's cured.
"O then I _shall_ see him again," cried Patience, joyfully. "Poor dear
little fellow, it would break my heart to lose him."
"I will make inquiries about him," rejoined Hodges, "and if I can find
him, will send him home." And without waiting to receive the
kitchen-maid's thanks, he departed.
For some days the grocer continued to pursue pretty nearly the same line
of conduct that he had adopted during the height of the pestilence. But
he did not neglect to make preparations for resuming his business; and
here Leonard was of material assistance to him. They often spoke of
Amabel, and Mr. Bloundel strove, by every argument he was master of, to
remove the weight of affliction under which his apprentice laboured. He
so far succeeded that Leonard's health improved, though he still seemed
a prey to secret sorrow. Things were in this state, when one day a knock
was heard at the street-door, and the summons being answered by the
grocer's eldest son, Stephen, he returned with the intelligence that a
person was without who desired to see Patience. After some
consideration, Mr. Bloundel summoned the kitchen-maid, and told her she
might admit the stranger into the passage, and hear what he had to say.
Patience hastened with a beating heart to the door, expecting to learn
some tidings of Blaize, and opening it, admitted a man wrapped in a
large cloak and having a broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows.
Stepping into the passage, he threw aside the cloak and raised the hat,
discovering the figure and features of Pillichody.
"What brings you here, sir?" demanded Patience, in alarm, and glancing
over her shoulder to see whether any one observed them. "What do you
want?"
"I have brought you news of Blaize," returned the bully. "But how
charmingly you look. By the coral lips of Venus! your long confinement
has added to your attractions."
"Never mind my attractions, sir," rejoined Patience, impatiently. "Where
is Blaize? Why did he not come with you?"
"Alas!" replied Pillichody, shaking his head in a melancholy manner, "he
could not."
"Could not!" half screamed Patience. "Why not?"
"Do not question me," replied Pillichody, feigning to brush away a tear.
"He was my friend, and I would rather banish him from my memory. The
sight of your beauty transports me so, that, by the treasures of
Croesus! I would rather have you without a crown than the wealthiest
widow in the country."
"Don't talk nonsense to me in this way," sobbed Patience "I'm not in the
humour for it."
"Nonsense!" echoed Pillichody. "I swear to you I am in earnest. By
Cupid! I am ravished with your charms." And he would have seized her
hand, but Patience hastily withdrew it; and, provoked at his
impertinence, dealt him a sound box on the ear. As she did this, she
thought she heard a suppressed laugh near her, and looked round, but
could see no one. The sound certainly did not proceed from Pillichody,
for he looked very red and very angry.
"Do not repeat this affront, mistress," he said to her. "I can bear
anything but a blow from your sex."
"Then tell me what has become of Blaize," she cried.
"I will no longer spare your feelings," he rejoined. "He is defunct."
"Defunct!" echoed Patience, with a scream. "Oh, dear me!--I shall never
survive it--I shall die."
"Not while I am left to supply his place," cried Pillichody, catching
her in his arms.
"You!" cried Patience, contemptuously; "I would not have you for the
world. Where is he buried?"
"In the plague-pit," replied Pillichody. "I attended him during his
illness. It was his second attack of the disorder. He spoke of you."
"Did he?--dear little fellow!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what did he say?"
"'Tell her,' he cried," rejoined Pillichody, "'that my last thoughts
were of her.'"
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Patience, hysterically.
"'Tell her also,' he added," pursued Pillichody, "'that I trust she will
fulfil my last injunction.'"
"That I will," replied Patience. "Name it."
"He conjured you to marry me," replied Pillichody. "I am sure you will
not hesitate to comply with the request."
"I don't believe a word of this," cried Patience. "Blaize was a great
deal too jealous to bequeath me to another."
"Right, sweetheart, right," cried the individual in question, pushing
open the door. "This has all been done to try your fidelity. I am now
fully satisfied with your attachment; and am ready to marry you whenever
you please."
"So this was all a trick," cried Patience, pettishly; "I wish I had
known it, I would have retaliated upon you nicely. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself, Major Pillichody, to lend a helping-hand in such a
ridiculous affair."
"I did it to oblige my friend Blaize," replied Pillichody. "It was
agreed between us that if you showed any inconstancy, you were to be
mine."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Patience. "I would not advise you to repeat the
experiment, Mr. Blaize."
"I never intend to do so, my angel," replied the porter. "I esteem
myself the happiest and most fortunate of men."