of supplanting him yet," he muttered to himself. "And now, farewell!" he
added aloud; "I am only in the way, and besides, I have no particular
desire to encounter Mr. Bloundel or his apprentice;" and winking his
solitary orb significantly at Patience, he strutted away. It was well he
took that opportunity of departing, for the lovers' raptures were
instantly afterwards interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Bloundel, who
was greatly delighted to see the porter, and gave him a hearty welcome.
"Ah, sir, I have had a narrow escape," cried Blaize, "and never more
expected to see you, or my mother, or Patience. I _have_ had the plague,
sir, and a terrible disorder it is."
"I heard or your seizure from Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloundel. "But
where have you been since you left the hospital at Saint Paul's?"
"In the country, sir," rejoined Blaize; "sometimes at one farm-house,
and sometimes at another. I only returned to London yesterday, and met
an old friend, whom I begged to go before me, and see that all was right
before I ventured, in."
"We have all been providentially spared," observed Mr. Bloundel, "and
you will find your mother as well as when you last quitted her. You had
better go to her."
Blaize obeyed, and was received by old Josyna with a scream of delight.
Having embraced him, and sobbed over him, she ran for a bottle of sack,
and poured its contents down his throat so hastily as nearly to choke
him. She then spread abundance of eatables before him, and after he had
eaten and drank his full, offered him as a treat a little of the plague
medicine which she had in reserve.
"No, thank you, mother," replied Blaize. "I have had enough of _that_.
But if there should be a box of rufuses amongst the store, you can bring
it, as I think a couple might do me good."
Three days after this event, the apprentice was sent forth to ascertain
the precise state of the city, as, if all proved favourable, the grocer
proposed to open his house on the following day. Leonard set out
betimes, and was speedily convinced that all danger was at an end. A
severe frost had set in, and had completely purified the air. For the
last few days there had been no deaths of the plague, and but little
mortality of any kind. Leonard traversed several of the main streets,
and some narrow thoroughfares, and found evidences of restored health
and confidence everywhere. It is true there were many houses, in which
whole families had been swept off, still left untenanted. But these were
only memorials of the past calamity, and could not be referred to any
existing danger. Before returning to Wood-street, an irresistible
impulse led him to Finsbury Fields. He passed through the postern east
of Cripplegate, and shaped his way towards the lesser plague-pit. The
sun, which had been bright all the morning, was now partially obscured;
the air had grown thick, and a little snow fell. The ground was
blackened and bound by the hard frost, and the stiffened grass felt
crisp beneath his feet. Insensible to all external circumstances, he
hurried forward, taking the most direct course, and leaping every
impediment in his path. Having crossed several fields, he at length
stood before a swollen heap of clay, round which a wooden railing was
placed. Springing over the enclosure, and uttering a wild cry that
evinced the uncontrollable anguish of his breast, he flung himself upon
the mound. He remained for some time in the deepest affliction, and was
at last roused by. a hand laid upon his shoulder, and, raising himself,
beheld Thirlby.
"I thought it must be you," said the new comer, in accents of the
deepest commiseration. "I have been visiting yonder plague-pit for the
same melancholy purpose as yourself,--to mourn over my lost child. I
have been in search of you, and have much to say to you. Will you meet
me in this place at midnight tomorrow?" Leonard signified his assent.
"I am in danger," pursued Thirlby, "for, by some means, the secret of my
existence has been made known, and the officers of justice are in
pursuit of me. I suspect that Judith Malmayns is my betrayer. You will
not fail me?"
"I will not," returned Leonard. Upon this, Thirlby hurried away, and
leaping a hedge, disappeared from view.
Leonard slowly and sorrowfully returned to Wood-street. On arriving
there, he assured his master that he might with entire safety open his
house, as he proposed, on the morrow; and Doctor Hodges, who visited the
grocer the same evening, confirmed the opinion. Early, therefore, the
next morning, Mr. Bloundel summoned his family to prayers; and after
pouring forth his supplications with peculiar fervour and solemnity, he
went, accompanied by them all, and threw open the street-door. Again,
kneeling down at the threshold, he prayed fervently, as before. He then
proceeded to remove the bars and shutters from the windows. The
transition from gloom and darkness to bright daylight was almost
overpowering. For the first time for six months, the imprisoned family
looked forth on the external world, and were dazzled and bewildered by
the sight. The grocer himself, despite his sober judgment, could
scarcely believe he had not been in a trance during the whole period.
The shop was scarcely opened before it was filled with customers, and
Leonard and Stephen were instantly employed. But the grocer would sell
nothing. To those who asked for any article he possessed, he presented
them with it, but would receive no payment.
He next dispatched Blaize to bring together all the poor he could find,
and distributed among them the remainder of his store--his casks of
flour, his salted meat, his cheeses, his biscuits, his wine--in short,
all that was left.
"This I give," he said, "as a thanksgiving to the Lord, and as a humble
testimony of gratitude for my signal deliverance."
II. THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
The first day of his deliverance being spent by the grocer in the
praiseworthy manner before related, he laid his head upon his pillow
with a feeling of satisfaction such as he had not for months
experienced. A very remarkable dream occurred to him that night, and its
recollection afterwards afforded him the greatest consolation. While
thinking of Amabel, and of the delight her presence would have afforded
him, slumber stole upon him, and his dreams were naturally influenced by
his previous meditations. It appeared to him that he was alone within
his house, and while visiting one of the upper rooms, which had formerly
been appropriated to his lost daughter, he noticed a small door in the
wall that had never before attracted his attention. He immediately
pushed against it, and yielding to the touch, it admitted him to an
apartment with which he seemed acquainted, though he could not recall
the time when he had seen it. It was large and gloomy, panelled with
dark and lustrous oak, and filled with rich but decayed furniture. At
the further end stood a large antique bed, hung round with tarnished
brocade curtains. The grocer shuddered at the sight, for he remembered
to have heard Doctor Hodges assert, that in such a bed, and in such a
room as this, his daughter had breathed her last. Some one appeared to
be within the bed, and rushing forward with a throbbing heart, and a
foreboding of what was to follow, he beheld the form of Amabel. Yes,
there she was, with features like those she wore on earth, but clothed
with such celestial beauty, and bearing the impress of such serene
happiness, that the grocer felt awe-struck as he gazed at her!
"Approach, my father," said the visionary form, in a voice so musical
that it thrilled through his frame--"approach, and let what you now hear
be for ever graven upon your heart. Do not lament me more, but rather
rejoice that I am removed from trouble, and in the enjoyment of supreme
felicity. Such a state you will yourself attain. You have run the good
race, and will assuredly reap your reward. Comfort my dear mother, my
brothers, my little sister, with the assurance of what I tell you, and
bid them dry their tears. I can now read the secrets of all hearts, and
know how true was Leonard Holt's love for me, and how deep and sincere
is his present sorrow. But I am not permitted to appear to him as I now
appear to you. Often have I heard him invoke me in accents of the
wildest despair, and have floated past him on the midnight breeze, but
could neither impart consolation to him nor make him sensible of my
presence, because his grief was sinful. Bid him be comforted. Bid him
put a due control upon his feelings. Bid him open his heart anew, and he
shall yet be happy, yet love again, and have his love requited.
Farewell, dear father!"
And with these words the curtains of the bed closed. The grocer
stretched out his arm to draw them aside, and in the effort awoke. He
slept no more that night, but dwelt with unutterable delight on the
words he had heard. On rising, his first object was to seek out Leonard,
and to relate his vision to him. The apprentice listened in speechless
wonder, and remained for some time lost in reflection.
"From any other person than yourself, sir," he said, at length, "I might
have doubted this singular story, but coming from you, I attach implicit
credence to it. I _will_ obey your sainted daughter's injunctions; I
_will_ struggle against the grief that overwhelms me, and will try to
hope that her words may be fulfilled."
"You will do wisely," rejoined Mr. Bloundel. "After breakfast we will
walk together to the farmhouse you spoke of at Kensal Green, and if its
owner should prove willing to receive my family for a few weeks, I will
remove them thither at once."
Leonard applauded his master's resolution, expressing his firm
conviction that Farmer Wingfield would readily accede to the proposal,
and the rest of the family having by this time assembled, they sat down
to breakfast. As soon as the meal was over, Mr. Bloundel intrusted the
care of the shop to Stephen and Blaize, and accompanied by Leonard, set
forth. On the way to the west end of the town, the grocer met one or two
of his old friends, and they welcomed each other like men risen from the
grave. Their course took them through Saint Giles's, where the plague
had raged with the greatest severity, and where many houses were still
without tenants.
"If all had acted as I have done," sighed the grocer, as he gazed at
these desolate habitations, "how many lives, under God's providence,
would have been saved!"
"In my opinion, sir," replied Leonard, "you owe your preservation as
much to your piety as to your prudence."
"I have placed my trust on high," rejoined the grocer, "and have not
been forsaken. And yet many evil doers have escaped; amongst others--"
"I know whom you mean, sir," interrupted Leonard, with some fierceness,
"but a day of retribution will arrive for him."
"No more of this," rejoined the grocer, severely. "Remember the solemn
injunction you have received."
At this moment they observed a horseman, richly attired, and followed by
a couple of attendants, riding rapidly towards them. Both instantly
recognised him. The apprentice's cheek and brow flushed with anger, and
Mr. Bloundel had much ado to control his emotion. It was the Earl of
Rochester, and on seeing them he instantly dismounted, and flinging his
bridle to one of the attendants, advanced towards them. Noticing the
fury that gleamed in Leonard's eyes, and apprehending some violence on
his part, the grocer laid his hand, upon his arm, and sternly enjoined
him to calm himself.
By this time, the earl had reached them. "Mr. Bloundel," he said, in a
tone of much emotion, and with a look that seemed to bespeak contrition.
"I heard that you had opened your house yesterday, and was about to call
upon you. I have a few words to say to you on a subject painful to both
of us, but doubly painful to me--your daughter."
"I must decline to hear them, my lord," replied the grocer, coldly; "nor
shall you ever cross my threshold again with my consent. My poor child
is now at peace. You can do her no further injury, and must settle your
own account with your Maker."
"Do not refuse me your forgiveness," implored the earl. "I will make
every reparation in my power."
"You _can_ make none," replied the grocer, repelling him; "and as to my
forgiveness, I neither refuse it nor accord it. I pray your lordship to
let me pass. The sole favour I ask of you is to come near me no more."
"I obey you," replied the earl. "Stay," he added to Leonard, who stood
by, regarding him with a look of deadly animosity. "I would give you a
piece of caution. Your life is in danger."
"I can easily guess from whom," replied the apprentice, scornfully.
"You mistake," rejoined Rochester; "you have nothing to apprehend from
me. You have promised to meet some one to-night," he added, in so low a
tone as to be inaudible to the grocer. "Do not go."
"Your lordship's warning will not deter me," rejoined the apprentice.
"As you will," rejoined Rochester, turning away. And springing upon his
horse, and striking his spurs into his side, he dashed off, while
Leonard and the grocer took the opposite direction. In less than half an
hour they reached the little village of Paddington, then consisting of a
few houses, but now one of the most populous and important parishes of
the metropolis, and speedily gained the open country. Even at this
dreary season the country had charms, which Mr. Bloundel, after his long
confinement, could fully appreciate. His eye roamed over the wide
prospect; and the leafless trees, the bare hedges, and the frost-bound
fields seemed pleasant in his sight.
He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the cold, greatly
enjoyed the exercise. Leonard pointed out to him the spots where the
fugitives from the plague had pitched their tents, and also the
pest-house near Westbourne Green, where he himself had been received
during his second attack of the distemper, and which was now altogether
abandoned.
Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal Green, and
approached the farmhouse. Leonard descried Wingfield near one of the
barns, and hailing him, he immediately came forward. On being informed
of Mr. Bloundel's desire, he at once assented, and taking them into the
house, mentioned the matter to his dame, who was quite of the same
opinion as himself.
"The only difference between us," he said to Mr. Bloundel, "is as to the
payment you propose. Now I will take none--not a farthing. Come when you
please, bring whom you please, and stay as long as you please. But don't
offer me anything if you would not offend me. Recollect," he added, the
moisture forcing itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voice
becoming husky with emotion, "that I loved your daughter for her
resemblance to my poor child. She, too, is gone. I do this for her
sake."
Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but he made no
further objection, resolved in his own mind to find some other means of
requiting his hospitality. It was then agreed that the grocer should
bring his family on the following day, and remain there for a month; and
every other arrangement being made, and a hearty meal partaken of, he
cordially thanked his host, and returned with Leonard to Wood-street.
In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the earl's
warning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind; and though he did
not for a moment think of abandoning his purpose, he resolved to attend
the meeting armed. He told Mr. Bloundel he should go out that night, but
did not state his object, and the grocer did not inquire it. Blaize sat
up with him, and displayed much anxiety to know whither he was going,
but, as may be supposed, his curiosity was not gratified. As the clock
struck eleven, Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and arming
himself furthermore with his staff, proceeded towards the door, and bade
Blaize lock it after him.
"I shall probably be back in a couple of hours," he said, as he went
forth. "You must sit up for me."
"I wonder where he is going!" thought Blaize, "From his gloomy looks,
and the weapon he has taken with him, I should judge he is about to
murder some one--perhaps the Earl of Rochester. It must be prevented."
With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by curiosity than
any better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds to allow the
apprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the door outside, put
the key in his pocket, and followed him. The night was profoundly dark,
but he had noticed the direction taken by Leonard, and running
noiselessly along the street, soon perceived him a little in advance.
Regulating his pace by that of the apprentice, and keeping about fifty
yards behind him, he tracked his course along several streets, until he
saw him pass through the second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate.
Here he debated with himself whether to proceed further or turn back;
but at length, curiosity got the best of his fears, and he went on. A
few steps brought him into the open fields, and fancying he saw Leonard
at a little distance before him, he hurried on in that direction. But he
soon found he had been deceived by the stump of a tree, and began to
fear he must have taken the wrong course. He looked around in vain for
some object to guide him. The darkness was so profound that he could see
nothing, and he set off again at random, and not without much
self-reproach and misgiving. At last, he reached a hedge, and continued
to skirt it, until he perceived through the bushes the light of a
lantern in the adjoining field. He immediately called out, but at the
cry the light disappeared. This did not prevent him from making towards
the spot where he had seen it; but he had not proceeded far when he was
forcibly seized by some unseen person, thrown on the ground, and a drawn
sword--for he felt the point--placed at his throat.
"Utter a cry, and it is your last," cried a stern voice. "Where is he?"
"Who--who?" demanded Blaize, half dead with terror.
"He whom you appointed to meet," replied the unknown.
"I appointed to meet no one," rejoined Blaize.
"Liar!" exclaimed the other; "if you do not instantly lead me to him, I
will cut your throat."
"I will lead you wherever you please, if you will only let me get up,"
rejoined Blaize, with difficulty repressing a cry.
"By the daughters of Nox and Acheron!" exclaimed a voice which sounded
like music in the porter's ears, "I think you are mistaken in your man,
my lord. It does not sound like the apprentice's voice."
"It is _not_ the apprentice's voice, good Major Pillichody," rejoined
the porter. "It is mine, your friend--Blaize's."
"Blaize!" exclaimed Pillichody, unmasking a dark lantern, and revealing
the terror-stricken countenance of the porter; "so it is. In the devil's
name, what are you doing here?"
"The devil himself, who put it into my head to come, only knows,"
replied Blaize; "but I followed Leonard Holt."
"Which way did he take?" asked the person who had assailed him.
"I cannot exactly say," replied Blaize, "but he seemed to go straight
into the fields."
"He is no doubt gone to the plague-pit," replied the other. "You are now
at liberty," he added to Blaize, "and I counsel you to make the best of
your way home. Say nothing to your master of what has occurred. The city
walls lie in that direction."
Overjoyed to be released, Blaize ran off as fast as his legs could carry
him, and never stopped till he reached Moorgate. Meanwhile, Leonard had
reached the place of meeting. As he stood by the rail surrounding the
plague-pit, he thought of Mr. Bloundel's singular dream, and almost
hoping to be similarly favoured, flung himself on his knees, and
besought Amabel, if it were possible, to appear to him. But his
entreaties produced no result. The chill blast whistled past him, and,
mindful of what had been told him, he was fain to interpret this into an
answer to his request. The night was bitterly cold, and Leonard, whose
limbs were almost stiffened by long kneeling, walked round and round the
enclosure at a quick pace to put his blood into circulation. As the hour
of midnight was tolled forth by the neighbouring churches, he heard
footsteps, and could just detect a figure advancing towards him.
"Are you there?" was asked in the voice of Thirlby. Leonard replied in
the affirmative, and the other instantly joined him.
"Have you mentioned our meeting to any one?" inquired Leonard. "I ask,
because I was warned by the Earl of Rochester not to attend it."
"Strange!" exclaimed Thirlby, musingly. "However, do not let us waste
time. I am about to leave London, perhaps this country--for ever. But I
could not depart without an interview with you. You are aware of my
strong attachment to my poor lost child. My daughter Isabella now
supplies her place in my heart. She is the only being I love on earth,
for my son has alienated himself from my affections. All I desire is to
see her happy. This, I find, can only be accomplished in one way."
Here he paused for a moment, but as Leonard made no remark, he
proceeded. "Why should I hesitate to declare it," he said, "since it was
for that object I brought you hither? She loves you--devotedly loves
you--and if her wishes were opposed, I should tremble for the
consequences. Now listen to me. Situated as you are, you never can wed
her. I will, however, point out a means by which you can raise yourself
to distinction in a short time, and so entitle yourself to claim her
hand. I will supply you with money--more than you can require--will
place you at court--near the king's person--and if you act under my
direction, your rise is certain. I have extorted a promise to this
effect from my own son. I told him my object, and that if he did not
make your fortune, I could ruin him by revealing myself. I may, perhaps,
pay the penalty of my crime on the scaffold; but I may also escape. In
the latter case, my reappearance would be fatal to him. He has consented
to cooperate with me, to watch over your fortunes, and, as soon as you
have attained sufficient eminence, to bestow his sister upon you. Now do
you understand?"
"I do," replied Leonard; "and I understand also against whom the Earl of
Rochester warned me."
"And you consent," demanded Thirlby.
Leonard, was about to answer, when he felt a light and trembling hand
placed upon his own. "Do not answer inconsiderately, Leonard," said a
low, sweet voice, which he recognised as that of the Lady Isabella; "I
am here to receive your determination."
"I am glad of it," replied the apprentice. "The deep devotion you have
displayed towards me deserves to be requited. I will strive to render
myself worthy of you, and I feel that by so doing I shall best fulfil
the injunctions of her who lies beside us. Henceforth, Lady Isabella, I
wholly devote myself to you."
A murmur of delight escaped her. "My blessings on you both!" exclaimed
her father. "Give me your hand, Isabella," he added, taking it and
placing it in that of the apprentice. "Here, beside the grave of her
whom you both loved, I affiance you. Pursue the course I point out to
you, Leonard, and she will soon be yours."
As he spoke, the light of a lantern was suddenly thrown upon them,
disclosing two persons who had noiselessly approached. They were Lord
Argentine and Pillichody. "You affirm more than you have warrant for, my
lord," said the former. "I will never consent to this ill-assorted and
dishonourable union; and, so far from permitting it, will oppose it to
the utmost of my power. If this presumptuous apprentice dares to raise
his views towards my sister, let him look to himself. Your safety lies
in instant flight. The officers are in search of you."
"They shall find me," replied Thirlby, sternly.
"As you please," rejoined Argentine. "Come with me, Isabella," he added
to his sister. But she flew with a cry towards Leonard.
"Ah!" exclaimed her brother, drawing his sword. "Do you dare to detain,
her? Deliver her to me, villain, instantly!"
"Not when thus menaced, my lord," rejoined Leonard, likewise drawing his
sword, and standing upon the defensive.
"Then look to yourself," replied Argentine, assaulting him.