make good your words, and will wait for me for five minutes, near Saint Alban's Church in this street, you shall have the opportunity."
Wyvil did not deign a reply, but wrapping his cloak around him, strode away. He had not proceeded far, when it occurred to him that, possibly, notwithstanding his interdiction, some of his companions might be waiting for him, and hurrying down the passage leading to the yard, he found Lydyard, to whom he recounted his ill-success.
"I shall not, however, abandon my design," he said. "These failures are only incentives to further exertion."
"In the meantime, you must pay your wager to Sedley," laughed Lydyard, "and as the house is really infected with the plague, it behoves you to call at the first apothecary's shop we find open, and get your apparel fumigated. You must not neglect due precautions."
"True," replied Wyvil, "and as I feel too restless to go home at present, suppose we amuse ourselves by calling on some astrologer, to see whether the stars are favourable to my pursuit of this girl."
"A good idea," replied Lydyard. "There are plenty of the 'Sons of Urania,' as they term themselves, hereabouts.
"A mere juggler will not serve my turn," returned Wyvil.
"William Lilly, the almanack-maker, who predicted the plague, and, if old Rowley is to be believed, has great skill in the occult sciences, lives somewhere in Friday-street, not a stone's throw from this place. Let us go and find him out."
"Agreed," replied Lydyard.
V. THE POMANDER-BOX.
Any doubts entertained by Leonard Holt as to the manner in which his rival entered the house, were removed by discovering the open window in the passage and the rope-ladder hanging to the yard-wall. Taking the ladder away, and making all as secure as he could, he next seized his cudgel, and proceeded to Blaize's room, with the intention of inflicting upon him the punishment he had threatened: for he naturally enough attributed to the porter's carelessness all the mischief that had just occurred. Not meeting with him, however, and concluding he was in the kitchen, he descended thither, and found him in such a pitiable plight, that his wrath was instantly changed to compassion.
Stretched upon the hearth before a blazing sea-coal fire, which seemed large enough to roast him, with his head resting upon the lap of Patience, the pretty kitchen-maid, and his left hand upon his heart, the porter loudly complained of a fixed and burning pain in that region; while his mother, who was kneeling beside him, having just poured a basin of scalding posset-drink down his throat, entreated him to let her examine his side to see whether he had any pestilential mark upon it, but he vehemently resisted her efforts.
"Do you feel any swelling, myn lief zoon?" asked old Josyna, trying to remove his hand.
"Swelling!" ejaculated Blaize—"there's a tumour as big as an egg."
"Is id possible?" exclaimed Josyna, in great alarm. "Do let me look ad id."
"No, no, leave me alone," rejoined Blaize. "Don't disturb me further. You will catch the distemper if you touch the sore."
"Dat wond hinder me from drying to zaave you," replied his mother, affectionately. "I must see vad is de madder vid you, or I cannod cure you."
"I am past your doctoring, mother," groaned Blaize. "Leave me alone, I say. You hurt me shockingly!"
"Poor child!" cried Josyna, soothingly, "I'll be as dender as possible. I'll nod give you de leasd pain—nod de leasd bid."
"But I tell you, you do give me a great deal," rejoined Blaize. "I can't bear it. Your fingers are like iron nails. Keep them away."
"Bless us! did I ever hear de like of dad!" exclaimed Josyna. "Iron nails! if you think so, myn arm zoon, you musd be very ill indeed."
"I am very ill," groaned her son. "I am not long for this world."
"Oh! don't say so, dear Blaize," sobbed Patience, letting fall a plentiful shower of tears on his face. "Don't say so. I can't bear to part with you."
"Then don't survive me," returned Blaize. "But there's little chance of your doing so. You are certain to take the plague."
"I care not what becomes of myself, if I lose you, Blaize," responded Patience, bedewing his countenance with another shower; "but I hope you won't die yet."
"Ah! it's all over with me—all over," rejoined Blaize. "I told Leonard Holt how it would be. I said I should be the next victim. And my words are come true."
"You are as clever as a conjurer," sobbed Patience; "but I wish you hadn't been right in this instance. However, comfort yourself. I'll die with you. We'll be carried to the grave in the same plague-cart."
"That's cold comfort," returned Blaize, angrily. "I beg you'll never mention the plague-cart again. The thought of it makes me shiver all over—oh!" And he uttered a dismal and prolonged groan.
At this juncture, Leonard thought it time to interfere.
"If you are really attacked by the plague, Blaize," he said, advancing, "you must have instant advice. Doctor Hodges is still upstairs with our master. He must see you."
"On no account," returned the porter, in the greatest alarm, and springing to his feet. "I am better—much better. I don't think I am ill at all."
"For the first time, I suspect the contrary," replied the apprentice, "since you are afraid of owning it. But this is not a matter to be trifled with. Doctor Hodges will soon settle the point." And he hurried out of the room to summon the physician.
"Oh! mother!—dear Patience!" roared Blaize, capering about in an ecstasy of terror; "don't let the doctor come near me. Keep me out of his sight. You don't know what horrid things are done to those afflicted with my complaint. But I do—for I have informed myself on the subject. Their skins are scarified, and their sores blistered, lanced, cauterized, and sometimes burned away with a knob of red-hot iron, called 'the button.'"
"But iv id is necessary, myn goed Blaize, you musd submid," replied his mother. "Never mind de hod iron or de lance, or de blisder, iv dey make you well. Never mind de pain. It will soon be over."
"Soon over!" bellowed Blaize, sinking into a chair. "Yes, I feel it will. But not in the way you imagine. This Doctor Hodges will kill me. He is fond of trying experiments, and will make me his subject. Don't let him—for pity's sake, don't."
"But I musd, myn lief jonger," replied his mother, "I musd."
"Oh, Patience!" supplicated Blaize, "you were always fond of me. My mother has lost her natural affection. She wishes to get rid of me. Don't take part with her. My sole dependence is upon you."
"I will do all I can for you, dear Blaize," blubbered the kitchen-maid. "But it is absolutely necessary you should see the doctor."
"Then I won't stay here another minute," vociferated Blaize. "I'll die in the street rather than under his hands."
And bursting from
