Chapter VII: Book THE SECOND: May, 1665 (2)

"If you merely wish to get into the house," replied Blaize, "that can be easily managed. I will admit you this evening."

"Without your master's knowledge?" asked Bottesham, eagerly.

"Of course," returned Blaize.

"But he has an apprentice?" said the doctor.

"Oh! you mean Leonard Holt," replied Blaize. "Yes, we must take care he doesn't see you. If you come about nine o'clock, he will be engaged with my master in putting away the things in the shop."

"I will be punctual," replied Bottesham, "and will bring Doctor Furbisher with me. We will only stay a few minutes. But here comes the burnt malmsey. Fill the young man's glass, Parkhurst. I will insure you against the plague, if you will follow my advice."

"But will you insure me against my master's displeasure, if he finds me out?" said Blaize.

"I will provide you with a new one," returned Bottesham. "You shall serve me if you wish to change your place."

"That would answer my purpose exactly," thought Blaize. "I need never be afraid of the plague if I live with him. I will turn over your proposal, learned sir," he added, aloud.

After priming him with another bumper of malmsey, Blaise's new friends suffered him to depart. On returning home, he proceeded to his own room, and feeling unusually drowsy, he threw himself on the bed, and almost instantly dropped asleep. When he awoke, the fumes of the liquor had, in a great degree, evaporated, and he recalled, with considerable self-reproach, the promise he had given, and would gladly have recalled it, if it had been possible. But it was now not far from the appointed hour, and he momentarily expected the arrival of the two doctors. The only thing that consoled him was the store of medicine he had obtained, and, locking it up in his cupboard, he descended to the kitchen. Fortunately, his mother was from home, so that he ran no risk from her; and, finding Patience alone, after some hesitation, he let her into the secret of his anticipated visitors. She was greatly surprised, and expressed much uneasiness lest they should be discovered; as, if they were so, it would be sure to bring them both into trouble.

"What can they want with Mistress Amabel?" she cried. "I should not wonder if Doctor Calixtus Bottesham, as you call him, turns out a lover in disguise."

"A lover!" exclaimed Blaize. "Your silly head is always running upon lovers. He's an old man--old enough to be your grandfather, with a long white beard, reaching to his waist. He a lover! Mr. Bloundel is much more like one."

"For all that, it looks suspicious," returned Patience; "and I shall have my eyes about me on their arrival."

Shortly after this, Blaize crept cautiously up to the back yard, and, opening the door, found, as he expected, Bottesham and his companion. Motioning them to follow him, he led the way to the kitchen, where they arrived without observation. Patience eyed the new-comers narrowly, and felt almost certain, from their appearance and manner, that her suspicions were correct. All doubts were removed when Bottesham, slipping a purse into her hand, entreated her, on some plea or other, to induce Amabel to come into the kitchen. At first she hesitated; but having a tender heart, inclining her to assist rather than oppose the course of any love-affair, her scruples were soon overcome. Accordingly she hurried upstairs, and chancing to meet with her young mistress, who was about to retire to her own chamber, entreated her to come down with her for a moment in the kitchen. Thinking it some unimportant matter, but yet wondering why Patience should appear so urgent, Amabel complied. She was still more perplexed when she saw the two strangers, and would have instantly retired if Bottesham had not detained her.

"You will pardon the liberty I have taken in sending for you," he said, "when I explain that I have done so to offer you counsel."

"I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here," she replied.

"Amabel," returned Bottesham, in a low tone, but altering his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his features; "it is I--Maurice Wyvil."

"Ah!" she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment.

"I told you we should meet again," he rejoined; "and I have kept my word."

"Think not to deceive me, my lord," she returned, controlling her emotion by a powerful effort. "I am aware you are not Maurice Wyvil, but the Earl of Rochester. Your love is as false as your character. Mistress Mallet is the real object of your regards. You see I am acquainted with your perfidy."

"Amabel, you are deceived," replied Rochester. "On my soul, you are. When I have an opportunity of explaining myself more fully, I will prove to you that I was induced by the king, for an especial purpose, to pay feigned addresses to the lady you have named. But I never loved her. You alone are the possessor of my heart, and shall be the sharer of my title. You shall be Countess of Rochester."

"Could I believe you?" she cried.

"You _may_ believe me," he answered. "Do not blight my hopes and your own happiness a second time. Your father is about to shut up his house for a twelvemonth, if the plague lasts so long. This done, we shall meet no more, for access to you will be impossible. Do not hesitate, or you will for ever rue your irresolution."

"I know not what to do," cried Amabel, distractedly.

"Then I will decide for you," replied the earl, grasping her hand. "Come!"

While this was passing, Furbisher, or rather, as will be surmised, Pillichody, had taken Blaize aside, and engaged his attention by dilating upon the efficacy of a roasted onion filled with treacle in the expulsion of the plague. Patience stationed herself near the door, not with a view of interfering with the lovers, but rather of assisting them; and at the very moment that the earl seized his mistress's hand, and would have drawn her forward, she ran towards them, and hastily whispered, "Leonard Holt is coming downstairs."

"Ah! I am lost!" cried Amabel.

"Fear nothing," said the earl. "Keep near me, and I will soon dispose of him."

As he spoke, the apprentice entered the kitchen, and, greatly surprised by the appearance of the strangers, angrily demanded from Blaize who they were.

"They are two doctors come to give me advice respecting the plague," stammered the porter.

"How did they get into the house?" inquired Leonard.

"I let them in through the back door," replied Blaize.

"Then let them out by the same way," rejoined the apprentice. "May I ask what you are doing here?" he added, to Amabel.

"What is that to you, fellow?" cried Rochester, in his assumed voice.

"Much, as you shall find, my lord," replied the apprentice; "for, in spite of your disguise, I know you. Quit the house instantly with your companion, or I will give the alarm, and Amabel well knows what the consequences will be."

"You must go, my lord," she replied.

"I will not stir unless you accompany me," said Rochester.

"Then I have no alternative," rejoined Leonard. "You know your father's determination--I would willingly spare you, Amabel."

"Oh, goodness! what _will_ become of us?" cried Patience--"if there isn't Mr. Bloundel coming downstairs."

"Amabel," said Leonard, sternly, "the next moment decides your fate. If the earl departs, I will keep your secret."

"You hear that, my lord," she cried; "I command you to leave me."

And disengaging herself from him, and hastily passing her father, who at that moment entered the kitchen, she rushed upstairs.

On hearing the alarm of the grocer's approach, Pillichody took refuge in a cupboard, the door of which stood invitingly open, so that Bloundel only perceived the earl.

"What is the matter?" he cried, gazing around him. "Whom have we here?"

"It is a quack doctor, whom Blaize has been consulting about the plague," returned Leonard.

"See him instantly out of the house," rejoined the grocer, angrily, "and take care he never enters it again. I will have no such charlatans here."

Leonard motioned Rochester to follow him, and the latter reluctantly obeyed.

As soon as Bloundel had retired, Leonard, who had meanwhile provided himself with his cudgel, descended to the kitchen, where he dragged Pillichody from his hiding-place, and conducted him to the back door. But he did not suffer him to depart without belabouring him soundly. Locking the door, he then went in search of Blaize, and administered a similar chastisement to him.

IV. THE TWO WATCHMEN.

On the day following the events last related, as Leonard Holt was standing at the door of the shop,--his master having just been called out by some important business,--a man in the dress of a watchman, with a halberd in his hand, approached him, and inquired if he was Mr. Bloundel's apprentice.

Before returning an answer, Leonard looked hard at the newcomer, and thought he had never beheld so ill-favoured a person before. Every feature in his face was distorted. His mouth was twisted on one side, his nose on the other, while his right eyebrow was elevated more than an inch above the left; added to which he squinted intolerably, had a long fell of straight sandy hair, a sandy beard and moustache, and a complexion of the colour of brickdust.

"An ugly dog," muttered Leonard to himself, as he finished his scrutiny; "what can he want with me? Suppose I should be Mr. Bloundel's apprentice," he added, aloud, "what then, friend?"

"Your master has a beautiful daughter, has he not?" asked the ill-favoured watchman.

"I answer no idle questions," rejoined Leonard, coldly.

"As you please," returned the other, in an offended tone. "A plan to carry her off has accidentally come to my knowledge. But, since incivility is all I am likely to get for my pains in coming to acquaint you with it, e'en find it out yourself."

"Hold!" cried the apprentice, detaining him; "I meant no offence. Step indoors for a moment. We can converse there more freely."

The watchman, who, notwithstanding his ill-looks, appeared to be a good-natured fellow, was easily appeased. Following the apprentice into the shop, on the promise of a handsome reward, he instantly commenced his relation.

"Last night," he said, "I was keeping watch at the door of Mr. Brackley, a saddler in Aldermanbury, whose house having been attacked by the pestilence is now shut up, when I observed two persons, rather singularly attired, pass me. Both were dressed like old men, but neither their gait nor tone of voice corresponded with their garb."

"It must have been the Earl of Rochester and his companion," remarked Leonard.

"You are right," replied the other; "for I afterwards heard one of them addressed by that title. But to proceed. I was so much struck by the strangeness of their appearance, that I left my post for a few minutes, and followed them. They halted beneath a gateway, and, as they conversed together very earnestly, and in a loud tone, I could distinctly hear what they said. One of them, the stoutest of the two, complained bitterly of the indignities he had received from Mr. Bloundel's apprentice (meaning you, of course), averring that nothing but his devotion to his companion had induced him to submit to them; and affirming, with many tremendous oaths, that he would certainly cut the young man's throat the very first opportunity."

"He shall not want it then," replied Leonard contemptuously; "neither shall he lack a second application of my cudgel when we meet. But what of his companion? What did he say?"

"He laughed heartily at the other's complaints," returned the watchman, "and told him to make himself easy, for he should soon have his revenge. 'To-morrow night,' he said, 'we will carry off Amabel, in spite of the apprentice or her father; and, as I am equally indebted with yourself to the latter, we will pay off old scores with him.'"

"How do they intend to effect their purpose?" demanded Leonard.

"That I cannot precisely tell," replied the watchman. "All I could hear was, that they meant to enter the house by the back yard about midnight. And now, if you will make it worth my while, I will help you to catch them in their own trap."

"Hum!" said Leonard. "What is your name?"

"Gregory Swindlehurst," replied the other.

"To help me, you must keep watch with me to-night," rejoined Leonard. "Can you do so?"

"I see nothing to hinder me, provided I am paid for my trouble," replied Gregory. "I will find some one to take my place at Mr. Brackley's. At what hour shall I come?"

"Soon after ten," said Leonard. "Be at the shop-door, and I will let you in."

"Count upon me," rejoined Gregory, a smile of satisfaction illumining his ill-favoured countenance. "Shall I bring a comrade with me? I know a trusty fellow who would like the job. If Lord Rochester should have his companions with him, assistance will be required."

"True," replied Leonard. "Is your comrade a watchman, like yourself?"

"He is an old soldier, who has been lately employed to keep guard over infected houses," replied Gregory. "We must take care his lordship does not overreach us."

"If he gets into the house without my knowledge, I will forgive him," replied the apprentice.

"He won't get into it without mine," muttered Gregory, significantly. "But do you not mean to warn Mistress Amabel of her danger?"

"I shall consider of it," replied the apprentice.

At this moment Mr. Bloundel entered the shop, and Leonard, feigning to supply his companion with a small packet of grocery, desired him, in a low tone, to be punctual to his appointment, and dismissed him. In justice to the apprentice, it must be stated that he had no wish for concealment, but was most anxious to acquaint his master with the information he had just obtained, and was only deterred from doing so by a dread of the consequences it might produce to Amabel.

The evening passed off much as usual. The family assembled at prayer; and Blaize, whose shoulders still ached with the chastisement he had received, eyed the apprentice with sullen and revengeful looks. Patience, too, was equally angry, and her indignation was evinced in a manner so droll, that at another season it would have drawn a smile from Leonard.

Supper over, Amabel left the room. Leonard followed her, and overtook her on the landing of the stairs.

"Amabel," he said, "I have received certain intelligence that the Earl of Rochester will make another attempt to enter the house, and carry you off to-night."

"Oh! when will he cease from persecuting me?" she cried.

"When you cease to encourage him," replied the apprentice, bitterly.

"I do _not_ encourage him, Leonard," she rejoined, "and to prove that I do not, I will act in any way you think proper tonight."

"If I could trust you," said Leonard, "you might be of the greatest service in convincing the earl that his efforts are fruitless."

"You _may_ trust me," she rejoined.

"Well, then," returned Leonard, "when the family have retired to rest, come downstairs, and I will tell you what to do."

Hastily promising compliance, Amabel disappeared; and Leonard ran down the stairs, at the foot of which he encountered Mrs. Bloundel.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing--nothing," replied the apprentice, evasively.

"That-will not serve my turn," she rejoined. "Something, I am certain, troubles you, though you do not choose to confess it. Heaven grant your anxiety is not occasioned by aught relating to that wicked Earl of Rochester! I cannot sleep in my bed for thinking of him. I noticed that you followed Amabel out of the room. I hope you do not suspect anything."

"Do not question me further, madam, I entreat," returned the apprentice. "Whatever I may suspect, I have taken all needful precautions. Rest easy, and sleep soundly, if you can. All will go well."

"I shall never rest easy, Leonard," rejoined Mrs. Bloundel, "till you are wedded to my daughter. Then, indeed, I shall feel happy. My poor child, I am sure, is fully aware how indiscreet her conduct has been; and when this noble libertine desists from annoying her--or rather, when he is effectually shut out--we may hope for a return of her regard for you."

"It is a vain hope, madam," replied Leonard; "there will be no such return. I neither expect it nor desire it."

"Have you ceased to love her?" asked Mrs. Bloundel, in surprise.

"Ceased to love her!" echoed Leonard, fiercely. "Would I had done so!--would I _could_ do so! I love her too well--too well."

And repeating the words to himself with great bitterness, he hurried away.

"His passion has disturbed his brain," sighed Mrs. Bloundel, as she proceeded to her chamber. "I must try to reason him into calmness to-morrow."

Half an hour after this, the grocer retired for the night; and Leonard, who had gone to his own room, cautiously opened the door, and repaired to the shop. On the way he met Amabel. She looked pale as death, and trembled so violently, that she could scarcely support herself.

"I hope you do not mean to use any violence towards the earl, Leonard?" she said in a supplicating voice.

"He will never repeat his visit," rejoined the apprentice, gloomily.

"Your looks terrify me," cried Amabel, gazing with great uneasiness at his stern and determined countenance. "I will remain by you. He will depart at my bidding."

"Did he depart at your bidding before?" demanded Leonard, sarcastically.

"He did not, I grant," she replied, more supplicatingly than before. "But do not harm him--for mercy's sake, do not--take my life sooner. I alone have offended you."

The apprentice made no reply, but, unlocking a box, took out a brace of large horse-pistols and a sword, and thrust them into his girdle.

"You do not mean to use those murderous weapons?" cried Amabel.

"It depends on circumstances," replied Leonard. "Force must be met by force."

"Nay, then," she rejoined, "the affair assumes too serious an aspect to be trifled with. I will instantly alarm my father."

"Do so," retorted Leonard, "and he will cast you off for ever."

"Better that, than be the cause of bloodshed," she returned. "But is there nothing I can do to prevent this fatal result?"

"Yes," replied Leonard. "Make your lover understand he is unwelcome to you. Dismiss him for ever. On that condition, he shall depart unharmed and freely."

"I will do so," she rejoined.

Nothing more was then said. Amabel seated herself and kept her eyes fixed on Leonard, who, avoiding her regards, stationed himself near the door.

By-and-by a slight tap was heard without, and the apprentice cautiously admitted Gregory Swindlehurst and his comrade. The latter was habited like the other watchman, in a blue night-rail, and was armed with a halberd. He appeared much stouter, much older, and, so far as could be discovered of his features--for a large handkerchief muffled his face--much uglier (if that were possible) than his companion. He answered to the name of Bernard Boutefeu. They had no sooner entered the shop, than Leonard locked the door.

"Who are these persons?" asked Amabel, rising in great alarm.

"Two watchmen whom I have hired to guard the house," replied Leonard.

"We are come to protect you, fair mistress," said Gregory, "and, if need be, to cut the Earl of Rochester's throat."

"Oh heavens!" exclaimed Amabel.

"Ghost of Tarquin!" cried Boutefeu, "we'll teach him to break into the houses of quiet citizens, and attempt to carry off their daughters against their will. By the soul of Dick Whittington, Lord Mayor of London! we'll maul and mangle him."

"Silence! Bernard Boutefeu," interposed Gregory. "You frighten Mistress Amabel by your strange oaths."

"I should be sorry to do that," replied Boutefeu--"I only wish to show my zeal for her. Don't be afraid of the Earl of Rochester, fair mistress. With all his audacity, he won't dare to enter the house when he finds we are there."

"Is it your pleasure that we should thrust a halberd through his body, or lodge a bullet in his brain?" asked Gregory, appealing to Amabel.

"Touch him not, I beseech you," she rejoined. "Leonard, I have your promise that, if I can prevail upon him to depart, you will not molest him."

"You have," he replied.

"You hear that," she observed to the watchmen.

"We are all obedience," said Gregory.

"Bless your tender heart!" cried Boutefeu, "we would not pain you for the world."

"A truce to this," said Leonard. "Come to the yard, we will wait for him there."

"I will go with you," cried Amabel. "If any harm should befall him, I should never forgive myself."

"Remember what I told you," rejoined Leonard, sternly; "it depends upon yourself whether he leaves the house alive."

"Heed him not," whispered Gregory. "I and my comrade will obey no one but you."

Amabel could not repress an exclamation of surprise.

"What are you muttering, sirrah?" demanded Leonard, angrily.

"Only that the young lady may depend on our fidelity," replied Gregory. "There can be no offence in that. Come with us," he whispered to Amabel.

The latter part of his speech escaped Leonard, but the tone in which it was uttered was so significant, that Amabel, who began to entertain new suspicions, hesitated.

"You must come," said Leonard, seizing her hand.

"The fault be his, not mine," murmured Amabel, as she suffered herself to be drawn along.

The party then proceeded noiselessly towards the yard. On the way, Amabel felt a slight pressure on her arm, but, afraid of alarming Leonard, she made no remark.

The back-door was opened, and the little group stood in the darkness. They had not long to wait. Before they had been in the yard five minutes, a noise was heard of footsteps and muttered voices in the entry. This was followed by a sound like that occasioned by fastening a rope-ladder against the wall, and the next moment two figures were perceived above it. After dropping the ladder into the yard, these persons, the foremost of whom the apprentice concluded was the Earl of Rochester, descended. They had no sooner touched the ground than Leonard, drawing his pistols, advanced towards them.

"You are my prisoner, my lord," he said, in a stern voice, "and shall not depart with life, unless you pledge your word never to come hither again on the same errand."

"Betrayed!" cried the earl, laying his hand upon his sword.

"Resistance is in vain, my lord," rejoined Leonard. "I am better armed than yourself."

"Will nothing bribe you to silence, fellow?" cried the earl. "I will give you a thousand pounds, if you will hold your tongue, and conduct me to my mistress."

"I can scarcely tell what stays my hand," returned Leonard, in a furious tone. "But I will hold no further conversation with you. Amabel is present, and will give you your final dismissal herself."

"If I receive it from her own lips," replied the earl, "I will instantly retire--but not otherwise."

"Amabel," said Leonard in a low tone to her, "you hear what is said. Fulfil your promise."

"Do so," cried a voice, which she instantly recognised, in her ear--"I am near you."

"Ah!" she exclaimed.

"Do you hesitate?" cried the apprentice, sternly.

"My lord," said Amabel, in a faint voice, "I must pray you to retire, your efforts are in vain. I will never fly with you."

"That will not suffice," whispered Leonard; "you must tell him you no longer love him."

"Hear me," pursued Amabel; "you who present yourself as Lord Rochester, I entertain no affection for you, and never wish to behold you again."

"Enough!" cried Leonard.

"Admirable!" whispered Gregory. "Nothing could be better."

"Well," cried the supposed earl, "since I no longer hold a place in your affections, it would be idle to pursue the matter further. Heaven be praised, there are other damsels quite as beautiful, though not so cruel. Farewell for ever, Amabel."

So saying he mounted the ladder, and, followed by his companion, disappeared on the other side.

"He is gone," said Leonard, "and I hope for ever. Now let us return to the house."

"I am coming," rejoined Amabel.

"Let him go," whispered Gregory. "The ladder is still upon the wall; we will climb it."

And as the apprentice moved towards the house, he tried to drag her in that direction.

"I cannot--will not fly thus," she cried.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed Leonard, suddenly turning.

"Further disguise is useless," replied the supposed Gregory Swindlehurst. "I am the Earl of Rochester. The other was a counterfeit."

"Ah!" exclaimed Leonard, rushing towards them, and placing a pistol against the breast of his mistress? "Have I been duped? But it is not yet too late to retrieve my error. Move a foot further, my lord,--and do you, Amabel, attempt to fly with him, and I fire."

"You cannot mean this?" cried Rochester. "Raise your hand against the woman you love?"

"Against the woman who forgets her duty, and the libertine who tempts her, the arm that is raised is that of justice," replied Leonard. "Stir another footstep, and I fire."

As he spoke, his arms were suddenly seized by a powerful grasp from behind, and, striking the pistols from his hold, the earl snatched up Amabel in his arms, and, mounting the ladder, made good his retreat.

A long and desperate struggle took place between Leonard and his assailant, who was no other than Pillichody, in his assumed character of Bernard Boutefeu. But notwithstanding the superior strength of the bully, and the advantage he had taken of the apprentice, he was worsted in the end.

Leonard had no sooner extricated himself, than, drawing his sword, he would have passed it through Pillichody's body, if the latter had not stayed his hand by offering to tell him where he would find his mistress, provided his life were spared.

"Where has the earl taken her?" cried Leonard, scarcely able to articulate from excess of passion.

"He meant to take her to Saint Paul's,--to the vaults below the cathedral, to avoid pursuit," replied Pillichody. "I have no doubt you will find her there."

"I will go there instantly and search," cried Leonard, rushing up the ladder.

V. THE BLIND PIPER AND HIS DAUGHTER

Scarcely knowing how he got there, Leonard Holt found himself at the great northern entrance of the cathedral. Burning with fury, he knocked at the door; but no answer being returned to the summons, though he repeated it still more loudly, he shook the heavy latch with such violence as to rouse the sullen echoes of the aisles. Driven almost to desperation, he retired a few paces, and surveyed the walls of the vast structure, in the hope of descrying some point by which he might obtain an entrance.

It was a bright moonlight night, and the reverend pile looked so beautiful, that, under any other frame of mind, Leonard must, have been struck with admiration. The ravages of time could not now be discerned, and the architectural incongruities which, seen in the broad glare of day, would have offended the eye of taste, were lost in the general grand effect. On the left ran the magnificent pointed windows of the choir, divided by massive buttresses,--the latter ornamented with crocketed pinnacles. On the right, the building had been new-faced, and its original character, in a great measure, destroyed by the tasteless manner in which the repairs had been executed. On this side, the lower windows were round-headed and separated by broad pilasters, while above them ran a range of small circular windows. At the western angle was seen one of the towers (since imitated by Wren), which flanked this side of the fane, together with a part of the portico erected, about twenty-five years previously, by Inigo Jones, and which, though beautiful in itself, was totally out of character with the edifice, and, in fact, a blemish to it.

Insensible alike to the beauties or defects of the majestic building, and regarding it only as the prison of his mistress, Leonard Holt scanned it carefully on either side. But his scrutiny was attended with no favourable result.

Before resorting to force to obtain admission, he determined to make the complete circuit of the structure, and with this view he shaped his course towards the east.

He found two small doors on the left of the northern transept, but both were fastened, and the low pointed windows beneath the choir, lighting the subterranean church of Saint Faith's, were all barred. Running on, he presently came to a flight of stone steps at the north-east corner of the choir, leading to a portal opening upon a small chapel dedicated to Saint George. But this was secured like the others, and, thinking it vain to waste time in trying to force it, he pursued his course.

Skirting the eastern extremity of the fane--then the most beautiful part of the structure, from its magnificent rose window--he speeded past the low windows which opened on this side, as on the other upon Saint Faith's, and did not pause till he came to the great southern portal, the pillars and arch of which differed but slightly in character from those of the northern entrance.

Here he knocked as before, and was answered, as on the former occasion, by sullen echoes from within. When these sounds died away, he placed his ear to the huge key-hole in the wicket, but could not even catch the fall of a footstep. Neither could he perceive any light, except that afforded by the moonbeams, which flooded the transept with radiance.

Again hurrying on, he passed the cloister-walls surrounding the Convocation House; tried another door between that building and the church of Saint Gregory, a small fane attached to the larger structure; and failing in opening it, turned the corner and approached the portico,--the principal entrance to the cathedral being then, as now, on the west.

Erected, as before mentioned, from the designs of the celebrated Inigo Jones, this magnificent colonnade was completed about 1640, at which time preparations were made for repairing the cathedral throughout, and for strengthening the tower, for enabling it to support a new spire. But this design, owing to the disorganised state of affairs, was never carried into execution.

At the time of the Commonwealth, while the interior of the sacred fabric underwent every sort of desecration and mutilation,--while stones were torn from the pavement, and monumental brasses from tombs,--while carved stalls were burnt, and statues plucked from their niches,--a similar fate attended the portico. Shops were built beneath it, and the sculptures ornamenting its majestic balustrade were thrown down.

Amongst other obstructions, it appears that there was a "high house in the north angle, which hindered the masons from repairing that part of it." The marble door-cases, the capitals, cornices, and pillars were so much injured by the fires made against them, that it required months to put them in order. At the Restoration, Sir John Denham, the poet, was appointed surveyor-general of the works, and continued to hold the office at the period of this history.

As Leonard drew near the portico, he perceived, to his surprise, that a large concourse of people was collected in the area in front of it; and, rushing forward, he found the assemblage listening to the denunciations of Solomon Eagle, who was standing in the midst of them with his brazier on his head. The enthusiast appeared more than usually excited. He was tossing aloft his arms in a wild and frenzied manner, and seemed to be directing his menaces against the cathedral itself.

Hoping to obtain assistance from the crowd, Leonard resolved to await a fitting period to address them. Accordingly, he joined them, and listened to the discourse of the enthusiast.

"Hear me!" cried the latter, in a voice of thunder. "I had a vision last night and will relate it to you. During my brief slumbers, I thought I was standing on this very spot, and gazing as now upon yon mighty structure. On a sudden the day became overcast, and ere long it grew pitchy dark. Then was heard a noise of rushing wings in the air, and I could just discern many strange figures hovering above the tower, uttering doleful cries and lamentations. All at once these figures disappeared, and gave place to, or, it may be, were chased away by, others of more hideous appearance. The latter brought lighted brands which they hurled against the sacred fabric, and, in an instant, flames burst forth from it on all sides. My brethren, it was a fearful, yet a glorious sight to see that vast pile wrapped in the devouring element! The flames were so vivid--so intense--that I could not bear to look upon them, and I covered my face with my hands. On raising my eyes again the flames were extinguished, but the building was utterly in ruins--its columns cracked--its tower hurled from its place--its ponderous roof laid low. It was a mournful spectacle, and a terrible proof of the Divine wrath and vengeance. Yes, my brethren, the temple of the Lord has been profaned, and it will be razed to the ground. It has been the scene of abomination and impiety, and must be purified by fire. Theft, murder, sacrilege, and every other crime have been committed within its walls, and its destruction will follow. The ministers of Heaven's vengeance are even now hovering above it. Repent, therefore, ye who listen to me, and repent speedily; for sudden death, plague, fire, and famine, are at hand. As the prophet Amos saith, 'The Lord will send a fire, the Lord will commission a fire, the Lord will kindle a fire;' and the fire so commissioned and so kindled shall consume you and your city; nor shall one stone of those walls be left standing on another. Repent, or burn, for he cometh to judge the earth. Repent, or burn, I say!"

As soon as he concluded, Leonard Holt ran up the steps of the portico, and in a loud voice claimed the attention of the crowd.

"Solomon Eagle is right," he cried; "the vengeance of Heaven will descend upon this fabric, since it continues to be the scene of so much wickedness. Even now it forms the retreat of a profligate nobleman, who has this night forcibly carried off the daughter of a citizen."

"What nobleman?" cried a bystander.

"The Earl of Rochester," replied Leonard. "He has robbed Stephen Bloundel, the grocer of Wood-street, of his daughter, and has concealed her, to avoid pursuit, in the vaults of the cathedral."

"I know Mr. Bloundel well," rejoined the man who had made the inquiry, and whom Leonard recognised as a hosier named Lamplugh, "and I know the person who addresses us. It is his apprentice. We must restore the damsel to her father, friends."

"Agreed!" cried several voices.

"Knock at the door," cried a man, whose occupation of a smith was proclaimed by his leathern apron, brawny chest, and smoke-begrimed visage, as well as by the heavy hammer which he bore upon his shoulder. "If it is not instantly opened, we will break it down. I have an implement here which will soon do the business."

A rush was then made to the portal, which rang with the heavy blows dealt against it. While this was passing, Solomon Eagle, whose excitement was increased by the tumult, planted himself in the centre of the colonnade, and vociferated--"I speak in the words of the prophet Ezekiel:--'Thou hast defiled thy sanctuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, by the iniquity of thy traffic. Therefore will I bring forth a fire from the midst of thee, and will bring thee to ashes upon the earth, in the sight of all them that behold thee!'"

The crowd continued to batter the door until they were checked by Lamplugh, who declared he heard some one approaching, and the next moment the voice of one of the vergers inquired in trembling tones, who they were, and what they wanted.

"No matter who we are," replied Leonard, "we demand admittance to search for a young female who has been taken from her home by the Earl of Rochester, and is now concealed within the vaults of the cathedral."

"If admittance is refused us, we will soon let ourselves in," vociferated Lamplugh.

"Ay, that we will," added the smith.

"You are mistaken, friends," returned the verger, timorously. "The Earl of Rochester is not here."

"We will not take your word for it," rejoined the smith. "This will show you we are not to be trifled with."

So saying, he raised his hammer, and struck such a tremendous blow against the door, that the bolts started in their sockets.

"Hold! hold!" cried the verger; "sooner than violence shall be committed, I will risk your admission."

And he unfastened the door.

"Keep together," shouted the smith, stretching out his arms to oppose the progress of the crowd. "Keep together, I say."

"Ay, ay, keep together," added Lamplugh, seconding his efforts.

"Conduct us to the Earl of Rochester, and no harm shall befall you," cried Leonard, seizing the verger by the collar.

"I tell you I know nothing about him," replied the man. "He is not here."

"It is false! you are bribed to silence," rejoined the apprentice. "We will search till we find him."

"Search where you please," rejoined the verger; "and if you _do_ find him, do what you please with me."

"Don't be afraid of that, friend," replied the smith; "we will hang you and the earl to the same pillar."

By this time, the crowd had pushed aside the opposition offered by the smith and Lamplugh. Solomon Eagle darted along the nave with lightning swiftness, and, mounting the steps leading to the choir, disappeared from view. Some few persons followed him, while others took their course along the aisles. But the majority kept near the apprentice.

Snatching the lamp from the grasp of the verger, Leonard Holt ran on with his companions till they came to the beautiful chapel built by Thomas Kempe, bishop of London. The door was open, and the apprentice, holding the light forward, perceived there were persons inside. He was about to enter the chapel, when a small spaniel rushed forth, and, barking furiously, held him in check for a moment. Alarmed by the noise, an old man in a tattered garb, and a young female, who were slumbering on benches in the chapel, immediately started to their feet, and advanced towards them.

"We are mistaken," said Lamplugh; "this is only Mike Macascree, the blind piper and his daughter Nizza. I know them well enough."

Leonard was about to proceed with his search, but a slight circumstance detained him for a few minutes, during which time he had sufficient leisure to note the extraordinary personal attractions of Nizza Macascree.

In age she appeared about seventeen, and differed in the character of her beauty, as well as in the natural gracefulness of her carriage and demeanour, from all the persons he had seen in her humble sphere of life. Her features were small, and of the utmost delicacy. She had a charmingly-formed nose--slightly _retroussé_--a small mouth, garnished with pearl-like teeth, and lips as fresh and ruddy as the dew-steeped rose. Her skin was as dark as a gipsy's, but clear and transparent, and far more attractive than the fairest complexion. Her eyes were luminous as the stars, and black as midnight; while her raven tresses, gathered beneath a spotted kerchief tied round her head, escaped in many a wanton curl down her shoulders. Her figure was slight, but exquisitely proportioned; and she had the smallest foot and ankle that ever fell to the lot of woman. Her attire was far from unbecoming, though of the coarsest material; and her fairy feet were set off by the daintiest shoes and hose. Such was the singular and captivating creature that attracted the apprentice's attention.

Her father, Mike Macascree, was upwards of sixty, but still in the full vigour of life, with features which, though not ill-looking, bore no particular resemblance to those of his daughter. He had a good-humoured, jovial countenance, the mirthful expression of which even his sightless orbs could not destroy. Long white locks descended upon his shoulders, and a patriarchal beard adorned his chin. He was wrapped in a loose grey gown, patched with different coloured cloths, and supported himself with a staff. His pipe was suspended from his neck by a green worsted cord.

"Lie down, Bell," he cried to his dog; "what are you barking at thus? Lie down, I say."

"Something is the matter, father," replied Nizza. "The church is full of people."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the piper.

"We are sorry to disturb you," said Leonard; "but we are in search of a nobleman who has run away with a citizen's daughter, and conveyed her to the cathedral, and we thought they might have taken refuge in this chapel."

"No one is here except myself and daughter," replied the piper. "We are allowed this lodging by Mr. Quatremain, the minor canon."

"All dogs are ordered to be destroyed by the Lord Mayor," cried the smith, seizing Bell by the neck. "This noisy animal must be silenced."

"Oh, no! do not hurt her!" cried Nizza. "My father loves poor Bell almost as well as he loves me. She is necessary to his existence. You must not--will not destroy her!"

"Won't I?" replied the smith, gruffly; "we'll see that."

"But we are not afraid of contagion, are we, father?" cried Nizza, appealing to the piper.

"Not in the least," replied Mike, "and we will take care the poor beast touches no one else. Do not harm her, sir--for pity's sake, do not. I should miss her sadly."

"The Lord Mayor's commands must be obeyed," rejoined the smith, brutally.

As if conscious of the fate awaiting her, poor Bell struggled hard to get free, and uttered a piteous yell.

"You are not going to kill the dog?" interposed Leonard.

"Have you anything to say to the contrary?" rejoined the smith, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to put an end to further interference.

"Only this," replied Leonard, "that I will not allow it."

"You won't--eh?" returned the smith, derisively.

"I will not," rejoined Leonard, "so put her down and come along."

"Go your own way," replied the smith, "and leave me to mine."

Leonard answered by snatching Bell suddenly from his grasp. Thus liberated, the terrified animal instantly flew to her mistress.

"Is this the return I get for assisting you?" cried the smith, savagely. "You are bewitched by a pair of black eyes. But you will repent your folly."

"I shall never forget your kindness," replied Nizza, clasping Bell to her bosom, and looking gratefully at the apprentice. "You say you are in search of a citizen's daughter and a nobleman. About half an hour ago, or scarcely so much, I was awakened by the opening of the door of the southern transept, and peeping out, I saw three persons--a young man in the dress of a watchman, but evidently disguised, and a very beautiful young woman, conducted by Judith Malmayns, bearing a lantern,--pass through the doorway leading to Saint Faith's. Perhaps they are the very persons you are in search of."

"They are," returned Leonard; "and you have repaid me a hundredfold for the slight service I have rendered you by the information. We will instantly repair to the vaults. Come along."

Accompanied by the whole of the assemblage, except the smith, who skulked off in the opposite direction, he passed through the low doorway on the right of the choir, and descended to Saint Faith's. The subterranean church was buried in profound darkness, and apparently wholly untenanted. On reaching the charnel, they crossed it, and tried the door of the vault formerly occupied by the sexton. It was fastened, but Leonard knocking violently against it, it was soon opened by Judith Malmayns, who appeared much surprised, and not a little alarmed, at the sight of so many persons. She was not alone, and her companion was Chowles. He was seated at a table, on which stood a flask of brandy and a couple of glasses, and seemed a good deal confused at being caught in such a situation, though he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment by an air of effrontery.

"Where is the Earl of Rochester?--where is Amabel?" demanded Leonard Holt.

"I know nothing about either of them," replied Judith. "Why do you put these questions to me?"

"Because you admitted them to the cathedral," cried the apprentice, furiously, "and because you have concealed them. If you do not instantly guide me to their retreat, I will make you a terrible example to all such evil-doers in future."

"If you think to frighten me by your violence, you are mistaken," returned Judith, boldly. "Mr. Chowles has been here more than two hours--ask him whether he has seen any one."

"Certainly not," replied Chowles. "There is no Amabel--no Earl of Rochester here. You must be dreaming, young man."

"The piper's daughter affirmed the contrary," replied Leonard. "She said she saw this woman admit them."

"She lies," replied Judith, fiercely. But suddenly altering her tone, she continued, "If I _had_ admitted them, you would find them here."

Leonard looked round uneasily. He was but half convinced, and yet he scarcely knew what to think.

"If you doubt what I say to you," continued Judith, "I will take you to every chamber in the cathedral. You will then be satisfied that I speak the truth. But I will not have this mob with me. Your companions must remain here."

"Ay, stop with me and make yourselves comfortable," cried Chowles. "You are not so much used to these places as I am, I prefer a snug crypt, like this, to the best room in a tavern--ha! ha!"

Attended by Judith, Leonard Holt searched every corner of the subterranean church, except the vestry, the door of which was locked, and the key removed; but without success. They then ascended to the upper structure, and visited the choir, the transepts, and the nave, but with no better result.

"If you still think they are here," said Judith, "we will mount to the summit of the tower?"

"I will never quit the cathedral without them," replied Leonard.

"Come on, then," returned Judith.

So saying, she opened the door in the wall on the left of the choir, and, ascending a winding stone staircase to a considerable height, arrived at a small cell contrived within the thickness of the wall, and desired Leonard to search it. The apprentice unsuspectingly obeyed. But he had scarcely set foot inside when the door was locked behind him, and he was made aware of the treachery practised upon him by a peal of mocking laughter from his conductress.

VI. OLD LONDON FROM OLD SAINT PAUL'S.

After repeated, but ineffectual efforts to burst open the door, Leonard gave up the attempt in despair, and endeavoured to make his situation known by loud outcries. But his shouts, if heard, were unheeded, and he was soon compelled from exhaustion to desist. Judith having carried away the lantern, he was left in total darkness; but on searching the cell, which was about four feet wide and six deep, he discovered a narrow grated loophole. By dint of great exertion, and with the help of his sword, which snapped in twain as he used it, he managed to force off one of the rusty bars, and to squeeze himself through the aperture. All his labour, however, was thrown away. The loophole opened on the south side of the tower, near one of the large buttresses, which projected several yards beyond it on the left, and was more than twenty feet above the roof; so that it would be certain destruction to drop from so great a height.

The night was overcast, and the moon hidden behind thick clouds. Still, there was light enough to enable him to discern the perilous position in which he stood. After gazing below for some time, Leonard was about to return to the cell, when, casting his eyes upwards, he thought he perceived the end of a rope about a foot above his head, dangling from the upper part of the structure. No sooner was this discovery made, than it occurred to him that he might possibly liberate himself by this unlooked for aid; and, regardless of the risk he ran, he sprang upwards and caught hold of the rope. It was firmly fastened above, and sustained his weight well.

Possessed of great bodily strength and activity, and nerved by desperation, Leonard Holt placed his feet against the buttress, and impelled himself towards one of the tall pointed windows lighting the interior of the tower; but though he reached the point at which he aimed, the sway of the rope dragged him back before he could obtain a secure grasp of the stone shaft; and, after another ineffectual effort, fearful of exhausting his strength, he abandoned the attempt, and began to climb up the rope with his hands and knees. Aided by the inequalities of the roughened walls, he soon gained a range of small Saxon arches ornamenting the tower immediately beneath the belfry, and succeeded in planting his right foot on the moulding of one of them; he instantly steadied himself, and with little further effort clambered through an open window.

His first act on reaching the belfry was to drop on his knees, and return thanks to Heaven for his deliverance. He then looked about for an outlet; but though a winding staircase existed in each of the four angles of the tower, all the doors, to his infinite disappointment, were fastened on the other side. He was still, therefore, a prisoner.

Determined, however, not to yield to despair, he continued his search, and finding a small door opening upon a staircase communicating with the summit of the tower, he unfastened it (for the bolt was on his own side), and hurried up the steps. Passing through another door bolted like the first within side, he issued upon the roof. He was now on the highest part of the cathedral, and farther from his hopes than ever; and so agonizing were his feelings, that he almost felt tempted to fling himself headlong downwards. Beneath him lay the body of the mighty fabric, its vast roof, its crocketed pinnacles, its buttresses and battlements scarcely discernible through the gloom, but looking like some monstrous engine devised to torture him.

Wearied with gazing at it, and convinced of the futility of any further attempt at descent, Leonard Holt returned to the belfry, and, throwing himself on the boarded floor, sought some repose. The fatigue he had undergone was so great, that, notwithstanding his anxiety, he soon dropped asleep, and did not awake for several hours. On opening his eyes, it was just getting light, and shaking himself, he again prepared for action. All the events of the night rushed upon his mind, and he thought with unutterable anguish of Amabel's situation. Glancing round the room, it occurred to him that he might give the alarm by ringing the enormous bells near him; but though he set them slightly in motion, he could not agitate the immense clappers sufficiently to produce any sound.

Resolved, however, to free himself at any hazard, he once more repaired to the summit of the tower, and leaning over the balustrade, gazed below. It was a sublime spectacle, and, in spite of his distress, filled him with admiration and astonishment. He had stationed himself on the south side of the tower, and immediately beneath him lay the broad roof of the transept, stretching out to a distance of nearly two hundred feet. On the right, surrounded by a double row of cloisters, remarkable for the beauty of their architecture, stood the convocation, or chapter-house. The exquisite building was octagonal in form, and supported by large buttresses, ornamented on each gradation by crocketed pinnacles. Each side, moreover, had a tall pointed window, filled with stained glass, and was richly adorned with trefoils and cinquefoils. Further on, on the same side, was the small low church dedicated to Saint Gregory, overtopped by the south-western tower of the mightier parent fane.