e woman was dying
fast, as her glazing eyes plainly showed.

Probably her case was altogether hopeless; but Joan was not yet seasoned
to such scenes, and it seemed too terrible to sit by idle whilst a
fellow creature actually died not two yards away. Surely somewhere
within that house aid could be found. The girl rose gently from her
seat, and still clasping the stricken infant in her arms, she moved
towards one of the closed doors of the lower rooms.

Opening this softly, she looked in, and saw a row of narrow pallet beds
down each side of the room, and every bed was tenanted. Sounds of
moaning, the babble of delirious talk, and thickly-uttered cries for
help or mercy now reached her ears, and the terrible breath of the
plague for the first time smote upon her senses in all its full
malignity. She recoiled for an instant, and clutched at the bag around
her neck, which she was glad enough to press to her face.

A great fire was burning in the hearth, and all that could be done to
lessen the evil had been accomplished. There was one attendant in this
room, which was set apart for men, and he was just now bending over a
delirious youth, striving to restrain his wild ravings and to induce him
to remain in his bed. This attendant had his back to Joan, but she saw
by his actions and his calm self possession that he was no novice to his
task; and she walked softly through the pestilential place, feeling that
she should not appeal to him for help in vain.

As the sound of the light, firm tread sounded upon the bare boards of
the floor, the attendant suddenly lifted himself and turned round. Joan
uttered a quick exclamation of surprise, which was echoed by the person
in question.

"Raymond!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Joan! Thou here, and at such a time as this!"

And then they both stood motionless for a few long moments, feeling that
despite the terrible scenes around and about them, the very gates of
Paradise had opened before them, turning everything around them to gold.

CHAPTER XXI. THE OLD, OLD STORY

The scourge had passed. It had swept over the length and breadth of the
region of which Guildford formed the centre, and had done its terrible
work of destruction there, leaving homes desolated and villages almost
depopulated. It was still raging in London, and was hurrying northward
and eastward with all its relentless energy and deadliness; but in most
of the places thus left behind its work seemed