it, "Lord have mercy upon us," in characters so legible that they could
be easily distinguished by the moonlight, while a watchman, with a
halberd in his hand, kept guard outside.

Involuntarily drawing in his breath, Leonard quickened his pace. But he
met with an unexpected and fearful interruption. Just as he reached the
narrow passage leading from Duck-lane to Bartholomew-close, he heard the
ringing of a bell, followed by a hoarse voice, crying, "Bring out your
dead--bring out your dead!" he then perceived that a large,
strangely-shaped cart stopped up the further end of the passage, and
heard a window open, and a voice call out that all was ready. The next
moment a light was seen at the door, and a coffin was brought out and
placed in the cart. This done, the driver, who was smoking a pipe,
cracked his whip, and put the vehicle in motion.

Shrinking into a doorway, and holding a handkerchief to his face, to
avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that there were
other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by two persons in
long black cloaks. The vehicle itself, fashioned like an open hearse,
and of the same sombre colour, relieved by fantastical designs, painted
in white, emblematic of the pestilence, was drawn by a horse of the
large black Flanders breed, and decorated with funeral trappings. To
Leonard's inexpressible horror, the cart again stopped opposite him, and
the driver ringing his bell, repeated his doleful cry. While another
coffin was brought out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next
house was opened, and a woman looking forth screamed, "Is Anselm
Chowles, the coffin-maker, there?"

"Yes, here I am, Mother Malmayns," replied one of the men in black
cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhibiting features so hideous, and
stamped with such a revolting expression, that Leonard's blood curdled
at the sight. "What do you want with me?" he added.

"I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough," replied the woman.

"What, is the old miser gone at last?" exclaimed Chowles, with an
atrocious laugh. "But how shall I get paid for a coffin?"

"You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house," replied
Mother Malmayns; "or you may carry him to the grave without one, if you
prefer it."

"No, no, that won't do," returned Chowles. "I've other customers to
attend to who _will_ pay; and, besides, I want to get home. I expect
friends at supper. Good-night, Mother Malmayns. Yo