een attacked has left behind him a
beautiful mistress. She is yours if you choose to join us."

"Ay, stop with us," cried a young and very pretty woman, taking his hand
and drawing him towards the company who were dancing beneath the aisles.

But Leonard disengaged himself, and hurried away amid the laughter and
hootings of the assemblage. The streets, despite their desolate
appearance, were preferable to the spot he had just quitted, and he
seemed to breathe more freely when he got to a little distance from the
polluted fane. He had now entered Wood-street, but all was as still as
death, and he paused to gaze up at his master's window, but there was no
one at it. Many a lover, unable to behold the object of his affections,
has in some measure satisfied the yearning of his heart by gazing at her
dwelling, and feeling he was near her. Many a sad heart has been cheered
by beholding a light at a window, or a shadow on its closed curtains,
and such would have been Leonard's feelings if he had not been depressed
by the thought of Amabel's precarious state of health.

While thus wrapt in mournful thought, he observed three figures slowly
approaching from the further end of the street, and he instinctively
withdrew into a doorway. He had reason to congratulate himself upon the
precaution, as, when the party drew nearer, he recognised, with a pang
that shot to his heart, the voice of Rochester. A moment's observation
from his place of concealment showed him that the earl was accompanied
by Sir George Etherege and Pillichody. They paused within a short
distance of him, and he could distinctly hear their conversation.

"You have not yet told us why you brought us here my lord," said
Etherege to Rochester, after the latter had gazed for a few moments in
silence at the house. "Are you resolved to make another attempt to carry
off the girl--and failing in it, to give her up for ever!"

"You have guessed my purpose precisely," returned Rochester. "Doctor
Hodges has informed a friend of mine that the pretty Amabel has fallen
into a decline. The poor soul is, doubtless, pining for me; and it would
be the height of inhumanity to let her perish."

Leonard ground his teeth-with suppressed rage.

"Then you mean to make her Countess of Rochester, after all," laughed
Etherege. "I thought you had determined to carry off Mistress Mallett."

"Old Bowley declares he will send me to the Tower if I do," replied
Rochester; "and though his th