to consume them, and that pile which they have erected as a temple
to their god shall be burnt to the ground."

Leonard's heart was too full to make any answer, and the enthusiast,
after a brief pause, again addressed him. "Have you seen Doctor Hodges
pass this way? I am in search of him."

"On what account?" asked Leonard anxiously. "His advice, I trust, is not
needed on behalf of any one in whom I am interested."

"No matter," replied Solomon Eagle, in a sombre tone; "have you seen
him?"

"I have not," rejoined the apprentice; "but he is probably at Saint
Paul's."

"I have just left the cathedral, and was told he had proceeded to some
house near Cornhill," rejoined the enthusiast.

"If you have been there, you can perhaps tell me how my master's porter,
Blaize Shotterel, is getting on," said Leonard.

"I can," replied the enthusiast. "I heard one of the chirurgeons say
that Doctor Hodges had pronounced him in a fair way of recovery. But I
must either find the doctor or go elsewhere. Farewell!"

"I will go with you in search of him," said Leonard.

"No, no; you must not--shall not," cried Solomon Eagle.

"Wherefore not?" asked the apprentice.

"Do not question me, but leave me," rejoined the enthusiast.

"Do you know aught of Amabel--of her retreat?" persisted Leonard, who
had a strange misgiving that the enthusiast's errand in some way
referred to her.

"I do," replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily; "but I again advise you not to
press me further."

"Answer me one question at least," cried Leonard. "Is she with the Earl
of Rochester?"

"She is," replied Solomon Eagle; "but I shall allay your fears in that
respect when I tell you she is sick of the plague."

Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he fell to the
ground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness by a sudden sense of
strangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld two dark figures bending
over him, one of whom was kneeling on his chest. A glance showed him
that this person was Chowles; and instantly comprehending what was the
matter, and aware that the coffin-maker was stripping him previously to
throwing him into the dead-cart, which was standing hard by, he cried
aloud, and struggled desperately to set himself free. Little opposition
was offered; for, on hearing the cry, Chowles quitted his hold, and
retreating to a short distance, exclaimed, with a look of surprise,
"Why, the fellow is not dead, after all!"

"I am neither