and said to me, 'I am
going to attend a young woman who is sick of the plague, and may be
absent for some time. If Mr. Thirlby or Leonard Holt should call, detain
them till my return.'"

"My heart tells me that the young woman he is gone to visit is no other
than Amabel," said Leonard Holt, sorrowfully.

"I suspect it is Nizza Macascree," cried Thirlby. "Which way did your
master take?"

"I did not observe," replied the porter, "but he told me he should cross
London Bridge."

"I will go into Southwark in quest of him," said Thirlby. "Every moment
is of consequence now."

"You had better stay where you are," replied the old porter. "It is the
surest way to meet with him."

Thirlby, however, was too full of anxiety to listen to reason, and his
impatience producing a corresponding effect upon Leonard, though from a
different motive, they set forth together. "If I fail to find him, you
may expect me back ere long," were Thirlby's last words to the porter.
Hurrying along Watling-street, and taking the first turning on the
right, he descended to Thames-street, and made the best of his way
towards the bridge. Leonard followed him closely, and they pursued their
rapid course in silence. By the time they reached the north gate of the
bridge, Leonard found his strength failing him, and halting at one of
the openings between the tall houses overlooking the river, where there
was a wooden bench for the accommodation of passengers, he sank upon it,
and begged Thirlby to go on, saying he would return to Watling-street as
soon as he recovered from his exhaustion. Thirlby did not attempt to
dissuade him from his purpose, but instantly disappeared.

The night, it has before been remarked, was singularly beautiful. It was
almost as light as day, for the full harvest moon (alas! there was no
harvest for it to smile upon!) having just risen, revealed every object
with perfect distinctness. The bench on which Leonard was seated lay on
the right side of the bridge, and commanded a magnificent reach of the
river, that flowed beneath like a sheet of molten silver. The apprentice
gazed along its banks, and noticed the tall spectral-looking houses on
the right, until his eye finally settled on the massive fabric of Saint
Paul's, the roof and towers of which rose high above the lesser
structures. His meditations were suddenly interrupted by the opening of
a window in the house near him, while a loud splash in the water told
that a body h