to place him in bed. No plague-token could be found
about his person, but as the same alarming symptoms still continued,
Leonard administered such remedies as he thought needful, and then went
in search of Doctor Hodges.

On reaching Watling-street, he found Doctor Hodges about to retire to
rest. The worthy physician was greatly distressed by the apprentice's
account of his master's illness; but was somewhat reassured when the
symptoms were more minutely described to him. While preparing certain
medicines, and arming himself with his surgical implements, he
questioned Leonard as to the cause of his long disappearance. "Having
seen nothing of you," he said, "since the fatal night when our poor
Amabel's sorrows were ended, I began to feel very apprehensive on your
account. Where have you been?"

"You shall hear," replied Leonard, "though the relation will be like
opening my wounds afresh. On recovering from the terrible shock I had
received, I found myself stretched upon a bed in a house whither I had
been conveyed by Rainbird the watchman, who had discovered me lying in a
state of insensibility in the street. For nearly a week I continued
delirious, and should, probably, have lost my senses altogether but for
the attentions of the watchman. As soon as I was able to move, I
wandered to the lesser plague-pit, in Finsbury Fields, you will guess
with what intent. My heart seemed breaking, and I thought I should pour
forth my very soul in grief, as I gazed into that dreadful gulf, and
thought she was there interred. Still my tears were a relief. Every
evening, for a month, I went to that sad spot, and remained there till
daybreak admonished me to return to Rainbird's dwelling. At last, he was
seized by the distemper; but though I nursed him, voluntarily exposing
myself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remained
untouched. Poor Rainbird died; and having seen his body thrown into the
pit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days' toilsome travel on
foot, reached Ashdown Park. It was a melancholy pleasure to behold the
abode where she I had loved passed her last few days of happiness, and
where I had been near her. Her aunt, good Mrs. Buscot, though
overwhelmed by affliction at the sad tidings I brought her, received me
with the utmost kindness, and tried to console me. My sorrow, however,
was too deeply seated to be removed. Wandering over the downs, I visited
Mrs. Compton at Kingston Lisle, from whose house