Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire by William Harrison Ainsworth (recommended books to read .TXT) 📕

"I have had some difficulty in finding a clergyman," said the earl, "for the rector of Saint Saviour's has fled from the plague. His curate, however, will officiate for him, and is now in the church."

Amabel fixed a searching look upon him. "Why are these gentlemen here?" she asked.

"I have brought them with me," rejoined Rochester, "because, as they were aware of the injury I once intended you, I wish them to be present at its reparation."

"I am satisfied," she replied.

Taking her hand, the earl then led her to a carriage, which conveyed them to Saint Saviour's. Just as they alighted, the dead-cart passed, and several bodies were brought towards it. Eager to withdraw her attention from the spectacle, Rochester hurried her into the old and beautiful church. In another moment they were joined by Etherege and Pillichody, and they proceeded to the altar, where the priest, a young man, was standing. The ceremony was then performed, and the earl led his bride back to the carriage. On their return they had to undergo another ill-omened interruption. The dead-cart was stationed near the gateway, and some delay occurred before it could be moved forward.

Amabel, however, suffered no further misgiving to take possession of her. Deeming herself wedded to the earl, she put no constraint on her affection for him, and her happiness, though short-lived, was deep and full. A month passed away like a dream of delight. Nothing occurred in the slightest degree to mar her felicity. Rochester seemed only to live for her—to think only of her. At the end of this time, some indifference began to manifest itself in his deportment to her, and he evinced a disposition to return to the court and to its pleasures.

"I thought you had for ever abandoned them, my dear lord," said Amabel, reproachfully.

"For awhile I have," he replied, carelessly.

"You must leave me, if you return to them," she rejoined.

"If I must, I must," said the earl.

"You cannot mean this, my lord," she cried, bursting into tears. "You cannot be so changed."

"I have never changed since you first knew me," replied Rochester.

"Impossible!" she cried, in a tone of anguish; "you have not the faults—the vices, you once had."

"I know not what you call faults and vices, madam," replied the earl sharply, "but I have the same qualities as heretofore.

"Am I to understand, then," cried Amabel, a fearful suspicion of the truth breaking upon her, "that you never sincerely repented your former actions?"

"You are to understand it," replied Rochester.

"And you deceived me when you affirmed the contrary?"

"I deceived you," he replied.

"I begin to suspect," she cried, with a look of horror and doubt, "that the attack of the plague was feigned."

"You are not far wide of the truth," was the reply.

"And our marriage?" she cried—"our marriage? Was that feigned likewise?"

"It was," replied Rochester, calmly.

Amabel looked at him fixedly for a few minutes, as if she could not credit his assertion, and then receiving no contradiction, uttered a wild scream, and rushed out of the room. Rochester followed, and saw her dart with lightning swiftness across the court-yard. On gaining the street, he perceived her flying figure already at some distance; and greatly alarmed, started in pursuit. The unfortunate girl was not allowed to proceed far. Two persons who were approaching, and who proved to be Etherege and Pillichody, caught hold of her, and detained her till Rochester came up. When the latter attempted to touch her, she uttered such fearful shrieks, that Etherege entreated him to desist. With some difficulty she was taken back to the house. But it was evident that the shock had unsettled her reason. She alternately uttered wild, piercing screams, or broke into hysterical laughter. The earl's presence so much increased her frenzy, that he gladly withdrew.

"This is a melancholy business, my lord," observed Etherege, as they quitted the room together, "and I am sorry for my share in it. We have both much to answer for."

"Do you think her life in danger?" rejoined Rochester.

"It would be well if it were so," returned the other; "but I fear she will live to be a perpetual memento to you of the crime you have committed."

Amabel's delirium produced a high fever, which continued for three days. Her screams were at times so dreadful, that her betrayer shut himself up in the furthest part of the house, that he might not hear them. When at last she sank into a sleep like that of death, produced by powerful opiates, he stole into the room, and gazed at her with feelings which those who watched his countenance did not envy. It was hoped by the chirurgeon in attendance, that when the violence of the fever abated, Amabel's reason would be restored. But it was not so. Her faculties were completely shaken, and the cause of her affliction being effaced from her memory, she now spoke of the Earl of Rochester with her former affection.

Her betrayer once ventured into her presence, but he did not repeat the visit. Her looks and her tenderness were more than even his firmness could bear, and he hurried away to hide his emotion from the attendants. Several days passed on, and as no improvement took place, the earl, who began to find the stings of conscience too sharp for further endurance, resolved to try to deaden the pangs by again plunging into the dissipation of the court. Prudence had been seized by the plague, and removed to the pest-house, and not knowing to whom to entrust Amabel, it at last occurred to him that Judith Malmayns would be a fitting person, and he accordingly sent for her from Saint Paul's, and communicated his wishes to her, offering her a considerable reward for the service. Judith readily undertook the office, and the earl delayed his departure for two days, to see how all went on; and finding the arrangements, to all appearances, answer perfectly, he departed with Etherege and Pillichody.

Ever since the communication of the fatal truth had been made to her by the earl, his unfortunate victim had occupied the large oak-panelled chamber, on entering which so sad a presentiment had seized her; and she had never quitted the bed where she thought she would breathe her last. On the night of Rochester's departure she made many inquiries concerning him from Judith Malmayns, who was seated in an old broad-cushioned, velvet-covered chair, beside her, and was told that the king required his attendance at Oxford, but that he would soon return. At this answer the tears gathered thickly in Amabel's dark eyelashes, and she remained silent. By-and-by she resumed the conversation.

"Do you know, nurse," she said, with a look of extreme anxiety, "I have forgotten my prayers. Repeat them to me, and I will say them after you."

"My memory is as bad as your ladyship's," replied Judith, contemptuously. "It is so long since I said mine, that I have quite forgotten them."

"That is wrong in you," returned Amabel,