Old Saint Paul's by William Harrison Ainsworth (novel24 .TXT) 📕

old master again? I see you have taken good care of him, Sam," he added to the groom. "I knew I was placing him into good hands when I gave him to Mrs. Compton."

"Ay, ay, he can't find a better home, I fancy," said the groom.

"Will it please you to walk this way, ladies?" interposed the butler. "My mistress has been expecting you for some time, and had become quite uneasy about you." So saying, he led the way through a garden, filled with the odours of a hundred unseen flowers, and ushered them into the house.

Mrs. Compton, an elderly lady, of very pleasing exterior, received them with great kindness, and conducted them to a comfortable apartment, surrounded with book-shelves and old family portraits, where refreshments were spread out for them. The good old lady seemed particularly interested in Amabel, and pressed her, but in vain, to partake of the refreshments. With extreme delicacy, she refrained from inquiring into the cause of their visit, and seeing that they appeared, much fatigued, rang for a female attendant, and conducted them to a sleeping-chamber, where she took leave of them for the night. Amabel was delighted with her kind hostess, and, contrary to her expectations and to those of Nizza Macascree, enjoyed undisturbed repose. She awoke in the morning greatly refreshed, and, after attiring herself, gazed through her chamber window. It looked upon a trim and beautiful garden, with a green and mossy plot carved out into quaintly-fashioned beds, filled with the choicest flowers, and surrounded by fine timber, amid which a tall fir-tree appeared proudly conspicuous. Mrs. Compton, who, it appeared, always arose with the sun, was busied in tending her flowers, and as Amabel watched her interesting pursuits, she could scarcely help envying her.

"What a delightful life your mistress must lead," she observed to a female attendant who was present; "I cannot imagine greater happiness than hers."

"My mistress ought to be happy," said the attendant; "for there is no one living who does more good. Not a cottage nor a farm-house in the neighbourhood but she visits to inquire whether she can be of any service to its inmates; and wherever her services _are_ required, they are always rendered. Mrs. Compton's name will never be forgotten in Kingston Lisle."

At this moment, Amabel caught sight of the benevolent countenance of the good old lady looking up at the window, and a kindly greeting passed between them. Ringwood, who was a privileged intruder, was careering round the garden, and though his mistress watched his gambols round her favourite flower-beds with some anxiety, she did not check him. Amabel and Nizza now went down stairs, and Mrs. Compton returning from the garden, all the household, including Leonard and Blaize, assembled in the breakfast-room for morning prayers.

Breakfast over, Mrs. Compton entered into conversation with Amabel, and ascertained all the particulars of her history. She was greatly interested in it, but did not affect to conceal the anxiety it gave her.

"Yours is really a very dangerous position," she said, "and I should be acting unfairly towards you if I told you otherwise. However, I will give you all the protection in my power, and I trust your retreat may not be discovered."

Mrs. Compton's remark did not tend to dispel Amabel's uneasiness, and both she and Nizza Macascree passed a day of great disquietude.

In the mean time, Leonard and Blaize were treated with great hospitality by the old butler in the servants' hall; and though the former was not without apprehension that their retreat might be discovered, he trusted, if it were so, to some fortunate chance to effect their escape. He did not dare to confide his apprehensions to the butler, nor did the other make any inquiries; but it being understood that their visit was to be secret, every precaution was taken to keep it so. John Lutcombe had tarried no longer than enabled him to discuss a jug of ale, and then set out for Ashdown, promising to return on the following day; but he had not yet made his appearance. Evening arrived, and nothing alarming having occurred, all became comparatively easy; and Mrs. Compton herself, who had looked unusually grave throughout the day, now recovered her wonted cheerfulness.

Their satisfaction, however, was not long afterwards disturbed by the arrival of a large train of horsemen at the gate, and a stately personage alighted, and walked at the head of a gallant train, towards the house. At the sight of the new-comers, whom they instantly knew were the king and his suite, Amabel and Nizza Macascree flew upstairs, and shutting themselves in their chamber, awaited the result in the utmost trepidation. They were not kept long in suspense. Shortly after the king's arrival, Mrs. Compton herself knocked at the door, and in a tone of deep commiseration, informed Amabel that his majesty desired to see her.

Knowing that refusal was impossible, Amabel complied, and descended to a room looking upon the garden, in which she found the king. He was attended only by Chiffinch, and received her with a somewhat severe aspect, and demanded why she had left Ashdown contrary to his express injunctions?

Amabel stated her motives.

"What you tell me is by no means satisfactory," rejoined the king; "but since you have chosen to trust to yourself, you can no longer look for protection from me."

"I beseech your majesty to consider the strait into which I was driven," returned Amabel, imploringly.

"Summon the Earl of Rochester to the presence," said the king, turning from her to Chiffinch.

"In pity, sire," cried Amabel, throwing herself at his feet.

"Let the injunction be obeyed," rejoined Charles, peremptorily.

And the chief page departed.

Amabel instantly arose, and drew herself proudly up. Soon afterwards, Rochester made his appearance, and on seeing Amabel, a flush of triumphant joy overspread his features.

"I withdraw my interdiction, my lord," said the king to him. "You are at liberty to renew your suit to this girl."

"Hear me, Lord Rochester," said Amabel, addressing the earl; "I have conquered the passion I once felt for you, and regard you only as one who has sought my ruin, and from whom I have fortunately escaped. When you learn from my own lips that my heart is dead to you, that I never can love you more, and that I only desire to be freed from your addresses, I cannot doubt but you will discontinue them."

"Your declaration only inflames me the more, lovely Amabel," replied the earl, passionately. "You must, and shall be mine."

"Then my death will rest at your door," she rejoined.

"I will take my chance of that," rejoined the earl, carelessly.

Amabel then quitted the king's presence, and returned to her own chamber, where she found Nizza Macascree in a state of indescribable agitation.

"All has happened that I anticipated," said she to Nizza Macascree. "The king will no longer protect me, and I am exposed to the persecutions of the Earl of Rochester, who is here."

As she spoke, an usher entered, and informed Nizza Macascree that the king commanded her presence. The piper's daughter looked at Amabel with a glance of unutterable anguish.

"I fear you must go," said Amabel, "but Heaven will protect you!"

They then tenderly embraced each other, and Nizza Macascree departed with the usher.

Some time having elapsed, and Nizza not returning, Amabel became seriously uneasy. Hearing a noise below, she looked forth from the window, and perceived the king and all his train departing. A terrible foreboding shot through her heart. She gazed anxiously after them, but could not perceive Nizza Macascree. Overcome at last by her anxiety, she rushed down stairs, and had just reached the last step, when she was seized by two persons. A shawl was passed over her head, and she was forced out of the house.

* * * * *


BOOK THE FOURTH.

SEPTEMBER, 1665.


I.

THE PLAGUE AT ITS HEIGHT.

Amabel's departure for Berkshire caused no change in her father's mode of life. Everything proceeded as before within his quiet dwelling; and, except that the family were diminished in number, all appeared the same. It is true they wanted the interest, and indeed the occupation, afforded them by the gentle invalid, but in other respects, no difference was observable. Devotional exercises, meals, the various duties of the house, and cheerful discourse, filled up the day, which never proved wearisome. The result proved the correctness of Mr. Bloundel's judgment. While the scourge continued weekly to extend its ravages throughout the city, it never crossed his threshold; and, except suffering in a slight degree from scorbutic affections, occasioned by the salt meats to which they were now confined, and for which the lemon and lime-juice, provided against such a contingency, proved an efficacious remedy, all the family enjoyed perfect health. For some weeks after her separation from her daughter, Mrs. Bloundel continued in a desponding state, but after that time she became more reconciled to the deprivation, and partially recovered her spirits. Mr. Bloundel did not dare to indulge a hope that Amabel would ever return; but though he suffered much in secret, he never allowed his grief to manifest itself. The circumstance that he had not received any intelligence of her did not weigh much with him, because the difficulty of communication became greater and greater, as each week the scourge increased in violence, and he was inclined to take no news as good news. It was not so in the present case, but of this he was happily ignorant.

In this way, a month passed on. And now every other consideration was merged in the alarm occasioned by the daily increasing fury of the pestilence. Throughout July the excessive heat of the weather underwent no abatement, but in place of the clear atmosphere that had prevailed during the preceding month, unwholesome blights filled the air, and, confining the pestilential effluvia, spread the contagion far and wide with extraordinary rapidity. Not only was the city suffocated with heat, but filled with noisome smells, arising from the carcasses with which the close alleys and other out-of-the-way places were crowded, and which were so far decomposed as not to be capable of removal. The aspect of the river was as much changed as that of the city. Numbers of bodies were thrown into it, and, floating up with the tide, were left to taint the air on its banks, while strange, ill-omened fowl, attracted thither by their instinct, preyed upon them. Below the bridge, all captains of ships moored in the Pool, or off Wapping, held as little communication as possible with those on shore, and only received fresh provisions with the greatest precaution. As the plague increased, most of these removed lower down the river, and many of them put out entirely to sea. Above the bridge, most of the wherries and other smaller craft had disappeared, their owners having taken them up the river, and moored them against its banks at different spots, where they lived in them under tilts. Many hundreds of persons remained upon the river in this way during the whole continuance of the visitation.

August had now arrived, but the distemper knew no cessation. On the contrary, it manifestly increased in violence and malignity. The deaths rose a thousand in each week, and in the last week in this fatal month amounted to upwards of sixty thousand!

But, terrible as this was, the pestilence had not