“If this marriage takes place,” he said, “I am authorized by my noble friend to state that he will appoint you his steward with a large salary, and that will be a very different situation from the one you hold at present.  A nobleman’s steward!  Think of that.  You will have a retinue of servants under your control, and will live quite as well as his lordship.”

“I have some scruples,” hesitated Blaize.

“Scruples! pshaw!” cried Pillichody.  “You can have no hesitation in benefiting yourself.  If you remain here, the house will be shut up, and you will be kept a close prisoner for months in the very heart of an infected city, and I dare say will be buried in yonder cellar; whereas, if you go with the Earl of Rochester, you will dwell in a magnificent country mansion—­a palace, I ought to call it—­enjoy every luxury, and remain there till the plague is over.”

“That last reason decides me,” replied Blaize.  “But I suppose his lordship will provide himself with a medicine chest?”

“He has already got one as large as this table,” said Pillichody, “and you shall have the key of it.”

“Enough!” exclaimed Blaise.  “I am yours.”

“Pray, what am I to be?” asked Patience, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with a smile at Blaize’s credulity.

“You, sweetheart!” exclaimed Pillichody.  “I will take care of you.  You shall be my housekeeper.”

“Hold!” cried Blaize.  “I cannot admit that.  Patience and I are engaged.”

“Since you are promoted to such an important situation, you can make a better match,” observed Patience.  “I release you from the engagement.”

“I don’t choose to be released,” returned Blaize; “I will marry you on the same day that the earl weds Amabel.”

“That will be to-night, or to-morrow at the latest,” said Pillichody.  “Consent, sweetheart,” he added, in a whisper to Patience; “if we can once get you and your pretty mistress out of the house, we will leave this simpleton fool in the lurch.”

“No, I will never consent to such a thing,” returned Patience, in the same tone.

“What’s that you are saying?” inquired Blaize, suspiciously.

“Major Pillichody says he will marry me, if you won’t,” returned Patience.

“I have just told you I will,” rejoined Blaize.  “But he must not continue his attentions.  I feel I shall be very jealous.”

“I am glad to hear it,” returned Patience, bursting into a loud laugh, “for that proves you love me.”

“Well,” observed Pillichody, “I won’t interfere with a friend; and as there is no knowing what may occur, it will be as well to prepare accordingly.”

So saying, he fell to work upon the provisions loading the board, and ate and drank as if determined to lay in a stock for the next two days.

Meantime the earl made rapid progress in the good opinion both of Mr. Bloundel and his wife.  Adapting his discourse precisely to their views, and exerting his matchless conversational powers to their full extent, he so charmed them that they thought they could listen to him for ever.  While thus engaged, he contrived ever and anon to steal a glance at Amabel, and on these occasions, his eyes were quite as eloquent and intelligible as his tongue.