a word with her, and might have been supposed to have become wholly indifferent to her.  But it was not so.  His heart was consumed by the same flame as before.  No longer, however, a prey to jealousy—­no longer apprehensive of the earl—­he felt so happy, in comparison with what he had been, that he almost prayed that the term of their imprisonment might be prolonged.  Sometimes the image of Nizza Macascree would intrude upon him, and he thought, with a feeling akin to remorse, of what she might suffer—­for he was too well acquainted with the pangs of unrequited love not to sympathise deeply with her.  As to Amabel, she addressed herself assiduously to the tasks enjoined by her father, and allowed her mind to dwell as little as possible on the past, but employed all her spare time in devotional exercises.

It will be remembered that the grocer had reserved a communication with the street, by means of a shutter opening from a small room in the upper story.  Hither he would now frequently repair, and though he did not as yet think it necessary to have recourse to all the precautionary measures he intended eventually to adopt—­such as flashing a pistol when he looked forth—­yet he never opened the shutter without holding a phial of vinegar, or a handkerchief wetted with the same liquid, to his face.

Before closing his house he had hired a porter, who occupied the hutch at his door, and held himself in readiness to execute any commission, or perform any service that might be required.  Fresh vegetables, poultry, eggs, butter, and milk, were brought by a higgler from the country, and raised by means of a basket or a can attached to the pulley.  Butcher’s meat was fetched him from Newgate-market by the porter.  This man, whose name was Ralph Dallison, had been formerly in the employ of the grocer, who, knowing his character, could place entire reliance on him.  Dallison reported the progress of the pestilence daily, and acquainted him with the increasing amount of the bills of mortality.  Several houses, he said, were infected in Cheapside, and two in Wood-street, one of which was but a short distance from the grocer’s habitation.  A watchman was stationed at the door, and the red cross marked upon it, and on the following night the grocer heard the sound of the doleful bell announcing the approach of the pest-cart.

The weather still continued as serene and beautiful as ever, but no refreshing showers fell—­no soft and healthful breezes blew—­and it was now found to be true, what had been prognosticated—­viz, that with the heats of summer the plague would fearfully increase.  The grocer was not incommoded in the same degree as his neighbours.  By excluding the light he excluded the heat, and the care which he took to have his house washed down kept it cool.  The middle of June had arrived, and such dismal accounts were now brought him of the havoc occasioned by the scourge, that he would no longer take in fresh provisions, but began to open his stores.  Dallison told him that the alarm was worse than ever—­that vast numbers were endeavouring to leave the city, but no one could now do so without a certificate, which was never granted if the slightest suspicion was attached to the party.