“I will do neither,” replied Leonard, fiercely.

Parravicin raised his sword, and was about to strike, when, at the moment, the basket was again quickly lowered to the ground.  It bore Nizza Macascree, who, rushing between them, arrested the stroke.

“Oh! why have you done this?” cried Leonard, in a tone of reproach.

“I will tell you why,” rejoined Parravicin, triumphantly; “because she saw you were unable to defend her, and, like a true woman, surrendered herself to the victor.  Take care of him, Pillichody, while I secure the girl.  Spit him, if he attempts to stir.”

And twining his arms round Nizza, notwithstanding her shrieks and resistance, he bore her away.  Infuriated by the sight, Leonard Holt threw himself upon Pillichody, and a desperate struggle took place between them, which terminated this time successfully for the apprentice.  Wresting his long rapier from the bully, Leonard rushed after Parravicin, and reached the end of Wood-street, just in time to see him spring into a coach, and drive off with his prize.  Speeding after them along Blowbladder-street, and Middle-row, as Newgate-street was then termed, the apprentice shouted to the coachman to stop, but no attention being paid to his vociferations, and finding pursuit unavailing, he came to a halt.  He then more slowly retraced his steps, and on arriving at the grocer’s residence, found the basket drawn up.  Almost afraid to call out, he at length mustered courage enough to shout to Blaize to lower it, and was answered by Mr. Bloundel, who, putting his head through the window, demanded in a stern tone why he had left the house?

Leonard briefly explained.

“I deeply regret your imprudence,” replied his master; “because I can now no more admit you.  It is my fixed determination, as you well know, not to suffer any member of my family who may quit my house, to enter it again.”

“I shall not attempt to remonstrate with you, sir,” replied Leonard.  “All I pray of you is to allow me to occupy this hutch, and to act as your porter.”

“Willingly,” rejoined Mr. Bloundel; “and as you have had the plague, you will run no risk of infection.  You shall know all that passes within doors; and I only lament that you should have banished yourself from the asylum which I hoped to afford you.”

After some further conversation between them, a bundle was lowered by the grocer, containing a change of clothes and a couple of blankets.  On receiving these, Leonard retired to the hutch, and tying a handkerchief round his wounded arm, wrapped himself in a night trail, and stretching himself on the ground, in spite of his anxiety, soon sank asleep.  He awoke about four o’clock in the morning, with a painful consciousness of what had taken place during the night.  It was just beginning to grow light, and he walked across the street to gaze at the house from which he was exiled.  Its melancholy, uninhabited look did not