impenitent when ye are spoken to, not by my voice alone, but by a thousand others?—­by the thunder—­by the rain—­by the pestilence!—­and ye shall be spoken to, if ye continue senseless, by fire and by famine.  Look at these quenched embers—­at these flooded streets—­they are types of your vain struggle with a superior power.  Now, mark me what you must do to free the city from contagion.  You must utterly and for ever abandon your evil courses.  You must pray incessantly for remission of your sins.  You must resign yourselves without repining to such chastisement as you have provoked, and must put your whole trust and confidence in God.  Do this, and do it heartily; it is possible that His wrath may be averted.”

“I feel the force of your words,” faltered Westwood—­“would I had felt it sooner!”

“Repentance never comes too late,” rejoined the enthusiast.  “Let this be an example to you all.”

And snatching up his brazier, he continued his course at the same lightning speed as before.  The unfortunate father was taken into his own dwelling, whither likewise the body of his son was conveyed.  A strict watch was kept over him during the night, and in the morning he was removed to Newgate, where he perished, in less than a week, of the distemper.

The aspect of the streets on the following day was deplorable enough.  Not that the weather was unfavourable.  On the contrary, it was bright and sunny, while the heated atmosphere, cooled, by the showers, felt no longer oppressive.  But the sight of the half-burnt fires struck a chill into every bosom, and it was not until the heaps were removed, that the more timorous ventured forth at all.  The result, too, of the experiment was singularly unfortunate.  Whether it was from the extraordinary heat occasioned by the lighting of so many fires, or that the smoke did not ascend, and so kept down the pestilential effluvia, or that the number of persons who met together spread the contagion, certain it was that the pestilence was more widely extended than before, and the mortality fearfully increased.

On the commencement of the storm, Leonard Holt hurried back to Wood-street, and reached his master’s dwelling just as the rain began to descend in torrents.  Mr. Bloundel was at the window, and a few words only passed between him and the apprentice when the latter was compelled to take refuge in the hutch.  Here he found Dallison the watchman, and they listened in awe-struck silence to the heavy showers, and to the hissing of the blazing embers in their struggle against the hostile element.  By-and-by the latter sound ceased.  Not a light could be seen throughout the whole length of the street, nor was there any red reflection of the innumerable fires as heretofore in the sky.  It was evident all were extinguished; and the pitiless pelting of the rain, the roar of the water-spouts, and the rush of the over-filled kennels, now converted into rivulets, could alone be heard After awhile the storm cleared off, and Leonard and his companion issued from their retreat, and gazed in silence at the drenched heap before them.  While thus occupied, the window above them opened, and the grocer appeared at it.