Soon after the outbreak of the plague in Newgate, all the debtors were liberated, and if the keepers had had their own way, the common felons would have been likewise released.  But this could not be, and they were kept to perish as before described.  Matters, however, grew so serious, that it became a question whether the few miserable wretches left alive ought to be longer detained, and at last the turnkeys refusing to act any longer, and delivering their keys to the governor, the whole of the prisoners were set free.

On the night of their liberation, Chowles and Judith proceeded to the vaults of Saint Faith’s, to deposit within them the plunder they had obtained in the prison.  They found them entirely deserted.  Neither verger, sexton, nor any other person, was to be seen, and they took up their quarters in the crypt.  Having brought a basket of provisions and a few bottles of wine with them, they determined to pass the night in revelry; and, accordingly, having lighted a fire with the fragments of old coffins brought from the charnel, they sat down to their meal.  Having done full justice to it, and disposed of the first flask, they were about to abandon themselves to unrestrained enjoyment, when their glee was all at once interrupted by a strange and unaccountable noise in the adjoining church.  Chowles, who had just commenced chanting one of his wild melodies, suddenly stopped, and Judith set down the glass she had raised to her lips untested.  What could it mean?  Neither of them could tell.  It seemed like strains of unearthly music, mixed with shrieks and groans as of tortured spirits, accompanied by peals of such laughter as might be supposed to proceed, from demons.

“The dead are burst forth from their tombs,” cried Chowles, in a quavering voice, “and are attended by a legion of evil spirits.”

“It would seem so,” replied Judith, rising.  “I should like to behold the sight.  Come with me.”

“Not for the world!” rejoined Chowles, shuddering, “and I would recommend you to stay where you are.  You may behold your dead husband among them.”

“Do you think so?” rejoined Judith, halting.

“I am sure of it,” cried Chowles, eagerly.  “Stay where you are—­stay where you are.”

As he spoke, there was another peal of infernal laughter, and the strains of music grew louder each moment.

“Come what may, I will see what it is,” said Judith, emptying her glass, as if seeking courage from the draught.  “Surely,” she added, in a taunting tone, “you will come with me.”

“I am afraid of nothing earthly,” rejoined Chowles—­“but I do not like to face beings of another world.”

“Then I will go alone,” rejoined Judith.

“Nay, that shall never be,” replied Chowles, tottering after her.