“In that case you can apply to his friends,” rejoined Leonard.  “He must not be abandoned thus.”

“First, let us know who he is,” returned Chowles.  “Is he able to speak?”

“I know not,” answered Leonard.  “Bring the lantern this way, and let us examine his countenance.”

Chowles complied, and held the light over the unfortunate person.  His attire was rich, but in great disorder, and sullied by the loathsome mass in which he had been plunged.  He was in the flower of youth, and his features must have been remarkable for their grace and beauty, but they were now of a livid hue, and swollen and distorted by pain.  Still Leonard recognised them.

“Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed.  “It is Sir Paul Parravicin.”

“Sir Paul Parravicin!” echoed Chowles.  “By all that’s wonderful, so it is!  Here is a lucky chance!  Bring the dead-cart hither, Jonas—­quick, quick!  I shall put him under the care of Judith Malmayns.”

And the burier hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Had I known who it was,” exclaimed Leonard, gazing with abhorrence at the miserable object before him, “I would have left him to die the death he so richly merits!”

A deep groan broke from the sufferer.

“Have no fear, Sir Paul,” said Chowles.  “You are in good hands.  Every care shall be taken of you, and you shall be cured by Judith Malmayns.”

“She shall not come near me,” rejoined Parravicin, faintly.  “You will take care of me?” he added in an imploring tone, to Leonard.

“You appeal in vain to me,” rejoined the apprentice, sternly.  “You are justly punished for your treatment of Nizza Macascree.”

“I am—­I am,” groaned Parravicin, “but she will be speedily avenged.  I shall soon join her in that pit.”

“She is not there,” replied Leonard, bitterly, “She is fast recovering from the plague.”

“Is she not dead?” demanded Parravicin, with frightful eagerness.  “I was told she was thrown into that horrible chasm.”

“You were deceived,” replied Leonard.  “She was taken to the pest-house by your orders, and would have perished if she had not found a friend to aid her.  She is now out of danger.”

“Then I no longer desire to die,” cried Parravicin, desperately.  “I will live—­live.”

“Do not delude yourself,” replied Leonard, coldly; “you have little chance of recovery, and should employ the short time left you in praying to Heaven for forgiveness of your sins.”

“Tush!” exclaimed Parravicin, fiercely, “I shall not weary Heaven with ineffectual supplications.  I well know I am past all forgiveness.  No,” he added, with a fearful imprecation, “since Nizza is alive, I will not die.”

“Right, Sir Paul, right,” rejoined Chowles; “put a bold face on it, and I will answer for it you will get over the attack.  Have no fear of Judith Malmayns,” he added, in a significant tone.  “However she may treat others, she will cure you.”