Shrinking into a doorway, and holding a handkerchief to his face, to avoid breathing the pestilential effluvia, Leonard saw that there were other coffins in the cart, and that it was followed by two persons in long black cloaks.  The vehicle itself, fashioned like an open hearse, and of the same sombre colour, relieved by fantastical designs, painted in white, emblematic of the pestilence, was drawn by a horse of the large black Flanders breed, and decorated with funeral trappings.  To Leonard’s inexpressible horror, the cart again stopped opposite him, and the driver ringing his bell, repeated his doleful cry.  While another coffin was brought out, and placed with the rest, a window in the next house was opened, and a woman looking forth screamed, “Is Anselm Chowles, the coffin-maker, there?”

“Yes, here I am, Mother Malmayns,” replied one of the men in black cloaks, looking up as he spoke, and exhibiting features so hideous, and stamped with such a revolting expression, that Leonard’s blood curdled at the sight.  “What do you want with me?” he added.

“I want you to carry away old Mike Norborough,” replied the woman.

“What, is the old miser gone at last?” exclaimed Chowles, with an atrocious laugh.  “But how shall I get paid for a coffin?”

“You may pay yourself with what you can find in the house,” replied Mother Malmayns; “or you may carry him to the grave without one, if you prefer it.”

“No, no, that won’t do,” returned Chowles.  “I’ve other customers to attend to who will pay; and, besides, I want to get home.  I expect friends at supper.  Good-night, Mother Malmayns.  You know where to find me, if you want me.  Move on, Jonas, or you will never reach Saint Sepulchre’s.”

The woman angrily expostulated with him, and some further parley ensued,—­Leonard did not tarry to hear what, but rushing past them, gained Bartholomew-close.

He soon reached the proctor’s house, and found it marked with the fatal cross.  Addressing a watchman at the door, he learnt, to his great dismay, that Doctor Hodges had been gone more than a quarter of an hour.  “He was too late,” said the man.  “Poor Mr. Fisher had breathed his last before he arrived, and after giving some directions to the family as to the precautions they ought to observe, the doctor departed.”

“How unfortunate!” exclaimed Leonard, “I have missed him a second time.  But I will run back to his house instantly.”

“You will not find him at home,” returned the watchman “He is gone to Saint Paul’s, to attend a sick person.”

“To Saint Paul’s at this hour!” cried the apprentice.  “Why, no one is there, except the vergers or the sexton.”

“He is gone to visit the sexton, who is ill of the plague,” replied the watchman.  “I have told you all I know about him.  You can do what you think best.”