A walk through this mighty lazar-house would have furnished a wholesome lesson to the most reckless observer.  It seemed to contain all the sick of the city.  And yet it was not so.  Hundreds were expiring in their own dwellings, and the other pest-houses continued crowded as before.  Still, as a far greater number of the infected were here congregated, and could be seen at one view, the picture was incomparably more impressive.  Every part of the cathedral was occupied.  Those who could not find room inside it crouched beneath the columns of the portico on rugs or blankets, and implored the chirurgeons as they passed to attend them.  Want of room also drove others into Saint Faith’s, and here the scene was, if possible, more hideous.  In this dismal region it was found impossible to obtain a free circulation of air, and consequently the pestilential effluvia, unable to escape, acquired such malignancy, that it was almost certain destruction to inhale it.  After a time, few of the nurses and attendants would venture thither; and to take a patient to Saint Faith’s was considered tantamount to consigning him to the grave.

Whether Judith Malmayns had succeeded or not in curing Sir Paul Parravicin, it is not our present purpose to relate.  Soon after the cathedral was converted into a lazar-house she returned thither, and, in spite of the opposition of Doctor Hodges, was appointed one of the nurses.  It must not be supposed that her appointment was the result of any ill design.  Such was the difficulty of obtaining attendance, that little choice was left, and the nurses being all of questionable character, it was supposed she was only a shade worse than her fellows, while she was known to be active and courageous.  And this was speedily proved; for when Saint Faith’s was deserted by the others, she remained at her post, and quitted it neither night nor day.  A large pit was digged in the open space at the north-east corner of the cathedral, and to this great numbers of bodies were nightly conveyed by Chowles and Jonas.  But it was soon filled, and they were compelled to resort, as before, to Finsbury Fields, and to another vast pit near Aldgate.  When not engaged in this revolting employment, Chowles took up his quarters in the crypt, where, in spite of his propinquity to the sick, he indulged himself in his customary revelry.  He and Judith had amassed, in one way or other, a vast quantity of spoil, and frequently planned how they would spend it when the pestilence ceased.  Their treasure was carefully concealed in a cell in one of the secret passages with which they were acquainted, leading from Saint Faith’s to the upper structure.

One night, on his return from Finsbury Fields, as Chowles was seated in the crypt, with a pipe in his mouth, and a half-finished flask of wine before him, he was startled by the sudden entrance of Judith, who, rushing up to him, seized him by the throat, and almost choked him before he could extricate himself.