his features were convulsed with pain.  Near him lay the body of a beautiful little girl, with long fair hair, and finely-formed features, though now disfigured by purple blotches, proclaiming the disorder of which she had perished.  She was apparently about ten years old, and was partially covered by a linen cloth.  The man, whose features bore a marked resemblance to those of the child, was evidently from his attire above the middle rank.  His frame was athletic, and as he was scarcely past the prime of life, the irresistible power of the disease, which could in one instant prostrate strength like his, was terribly attested.

“Alas!” he cried, addressing the apprentice, “I was about to convey the remains of my poor child to the plague-pit.  But I have been unable to accomplish my purpose.  I hoped she would have escaped the polluting touch of those loathly attendants on the dead-cart.”

“She shall escape it,” replied Leonard; “if you wish it, I will carry her to the pit myself.”

“The blessing of a dying man rest on your head,” cried the sufferer; “your charitable action will not pass unrequited.”

With this, despite the agony he endured, he dragged himself to his child, kissed her cold lips, smoothed her fair tresses, and covered the body carefully with the cloth.  He then delivered it to Leonard, who received it tenderly, and calling to Nizza Macascree, who had witnessed the scene at a little distance, and was deeply affected by it, to await his return, ran towards the plague-pit.  Arrived there, he placed his little burden at the brink of the excavation, and, kneeling beside it, uttered a short prayer inspired by the occasion.  He then tore his handkerchief into strips, and tying them together, lowered the body gently down.  Throwing a little earth over it, he hastened to the sick man, and told him what he had done.  A smile of satisfaction illumined the sufferer’s countenance, and holding out his hand, on which a valuable ring glistened, he said, “Take it—­it is but a poor reward for the service you have rendered me;—­nay, take it,” he added, seeing that the apprentice hesitated; “others will not be so scrupulous.”

Unable to gainsay the remark, Leonard took the ring from his finger and placed it on his own.  At this moment, the sick man’s gaze fell upon Nizza, who stood at a little distance from him.  He started, and made an effort to clear his vision.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” he cried, “or is a female standing there?”

“You are not deceived,” replied Leonard.

“Let her come near me, in Heaven’s name!” cried the sick man, staring at her as if his eyes would start from their sockets.  “Who are you?” he continued, as Nizza approached.

“I am called Nizza Macascree, and am the daughter of a poor piper,” she replied.

“Ah!” exclaimed the sick man, with a look of deep disappointment.  “The resemblance is wonderful!  And yet it cannot be.  My brain is bewildered.”