Overjoyed at his unexpected deliverance, Leonard, whose attention had been completely engrossed by what was passing, now ventured to look at Amabel, and became greatly alarmed at her appearance.  She was as pale as death, except a small scarlet patch on either cheek, which contrasted powerfully with the death-like hue of the rest of her countenance.  Her hands convulsively clasped the back of the pillion; her lips were slightly apart, and her eyes fixed upon the prostrate form of the Earl of Rochester.  On finding they were pursued, and by whom, her first impulse had been to fling herself from the pillion, and to seek safety by flight; but controlling herself, she awaited the result with forced composure, and was now sinking from the exhaustion of the effort.

“Thank Heaven! we are safe,” cried the apprentice; “but I fear the shock has been too much for you.”

“It has,” gasped Amabel, falling against his shoulder.  “Let us fly—­oh! let us fly.”

Inexpressibly shocked and alarmed, Leonard twined his left arm round her waist so as to hold her on the steed, for she was utterly unable to support herself, and glancing anxiously at Nizza Macascree, struck off on the right into the road skirting the Park, and in the direction of Tyburn, where there was a small inn, at which he hoped to procure assistance.  Before reaching this place, he was beyond description relieved to find that Amabel had so far recovered as to be able to raise her head.

“The deadly faintness is passed,” she murmured; “I shall be better soon.  But I fear I am too weak to pursue the journey at present.”

Leonard spurred on his steed, and in another instant reached Tyburn, and drew up at the little inn.  But no assistance could be obtained there.  The house was closed; there was a red cross on the door; and a watchman, stationed in front of it, informed him that all the family had died of the plague except the landlord—­“and he will be buried beside them in Paddington churchyard before to-morrow morning,” added the man; “for his nurse tells me it is impossible he can survive many hours.”

As he spoke an upper window was opened, and a woman, thrusting forth her head, cried, “Poor Master Sandys has just breathed his last.  Come in, Philip, and help me to prepare the body for the dead-cart.”

“I will be with you in a minute,” rejoined the watchman.  “You may possibly procure accommodation at the Wheatsheaf at Paddington,” he added to Leonard; “it is but a short distance up the road.”

Thanking him for the information, Leonard took the course indicated.  He had not proceeded far, when he was alarmed by hearing a piteous cry of “Stop! stop!” proceeding from Blaize; and, halting, found that the porter had been so greatly terrified by the watchman’s account of the frightful mortality in the poor innkeeper’s family, that he had applied to his phial of plague-water, and in pulling it put had dropped his box of rufuses, and the jar of anti-pestilential confection.  He had just ascertained his loss, and wished to go back, but this Nizza Macascree would not permit.  Enraged at the delay, Leonard peremptorily ordered the porter to come on; and Blaize, casting a rueful glance at his treasures, which he perceived at a little distance in the middle of the road, was compelled to obey.