At Paddington, another disappointment awaited them.  The Wheatsheaf was occupied by two large families, who were flying from the infected city, and no accommodation could be obtained.  Leonard looked wistfully at Nizza Macascree, as if to ascertain what to do, and she was equally perplexed; but the difficulty was relieved by Amabel herself, who said she felt much better, and able to proceed a little further.  “Do not return to London,” she continued with great earnestness.  “I would rather die on the road than go home again.  Some cottage will receive us.  If not, I can rest for a short time in the fields.”

Thinking it best to comply, Leonard proceeded along the Harrow-road.  Soon after crossing Paddington Green, he overtook a little train of fugitives driving a cart filled with children, and laden with luggage.  Further on, as he surveyed the beautiful meadows, stretching out on either side of him, he perceived a line of small tents, resembling a gipsy encampment, pitched at a certain distance from each other, and evidently occupied by families who had fled from their homes from fear of infection.  This gave a singular character to the prospect.  But there were other and far more painful sights on the road, which could not fail to attract attention.  For the first half-mile, almost at every hundred yards might be seen some sick man, who, unable to proceed further, had fallen against the hedge-side, and exhibited his sores to move the pity of the passers-by.  But these supplications were wholly unheeded.  Self-preservation was the first object with all, and the travellers holding handkerchiefs steeped in vinegar to their faces, and averting their heads, passed by on the other side of the way.

The pestilence, it may be remarked, had visited with extraordinary rigour the whole of the higher country at the west and north-west of the metropolis.  The charmingly-situated, and, at other seasons, healthful villages of Hampstead and Highgate, suffered severely from the scourge; and it even extended its ravages as far as Harrow-on-the-Hill, which it half depopulated.  This will account for the circumstance of a large pest-house being erected in the neighbourhood of Westbourne Green, which the party now approached.  Two litters were seen crossing the fields in the direction of the hospital, and this circumstance called Leonard’s attention to it.  Shudderingly averting his gaze, he quickened his pace, and soon reached a small farmhouse on the summit of the hill rising from Kensal Green.  Determined to seek a temporary asylum here for Amabel, he opened a gate, and, riding into the yard, fortunately met with owner of the house, a worthy farmer, named Wingfield, to whom he explained her situation.  The man at first hesitated, but, on receiving Leonard’s solemn assurance that she was free from the plague, consented to receive the whole party.

Assisting Amabel to dismount, Wingfield conveyed her in his arms into the house, and delivered her to his wife, bidding her take care of her.  The injunction was scarcely needed.  The good dame, who was a middle-aged woman, with pleasing features, which lost none of their interest from being stamped with profound melancholy, gazed at her for a moment fixedly, and then observed in an under-tone, but with much emotion, to her husband, “Ah!  Robert, how much this sweet creature resembles our poor Sarah!”