“This is a sad mode of burial for a Christian,” observed Wingfield.  “But it would not do to leave an infected body to rot in the fields, and spread the contagion.”

“Such a grave is better than the plague-pit,” rejoined Leonard, recalling the frightful scenes he had witnessed there.

On reaching Wingfield’s dwelling, they found from the good dame, that Amabel had awakened from her slumber greatly refreshed; but she gave it as her opinion that she had better remain undisturbed.  Accordingly, no one went into the room to her except Nizza Macascree.  A substantial dinner was provided for his guests by the hospitable farmer; and Blaize, who had been for some time confined to salt provisions at his master’s house, did ample justice to the fresh meat and vegetables.

The meal over, Leonard, who felt exceedingly curious to learn what had become of the mysterious stranger whose child he had carried to the plague-pit, and who had appeared so strangely interested in Nizza Macascree, determined to walk to the pest-house in Finsbury Fields and inquire after him.  On communicating his intention to his host, Wingfield would have dissuaded him; but as Leonard affirmed he had no fear of infection, he desisted from the attempt.  Just as the apprentice was starting, Blaize came up to him, and said,—­“Leonard, I have a great curiosity to see a pest-house, and should like to go with you, if you will let me.”

The apprentice stared at him in astonishment.

“You will never dare to enter it,” he said.

“I will go wherever you go,” replied the porter, with a confidence mainly inspired by the hospitable farmer’s strong ale.

“We shall see,” replied Leonard.  “I shall keep you to your word.”

In less than an hour they reached Marylebone Fields (now the Regent’s Park), and, crossing them, entered a lane, running in pretty nearly the same direction as the present New-road.  It Drought them to Clerkenwell, whence they proceeded to Finsbury Fields, and soon came in sight of the pest-house.  When Blaize found himself so near this dreaded asylum, all his courage vanished.

“I would certainly enter the pest-house with you,” he said to Leonard, “but I have used up all my vinegar, and you know I lost my box of rufuses and the pot of anti-pestilential confection this morning.”

“That excuse shall not serve your turn,” replied Leonard.  “You can get plenty of vinegar and plague medicine in the pest-house.”

“But I have no money to pay for them,” rejoined Blaize.

“I will lend you some,” said Leonard, placing a few pieces in his hand.  “Now, come along.”

Blaize would fain have run away, but, afraid of incurring the apprentice’s anger, he walked tremblingly after him.  They entered the garden-gate, and soon reached the principal door, which, as usual, stood open.  Scarcely able to support himself, the porter tottered into the large room; but as he cast his eyes around, and beheld the miserable occupants of the pallets, and heard their cries and groans, he was so scared that he could not move another step, but stood like one transfixed with terror.  Paying little attention to him, Leonard walked forward, and at the further extremity of the chamber found the young chirurgeon whom he had formerly seen, and describing the stranger, inquired where he was placed.