“What!” exclaimed the doctor, as soon as he concluded, “a son of Stephen Bloundel, the worthy grocer of Wood-street, attacked by the plague!  I will go with you instantly, young man.  I have a great regard for your master—­a very great regard.  There is not a better man living.  The poor lad must be saved, if possible.”  And hastily repeating his instructions to the attendants of the sick man, he left the vault with the apprentice.

They found the verger in the charnel, and before quitting it, the doctor drew a small flask of canary from his pocket, and applied it to his lips.

“This is my anti-pestilential drink,” he remarked with a smile, “and it has preserved me from contagion hitherto.  You must let us out of the south door, friend,” he added to the verger, “for I shall be obliged to step home for a moment, and it will save time.  Come with me, young man, and tell me what has been done for the grocer’s son.”

As they traversed the gloomy aisle of Saint Faith, and mounted to the upper structure, Leonard related all that had taken place since poor Stephen’s seizure.  The doctor strongly expressed his approval of what had been done, and observed, “It could not be better.  With Heaven’s help, I have no doubt we shall save him, and I am truly glad of it for his father’s sake.”

By this time they had reached the southern door, and the verger having unlocked it, they issued forth.  It was still bright moonlight, and Leonard, whose mind was greatly relieved by the assurances of the physician, felt in some degree reconciled to the delay, and kept up his part in the conversation promoted by his companion.  The doctor, who was an extremely kind-hearted man, and appeared to have a great regard for the grocer, made many inquiries as to his family, and spoke in terms of the highest admiration of the beauty of his eldest daughter.  The mention of Amabel’s name, while it made Leonard’s cheek burn, rekindled all his jealousy of Wyvil, and he tried to make some excuse to get away, but his companion would not hear of it.

“I tell you there is no hurry,” said the doctor; “all is going on as well as possible.  I will make your excuses to your master.”

“On reaching the doctor’s house they were ushered into a large room, surrounded with bookshelves and cases of anatomical preparations.  Hodges seated himself at a table, on which a shaded lamp was placed, and writing out a prescription, desired his servant to get it made up at a neighbouring apothecary’s, and to take it, with a couple of blankets, to the sexton of Saint Paul’s.  He then produced a bottle of medicated canary, and pouring out a large glass for the apprentice, drained another himself.

“I will answer for its virtue,” he said:  “it is a sure preservative against the plague.”

Having furnished himself with several small packets of simples, a few pots of ointment, one or two phials, and a case of surgical instruments, he told Leonard he was ready to attend him.