But the satisfaction he derived from having quitted the infected city was trifling compared with that of Blaize, whose sole anxiety was lest he should be sent back to London.  Seldom straying further than the gates of the mansion, though often invited by John Lutcombe to accompany him to some of the neighbouring villages; having little to do, and less to think of, unless to calculate how much he could consume at the next meal,—­for he had banished all idea of the plague,—­he conceived himself at the summit of happiness, and waxed so sleek and round, that his face shone like a full moon, while his doublet would scarcely meet around his waist.

One day, about a fortnight after their arrival, and when things were in this happy state, Amabel, who was seated as usual in the gallery at the summit of the house, observed a troop of horsemen, very gallantly equipped, appear at the further end of the northern avenue.  An inexpressible terror seized her, and she would have fled into the house, but her limbs refused their office.

“Look there!” she cried to Nizza, who, at that moment, presented herself at the glass door.  “Look there!” she said, pointing to the cavalcade; “what I dreaded has come to pass.  The Earl of Rochester has found me out, and is coming hither to carry me off.  But I will die rather than accompany him.”

“You may be mistaken,” replied Nizza, expressing a hopefulness, which her looks belied; “it may be the Earl of Craven.”

“You give me new life,” rejoined Amabel; “but no—­no—­my aunt has told me that the good earl will not quit the city during the continuance of the plague.  And see! some of the horsemen have distinguished us, and are waving their hats.  My heart tells me the Earl of Rochester is amongst them.  Give me your arm, Nizza, and I will try to gain some place of concealment.”

“Ay, let us fly,” replied the other, assisting her towards the door; “I am in equal danger with yourself, for Sir Paul Parravicin is doubtless with them.  Oh! where—­where is Leonard?”

“He must be below,” cried Amabel “But he could not aid us at this juncture; we must depend upon ourselves.”

Descending a short staircase, they entered Amabel’s chamber, and fastening the door, awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival of the horsemen.  Though the room whither they had retreated was in the upper part of the house, they could distinctly hear what was going on below, and shortly afterwards the sound of footsteps on the stairs, blended with merry voices and loud laughter—­amid which, Amabel could distinguish the tones of the Earl of Rochester—­reached them.

While both were palpitating with fright, the handle of the door was tried, and a voice announced that the apprentice was without.

“All is lost!” he cried, speaking through the keyhole; “the king is here, and is accompanied by the Earl of Rochester and other profligates.”

“The king!” exclaimed Amabel, joyfully; “then I am no longer apprehensive.”