“Where is the Earl of Rochester, I say, villain?” cried Leonard, menacingly.

“How should I know?” rejoined Chowles.  “Here are your clothes,” he added, pushing them towards him.

“I will have an answer,” cried Leonard.

“Not from me,” replied Chowles.  And hastily snatching up the livery, he put the cart in motion, and proceeded on his road.  Leonard would have followed him, but the state of his attire did not permit him to do so.  Having dressed himself, he hastened to the cathedral, where he soon found the attendant who had charge of Blaize.

“Doctor Hodges has been with him,” said the man, in reply to his inquiries after the porter, “and has good hopes of him.  But the patient is not entirely satisfied with the treatment he has received, and wishes to try some remedies of his own.  Were his request granted, all would soon be over with him.”

“That I am sure of,” replied Leonard.  “But let us go to him.”

“You must not heed his complaints,” returned the attendant.  “I assure you he is doing as well as possible; but he is so dreadfully frightened at a trifling operation which Doctor Hodges finds it necessary to perform upon him, that we have been obliged to fasten him to the bed.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Leonard, suspiciously.  “Has Judith Malmayns had no hand in this arrangement?”

“Judith Malmayns has been absent during the whole of the afternoon,” said the man, “and another nurse has taken her place in Saint Faith’s.  She has never been near Blaize since I have had charge of him.”

By this time they had reached the pallet in which the porter was laid.  His eyes and a small portion of his snub-nose were alone visible, his head being still enveloped by the linen cloth, while his mouth was covered by blankets.  He looked so anxiously at the apprentice, that the latter removed the covering from his mouth, and enabled him to speak.

“I am glad to find you are getting on so well,” said Leonard, in a cheerful tone.  “Doctor Hodges has been with you, I understand?”

“He has,” groaned Blaize; “but he has done me no good—­none whatever.  I could doctor myself much better, if I might be allowed; for I know every remedy that has been prescribed for the plague; but he would adopt none that I mentioned to him.  I wanted him to place a hot loaf, fresh from the oven, to the tumour, to draw it; but he would not consent.  Then I asked for a cataplasm, composed of radish-roots, mustard-seed, onions and garlic roasted, mithridate, salt, and soot from a chimney where wood only has been burnt.  This he liked no better than the first.  Next, I begged for an ale posset with pimpernel soaked in it, assuring him that by frequently drinking such a mixture, Secretary Naunton drew the infection from his very heart.  But the doctor would have none of it, and seemed to doubt the fact.”

“What did he do?” inquired Leonard.

“He applied oil of St. John’s wort to the tumour,” replied Blaize, with a dismal groan, and said, “if the scar did not fall off, he must cauterize it.  Oh!  I shall never be able to bear the pain of the operation.”