“Recollect your life is at stake,” rejoined Leonard.  “You must either submit to it or die.”

“I know I must,” replied Blaize, with a prolonged groan; “but it is a terrible alternative.”

“You will not find the operation so painful as you imagine,” rejoined Leonard; “and you know I speak from personal experience.”

“You give me great comfort,” said Blaize.  “And so you really think I shall get better?”

“I have no doubt of it, if you keep up your spirits,” replied Leonard.  “The worst is evidently over.  Behave like a man.”

“I will try to do so,” rejoined Blaize.  “I have been told that if a circle is drawn with a blue sapphire round a plague-blotch, it will fall off.  Couldn’t we just try the experiment?”

“It will not do to rely upon it,” observed the attendant, with a smile.  “You will find a small knob of red-hot iron, which we call the ‘button,’ much more efficacious.”

“Oh dear! oh dear!” exclaimed Blaize, “I already feel that dreadful button burning into my flesh.”

“On the contrary, you won’t feel it at all,” replied the attendant.  “The iron only touches the point of the tumour, in which there is no sensibility.”

“In that case, I don’t care how soon the operation is performed,” replied Blaize.

“Doctor Hodges will choose his own time for it,” said the attendant.  “In the mean time, here is a cup of barley-broth for you.  You will find it do you good.”

While the man applied the cup to the poor porter’s lips—­for he would not unloose the straps, for fear of mischief—­Leonard, who was sickened by the terrible scene around him, took his departure, and quitted the cathedral by the great western entrance.  Seating himself on one of the great blocks of stone left there by the workmen employed in repairing the cathedral, but who had long since abandoned their task, he thought over all that had recently occurred.  Raising his eyes at length, he looked toward the cathedral.  The oblique rays of the sun had quitted the columns of the portico, which looked cold and grey, while the roof and towers were glittering in light.  In ten minutes more, only the summit of the central tower caught the last reflection of the declining orb.  Leonard watched the rosy gleam till it disappeared, and then steadfastly regarded the reverend pile as its hue changed from grey to black, until at length each pinnacle and buttress, each battlement and tower, was lost in one vast indistinct mass.  Night had fallen upon the city—­a night destined to be more fatal than any that had preceded it; and yet it was so calm, so beautiful, so clear, that it was scarcely possible to imagine that it was unhealthy.  The destroying angel was, however, fearfully at work.  Hundreds were falling beneath his touch; and as Leonard wondered how many miserable wretches were at that moment released from suffering, it crossed him like an icy chill, that among the number might be Amabel.  So forcibly was he impressed by this idea, that he fell on his knees and prayed aloud.