“It is not difficult to foresee what will become of it,” replied Leonard, “unless it pleases the Lord to stay his vengeful arm.  And something whispers in my ear that we are now at the worst.  The scourge cannot exceed its present violence without working our ruin; and deeply as we have sinned, little as we repent, I cannot bring myself to believe that God will sweep his people entirely from the face of the earth.”

“I dare not hope otherwise,” rejoined Rainbird, “though I would fain do so.  I discern no symptoms of abatement of the distemper, but, on the contrary, an evident increase of malignity, and such is the opinion of all I have spoken with on the subject.  Chowles told me he buried two hundred more yesterday than he had ever done before, and yet he did not carry a third of the dead to the plague-pit.  He is a strange fellow that Chowles.  But for his passion for his horrible calling there is no necessity for him to follow it, for he is now one of the richest men in London.”

“He must have amassed his riches by robbery, then,” remarked Leonard.

“True,” returned Rainbird.  “He helps himself without scruple to the clothes, goods, and other property, of all who die of the pestilence; and after ransacking their houses, conveys his plunder in the dead-cart to his own dwelling.”

“In Saint Paul’s?” asked Leonard.

“No—­a large house in Nicholas-lane, once belonging to a wealthy merchant, who perished, with his family, of the plague,” replied Rainbird.  “He has filled it from cellar to garret with the spoil he has obtained.”

“And how has he preserved it?” inquired the apprentice.

“The plague has preserved it for him,” replied Rainbird.  “The few authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his proceedings; or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting a more favourable season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him of his hoard, and punish him for his delinquencies; while, in the mean time, they are glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his services as a burier.  Other people do not care to meddle with him, and the most daring robber would be afraid to touch infected money or clothes.”

“If you are going towards Nicholas-lane,” said Leonard, as if struck with a sudden idea, “and will point out to me the house in question, you will do me a favour.”

Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards Fish-street-hill.  Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they were obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with a pile of carcasses deposited there by the burier’s assistants.  Shaping their course along Gracechurch-street, they turned off into Lombard-street, and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths’ houses on either side, which were all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the doors, he could not help remarking to his companion, “The plague has not spared any of these on account of their riches.”