“She, too, has got the plague,” replied Leonard, mournfully.

“Alas! alas!” cried Nizza, bursting into tears; “she is so dear to you, that I grieve for her far more than for myself.”

“I have not seen her since I last beheld you,” said Leonard, greatly touched by the poor girl’s devotion.  “She was carried off by the Earl of Rochester on the same night that you were taken from Kingston Lisle by the king.”

“And she has been in his power ever since?” demanded Nizza, eagerly.

“Ever since,” repeated Leonard.

“The same power that has watched over me, I trust has protected her,” cried Nizza, fervently.

“I cannot doubt it,” replied Leonard.  “She would now not be alive were it otherwise.  But I have now something of importance to disclose to you.  You remember the stranger we met near the plague-pit in Finsbury Fields, and whose child I buried?”

“Perfectly,” replied Nizza.

“What if I tell you he is your father?” said Leonard.

“What!” cried Nizza, in the utmost surprise.  “Have I, then, been mistaken all these years in supposing the piper to be my father?”

“You have,” replied Leonard.  “I cannot explain more to you at present; but a few hours will reveal all.  Thirlby is the name of your father.  Have you ever heard it before?”

“Never,” returned Nizza.  “It is strange what you tell me.  I have often reproached myself for not feeling a stronger affection for the piper, who always treated me with the kindness of a parent.  But it now seems the true instinct was wanting.  Tell me your reasons for supposing this person to be my father.”

As Leonard was about to reply, the door was opened by Mrs. Carteret, who said that Sir Paul Parravicin had just returned with Doctor Hodges and another gentleman.  The words were scarcely uttered, when Thirlby rushed into the room, and, flinging himself on his knees before the couch, cried, “At last I have found you—­my child! my child!” The surprise which Nizza must have experienced at such an address was materially lessened by what Leonard had just told her; and, after earnestly regarding the stranger for some time, she exclaimed, in a gentle voice, “My father!”

Thirlby sprang to his feet, and would have folded her in his arms, if Doctor Hodges, who by this time had reached the couch, had not prevented him.  “Touch her not, or you destroy yourself,” he cried.

“I care not if I do,” rejoined Thirlby.  “The gratification would be cheaply purchased at the price of my life; and if I could preserve hers by the sacrifice, I would gladly make it.”

“No more of this,” cried Hodges, impatiently, “or you will defeat any attempt I may make to cure her.  You had better not remain here.  Your presence agitates her.”