One night, in the middle of November, Mr. Bloundel signified to his wife his intention of going forth, early on the following morning, to satisfy himself that the plague was really abating.  Accordingly, after he had finished his devotions, and broken his fast, he put his design into execution.  His first act, after locking the door behind him, which he did as a measure of precaution, was to fall on his knees and offer up prayers to Heaven for his signal preservation.  He then arose, and, stepping into the middle of the street, gazed at the habitation which had formed his prison and refuge for nearly six months.  There it was, with its shutters closed and barred—­a secure asylum, with all alive within it, while every other dwelling in the street was desolate.

The grocer’s sensations were novel and extraordinary.  His first impulse was to enjoy his newly-recovered freedom, and to put himself into active motion.  But he checked the feeling as sinful, and proceeded along the street at a slow pace.  He did not meet a single person, until he reached Cheapside, where he found matters completely changed.  Several shops were already opened, and there were a few carts and other vehicles tracking their way through the broad and yet grass-grown street.  It was a clear, frosty morning, and there was a healthful feel in the bracing atmosphere that produced an exhilarating effect on the spirits.  The grocer pursued his course through the middle of the street, carefully avoiding all contact with such persons as he encountered, though he cordially returned their greetings, and wandered on, scarcely knowing whither he was going, but deeply interested in all he beheld.

The aspect of the city was indeed most curious.  The houses were for the most part unoccupied—­the streets overgrown with grass—­while every object, animate and inanimate, bore some marks of the recent visitation.  Still, all looked hopeful, and the grocer could not doubt that the worst was past.  The different demeanour of the various individuals he met struck him.  Now he passed a young man whistling cheerily, who saluted him, and said, “I have lost my sweetheart by the plague, but I shall soon get another.”  The next was a grave man, who muttered, “I have lost all,” and walked pensively on.  Then came others in different moods; but all concurred in thinking that the plague was at an end; and the grocer derived additional confirmation of the fact from meeting numerous carts and other vehicles bringing families back to their houses from the country.

After roaming about for several hours, and pondering on all he saw, he found himself before the great western entrance of Saint Paul’s.  It chanced to be the morning on which the pallets and bedding were brought forth, and he watched the proceeding at a distance.  All had been removed, and he was about to depart, when he perceived a person seated on a block of stone, not far from him, whom he instantly recognised.  “Leonard,” he cried—­“Leonard Holt, is it you?”