Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprentice looked up, and Mr. Bloundel started at the change that had taken place in him.  Profound grief was written in every line of his thin and haggard countenance; his eyes were hollow, and had the most melancholy expression imaginable; and his flesh was wasted away from the bone.  He looked the very image of hopeless affliction.

“I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard,” said the grocer, in a tone of deep commiseration; “but I am well aware of the cause.  I myself have suffered severely; but I deem it my duty to control my affliction.”

“I would control it, if it were possible, Mr. Bloundel,” replied Leonard.  “But hope is dead in my breast.  I shall never be happy again.”

“I trust otherwise,” replied the grocer, kindly.  “Your trials have been very great, and so were those of the poor creature we both of us deplore.  But she is at peace, and therefore we need not lament her.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Leonard, mournfully, “I am now only anxious to rejoin her.”

“It is selfish, if not sinful, to grieve in this way,” rejoined Mr. Bloundel, somewhat sternly.  “You must bear your sorrows like a man.  Come home with me.  I will be a father to you.  Nay, do not hesitate.  I will have no refusal.”

So saying, he took Leonard’s arm, and led him in the direction of Wood-street.  Nothing passed between them on the way, nor did Leonard evince any further emotion until he entered the door of the grocer’s dwelling, when he uttered a deep groan.  Mrs. Bloundel was greatly affected at seeing him, as were the rest of the family, and abundance of tears were shed by all, except Mr. Bloundel, who maintained his customary stoical demeanour throughout the meeting.

Satisfied that the pestilence had not declined sufficiently to warrant him in opening his house, the grocer determined to await the result of a few weeks.  Indeed, that very night, he had reason to think he had defeated his plans by precipitancy.  While sitting after prayers with his family, he was seized with a sudden shivering and sickness, which he could not doubt were the precursors of the plague.  He was greatly alarmed, but did not lose his command over himself.

“I have been most imprudent,” he said, “in thus exposing myself to infection.  I have symptoms of the plague about me, and will instantly repair to one of the upper rooms which I have laid aside as an hospital, in case of any emergency like the present.  None of you must attend me.  Leonard will fetch Doctor Hodges and a nurse.  I shall then do very well.  Farewell, dear wife and children!  God bless you all, and watch over you.  Remember me in your prayers.”  So saying, he arose and walked towards the door.  His wife and eldest son would have assisted him, but he motioned them away.

“Let me go with you, sir,” cried Leonard, who had arisen with the others; “I will nurse you; my life is of little consequence, and I cannot be more satisfactorily employed.”