The grocer reluctantly assented, and the apprentice assisted him upstairs, and helped to place him in bed.  No plague-token could be found about his person, but as the same alarming symptoms still continued, Leonard administered such remedies as he thought needful, and then went in search of Doctor Hodges.

On reaching Watling-street, he found Doctor Hodges about to retire to rest.  The worthy physician was greatly distressed by the apprentice’s account of his master’s illness; but was somewhat reassured when the symptoms were more minutely described to him.  While preparing certain medicines, and arming himself with his surgical implements, he questioned Leonard as to the cause of his long disappearance.  “Having seen nothing of you,” he said, “since the fatal night when our poor Amabel’s sorrows were ended, I began to feel very apprehensive on your account.  Where have you been?”

“You shall hear,” replied Leonard, “though the relation will be like opening my wounds afresh.  On recovering from the terrible shock I had received, I found myself stretched upon a bed in a house whither I had been conveyed by Rainbird the watchman, who had discovered me lying in a state of insensibility in the street.  For nearly a week I continued delirious, and should, probably, have lost my senses altogether but for the attentions of the watchman.  As soon as I was able to move, I wandered to the lesser plague-pit, in Finsbury Fields, you will guess with what intent.  My heart seemed breaking, and I thought I should pour forth my very soul in grief, as I gazed into that dreadful gulf, and thought she was there interred.  Still my tears were a relief.  Every evening, for a month, I went to that sad spot, and remained there till daybreak admonished me to return to Rainbird’s dwelling.  At last, he was seized by the distemper; but though I nursed him, voluntarily exposing myself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remained untouched.  Poor Rainbird died; and having seen his body thrown into the pit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days’ toilsome travel on foot, reached Ashdown Park.  It was a melancholy pleasure to behold the abode where she I had loved passed her last few days of happiness, and where I had been near her.  Her aunt, good Mrs. Buscot, though overwhelmed by affliction at the sad tidings I brought her, received me with the utmost kindness, and tried to console me.  My sorrow, however, was too deeply seated to be removed.  Wandering over the downs, I visited Mrs. Compton at Kingston Lisle, from whose house Amabel was carried off by the perfidious earl.  She, also, received me with kindness, and strove, like Mrs. Buscot, to comfort me, and, like her, ineffectually.  Finding my strength declining, and persuaded that my days were drawing to a close, I retraced my steps to London, hoping to find a final resting-place near her I had loved.”

“You are, indeed, faithful to the grave, Leonard,” said the physician, brushing away a tear; “and I never heard or read of affection stronger than yours.  Sorrow is a great purifier, and you will come out all the better for your trial.  You are yet young, and though you never can love as you have loved, a second time, your heart is not utterly seared.”