“What shall I do?” cried Amabel, distractedly.  “But I am rightly punished for my disobedience and ingratitude to my dear father.  Oh!  Wyvil, I did not deserve this from you.”

“Hear me, Amabel,” cried her lover; “I implore your forgiveness.  What I have done has been from irresistible passion, and from no other cause.  You promised to meet me to-night.  Nay, you half consented to fly with me.  I have prepared all for it.  I came hither burning with impatience for the meeting.  I received no signal, but encountering your father’s apprentice, was informed that you were attacked by the plague.  Imagine my horror and distress at the intelligence.  I thought it would have killed me.  I determined, however, at all risks, to see you once more—­to clasp you in my arms before you died—­to die with you, if need be.  I accomplished my purpose.  I entered the house unobserved.  I overheard the servants say it was your brother who was ill, not you.  I also learnt that you were in your mother’s room.  I found the door, and by a fortunate device, obtained admittance.  Now you know all, and will you not fly with me?”

“How can I fly?” cried Amabel, gazing wildly round the room, as if in search of some place of refuge or escape, and, noticing her little sister, Christiana, who was lying asleep in the bed—­“Oh! how I envy that innocent!” she murmured.

“Think of nothing but yourself,” rejoined Wyvil, seizing her hand.  “If you stay here, it will be to perish of the plague.  Trust to me, and I will secure your flight.”

“I cannot—­I dare not,” cried Amabel, resisting him with all her force.

“You must come,” cried Wyvil, dragging her along.

As he spoke, Mrs. Bloundel, who had been down to Blaize’s room to ascertain what was the matter, returned.  Trying the door, and finding it fastened, she became greatly alarmed, and called to Amabel to open it directly.

“It is my mother,” cried Amabel.  “Pity me, Heaven!  I shall die with shame.”

“Heed her not,” replied Wyvil, in a deep whisper; “in her surprise and confusion at seeing me, she will not be able to stop us.  Do not hesitate.  There is not a moment to lose.”

“What is the matter, child?” cried Mrs. Bloundel.  “Why have you fastened the door?  Is there any one in the room with you?”

“She hears us,” whispered Amabel.  “What shall I do?  You must not be seen?”

“There is no use in further concealment,” cried Wyvil.  “You are mine, and twenty mothers should not bar the way.”

“Hold!” cried Amabel, disengaging herself by a sudden effort.  “I have gone too far—­but not so far as you imagine.  I am not utterly lost.”

And before she could be prevented, she rushed to the door, threw it open, and flung herself into her mother’s arms, who uttered an exclamation of terror at beholding Wyvil.  The latter, though filled with rage and confusion, preserved an unmoved exterior, and folded his arms upon his breast.