“This has escaped her,” said Blaize, as soon as she was gone, opening a secret drawer in the cupboard.  “How fortunate that I kept this reserve.  I have still a tolerable supply in case of need.  Let me examine my stock.  First of all, there are plague-lozenges, composed of angelica, liquorice, flower of sulphur, myrrh, and oil of cinnamon.  Secondly, an electuary of bole-armoniac, hartshorn-shavings, saffron, and syrup of wood-sorrel.  I long to taste it.  But then it would be running in the doctor’s teeth.  Thirdly, there is a phial labelled Aqua Theriacalis Stillatitia—­in plain English, distilled treacle-water.  A spoonful of this couldn’t hurt me.  Fourthly, a packet of powders, entitled Manus Christi—­an excellent mixture.  Fifthly, a small pot of diatesseron, composed of gentian, myrrh, bayberries, and round aristolochia.  I must just taste it.  Never mind the doctor!  He does not know what agrees with my constitution as well as I do myself.  Physic comes as naturally to me as mother’s milk.  Sixthly, there is Aqua Epidemica, commonly called the Plague-Water of Matthias—­delicious stuff!  I will only just sip it.  What a fine bitter it has!  I’m sure it must be very wholesome.  Next, for I’ve lost my count, comes salt of vipers—­next, powder of unicorn’s horn—­next, oil of scorpions from Naples—­next, dragon-water—­all admirable.  Then there are cloves of garlics—­sovereign fortifiers of the stomach—­and, lastly, there is a large box of my favourite rufuses.  How many pills have I taken?  Only half a dozen!  Three more may as well go to keep the others company.”

And hastily swallowing them, as if afraid of detection, he carefully shut the drawer, and then crept into bed, and, covering himself with blankets, endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.

Doctor Hodges, meantime, returned to the grocer, and acquainted him that it was a false alarm, and that the porter was entirely free from infection.

“I am glad to hear it,” replied Bloundel; “but I expected as much.  Blaize is like the shepherd’s boy in the fable:  he has cried ‘wolf’ so often, that when the danger really arrives, no one will heed him.”

“I must now take my leave, Mr. Bloundel,” said Hodges.  “I will be with you the first thing to-morrow, and have little doubt I shall find your son going on well.  But you must not merely take care of him, but of yourself, and your household.  It will be well to set a chafing-dish in the middle of the room, and scatter some of these perfumes occasionally upon it!” and producing several small packets, he gave them to the grocer.  “If you ever smoke a pipe, I would advise you to do so now.”

“I never smoke,” replied Bloundel, “and hold it as a filthy and mischievous habit, which nothing but necessity should induce me to practise.”

“It is advisable now,” returned Hodges, “and you should neglect no precaution.  Take my word for it, Mr. Bloundel, the plague is only beginning.  When the heats of summer arrive, its ravages will be frightful.  Heaven only knows what will become of us all!”