Greatly relieved by the operation he had undergone, the sexton had sunk into a slumber, and was, therefore, unconscious of the entrance of his wife, who, setting down the lantern, advanced towards the pallet.  His mother and the young man were still in attendance, and the former, on seeing her daughter-in-law, exclaimed, in low but angry accents—­“What brings you here, Judith?  I suppose you expected to find my son dead.  But he will disappoint you.  Doctor Hodges said he would recover—­did he not Kerrich?” she added, appealing to the young man, who nodded acquiescence.  “He will recover, I tell you.”

“Well, well,” replied Judith, in the blandest tone she could assume; “I hope he will.  And if the doctor says so, I have no doubt of it.  I only heard of his illness a few minutes ago, and came instantly to nurse him.”

“You nurse him?” cried the old woman; “if you show him any affection now, it will be for the first time since your wedding-day.”

“How long has he been unwell?” demanded Judith, with difficulty repressing her anger.

“He was seized the night before last,” replied the old woman; “but he didn’t know what was the matter with him when it began.  I saw him just before he went to rest, and he complained of a slight illness, but nothing to signify.  He must have passed a frightful night, for the vergers found him in the morning running about Saint Faith’s like a madman, and dashing his spades and mattocks against the walls and pillars.  They secured him, and brought him here, and on examination, he proved to have the plague.”

“You surprise me by what you say,” replied Judith.  “During the last month, I have nursed more than a dozen patients, and never knew any of them so violent.  I must look at his sore.”

“The doctor has just dressed it,” observed the old woman.

“I don’t mind that,” rejoined Judith, turning down the blanket, and examining her husband’s shoulder.  “You are right,” she added, “he is doing as well as possible.”

“I suppose I shan’t be wanted any more,” observed Kerrich, “now you’re come back to nurse your husband, Mrs. Malmayns?  I shall be glad to get home to my own bed, for I don’t feel well at all.”

“Don’t alarm yourself,” replied Judith.  “There’s a bottle of plague vinegar for you.  Dip a piece of linen in it, and smell at it, and I’ll insure you against the pestilence.”

Kerrich took the phial, and departed.  But the remedy was of little avail.  Before daybreak, he was seized with the distemper, and died two days afterwards.

“I hope poor Kerrich hasn’t got the plague?” said the old woman, in a tremulous tone.

“I am afraid he has,” replied the daughter-in-law, “but I didn’t like to alarm him.”

“Mercy on us!” cried the other, getting up.  “What a dreadful scourge it is.”

“You would say so, if you had seen whole families swept off by it, as I have,” replied Judith.  “But it mostly attacks old persons and children.”