“Lord help us!” cried the crone, “I hope it will spare me.  I thought my age secured me.”

“Quite the reverse,” replied Judith, desirous of exciting her mother-in-law’s terrors; “quite the reverse.  You must take care of yourself.”

“But you don’t think I’m ill, do you?” asked the other, anxiously.

“Sit down, and let me look at you,” returned Judith.

And the old woman tremblingly obeyed.

“Well, what do you think of me—­what’s the matter?” she asked, as her daughter-in-law eyed her for some minutes in silence.  “What’s the matter, I say?”

But Judith remained silent.

“I insist upon knowing,” continued the old woman.

“Are you able to bear the truth?” returned her daughter-in-law.

“You need say no more,” groaned the old woman.  “I know what the truth must be, and will try to bear it.  I will get home as fast as I can, and put my few affairs in order, so that if I am carried off, I may not go unprepared.”

“You had better do so,” replied her daughter-in-law.

“You will take care of my poor son, Judith,” rejoined the old woman, shedding a flood of tears.  “I would stay with him, if I thought I could do him any good; but if I really am infected, I might only be in the way.  Don’t neglect him—­as you hope for mercy hereafter, do not.”

“Make yourself easy, mother,” replied Judith.  “I will take every care of him.”

“Have you no fears of the disorder yourself?” inquired the old woman.

“None whatever,” replied Judith.  “I am a safe woman.”

“I do not understand you,” replied her mother-in-law, in surprise.

“I have had the plague,” replied Judith; “and those who have had it once, never take it a second time.”

This opinion, entertained at the commencement of the pestilence, it may be incidentally remarked, was afterwards found to be entirely erroneous; some persons being known to have the distemper three or four times.

“You never let us know you were ill,” said the old woman.

“I could not do so,” replied Judith, “and I don’t know that I should have done if I could.  I was nursing two sisters at a small house in Clerkenwell Close, and they both died in the night-time, within a few hours of each other.  The next day, as I was preparing to leave the house, I was seized myself, and had scarcely strength to creep up-stairs to bed.  An old apothecary, named Sibbald, who had brought drugs to the house, attended me, and saved my life.  In less than a week, I was well again, and able to move about, and should have returned home, but the apothecary told me, as I had had the distemper once, I might resume my occupation with safety.  I did so, and have found plenty of employment.”

“No doubt,” rejoined the old woman; “and you will find plenty more—­plenty more.”

“I hope so,” replied the other.

“Oh! do not give utterance to such a dreadful wish, Judith,” rejoined her mother-in-law.  “Do not let cupidity steel your heart to every better feeling.”