“My calculations are, that the plague will be at its worst in August and September, and will not cease entirely till the beginning of December,” observed Booker, laying aside his pen.

“And I doubt not you are right, sir,” said Lilly, “for your calculations are ever most exact.”

“My labour is not thrown away, Mr. Lilly,” cried Quatremain, who had finished his task at the same time.  “I have discovered what I have long suspected, that treasure is hidden in Saint Paul’s Cathedral.  Mercury is posited in the north angle of the fourth house; the dragon’s tail is likewise within it; and as Sol is the significator, it must be gold.”

“True,” replied Lilly.

“Furthermore,” proceeded Quatremain, “as the sign is earthy, the treasure must be buried in the vaults.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Booker.

“I am all impatience to search for it,” said Quatremain.  “Let us go there at once, and make trial of the mosaical rods.”

“With all my heart,” replied Lilly.  “My lord,” he added to Rochester, “I must pray you to excuse me.  You have heard what claims my attention.”

“I have,” returned the earl, “and should like to accompany you in the quest, if you will permit me.”

“You must address yourself to Mr. Quatremain,” rejoined Lilly.  “If he consents, I can make no objection.”

The minor canon, on being appealed to, signified his acquiescence, and after some slight preparation, Lilly produced two hazel rods, and the party set out.

A few minutes’ walking brought them to the northern entrance of the cathedral, where they speedily aroused the poor verger, who began to fancy he was to have no rest that night.  On learning their purpose, however, he displayed the utmost alacrity, and by Quatremain’s directions went in search of his brother-verger, and a mason, who, being employed at the time in making repairs in the chantries, lodged within the cathedral.

This occasioned a delay of a few minutes, during which Rochester and Etherege had an opportunity, like that enjoyed a short time before by Leonard Holt, of beholding the magnificent effect of the columned aisles by moonlight.  By this time the other verger, who was a young and active man, and the mason, arrived, and mattocks, spades, and an iron bar being procured, and a couple of torches lighted, they descended to Saint Faith’s.

Nothing more picturesque can be conceived than the effect of the torchlight on the massive pillars and low-browed roof of the subterranean church.  Nor were the figures inappropriate to the scene.  Lilly, with the mosaical rods in his hand, which he held at a short distance from the floor, moving first to one point, then to another; now lingering within the gloomy nave, now within the gloomier aisles; the grave minor canon, who kept close beside him, and watched his movements with the most intense anxiety; Booker, with his venerable head uncovered, and his bald brow reflecting the gleam of the torches; the two court gallants in their rich attire; and the vergers and their comrade, armed with the implements for digging;—­all constituted a striking picture.  And as Rochester stepped aside to gaze at it, he thought he had never beheld a more singular scene.