Supper, meanwhile, proceeded.  Doctor Hodges was in excellent spirits, and drank a bottle of old sack with great relish.  Overcome by the sight of his wife and children, the grocer abandoned himself to his feelings.  As to his wife, she could scarcely contain herself, but wept and laughed by turns—­now embracing her husband, now her son, between whom she had placed herself.  Nor did she forget Doctor Hodges; and such was the exuberance of her satisfaction, that when the repast was ended, she arose, and, flinging her arms about his neck, termed him the preserver of her son.

“If any one is entitled to that appellation it is his father,” replied Hodges, “and I may say, that in all my experience I have never witnessed such generous self-devotion as Mr. Bloundel has exhibited towards his son.  You must now be satisfied, madam, that no person can so well judge what is proper for the safety of his family as your husband.”

“I never doubted it, sir,” replied Mrs. Bloundel.

“I must apprise you, then, that he has conceived a plan by which he trusts to secure you and his children and household from any future attack,” returned Hodges.

“I care not what it is, so it does not separate me from him,” replied Mrs. Bloundel.

“It does not,” replied the grocer.  “It will knit us more closely together than we have yet been.  I mean to shut up my house, having previously stored it with provisions for a twelvemonth, and shall suffer no member of my family to stir forth as long as the plague endures.”

“I am ready to remain within doors, if it continues twenty years,” replied his wife.  “But how long do you think it will last, doctor?”

“Till next December, I have no doubt,” returned Hodges.

“So long?” exclaimed Amabel.

“Ay, so long,” repeated the doctor.  “It has scarcely begun now.  Your father is right to adopt these precautions.  It is the only way to insure the safety of his family.”

“But——­” cried Amabel.

“I am resolved,” interrupted Bloundel, peremptorily.  “Who ever leaves the house—­if but for a moment—­never returns.”

“And when do you close it, father?” asked Amabel.

“A week hence,” replied the grocer; “as soon as I have laid in a sufficient stock of provisions.”

“And am I not to leave the house for a year?” cried Amabel, with a dissatisfied look.

“Why should you wish to leave it?” asked her father, curiously.

“Ay, why?” repeated Leonard, in a low tone.  “I shall be here.”

Amabel seemed confused, and looked from her father to Leonard.  The former, however, did not notice her embarrassment, but observed to Hodges—­“I shall begin to victual the house to-morrow.”

“Amabel,” whispered Leonard, “you told me if I claimed your hand in a month, you would yield it to me.  I require the fulfilment of your promise.”

“Give me till to-morrow,” she replied, distractedly.