True, the house was standing empty and desolate.  Its tenants had fled, taking their goods with them.  All that was left of plenishing belonged to Lady Scrope.  Pallets were easily provided by the officers of health, and the place was speedily filled with little children, who were tenderly cared for by Gertrude, Janet, and Rebecca (who had joined her sister in this labour of love), all three having given themselves up to this work, and finding their hands too full to desire other occupation abroad.

Joseph and Benjamin had of course heard all about this, and knew exactly where to find the house.  It was marked with the red cross, for, as was inevitable, many of the little inmates were carried off by the fell disease after admission, and the numbers were constantly thinning and being replaced by fresh ones.  But hitherto the nurses themselves had been spared, and toiled on unremittingly at their self-chosen work.

There was no watchman at the door as the boys stole up, but they had scarcely been there ten seconds before a window was thrown up, and Janet’s voice was heard exclaiming, “Andrew, art thou yet returned?”

“There is nobody here, sister,” answered Joseph, “save Ben and me.  We are come to say farewell, for we are going forth this night from the city, to seek safety with our aunt in Islington.  Can we do aught for you ere we go?”

“Alas, it is the dead cart of which we have need tonight,” answered Janet.  “We sent the watchman for physic, but it is needed no longer.  The little ones are dead already—­three of them, and only one ill this morning.

“Ah, brothers, glad am I to hear ye be going.  God send you safety and health; and forget not to pray for us in the city when ye are far away.  May He soon see fit to remove His chastening hand!  It is hard to see the little ones suffer.”

Janet’s voice was quiet and calm, but Benjamin burst into tears at the sound of her words, and at the thought of the little dead children; but she leaned out and said kindly: 

“Nay, nay, weep not, Ben, boy; let us think that they are taken in mercy from the evil to come.  But linger not here, dear brothers.  Who knows that contagion may not dwell in the very air?  Go forth with what speed you may.

“Ah, there is the bell!  The cart is on its way!  And here comes good Andrew back.  Now he will do all that we need.  Fare you well, brothers.  Rebecca is sleeping tonight, and I would not wake her.  I will give her your farewell love tomorrow.”

She waved them away, and they withdrew; but a species of fascination kept them hanging round the spot.  Moreover, they feared to meet the death cart in that narrow thoroughfare, and the porch of the church of Allhallowes the Less was in close proximity.  The iron gate was open, and they were quickly able to hide themselves in the porch, from whence by peeping out they could see all that passed.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of the rumbling wheels and the bell, and now the cry, “Bring forth your dead! bring forth your dead!” was clearly to be heard through the still air.  Round the corner came the strange conveyance, drawn by two weary-looking horses; and at some signal from the inmates it drew up at the door of the house in front of which the boys had been standing a minute before.