caused them first to cast off the draperies and clothing, which might retain additional infection.  She then despatched them for new furniture, and for whatsoever leech money might yet bribe to a duty, now chiefly abandoned to those heroic Brotherhoods who, however vilified in modern judgment by the crimes of some unworthy members, were yet, in the dark times, the best, the bravest, and the holiest agents, to whom God ever delegated the power to resist the oppressor—­to feed the hungry—­to minister to woe; and who, alone, amidst that fiery Pestilence, (loosed, as it were, a demon from the abyss, to shiver into atoms all that binds the world to Virtue and to Law,) seemed to awaken, as by the sound of an angel’s trumpet, to that noblest Chivalry of the Cross—­whose faith is the scorn of self—­whose hope is beyond the Lazar-house—­whose feet, already winded for immortality, trample, with a conqueror’s march, upon the graves of Death!

While this the ministry and the office of love,—­along that street in which Adrian and Irene had met at last—­came singing, reeling, roaring, the dissolute and abandoned crew who had fixed their quarters in the Convent of Santa Maria de’ Pazzi, their bravo chief at their head, and a nun (no longer in nun’s garments) upon either arm.  “A health to the Plague!” shouted the ruffian:  “A health to the Plague!” echoed his frantic Bacchanals.

“A health to the Plague, may she ever, as now, Loose the rogue from his chain, and the nun from her vow; To the gaoler a sword—­to the captive a key, Hurrah for Earth’s Curse! ’tis a blessing to me.”

“Holla!” cried the chief, stopping; “here, Margherita; here’s a brave cloak for thee, my girl:  silver enow on it to fill thy purse, if it ever grow empty; which it may, if ever the Plague grow slack.”

“Nay,” said the girl, who, amidst all the havoc of debauch, retained much of youth and beauty in her form and face; “nay, Guidotto; perhaps it has infection.”

“Pooh, child, silver never infects.  Clap it on, clap it on.  Besides, fate is fate, and when it is thine hour there will be other means besides the gavocciolo.”

So saying, he seized the mantle, threw it roughly over her shoulders, and dragged her on as before, half pleased with the finery, half frightened with the danger; while gradually died away, along the lurid air and the mournful streets, the chant of that most miserable mirth.

Chapter 6.V.  The Error.

For three days, the fatal three days, did Adrian remain bereft of strength and sense.  But he was not smitten by the scourge which his devoted and generous nurse had anticipated.  It was a fierce and dangerous fever, brought on by the great fatigue, restlessness, and terrible agitation he had undergone.