第 38 页

possible for her. Her food must be taken up and put outside the door,

so that she can take it in there without any of you going near her."

The occupation was a useful one, as it distracted the thoughts of

those engaged in it from the sick room.

Cyril did not enter there. He had told the girl to call him should

there be any necessity, but said,--

"Do not call me unless absolutely needful, if, for instance, he

becomes violent, in which case we must fasten the sheets across him

so as to restrain him. But it is of no use your remaining shut up

there if I go in and out of the room to carry the infection to the

others."

"You have hurt your arm, doctor?" the mother said, when the

arrangements were all made, and they had returned to the room below.

"Yes," he said; "I met with an accident, and must, for a short time,

keep my arm in a sling."

"You look young, sir, to be running these fearful perils."

"I am young," Cyril said, "and have not yet completed all my studies;

but Dr. Hodges judged that I was sufficiently advanced to be able to

be of service to him, not so much in prescribing as by seeing that

his orders were carried out."

Every half hour he went upstairs, and inquired, through the door, as

to the state of the boy.

Late in the afternoon he heard the girl crying bitterly within. He

knocked, and she cried out,--

"He is dead, sir; he has just expired."

"Then you must think of yourself and the others," he said. "The small

packet I placed on the chair contains sulphur. Close the window, then

place the packet on the fire, and leave the room at once and go into

the next room, which is all ready for you. There, I pray you,

undress, and sponge yourself with vinegar, then make your clothes

into a bundle and put them outside the door. There will be a bowl of

hot broth in readiness for you there; drink that, and then go to bed

at once, and keep the blankets over you and try to sleep."

He went part of the way downstairs, and, in a minute or two, heard a

door open and shut, then another door shut. Knowing that the order

had been carried out, he went downstairs.

"Madam," he said, "God has taken your boy. The doctor had but little

hope for him. For the sake of yourself and those around you, I pray

you all to bear up against the sorrow."

The mother burst into tears, and, leaving her with her husband and

daughter, Cyril went into the kitchen, where the maid and an

apprentice were sitting with pale faces, and bade the servant at once

warm up the broth, that had already been prepared. As soon as it was

ready, he carried a basin upstairs. The bundle of clothes had already

been placed outside the girl's room. He took this down and put it on

the kitchen fire.

"Now," he said, "take four basins up to the parlour, and do you and

the boy each make a hearty meal. I think there is little fear of the

Plague spreading, and your best chance of avoiding it is by keeping

up your spirits and not fretting about it."

As soon as the broth had been taken into the parlour, he went in and

persuaded them to eat and to take a glass of wine with it, while he

himself sat down with them.

"You are all weak," he said, "for, doubtless, you have eaten nothing

to-day, and you need strength as well as courage. I trust that your

daughter will presently go off into a sound sleep. The last thing

before you go to bed, take up with you a basin of good posset with a

glass of wine in it; knock gently at her door; if she is awake, tell

her to come out and take it in as soon as you have gone, but if she

does not reply, do not rouse her. I can be of no further use

to-night, but will return in the morning, when I hope to find all is

well."

The father accompanied him to the door.

"You will of course bring the poor boy down to-night. It were best

that you made some excuse to sleep in another room. Let your daughter

sleep with her mother. When you go in to fetch him, be careful that

you do not enter at once, for the fumes of the sulphur will scarcely

have abated. As you go in, place a wet handkerchief to your mouth,

and make to the window and throw it open, closing the door behind

you. Sit at the window till the air is tolerable, then wrap the

blankets round him and carry him downstairs when you hear the bell.

After he has gone tell the servant to have a brazier lighted, and to

keep up the kitchen fire. As soon as he is gone, burn on the brazier

at the foot of the stairs, tobacco and spices, as we did before; then

take off your clothes and burn them on the kitchen fire, and then go

up to bed. You can leave the doors and windows of the rooms that are

not in use open, so that the smoke may escape."

"God bless you, sir!" the man said. "You have been a comfort indeed

to us, and I have good hopes that the Plague will spread no further

among us."

Cyril went first to the doctor's, and reported what had taken place.

"I will go round in the morning and see how they are," he concluded,

"and bring you round word before you start on your rounds."

"You have done very well indeed," the doctor said. "If people

everywhere would be as calm, and obey orders as well as those you

have been with, I should have good hopes that we might check the

spread of the Plague; but you will find that they are quite the

exception."

This, indeed, proved to be the case. In many instances, the people

were so distracted with grief and fear that they ran about the house

like mad persons, crying and screaming, running in and out of the

sick chamber, or sitting there crying helplessly, and refusing to

leave the body until it was carried out to the dead-cart. But with

such cases Cyril had nothing to do, as the doctor would only send him

to the houses where he saw that his instructions would be carried

out.

To his great satisfaction, Cyril found that the precautions taken in

the first case proved successful. Regularly, every morning, he

inquired at the door, and received the answer, "All are well."

In August the Plague greatly increased in violence, the deaths rising

to ten thousand a week. A dull despair had now seized the population.

It seemed that all were to be swept away. Many went out of their

minds. The quacks no longer drove a flourishing trade in their

pretended nostrums; these were now utterly discredited, for nothing

seemed of the slightest avail. Some went to the opposite extreme, and

affected to defy fate. The taverns were filled again, and boisterous

shouts and songs seemed to mock the dismal cries from the houses with

the red cross on the door. Robberies were rife. Regardless of the

danger of the pest, robbers broke into the houses where all the

inmates had perished by the Plague, and rifled them of their

valuables. The nurses plundered the dying. All natural affection

seemed at an end.

Those stricken were often deserted by all their relatives, and left

alone to perish.

Bands of reckless young fellows went through the streets singing,

and, dressing up in masks, performed the dance of death. The dead

were too many to be carried away in carts at night to the great pits

prepared for them, but the dismal tones of the bell, and the cries of

"Bring out your dead!" sounded in the streets all day. It was no

longer possible to watch the whole of the infected houses. Sometimes

Plague-stricken men would escape from their beds and run through the

streets until they dropped dead. One such man, in the height of his

delirium, sprang into the river, and, after swimming about for some

time, returned to the shore, marvellously cured of his malady by the

shock.

Cyril went occasionally in the evening to the lodgings of Mr.

Wallace. At first he met several people gathered there, but the

number became fewer every time he went. He had told the minister that

he thought that it would be better for him to stay away, exposed as

he was to infection, but Mr. Wallace would take no excuses on this

score.

"We are all in the hands of God," he said. "The streets are full of

infected people, and I myself frequently go to pray with my friends

in the earliest stages of the malady. There is no longer any use in

precautions. We can but all go on doing our duty until we are called

away, and even among the few who gather here of an evening there may

be one or more who are already smitten, though unconscious yet that

their summons has come."

Among others Cyril was introduced to a Mr. and Mrs. Harvey, who were,

the minister told him, from the country, but were staying in town on

account of a painful family business.

"I have tried to persuade them to return home and to stay there until

the Plague ceases, but they conceive it their duty to remain. They

are, like myself, Independents, and are not easily to be turned from

a resolution they have taken."

Cyril could easily understand that Mr. Harvey was exactly what he,

from the description he had heard of them, had pictured to himself

that a Roundhead soldier would be. He had a stern face, eyes deeply

sunk in his head, high cheekbones, a firm mouth, and a square jaw. He

wore his hair cut close. His figure was bony, and he must, as a young

man, have been very powerful. He spoke in a slow, deliberate way,

that struck Cyril as being the result of long effort, for a certain

restless action of the fingers and the quick movement of the eye,

told of a naturally impulsive and fiery disposition. He constantly

used scriptural texts in the course of his speech. His wife was

gentle and quiet, but it was evident that there was a very strong

sympathy between them, and Cyril found, after meeting them once or

twice, that he liked them far better than he thought he should do on

their first introduction. This was, no doubt, partly due to the fact

that Mr. Harvey frequently entered into conversation with him, and

appeared to interest himself in him. He was, too, a type that was

altogether new to the lad. From his father, and his father's

companions, he had heard nothing good of the Puritans, but the

evident earnestness of this man's nature was, to some extent, in

accordance with his own disposition, and he felt that, widely as he

might differ from him on all points of politics, he could not but

respect him. The evenings were pleasant. As if by common consent, the

conversation never turned on the Plague, but they talked of other

passing events, of the trials of their friends, and of the laws that

were being put in force against Nonconformists.

"What think you of these persecutions, young sir?" Mr. Harvey

abruptly asked Cyril, one evening, breaking off in the midst of a

general conversation.

Cyril was a little confused at the unexpected question.

"I think all persecutions for conscience' sake are wrong," he said,

after a moment's pause, "and generally recoil upon the persecutors.

Spain lost Holland owing to her persecution of the people. France

lost great numbers of her best citizens by her laws against the

Protestants. I agree with you thoroughly, that the persecution of the

Nonconformists at present is a grievous error, and a cruel injustice;

but, at the same time, if you will excuse my saying so, it is the

natural consequence of the persecution by the Nonconformists, when

they were in power, of the ministers of the Church of England. My

tutor in France was an English clergyman, who had been driven from

his living, like thousands of other ministers, because he would not

give up his opinions. Therefore, you see, I very early was imbued

with a hatred of persecution in any form. I trust that I have not

spoken too boldly; but you asked for my opinion, and I was forced to

give it."

"At any rate, young sir, you have spoken manfully, and I like you

none the worse for it. Nor can I altogether gainsay your words. But

you must remember that we had before been oppressed, and that we have

been engaged in a desperate struggle for liberty of conscience."

"Which, having won for ourselves, we proceeded to deny to others,"

Mr. Wallace said, with a smile. "Cyril has us fairly, Mr. Harvey. We

are reaping what our fathers sowed. They thought that the power they

had gained was to be theirs to hold always, and they used it

tyrannously, being thereby false to all their principles. It is ever

the persecuted, when he attains power, who becomes the persecutor,

and, hard as is the pressure of the laws now, we should never forget

that we have, in our time, been persecutors, and that in defiance of

the rights of conscience we had fought to achieve. Man's nature is, I

fear, unchangeable. The slave longs, above all things, for freedom,

but when he rises successfully against his master he, in turn,

becomes a tyrant, and not infrequently a cruel and bloodthirsty one.

Still, we must hope. It may be in the good days that are to come, we

may reach a point when each will be free to worship in his own

fashion, without any fear or hindrance, recognising the fact that

each has a right to follow his own path to Heaven, without its being

a subject of offence to those who walk in other ways."

One or two of the other visitors were on the point of speaking, when

Mr. Wallace put a stop to further argument by fetching a Bible from

his closet, and preparing for the short service of prayer with which

the evening always closed.

One evening, Mr. Harvey and his wife were absent from the usual

gathering.

"I feel anxious about them," Mr. Wallace said; "they have never,

since they arrived in town, missed coming here at seven o'clock. The

bells are usually striking the hour as they come. I fear that one or

other of them may have been seized by the Plague."

"With your permission, sir, I will run round and see," Cyril said. "I

know their lodging, for I have accompanied them to the door several

times. It is but five minutes' walk from here. If one or other is ill