So absorbed had Sir Norman been in his own mournful musings, that he
paid no attention whatever to those around him, and had nearly forgotten
their very presence, when one of them, with aloud cry, sprang to his
feet, and then fell writhing to the floor. The others, in dismay,
gathered abut him, but the ne=t instant fell back with a cry of, "He has
the plague!" At that dreaded announcement, half of them scampered off
incontinently; and the other half with the landlord at their head,
lifted the sufferer whose groans and cries were heart-rendering, and
carried him out of the house. Sir Norman, rather dismayed himself, had
risen to his feet, fully aroused from his reverie, and found himself
and another individual sole possessors of the premises. His companion he
could not very well make out; for he was sitting, or rather crouching,
in a remote and shadowy corner, where nothing was clearly visible but
the glare of a pair of fiery eyes. There was a great redundancy of hair,
too, about his head and face, indeed considerable more about the latter
than there seemed any real necessity for, and even with the imperfect
glimpse he caught of him the young man set him down in his own mind as
about as hard-looking a customer as he had ever seen. The fiery eyes
were glaring upon him like those of a tiger, through a jungle of bushy
hair, but their owner spoke never a word, though the other stared back
with compound interest. There they sat, beaming upon each other--one
fiercely, the other curiously, until the re-appearance of the landlord
with a very lugubrious and woebegone countenance. It struck Sir Norman
that it was about time to start for the ruin; and, with an eye to
business, he turned to cross-examine mine host a trifle.
"What have they done with that man?" he asked by way of preface.
"Sent him to the pest-house," replied the landlord, resting his elbows
on the counter and his chin in his hands, and staring dismally at the
opposite wall. "Ah! Lord 'a' mercy on us I these be dreadful times!"
"Dreadful enough!" said Sir Norman, sighing deeply, as he thought of
his beautiful Leoline, a victim of the merciless pestilence. "Have there
been many deaths here of the distemper?"
"Twenty-five to-day!" groaned the man. "Lord! what will become of us?"
"You seem rather disheartened," said Sir Norman, pouring out a glass of
wine and handing it to him. "Just drink this, and don't borrow trouble.
They say sack is a sure specific against the plague."
Mine host drained the bumper, and wiped his mouth, with another hollow
groan.
"If I thought that, sir, I'd not be sober from one week's end to
t'other; but I know well enough I will be in a plague-pit in less than a
week. O Lord! have mercy on us!"