"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.
"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the end
of his cigar with the tip of his little finger--"the idea of falling in
love with a woman whose face you have never seen! I can understand a man
a going to any absurd extreme when he falls in love in proper Christian
fashion, with a proper Christian face; but to go stark, staring mad, as
you have done, my dear fellow, about a black loo mask, why--I consider
that a little too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."
Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir Norman
Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out through the great
door of the cathedral, followed by his melancholy friend. Pausing for a
moment to gaze at the gorgeous sunset with a look of languid admiration,
Sir Norman passed his arm through that of his friend, and they walked
on at rather a rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge. There
were few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down
before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they passed
through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped down the centre.
Smoking zealously they had walked on for a season in silence, when
Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to inquire:
"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should imagine, for
bonfires."
"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not intended
for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked Witch of Endor
than common sense (for I believe she is nothing better than a witch),
you could not have helped knowing. The Lord Mayor of London has been
inspired suddenly, with a notion, that if several thousand fires are
kindled at once in the streets, it will purify the air, and check the
pestilence; so when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these
piles are to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but
as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that it is
altogether too good to be true."
"Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever."
"No. But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also foretold
that it would last for many months yet; and since one prophecy has come
true, I see no reason why the other should not."
"Except the simple one that there would be nobody left alive to take it.
All London will be lying in the plague-pits by that time."