"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

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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."




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