In this fashion
the dead bride was carried down stairs, and laid upon a shutter
on the top of a pile of bodies in the dead-cart.
It was now almost dark, and as the cart started, the great clock
of St. Paul's struck eight. St. Michael's, St Alban's, and the
others took up the sound; and the two young men paused to listen.
For many weeks the sky had been clear, brilliant, and blue; but
on this night dark clouds were scudding in wild unrest across it,
and the air was oppressingly close and sultry.
"Where are you going now?" said Ormiston. "Are you for
Whitehall's to night?"
"No!" said Sir Norman, rather dejectedly, turning to follow the
pest-cart. "I am for the plague-pit in Finsbury fields!"
"Nonsense, man!" exclaimed Ormiston, energetically, "what will
take you there? You surely are not mad enough to follow the body
of that dead girl?"
"I shall follow it! You can come or not, just as you please."
"Oh! if you are determined, I will go with you, of course; but it
is the craziest freak I ever heard of. After this, you need
never laugh at me."
"I never will," said Sir Norman, moodily; "for if you love a face
you have never seen, I love one I have only looked on when dead.
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