"
The great black eyes turned wildly upon him, while a fierce spasm
convulsed the beautiful face.
"O, my God, I remember! I have the plague!" And, with a
prolonged shriek of anguish, that thrilled even to the hardened
heart of the dead-cart driver, the girl fell back senseless
again. Sir Norman Kingsley sprang to his feet, and with more the
air of a frantic lunatic than a responsible young English knight,
caught the cold form in his arms, laid it in the dead-cart, and
was about springing into the driver's seat, when that individual
indignantly interposed.
"Come, now; none of that! If you were the king himself, you
shouldn't run away with my cart in that fashion; so you just get
out of my place as fast as you can!"
"My dear Kingsley, what are you about to do?" asked Ormiston,
catching his excited friend by the arm.
"Do!" exclaimed Sir Norman, in a high key. "Can't you see that
for yourself! And I'm going to have that girl cured of the
plague, if there is such a thing as a doctor to be had for love
or money in London."
"You had better have her taken to the pest house at once, then;
there are chirurgeons and nurses enough there.
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