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.
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