Before twenty-four hours have passed you will be, as I am,
a dying man. That is a good piece of vengeance. You may be a better
swordsman than I am, but you can't fight with the Plague."
Cyril drew back in horror. As he did so, a change came over John
Harvey's face, he muttered a few words incoherently, swayed backwards
and forwards, and then slid to the ground in a heap. A rush of blood
poured from his mouth, and he fell over dead.
Cyril had seen more than one similar death in the streets, but the
horrible malignity of this man, and his sudden death, gave him a
terrible shock. He felt for the moment completely unmanned, and,
conscious that he was too unhinged for work, he turned and went back
to the house.
"You look pale, lad," John Wilkes said, as Cyril went upstairs. "What
brings you back so soon?"
"I have had rather a shock, John." And he told him of what had
happened.
"That was enough to startle you, lad. I should say the best thing you
could do would be to take a good strong tumbler of grog, and then lay
down."
"That I will do, and will take a dose of the medicine Dr. Hodges
makes everyone take when the infection first shows itself in a house.
As you know, I have never had any fear of the Plague hitherto. I
don't say that I am afraid of it now, but I have run a far greater
risk of catching it than I have ever done before, for until now I
have never been in actual contact with anyone with the disease."
After a sleep Cyril rose, and feeling himself again, went to call
upon Mr.
Pages:
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363