The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™
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brow, so strange in childhood, so different from her former hilar-
ity, she stood still, her eyes fixed on the ground. “What do you do
here?” I said gently; “Who are you?”—she was silent, but trembled
violently .—“My poor child,” asked Adrian, “are you alone?” There
was a winning softness in his voice, that went to the heart of the
little girl; she looked at him, then snatching her hand from me, threw
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herself into his arms, clinging round his neck, ejaculating—“Save
me! save me!” while her unnatural sullenness dissolved in tears .
“I will save you,” he replied, “of what are you afraid? you need
not fear my friend, he will do you no harm . Are you alone?”
“No, Lion is with me .”
“And your father and mother?—”
“I never had any; I am a charity girl . Every body is gone, gone
for a great, great many days; but if they come back and find me out,
they will beat me so!”
Her unhappy story was told in these few words: an orphan, taken
on pretended charity, ill-treated and reviled, her oppressors had died:
unknowing of what had passed around her, she found herself alone;
she had not dared venture out, but by the continuance of her soli-
tude her courage revived, her childish vivacity caused her to play a
thousand freaks, and with her brute companion she passed a long
holiday, fearing nothing but the return of the harsh voices and cruel
usage of her protectors . She readily consented to go with Adrian .
In the mean time, while we descanted on alien sorrows, and
on a solitude which struck our eyes and not our hearts, while we
imagined all of change and suffering that had intervened in these
once thronged streets, before, tenantless and abandoned, they be-
came mere kennels for dogs, and stables for cattle:—while we read
the death of the world upon the dark fane, and hugged ourselves in
the remembrance that we possessed that which was all the world to
us—in the meanwhile—-
We had arrived from Windsor early in October, and had now
been in London about six weeks . Day by day, during that time, the
health of my Idris declined: her heart was broken; neither sleep nor
appetite, the chosen servants of health, waited on her wasted form .
To watch her children hour by hour, to sit by me, drinking deep
the dear persuasion that I remained to her, was all her pastime . Her
vivacity, so long assumed, her affectionate display of cheerfulness,
her light-hearted tone and springy gait were gone . I could not dis-
guise to myself, nor could she conceal, her life-consuming sorrow .
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Still change of scene, and reviving hopes might restore her; I feared
the plague only, and she was untouched by that .
I had left her this evening, reposing after the fatigues of her
preparations . Clara sat beside her, relating a story to the two boys .
The eyes of Idris were closed: but Clara perceived a sudden change
in the appearance of our eldest darling; his heavy lids veiled his
eyes, an unnatural colour burnt in his cheeks, his breath became
short . Clara looked at the mother; she slept, yet started at the pause
the narrator made— Fear of awakening and alarming her, caused
Clara to go on at the eager call of Evelyn, who was unaware of what
was passing . Her eyes turned alternately from Alfred to Idris; with
trembling accents she continued her tale, till she saw the child about
to fall: starting forward she caught him, and her cry roused Idris .
She looked on her son . She saw death stealing across his features;
she laid him on a bed, she held drink to his parched lips .
Yet he might be saved . If I were there, he might be saved; perhaps
it was not the plague . Without a counsellor, what could she do? stay
and behold him die! Why at that moment was I away? “Look to him,
Clara,” she exclaimed, “I will return immediately .”
She inquired among those who, selected as the companions of
our journey, had taken up their residence in our house; she heard
from them merely that I had gone out with Adrian . She entreated
them to seek me: she returned to her child, he was plunged in a
frightful state of torpor; again she rushed down stairs; all was dark,
desert, and silent; she lost all self-possession; she ran into the street;
she called on my name . The pattering rain and howling wind alone
replied to her . Wild fear gave wings to her feet; she darted forward
to seek me, she knew not where; but, putting all her thoughts, all
her energy, all her being in speed only, most misdirected speed, she
neither felt, nor feared, nor paused, but ran right on, till her strength
suddenly deserted her so suddenly, that she had not thought to save
herself . Her knees failed her, and she fell heavily on the pavement .
She was stunned for a time; but at length rose, and though sorely
hurt, still walked on, shedding a fountain of tears, stumbling at
times, going she knew not whither, only now and then with feeble
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voice she called my name, adding with heart-piercing exclamations,
that I was cruel and unkind . Human being there was none to reply;
and the inclemency of the night had driven the wandering animals
to the habitations they had usurped . Her thin dress was drenched
with rain; her wet hair clung round her neck; she tottered through
the dark streets; till, striking her foot against an unseen impediment,
she again fell; she could not rise; she hardly strove; but, gathering
up her limbs, she resigned herself to the fury of the elements, and
the bitter grief of her own heart . She breathed an earnest prayer to
die speedily, for there was no relief but death . While hopeless of
safety for herself, she ceased to lament for her dying child, but shed
kindly, bitter tears for the grief I should experience in losing her .
While she lay, life almost suspended, she felt a warm, soft hand on
her brow, and a gentle female voice asked her, with expressions of
tender compassion, if she could not rise? That another human being,
sympathetic and kind, should exist near, roused her; half rising, with
clasped hands, and fresh springing tears, she entreated her compan-
ion to seek for me, to bid me hasten to my dying child, to save him,
for the love of heaven, to save him!
The woman raised her; she led her under shelter, she entreated
her to return to her home, whither perhaps I had already returned .
Idris easily yielded to her persuasions, she leaned on the arm of her
friend, she endeavoured to walk on, but irresistible faintness made
her pause again and again .
Quickened by the encreasing storm, we had hastened our return,
our little charge was placed before Adrian on his horse . There was
an assemblage of persons under the portico of our house, in whose
gestures I instinctively read some heavy change, some new misfor-
tune . With swift alarm, afraid to ask a single question, I leapt from
my horse; the spectators saw me, knew me, an
d in awful silence di-
vided to make way for me . I snatched a light, and rushing up stairs,
and hearing a groan, without reflection I threw open the door of
the first room that presented itself. It was quite dark; but, as I stept
within, a pernicious scent assailed my senses, producing sickening
qualms, which made their way to my very heart, while I felt my leg
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clasped, and a groan repeated by the person that held me . I lowered
my lamp, and saw a negro half clad, writhing under the agony of dis-
ease, while he held me with a convulsive grasp . With mixed horror
and impatience I strove to disengage myself, and fell on the sufferer;
he wound his naked festering arms round me, his face was close to
mine, and his breath, death-laden, entered my vitals . For a moment I
was overcome, my head was bowed by aching nausea; till, reflection
returning, I sprung up, threw the wretch from me, and darting up
the staircase, entered the chamber usually inhabited by my family .
A dim light shewed me Alfred on a couch; Clara trembling, and
paler than whitest snow, had raised him on her arm, holding a cup
of water to his lips . I saw full well that no spark of life existed in
that ruined form, his features were rigid, his eyes glazed, his head
had fallen back . I took him from her, I laid him softly down, kissed
his cold little mouth, and turned to speak in a vain whisper, when
loudest sound of thunderlike cannon could not have reached him in
his immaterial abode .
And where was Idris? That she had gone out to seek me, and had
not returned, were fearful tidings, while the rain and driving wind
clattered against the window, and roared round the house . Added
to this, the sickening sensation of disease gained upon me; no time
was to be lost, if ever I would see her again . I mounted my horse and
rode out to seek her, fancying that I heard her voice in every gust,
oppressed by fever and aching pain .
I rode in the dark and rain through the labyrinthine streets of
unpeopled London . My child lay dead at home; the seeds of mortal
disease had taken root in my bosom; I went to seek Idris, my adored,
now wandering alone, while the waters were rushing from heaven
like a cataract to bathe her dear head in chill damp, her fair limbs
in numbing cold . A female stood on the step of a door, and called to
me as I gallopped past . It was not Idris; so I rode swiftly on, until a
kind of second sight, a reflection back again on my senses of what
I had seen but not marked, made me feel sure that another figure,
thin, graceful and tall, stood clinging to the foremost person who
supported her . In a minute I was beside the suppliant, in a minute I
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received the sinking Idris in my arms . Lifting her up, I placed her on
the horse; she had not strength to support herself; so I mounted be-
hind her, and held her close to my bosom, wrapping my riding-cloak
round her, while her companion, whose well known, but changed
countenance, (it was Juliet, daughter of the Duke of L—-) could
at this moment of horror obtain from me no more than a passing
glance of compassion . She took the abandoned rein, and conducted
our obedient steed homewards . Dare I avouch it? That was the last
moment of my happiness; but I was happy . Idris must die, for her
heart was broken: I must die, for I had caught the plague; earth was a
scene of desolation; hope was madness; life had married death; they
were one; but, thus supporting my fainting love, thus feeling that I
must soon die, I revelled in the delight of possessing her once more;
again and again I kissed her, and pressed her to my heart .
We arrived at our home . I assisted her to dismount, I carried her
up stairs, and gave her into Clara’s care, that her wet garments might
be changed. Briefly I assured Adrian of her safety, and requested
that we might be left to repose . As the miser, who with trembling
caution visits his treasure to count it again and again, so I numbered
each moment, and grudged every one that was not spent with Idris .
I returned swiftly to the chamber where the life of my life reposed;
before I entered the room I paused for a few seconds; for a few
seconds I tried to examine my state; sickness and shuddering ever
and anon came over me; my head was heavy, my chest oppressed,
my legs bent under me; but I threw off resolutely the swift growing
symptoms of my disorder, and met Idris with placid and even joy-
ous looks . She was lying on a couch; carefully fastening the door to
prevent all intrusion; I sat by her, we embraced, and our lips met in
a kiss long drawn and breathless—would that moment had been my
last!Maternal feeling now awoke in my poor girl’s bosom, and she
asked: “And Alfred?”
“Idris,” I replied, “we are spared to each other, we are together;
do not let any other idea intrude . I am happy; even on this fatal
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night, I declare myself happy, beyond all name, all thought—what
would you more, sweet one?”
Idris understood me: she bowed her head on my shoulder and
wept . “Why,” she again asked, “do you tremble, Lionel, what shakes
you thus?”
“Well may I be shaken,” I replied, “happy as I am . Our child is
dead, and the present hour is dark and ominous . Well may I tremble!
but, I am happy, mine own Idris, most happy .”
“I understand thee, my kind love,” said Idris, “thus—pale as thou
art with sorrow at our loss; trembling and aghast, though wouldest
assuage my grief by thy dear assurances . I am not happy,” (and the
tears flashed and fell from under her down-cast lids), “for we are
inmates of a miserable prison, and there is no joy for us; but the true
love I bear you will render this and every other loss endurable .”
“We have been happy together, at least,” I said; “no future misery
can deprive us of the past . We have been true to each other for years,
ever since my sweet princess-love came through the snow to the
lowly cottage of the poverty-striken heir of the ruined Verney . Even
now, that eternity is before us, we take hope only from the presence
of each other . Idris, do you think, that when we die, we shall be
divided?”
“Die! when we die! what mean you? What secret lies hid from
me in those dreadful words?”
“Must we not all die, dearest?” I asked with a sad smile .
“Gracious God! are you ill, Lionel, that you speak of death? My
only friend, heart of my heart, speak!”
“I do not think,” replied I, “that we have any of us long to live;
and when the curtain drops on this mortal scene, where, think you,
we shall find ourselves?” Idris was calmed by my unembarrassed
tone and look; she answered:—“You may easily believe that dur-
ing this long progress of the plague, I have thought much on death,
and asked myself, now that all mankind is dead to this life, to what
other life they may have been b
orne . Hour after hour, I have dwelt
on these thoughts, and strove to form a rational conclusion con-
cerning the mystery of a future state . What a scare-crow, indeed,
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would death be, if we were merely to cast aside the shadow in which
we now walk, and, stepping forth into the unclouded sunshine of
knowledge and love, revived with the same companions, the same
affections, and reached the fulfilment of our hopes, leaving our fears
with our earthly vesture in the grave . Alas! the same strong feeling
which makes me sure that I shall not wholly die, makes me refuse to
believe that I shall live wholly as I do now . Yet, Lionel, never, never,
can I love any but you; through eternity I must desire your society;
and, as I am innocent of harm to others, and as relying and confident
as my mortal nature permits, I trust that the Ruler of the world will
never tear us asunder .”
“Your remarks are like yourself, dear love,” replied I, “gentle
and good; let us cherish such a belief, and dismiss anxiety from our
minds . But, sweet, we are so formed, (and there is no sin, if God
made our nature, to yield to what he ordains), we are so formed,
that we must love life, and cling to it; we must love the living smile,
the sympathetic touch, and thrilling voice, peculiar to our mortal
mechanism . Let us not, through security in hereafter, neglect the
present . This present moment, short as it is, is a part of eternity, and
the dearest part, since it is our own unalienably . Thou, the hope of
my futurity, art my present joy . Let me then look on thy dear eyes,
and, reading love in them, drink intoxicating pleasure .”
Timidly, for my vehemence somewhat terrified her, Idris looked
on me . My eyes were bloodshot, starting from my head; every artery
beat, methought, audibly, every muscle throbbed, each single nerve
felt . Her look of wild affright told me, that I could no longer keep
my secret:—“So it is, mine own beloved,” I said, “the last hour of
many happy ones is arrived, nor can we shun any longer the inevi-
table destiny . I cannot live long—but, again and again, I say, this
moment is ours!”
Paler than marble, with white lips and convulsed features, Idris
became aware of my situation . My arm, as I sat, encircled her waist .
She felt the palm burn with fever, even on the heart it pressed:—“One