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"True," replied Wyvil, "and as I feel too restless to go home at present, suppose we amuse ourselves by calling on some astrologer, to see whether the stars are favourable to my pursuit of this girl." "A good idea," replied Lydyard. "There are plenty of the 'Sons of Urania, as they term themselves, hereabouts. "A mere juggler will not serve my turn," returned Wyvil.
I don't forget how kind you were to me, away there at the school and I can't, and won't, see what's going on at the cottage, behind your back, without letting you know of it. Oh, you needn't be alarmed about her! I've made an excuse to get away for a few hours but I haven't left her by herself. Miss Wyvil has come to London again; and Mr. Mirabel spends the best part of his time with her.
If you open the bed-curtains, you let in the light. My poor eyes! Why are you here, my dear? Why are you not at the school?" "It's holiday-time, aunt. Besides, I have left school for good." "Left school?" Miss Letitia's memory made an effort, as she repeated those words. "You were going somewhere when you left school," she said, "and Cecilia Wyvil had something to do with it.
"Threaten those who heed you," replied Leonard, about to repeat the blow. "Do him no further injury!" cried Amabel, arresting his hand, and looking with the greatest commiseration at Wyvil. "You have dealt with him far too rudely already." "Since I have your sympathy, sweet Amabel," rejoined Wyvil, "I care not what rude treatment I experience from this churl. We shall soon meet again."
Equally ill at ease, they both took refuge in the commonplace phrases suggested by the occasion. These exhausted there was a pause. Mirabel alluded to Cecilia, as a means of continuing the conversation. "Have you seen Miss Wyvil?" he inquired. "She was here last night; and I expect to see her again to-day before she returns to Monksmoor with her father. Do you go back with them?" "Yes if you do."
"It is too soon to ask that question," she rejoined, blushing deeply. "And now, sir, you must go, indeed, you must. You distress my mother." "If I do not distress you, I will stay," resumed Wyvil, with an imploring look. "You do distress me," she answered, averting her gaze. "Nay, then, I must tear myself away," he rejoined.
Bloundel, in a voice broken by emotion. "That is more than I would," thought Maurice Wyvil. "A woman who has once deceived those she holds dear, will not fail to do so a second time. The fairest promises are forgotten when the danger is past." "Mr. Wyvil, if you have a particle of regard for me, you will instantly leave the house," said Amabel, turning to him.
"And how are you getting on?" "Famously! I have turned portrait painter, since you were sent away for your health. A portrait of Mr. Wyvil is to decorate the town hall in the place that he represents; and our dear kind-hearted Cecilia has induced a fascinated mayor and corporation to confide the work to my hands." "Is there no hope yet of that sweet girl being married?" Miss Ladd asked.
"It is his voice!" cried the apprentice. "I have news for you, Mr. Maurice Wyvil. You will not see Amabel to-night. The plague is in her father's house." "The plague!" exclaimed Wyvil, in an altered tone, and dropping the point of his sword. "Is she smitten by it?" The apprentice answered by a bitter laugh, and without tarrying longer to enjoy his rival's distress, set off towards Cheapside.
"A health to the grocer's daughter!" cried Wyvil, with difficulty repressing a shudder, as he uttered the pledge. "A health to the rich widow of Watling-street," cried Pillichody, draining a bumper, "and may I soon call her mine!" "I have no mistress to toast," said Lydyard; "and I have drunk wine enough. Do not forget, gentlemen, that the plague is abroad."
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