k
this, I am certain it will complete the cure."

The girl--she was nothing but a girl--drank it off and sat upright like
one inspired with new life. As she set down the glass, she lifted her
dark, solemn, beautiful eyes to his face with a long, searching gaze.

"What is your name?" she simply asked.

"Ormiston, madame," he said, bowing low.

"You have saved my life, have you not?"

"It was the Earl of Rochester who reserved you from the river; but I
would have done it a moment later."

"I do not mean that. I mean"--with a slight shudder--"are you not one of
those I saw at the plague-pit? Oh! that dreadful, dreadful plague-pit!"
she cried, covering her face with her hands.

"Yes. I am one of those."

"And who was the other?"

"My friend, Sir Norman Kingsley.

"Sir Norman Kingsley?" she softly repeated, with a sort of recognition
in her voice and eyes, while a faint roseate glow rose softly over
her face and neck. "Ah! I thought--was it to his house or yours I was
brought?"

"To his," replied Ormiston, looking at her curiously; for he had seen
that rosy glow, and was extremely puzzled thereby; "from whence, allow
me to add, you took your departure rather unceremoniously."

"Did I?" she said, in a bewildered sort of way. "It is all like a dream
to me. I remember Prudence screaming, and telling me I had the plague,
and the unutterable horror that filled me when I heard it; and then the
next thing I recollect is, being at the plague-pit, and seeing your face
and his bending over me. All the horror came back with that awakening,
and between it and anguish of the plague-sore I think I fainted again."
(Ormiston nodded sagaciously), "and when I next recovered I was alone in
a strange room, and in bed. I noticed that, though I think I must have
been delirious. And then, half-mad with agony, I got out to the street,
somehow and ran, and ran, and ran, until the people saw and followed me
here. I suppose I had some idea of reaching home when I came here; but
the crowd pressed so close behind, and I felt though all my delirium,
that they would bring me to the pest-house if they caught me, and
drowning seemed to me preferable to that. So I was in the river before
I knew it--and you know the rest as well as I do. But I owe you my life,
Mr. Ormiston--owe it to you and another; and I thank you both with all
my heart."

"Madame, you are too grateful; and I don't know as we have done anything
much to deserve it."

"You