eived from
Doctor Hodges. "Well, it's a disorder that few recover from, and I don't
think he stands a better chance than his fellows. I've been troubled
with him long enough. I've borne his ill-usage and savage temper for
twenty years, vainly hoping something would take him off; but though he
tried his constitution hard, it was too tough to yield. However, he's
likely to go now. If I find him better than I expect, I can easily make
all sure. That's one good thing about the plague. You may get rid of a
patient without any one being the wiser. A wrong mixture--a pillow
removed--a moment's chill during the fever--a glass of cold water--the
slightest thing will do it. Matthew Malmayns, you will die of the
plague, that's certain. But I must be careful how I proceed. That cursed
doctor has his eye upon me. As luck would have it, I've got Sibbald's
ointment in my pocket. That is sure to do its business--and safely."

Thus ruminating, she shaped her course towards the southwest corner of
the cathedral, and passing under the shrouds and cloisters of the
Convocation House, raised the latch of a small wooden shed fixed in the
angle of a buttress. Evidently well acquainted with the place, she was
not long in finding a lantern and materials to light it, and inserting
her fingers in a crevice of the masonry, from which the mortar had been
removed, she drew forth a key.

"It has not been stirred since I left it here a month ago," she
muttered. "I must take care of this key, for if Matthew _should_ die, I
may not be able to enter the vaults of Saint Faith's without it; and as
I know all their secret places and passages, which nobody else does,
except my husband, I can make them a storehouse for the plunder I may
obtain during the pestilence. If it rages for a year, or only half that
time, and increases in violence (as God grant it may), I will fill every
hole in those walls with gold."

With this, she took up the lantern, and crept along the side of the
cathedral, until she came to a flight of stone steps. Descending them,
she unlocked a small but strong door, cased with iron, and fastening it
after her, proceeded along a narrow stone passage, which brought her to
another door, opening upon the south aisle of Saint Faith's.

Pausing for a moment to listen whether any one was within the sacred
structure--for such was the dead and awful silence of the place, that
the slightest whisper or footfall, even at its farthest extremity, could