"Your aunt has told you," said Mr. Macdonald; "and I am now expecting a story from Edward."
"I have remembered a painful one, for the scene is a death-bed. A young and very beautiful woman is mustering her last strength, and making a final effort to impress some words on a man who leans over her. His countenance expresses deep affection and distress; the invalid is very dear to him, or he would not so patiently listen to arguments, which formerly even from her lips would have exasperated him; a family likeness may be traced between the two."
"Is it the death of a queen?"
"No, neither are royal, although the man rules the kingdom. After the circumstance I have just described, he never regained his cheerfulness."
"I think your hero was the baby whom the monkey danced on the roof of the house; and the lady was his youngest and favourite daughter."
"You are quite right, Louisa; and perhaps you can now take your turn as relator."
"I will speak first," said Mr. Macdonald; "I can so seldom join you, that I must take double share. You seem more inclined to show mercy towards me than last time I played with you, therefore you shall be rewarded. My picture is a very awful one: the whole of London is visited by a calamity; in every street, in every house, lie the dead and the dying. Grief is so settled in the hearts of all, that there are few to attend the last breath of those who still linger on earth; in one of the public thoroughfares some poor wretches have crawled out to listen to a man, who braves infection, and preaches to his miserable fellow-creatures. Dead bodies are carried by, and fear and misery hangs over all."
"Oh, papa!" cried the children, "we know what you mean; please do not relate any more, it is so very dreadful."
"It was indeed an awful visitation, my dears; but although we are not permitted to see why it was sent, we must not doubt the wisdom that ordained the trial. The following year was, you may remember, marked by another horrible dispensation; but this we are allowed to see was, in one respect, a blessing, for it entirely stopped the disease which killed hundreds at the time I have just mentioned. Louisa, I will no longer prevent your story being heard; it will, I trust, be less dismal than mine."
"I will endeavour to make it so," she replied. "You must fancy you see the coast of Dorsetshire, a place called Lyme. A man of prepossessing appearance has just landed; it is summer, and the sun shining on his face animates him with hope. He has only a hundred followers to fight in his behalf; he seems to be a great favourite with them; and in the distance may be seen small bodies of men advancing, it may be supposed, to join his cause."