"This is the first time I have seen the church open," Cyril said, as they went out.
"It is not my church, sir, nor do I belong to the Church of England; I am an Independent. But as many of the pastors have fled and left their sheep untended, so have we—for there are others besides myself who have done so—taken possession of their empty pulpits, none gainsaying us, and are doing what good we can. You have been in the war, I see," he went on, glancing at Cyril's arm, which was carried in a sling.
"Yes; I was at the battle of Lowestoft, and having been wounded there, came to London to stay in a friend's house till I was cured. He and his family have left, but I am living with a trusty foreman who is in charge of the house. I have a great desire to be useful. I myself have little fear of the Plague."
"That is the best of all preservatives from its ravages, although not a sure one; for many doctors who have laboured fearlessly have yet died. Have you thought of any way of being useful?"
"No, sir; that is what is troubling me. As you see, I have but the use of one arm, and I have not got back my full strength by a long way."
"Everyone can be useful if he chooses," the minister said. "There is need everywhere among this stricken, frightened, helpless people, of men of calm courage and cool heads. Nine out of ten are so scared out of their senses, when once the Plague enters the houses, as to be well-nigh useless, and yet the law hinders those who would help if they could. I am compelled to labour, not among those who are sick, but among those who are well. When one enters a house with the red cross on the door, he may leave it no more until he is either borne out to the dead-cart, or the Plague has wholly disappeared within it, and a month has elapsed. The sole exception are the doctors; they are no more exempt from spreading the infection than other men, but as they must do their work so far as they can they have free passage; and yet, so few is their number and so heavy already their losses, that not one in a hundred of those that are smitten can have their aid. Here is one coming now, one of the best—Dr. Hodges. If you are indeed willing so to risk your life, I will speak to him. But I know not your name?"
"My name is Cyril Shenstone."
The clergyman looked at him suddenly, and would have spoken, but the doctor was now close to them.
"Ah! Mr. Wallace," he said, "I am glad to see you, and to know that, so far, you have not taken the disease, although constantly going into the worst neighbourhoods."
"Like yourself, Dr. Hodges, I have no fear of it."