When Patience awoke a few hours later from a restless sleep, her first thought was naturally for Agnes. She rose, went into her room, and found it empty. To call Martha, to rouse the whole house, was the work of a few seconds. The house-watchman told how he had met a girl in the gallery, and how at sight of him she had fled; he could not tell where she had disappeared to, indeed, for aught he knew, it might have been a ghost. There were ghosts in Somerset House. It was said that the young Duke of Gloucester might be seen in the old building gliding along the passages, down to the terrace walk.
Patience had no such superstitions. If the man had seen a girl, that girl, to her mind, must have been Agnes. But how could she have got out of the house? Why should she go? In the search that followed, the door of the turret was found open, also the gate in the court-yard. That was sufficient proof that she must have gone out that way.
A messenger was immediately sent to Lord Craven, and throughout that day the search continued, but no Agnes was forthcoming. Through the deserted streets Patience wandered, indifferent to all danger, searching for the child. She went to Ann, and with tears told her what had happened; and Ann came down, and they wandered together till they reached St. Paul's. Then they entered the church, knelt, and prayed, and wept, as did many others, for there was nothing but weeping and moaning throughout this afflicted city.
"She will come back, surely she will come back!" repeated Ann.
"If she had gone forth of her own free will, I should say yes," Patience answered; "but I am persuaded she has not done so. Someone was lying in wait for her."
Those who sought for Agnes were many, but it was all in vain. Martha wept and wrung her hands in wild despair, but neither weeping nor moaning nor prayers availed. Throughout that long summer day and the night which followed, they sought but did not find her. Hour after hour, day after day, the search was continued, but in vain. The plague was ever on the increase. At night long lines of coffins were carried hastily by men through the city out to some far-distant burial-place; even that did not long suffice, and carts, with tingling bells on the horses' heads, wound their way through the deserted streets, men calling out as they went:
"Bring forth your dead, bring forth your dead!" and the bodies, ofttimes in nothing but a winding sheet, were tossed into the cart and carried forth to the common pit.
Ann still refused to go to Somerset House. She would not leave the precincts of the prison, neither could Patience go to her. They waited for their loved ones in their homes, and Lord Craven went and came between them--he was their only comforter, their only guide. Never was a braver or more honourable man; he had no fear of infection. He was "in God's hands," he said, "to live or to die".
All those who possibly could left the city. The streets were deserted, but the churches were crowded. A few ministers remained faithful to their duty, but many, to their shame, fled. But there were found other devoted men from the country to replace these deserters, the churches were all thrown open, and within their precincts was weeping and wailing. "Surely the scourge was sent by God because of their sins," people said, and their ministers bade them repent, ay, in dust and ashes; therefore it came to pass that men and women alike fell upon their faces and made their humble confession to Almighty God, praying for pardon and deliverance.
Still the disease continued to spread. The lord mayor, the chief councillors, the physicians, all those in authority, made laws, saw to the cleansing of the city, and did their very utmost to check the frightful ravages of the plague, but throughout the month of August it raged unremittingly.