"A proper precaution," observed Hodges, with a smile.
"This is not all," replied Blaize. "By my mother's advice, I have eaten twenty leaves of rue, two roasted figs, and two pickled walnuts for breakfast, washing them down with an ale posset, with pimpernel seethed in it."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Hodges. "You must be in a pretty condition for a journey. But how could you bear to part with your mother and Patience?"
"The parting from Patience was heart-breaking," replied Blaize, taking out his handkerchief, and applying it to his eyes. "We sat up half the night together, and I felt so much overcome that I began to waver in my resolution of departing. I am glad I did not give way now," he added, in a more sprightly tone. "Fresh air and bright sunshine are very different things from the close rooms in that dark house."
"You must not forget that you were there free from the contagion," rejoined Hodges; "while you are here exposed to its assaults."
"True," replied Blaize; "that makes a vast difference. I almost wish I was back again."
"It is too late to think of returning," said Hodges. "Mount your horse, and I will assist Nizza into the pillion."
By the time that Blaize, who was but an indifferent horseman, had got into the saddle, and Nizza had taken her place behind him, the window opened, and Mr. Bloundel appeared at it.
Amabel had only retired to rest for a few hours during the night. When left to herself in her chamber, she continued to pray till exhaustion compelled her to seek some repose. Arising about two o'clock, she employed herself for more than an hour in further devotion, and then took a last survey of every object in the room. She had occupied it from her childhood; and as she opened drawer after drawer, and cupboard after cupboard, and examined their contents, each article recalled some circumstance connected with the past, and brought back a train of long-forgotten emotions. While she was thus engaged, Patience tapped at the door, and was instantly admitted. The tenderhearted kitchenmaid assisted her to dress, and to put together some few articles omitted to be packed by her mother. During this employment she shed abundance of tears, and Amabel's efforts to console her only made matters worse. Poor Patience was forced at last to sit down, and indulge a hearty fit of crying, after which she felt considerably relieved. As soon as she was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak, she observed to Amabel, "Pardon what I am about to say to you, my dear young mistress, but I cannot help thinking that the real seat of your disease is in the heart."
A slight blush overspread Amabel's pale features, but she made no answer.