"No, no; you must not—shall not," cried Solomon Eagle.
"Wherefore not?" asked the apprentice.
"Do not question me, but leave me," rejoined the enthusiast.
"Do you know aught of Amabel—of her retreat?" persisted Leonard, who had a strange misgiving that the enthusiast's errand in some way referred to her.
"I do," replied Solomon Eagle, gloomily; "but I again advise you not to press me further."
"Answer me one question at least," cried Leonard. "Is she with the Earl of Rochester?"
"She is," replied Solomon Eagle; "but I shall allay your fears in that respect when I tell you she is sick of the plague."
Leonard heard nothing more, for, uttering a wild shriek, he fell to the ground insensible. He was aroused to consciousness by a sudden sense of strangulation, and opening his eyes, beheld two dark figures bending over him, one of whom was kneeling on his chest. A glance showed him that this person was Chowles; and instantly comprehending what was the matter, and aware that the coffin-maker was stripping him previously to throwing him into the dead-cart, which was standing hard by, he cried aloud, and struggled desperately to set himself free. Little opposition was offered; for, on hearing the cry, Chowles quitted his hold, and retreating to a short distance, exclaimed, with a look of surprise, "Why, the fellow is not dead, after all!"
"I am neither dead, nor likely to die, as you shall find to your cost, rascal, if you do not restore me the clothes you have robbed me of," cried Leonard, furiously. And chancing to perceive a fork, dropped by Chowles in his hasty retreat, he snatched it up, and, brandishing it over his head, advanced towards him. Thus threatened, Chowles tossed him a rich suit of livery.
"These are not mine," said the apprentice, gazing at the habiliments.