"Do not repeat this affront, mistress," he said to her. "I can bear anything but a blow from your sex."
"Then tell me what has become of Blaize," she cried.
"I will no longer spare your feelings," he rejoined. "He is defunct."
"Defunct!" echoed Patience, with a scream. "Oh, dear me!—I shall never survive it—I shall die."
"Not while I am left to supply his place," cried Pillichody, catching her in his arms.
"You!" cried Patience, contemptuously; "I would not have you for the world. Where is he buried?"
"In the plague-pit," replied Pillichody. "I attended him during his illness. It was his second attack of the disorder. He spoke of you."
"Did he?—dear little fellow!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what did he say?"
"'Tell her,' he cried," rejoined Pillichody, "'that my last thoughts were of her.'"
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Patience, hysterically.