Before proceeding further, it will be necessary to retrace our steps for
a short time, and see what was done by Maurice Wyvil after the alarming
announcement made to him by the apprentice. Of a selfish nature and
ungovernable temper, and seeking only in the pursuit of the grocer's
daughter the gratification of his lawless desires, he was filled, in the
first instance, with furious disappointment at being robbed of the
prize, at the very moment he expected it to fall into his hands. But
this feeling was quickly effaced by anxiety respecting his mistress,
whose charms, now that there was every probability of losing her (for
Leonard's insinuation had led him to believe she was assailed by the
pestilence), appeared doubly attractive to him; and scarcely under the
governance of reason, he hurried towards Wood-street, resolved to force
his way into the house, and see her again, at all hazards. His wild
design, however, was fortunately prevented. As he passed the end of the
court leading to the ancient inn (for it was ancient even at the time of
this history), the Swan-with-two-Necks, in Lad-lane, a young man, as
richly attired as himself, and about his own age, who had seen him
approaching, suddenly darted from it, and grasping his cloak, detained
him.

"I thought it must be you, Wyvil," cried this person. "Where are you
running so quickly? I see neither angry father, nor jealous apprentice,
at your heels. What has become of the girl? Are you tired of her
already?"

"Let me go, Lydyard," returned Wyvil, trying to extricate himself from
his companion's hold, who was no other than the gallant that had
accompanied him on his first visit to the grocer's shop, and had played
his part so adroitly in the scheme devised between them to procure an
interview with Amabel,--"let me go, I say, I am in no mood for jesting."