"Why, what the plague is the matter?" rejoined Lydyard. "Has your
mistress played you false? Have you lost your wager?"

"The plague _is_ the matter," replied Wyvil, sternly. "Amabel is
attacked by it. I must see her instantly."

"The devil!" exclaimed Lydyard. "Here is a pretty termination to the
affair. But if this is really the case, you must _not_ see her. It is
one thing to be run through the arm,--which you must own I managed as
dexterously as the best master of fence could have done,--and lose a few
drops of blood for a mistress, but it is another to brave the plague on
her account."

"I care for nothing," replied Wyvil; "I _will_ see her."

"This is madness!" remonstrated Lydyard, still maintaining his grasp.
"What satisfaction will it afford you to witness her sufferings--to see
the frightful ravages made upon her charms by this remorseless
disease,--to throw her whole family into consternation, and destroy the
little chance she may have of recovery, by your presence? What good will
this do? No,--you must pay your wager to Sedley, and forget her."

"I cannot forget her," replied Wyvil. "My feelings have undergone a
total change. If I _am_ capable of real love, it is for her."

"Real love!" exclaimed Lydyard, in an incredulous tone. "If the subject
were not too serious, I should laugh in your face. No doubt you would
marry her, and abandon your design upon the rich heiress, pretty
Mistress Mallet, whom old Rowley recommended to your attention, and whom