"How _can_ I fly?" cried Amabel, gazing wildly round the room, as if in
search of some place of refuge or escape, and, noticing her little
sister, Christiana, who was lying asleep in the bed--"Oh! how I envy
that innocent!" she murmured.

"Think of nothing but yourself," rejoined Wyvil, seizing her hand. "If
you stay here, it will be to perish of the plague. Trust to me, and I
will secure your flight."

"I cannot--I dare not," cried Amabel, resisting him with all her force.

"You _must_ come," cried Wyvil, dragging her along.

As he spoke, Mrs. Bloundel, who had been down to Blaize's room to
ascertain what was the matter, returned. Trying the door, and finding it
fastened, she became greatly alarmed, and called to Amabel to open it
directly.

"It is my mother," cried Amabel. "Pity me, Heaven! I shall die with
shame."

"Heed her not," replied Wyvil, in a deep whisper; "in her surprise and
confusion at seeing me, she will not be able to stop us. Do not
hesitate. There is not a moment to lose."

"What is the matter, child?" cried Mrs. Bloundel. "Why have you fastened
the door? Is there any one in the room with you?"

"She hears us," whispered Amabel. "What shall I do? You must not be
seen?"