hold upon them."

"But you, my father," I began, and stopped abruptly, conscious of a
sharp throbbing pain in my temples.

"I," he answered, gravely, "am the servant of Christ. As such, the
plague has no terrors for me. Unworthy as I am, for my Master's sake
I am ready--nay, willing--to face all deaths."

He spoke firmly, yet without arrogance. I looked at him in a certain
admiration, and was about to speak, when a curious dizziness
overcame me, and I caught at his arm to save myself from falling.
The street rocked like a ship at sea, and the skies whirled round me
in circles of blue fire. The feeling slowly passed, and I heard the
monk's voice, as though it were a long way off, asking me anxiously
what was the matter. I forced a smile.

"It is the heat, I think," I said, in feeble tones like those of a
very aged man. "I am faint--giddy. You had best leave me here--see
to the boy. Oh, my God!"

This last exclamation was wrung out of me by sheer anguish. My limbs
refused to support me, and a pang, cold and bitter as though naked
steel had been thrust through my body, caused me to sink down upon
the pavement in a kind of convulsion. The tall and sinewy monk,
without a moment's hesitation, dragged me up and half carried, half
led me into a kind of auberge, or restaurant for the poorer classes.
Here he placed me in a recumbent position on one of the wooden
benches, and called up the proprietor of the place, a man to whom he
seemed to be well known. Though suffering acutely I was conscious,