"I am heartily glad they are gone, John. If the Plague grows there
will be a terrible time here. Is the shop shut?"

"Ay; the man went away two days ago, and we sent off the two
'prentices yesterday. There is naught doing. Yesterday half the
vessels in the Pool cleared out on the news of the Plague having got
into the City, and I reckon that, before long, there won't be a ship
in the port. We shall have a quiet time of it, you and I; we shall be
like men in charge of an old hulk."

Another week, and Cyril was up. All his bandages, except those on the
shoulder and head, had been thrown aside, and the doctor said that,
erelong, the former would be dispensed with. John had wanted to sit
up with him, but as Cyril would not hear of this he had moved his bed
into the same room, so that he could be up in a moment if anything
was wanted. He went out every day to bring in the news.

"There is little enough to tell, Master Cyril," he said one day. "So
far, the Plague grows but slowly in the City, though, indeed, it is
no fault of the people that it does not spread rapidly. Most of them
seem scared out of their wits; they gather together and talk, with
white faces, and one man tells of a dream that his wife has had, and
another of a voice that he says he has heard; and some have seen
ghosts. Yesterday I came upon a woman with a crowd round her; she was
staring up at a white cloud, and swore that she could plainly see an
angel with a white sword, and some of the others cried that they saw
it too. I should like to have been a gunner's mate with a stout
rattan, and to have laid it over their shoulders, to give them
something else to think about for a few hours. It is downright