"He has filled it from cellar to garret with the spoil he has obtained." "And how has he preserved it ?" inquired the apprentice.
"The plague has preserved it for him," replied Rainbird.

"The few authorities who now act have, perhaps, no knowledge of his proceedings; or if they have, have not cared to interfere, awaiting a more favourable season, if it should ever arrive, to dispossess him of his hoard, and punish him for his delinquencies; while, in the mean time, they are glad, on any terms, to avail themselves of his services as a burier.
Other people do not care to meddle with him, and the most daring robber would be afraid to touch infected money or clothes." "If you are going towards Nicholas-lane," said Leonard, as if struck with a sudden idea, "and will point out to me the house in question, you will do me a favour." Rainbird nodded assent, and they walked on together towards Fish-street-hill.

Ascending it, and turning off on the right, they entered Great Eastcheap, but had not proceeded far when they were obliged to turn back, the street being literally choked up with a pile of carcasses deposited there by the burier's assistants.

Shaping their course along Gracechurch-street, they turned off into Lombard-street, and as Leonard gazed at the goldsmiths' houses on either side, which were all shut up, with the fatal red cross on the doors, he could not help remarking to his companion, "The plague has not spared any of these on account of their riches." "True," replied the other; "and of the thousands who used formerly to throng this street not one is left.

Wo to London!--wo!--wo!" Leonard echoed the sentiment, and fell into a melancholy train of reflection.