As no pursuers appeared, Leonard could scarcely doubt that this was one of the distracted persons he had heard of, who, in the frenzy produced by the intolerable anguish of their sores, would often rush to the plague-pit and bury themselves, and he therefore resolved, if possible, to prevent the fatal attempt.
Accordingly, he placed himself in the way of the runner, and endeavoured, with outstretched arms, to stop him.

But the latter dashed him aside with great violence, and hurrying to the brink of the pit, uttered a fearful cry, and exclaiming, "She is here! she is here!--I shall find her amongst them!"-- flung himself into the abyss.
As soon as he could shake off the horror inspired by this dreadful action, Leonard ran to the pit, and, gazing into it, beheld him by the imperfect light struggling in the horrible mass in which he was partially immersed.

The frenzied man had now, however, begun to repent his rashness, and cried out for aid.

But this Leonard found it impossible to afford him; and, seeing he must speedily perish if left to himself, he ran after the dead-cart, and overtaking it just as it reached Moor-gate, informed Chowles what had happened, and begged him to return.
"There will be no use in helping him out," rejoined Chowles, in a tone of indifference.

"We shall have to take him back in a couple of hours.
No, no--let him remain where he is.