She saw the heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched; she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them.

She had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!" till the words seemed branded on her brain.

While she looked now, an upper window was opened, a night-cap was thrust out and a voice from its cavernous depths hailed the guard.
"Robert! I say, Robert!" "Well!" said Robert, looking up.
"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till morning." "Won't they ?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Get 'em ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round." Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring out your dead! bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with its load of death.

The watchman hailed the driver, according to promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of the ghastly heap.
"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so--don't forget to come round," suggested the watchman.
"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the plague-pit.
Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to see somebody else standing at her elbow.

She had been quite alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had been no noise, yet some one had entered, and was standing beside her.