"I must decline to hear them, my lord," replied the grocer, coldly; "nor shall you ever cross my threshold again with my consent. My poor child is now at peace. You can do her no further injury, and must settle your own account with your Maker."

"Do not refuse me your forgiveness," implored the earl. "I will make every reparation in my power."

"You "can" make none," replied the grocer, repelling him; "and as to my forgiveness, I neither refuse it nor accord it. I pray your lordship to let me pass. The sole favour I ask of you is to come near me no more."

"I obey you," replied the earl. "Stay," he added to Leonard, who stood by, regarding him with a look of deadly animosity. "I would give you a piece of caution. Your life is in danger."

"I can easily guess from whom," replied the apprentice, scornfully.

"You mistake," rejoined Rochester; "you have nothing to apprehend from me. You have promised to meet some one to-night," he added, in so low a tone as to be inaudible to the grocer. "Do not go."

"Your lordship's warning will not deter me," rejoined the apprentice.

"As you will," rejoined Rochester, turning away. And springing upon his horse, and striking his spurs into his side, he dashed off, while Leonard and the grocer took the opposite direction. In less than half an hour they reached the little village of Paddington, then consisting of a few houses, but now one of the most populous and important parishes of the metropolis, and speedily gained the open country. Even at this dreary season the country had charms, which Mr. Bloundel, after his long confinement, could fully appreciate. His eye roamed over the wide prospect; and the leafless trees, the bare hedges, and the frost-bound fields seemed pleasant in his sight.

He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the cold, greatly enjoyed the exercise. Leonard pointed out to him the spots where the fugitives from the plague had pitched their tents, and also the pest-house near Westbourne Green, where he himself had been received during his second attack of the distemper, and which was now altogether abandoned.

Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal Green, and approached the farmhouse. Leonard descried Wingfield near one of the barns, and hailing him, he immediately came forward. On being informed of Mr. Bloundel's desire, he at once assented, and taking them into the house, mentioned the matter to his dame, who was quite of the same opinion as himself.

"The only difference between us," he said to Mr. Bloundel, "is as to the payment you propose. Now I will take none -- not a farthing. Come when you please, bring whom you please, and stay as long as you please. But don't offer me anything if you would not offend me. Recollect," he added, the moisture forcing itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voice becoming husky with emotion, "that I loved your daughter for her resemblance to my poor child. She, too, is gone. I do this for her sake."

Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but he made no further objection, resolved in his own mind to find some other means of requiting his hospitality. It was then agreed that the grocer should bring his family on the following day, and remain there for a month; and every other arrangement being made, and a hearty meal partaken of, he cordially thanked his host, and returned with Leonard to Wood-street.

In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the earl's warning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind; and though he did not for a moment think of abandoning his purpose, he resolved to attend the meeting armed. He told Mr. Bloundel he should go out that night, but did not state his object, and the grocer did not inquire it. Blaize sat up with him, and displayed much anxiety to know whither he was going, but, as may be supposed, his curiosity was not gratified. As the clock struck eleven, Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and arming himself furthermore with his staff, proceeded towards the door, and bade Blaize lock it after him.

"I shall probably be back in a couple of hours," he said, as he went forth. "You must sit up for me."

"I wonder where he is going!" thought Blaize, "From his gloomy looks, and the weapon he has taken with him, I should judge he is about to murder some one -- perhaps the Earl of Rochester. It must be prevented."

With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by curiosity than any better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds to allow the apprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the door outside, put the key in his pocket, and followed him. The night was profoundly dark, but he had noticed the direction taken by Leonard, and running noiselessly along the street, soon perceived him a little in advance. Regulating his pace by that of the apprentice, and keeping about fifty yards behind him, he tracked his course along several streets, until he saw him pass through the second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate.

Here he debated with himself whether to proceed further or turn back; but at length, curiosity got the best of his fears, and he went on. A few steps brought him into the open fields, and fancying he saw Leonard at a little distance before him, he hurried on in that direction. But he soon found he had been deceived by the stump of a tree, and began to fear he must have taken the wrong course. He looked around in vain for some object to guide him. The darkness was so profound that he could see nothing, and he set off again at random, and not without much self-reproach and misgiving. At last, he reached a hedge, and continued to skirt it, until he perceived through the bushes the light of a lantern in the adjoining field. He immediately called out, but at the cry the light disappeared. This did not prevent him from making towards the spot where he had seen it; but he had not proceeded far when he was forcibly seized by some unseen person, thrown on the ground, and a drawn sword -- for he felt the point -- placed at his throat.