John’s mind was quickly made up.

“I will remain behind and do this thing,” he said.  “Perchance thou and I will yet work together in this very place amongst the sick and dying.”

“I well believe it,” answered Raymond, with one of his far-away looks; and the cousins stood together looking out over the green world bathed in the light of sunset, wondering how and when they would meet again, but both strangely possessed with perfect confidence that they would so meet.

Then Raymond went to make his simple preparations for the morrow’s ride.  He had intended travelling quite alone, and chancing the perils of the road, which, however, in these times of peace and rejoicing, were not very great; for freebooters seldom disturbed travellers by day, save perhaps in very lonely forest roads.  But when Roger, the woodman’s son, heard whither his master’s steps were bent, and upon what errand he was going, he fell at his feet in one of his wild passions of devotional excitement, and begged to be allowed to follow him even to the death.

“It may well be to the death, good Roger,” answered Raymond gravely.  “Men say that death is certain for those who take the breath of the smitten persons; and such as go amongst them go at the risk of their lives.  I do not bid thee follow me —­ I well believe the peril is great; but if thou willest to do this thing, I dare not say thee nay, for methinks it is a work of God, and may well win His approval.”

“I will go,” answered Roger, without the slightest hesitation.  “Do I not owe all —­ my body and soul alike —­ to you and Father Paul?  Where you go, there will I go with you.  What you fear not to face, I fear not either.  For life or for death I am yours; and if the Holy Saints and the Blessed Virgin will but give me strength to fight and to conquer this fell foe, I trow they will do it because that thou art half a saint thyself, and they will know that I go to be with thee, to watch over thee, and perchance, by my service and my prayers, guard thee in some sort from ill.”

Raymond smiled and held out his hand to his faithful servant.  In times of common peril men’s hearts are very closely knit together.  The bond between the two youths seemed suddenly to take a new form; and when they rode forth at sunrise on the morrow, with John waving an adieu to them and watching their departure with a strange look of settled purpose on his face, it was no longer as master and servant that they rode, but as friends and comrades going forth to meet a deadly peril together.

It seemed strange, as they rode along in the bright freshness of a clear September morning, to realize that any scenes of horror and death could be enacting themselves upon this fair earth not very many miles away.  Yet as they rode ever onwards and drew near to the infected districts, the sunshine became obscured by a thick haze, the fresh wind which had hitherto blown in their faces dropped, and the air