And when William heard what his young mistress was about to do, he declared that he too would go with her, and assist with the offices to the sick or the dead.  He still had a vivid recollection of the moments when he had believed himself left alone to die of the distemper; and fellow feeling and generosity getting the better of his first unreasoning terror, he was as eager as Joan herself to enter upon this labour of love.  Bridget, who was a great botanist, in the practical fashion of many old persons in those days, knew more about the properties of herbs than anybody in the country round, and she made a great selection from her stores, and brewed many pungent concoctions which she gave to her young mistress and William to drink, to ward off any danger from infection.  She also gave them, to hang about their necks, bags containing aromatic herbs, whose strong and penetrating odour dominated all others, and was likely enough to do good in purifying the atmosphere about the wearer.

There was no foolish superstition in Bridget’s belief in her simples.  She did not regard them as charms; but she had studied their properties and had learned their value, and knew them to possess valuable properties for keeping the blood pure, and so rendering much smaller any chance of imbibing the poison.

At dusk that same evening, William, who had been out all day, returned, and requested speech of his young mistress.  He was ushered into the parlour where she sat, with her old nurse for her companion; and standing just within the threshold he told his tale.

“I went across to the town today.  I thought I would see if there was any lodging to be had where you, fair Mistress, might conveniently abide whilst working in that place.  Your worshipful uncle’s house I found shut up and empty, not a soul within the doors —­ all fled, as most of the better sort of the people are fled, and every window and door fastened up.  Half the houses, too, are marked with black or red crosses, to show that those within are afflicted with the distemper.  There are watchmen in the streets, striving to keep within their doors all such as have the Black Death upon them; but these be too few for the task, and the maddened wretches are continually breaking out, and running about the streets crying and shouting, till they drop down in a fit, and lie there, none caring for them.  By day there be dead and dying in every street; but at night a cart comes and carries the corpses off to the great grave outside the town.”

“And is there no person to care for the sick in all the town?” asked Joan, with dilating eyes.