The Hidden Face

Late as was the hour, the Thames seemed alive with wherries and barges,
and their numerous lights danced along the surface like fire-flies over
a marsh. A gay barge, gilded and cushioned, was going slowly past; and
as he stood directly under the lamp, he was recognized by a gentleman
within it, who leaned over and hailed him, "Ormiston! I say, Ormiston!"

"Well, my lord," said Ormiston, recognizing the handsome face and
animated voice of the Earl of Rochester.

"Have you any engagement for the next half-hour? If not, do me the favor
to take a seat here, and watch London in flames from the river."

"With all my heart," said Ormiston, running down to the water's edge,
and leaping into the boat. "With all this bustle of life around here,
one would think it were noonday instead of midnight."

"The whole city is astir about these fires. Have you any idea they will
be successful?"

"Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the plague
will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the dead."

"It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly, "if it
continues increasing much longer as it does now daily. How do the bills
of mortality ran to-day?"

"I have not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve."

"And there goes a flash of fire--the first among many. Look, look! How
they spring up into the black darkness."

"They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord."