“A slight foretaste of what most of its inhabitants will behold in another world,” said the page, with a French shrug. “I have heard Lilly's prediction that London is to be purified by fire, like a second Sodom; perhaps it is to be verified to-night.” “Not unlikely; the dome of St. Paul's would be an excellent place to view the conflagration.” “The river will do almost as well, my lord.” “We will have a chance of knowing that presently,” said the earl, as he and his page descended to the river, where the little gilded barge lay moored, and the boatman waiting. As they passed from sight Ormiston came forth, and watched thoughtfully after them. The face and figure were that of the lady, but the voice was different; both were clear and musical enough, but she spoke English with the purest accent, while his was the voice of a foreigner. It most have been one of those strange, unaccountable likenesses we sometimes see among perfect strangers, but the resemblance in this ease was something wonderful. It brought his thoughts back from himself and his own fortunate love, to his violently-smitten friend, Sir Norman, and his plague-stricken beloved; and he began speculating what he could possibly be about just then, or what he had discovered in the old ruin. Suddenly he was aroused; a moment before, the silence had been almost oppressive but now on the wings of the night, there came a shout. A tumult of voices and footsteps were approaching. “Stop her! Stop her!” was cried by many voices; and the next instant a fleet figure went flying past him with a rush, and plunged head foremost into she river. A slight female figure, with floating robes of white, waving hair of deepest, blackness, with a sparkle of jewels on neck and arms. Only for an instant did he see it; but he knew it well, and his very heart stood still. “Stop her! stop her! she is ill of the plague!” shouted the crowd, preying panting on; but they came too late; the white vision had gone down into the black, sluggish river, and disappeared. “Who is it? What is it? Where is it?” cried two or three watchmen, brandishing their halberds, and rushing up; and the crowd--a small mob of a dozen or so--answered all at once: “She is delirious with the plague; she was running through the streets; we gave chase, but she out-stepped us, and is now at the bottom of the Thames.”