For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. “I have not the least idea who he is. "You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. He knocked at the door. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock.
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