“We must go. . Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Not if I read her aright. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment.
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