"
"Not so," muttered Disbrowe. "If I fall, I will take care you do not
recover. I will fight him to-morrow," he added aloud.
He then summoned his servants, but when they found their mistress was
attacked by the plague, they framed some excuse to leave the room, and
instantly fled the house. Driven almost to his wits' end, Disbrowe went
in search of other assistance, and was for a while unsuccessful, until a
coachman, to whom he applied, offered, for a suitable reward, to drive
to Clerkenwell--to the shop of an apothecary named Sibbald (with whose
name the reader is already familiar), who was noted for his treatment of
plague patients, and to bring him to the other's residence. Disbrowe
immediately closed with the man, and in less than two hours Sibbald made
his appearance. He was a singular and repulsive personage, with an
immense hooked nose, dark, savage-looking eyes, a skin like parchment,
and high round shoulders, which procured him the nickname of Aesop among
his neighbours. He was under the middle size, and of a spare figure, and
in age might be about sixty-five.
On seeing Mrs. Disbrowe, he at once boldly asserted that he could cure
her, and proceeded to apply his remedies. Finding the servants fled, he
offered to procure a nurse for Disbrowe, and the latter, thanking him,
eagerly embraced the offer. Soon after this he departed.
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