Before returning to Wood-street, an irresistible impulse led him to Finsbury Fields.

He passed through the postern east of Cripplegate, and shaped his way towards the lesser plague-pit.

The sun, which had been bright all the morning, was now partially obscured; the air had grown thick, and a little snow fell.

The ground was blackened and bound by the hard frost, and the stiffened grass felt crisp beneath his feet.

Insensible to all external circumstances, he hurried forward, taking the most direct course, and leaping every impediment in his path.