survives the sight, it will be mighty, indeed, and well worthy a
return.”
“And you will return it?”
“I will.”
“You will be my wife?”
“With all my heart!”
“My darling!” he cried, rapturously--“for you are mine already--how can
I ever thank you for this? If a whole lifetime devoted and consecrated
to your happiness can repay you, it shall be yours!”
During this rhapsody, her hand had been on the handle of the door. Now
she turned it.
“Good-night, Mr. Ormiston,” she said, and vanished.
CHAPTER VII. THE EARL'S BARGE.
Shocks of joy, they tell me, seldom kill. Of my own knowledge I cannot
say, for I have had precious little experience of such shocks in my
lifetime, Heaven knows; but in the present instance, I can safely aver,
they had no such dismal effect on Ormiston. Nothing earthly could have
given that young gentleman a greater shock of joy than the knowledge he
was to behold the long hidden face of his idol. That that face was ugly,
he did not for an instant believe, or, at least, it never would be ugly
to him. With a form so perfect--a form a sylph might have envied--a
voice sweeter than the Singing Fountain of Arabia, hands and feet the
most perfectly beautiful the sun ever shone on, it was simply a moral
and physical impossibility that they could be joined to a repulsive
face. There was a remote possibility that it was a little less exquisite
than those ravishing items, and that her morbid fancy made her imagine
it homely, compared with them, but he knew he never would share in that
opinion. It was the reasoning of love, rather than logic; for when
love glides smiling in at the door, reason stalks gravely, not to say
sulkily, out of the window, and, standing afar off, eyes disdainfully
the didos and antics of her late tenement. There was very little reason,
therefore, in Ormiston's head and heart, but a great deal of something
sweeter, joy--joy that thrilled and vibrated through every nerve within
him. Leaning against the portal, in an absurd delirium of delight--for
it takes but a trifle to jerk those lovers from the slimiest depths of
the Slough of Despond to the topmost peak of the mountain of ecstasy--he
uncovered his head that the night-air might cool its feverish
throbbings. But the night-air was as hot as his heart; and, almost
suffocated by the sultry closeness, he was about to start for a plunge
in the river, when the sound of coming footsteps and voices arrested
him. He had met with so many odd ad ventures to-night that he stopped
now to see who was coming; for on every hand all was silent and
forsaken.
Footsteps and voices came closer; two figures took shape in the gloom,
and emerged from the darkness into the glimmering lamp light. He
recognised them both. One was the Earl of Rochester; the other, his
dark-eyed, handsome page--that strange page with the face of the lost
lady! The earl was chatting familiarly, and laughing obstreperously at
something or other, while the boy merely wore a languid smile, as if
anything further in that line were quite beneath his dignity.
“Silence and solitude,” said the earl, with a careless glance around,
“I protest, Hubert, this night seems endless. How long is it till
midnight?”
“An hour and a half at least, I should fancy,” answered the boy, with a
strong foreign accent. “I know it struck ten as we passed St. Paul's.”
“This grand bonfire of our most worshipful Lord Mayor will be a sight
worth seeing,” remarked the earl. “When all these piles are lighted, the
city will be one sea of fire.”
“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.”
Ormiston, waited to hear no more, but rushed precipitately down to the
waters edge. The alarm has now reached the boats on the river, and many
eyes within them were turned in the direction whence she had gone down.
Soon she reappeared on the dark surface--something whiter than snow,
whiter than death; shining like silver, shone the glittering dress and
marble face of the bride. A small batteau lay close to where Ormiston
stood; in two seconds he had sprang in, shoved it off, and was rowing
vigorously toward that snow wreath in the inky river. But he was
forestalled, two hands white and jeweled as her own, reached over the
edge of a gilded barge, and, with the help of the boatmen, lifted her
in. Before she could be properly established on the cushioned seats, the
batteau was alongside, and Ormiston turned a very white and excited face
toward the Earl of Rochester.
“I know that lady, my lord! She is a friend of mine, and you must give
her to me!”
“Is it you, Ormiston? Why what brings you here alone on the river, at
this hour?”
“I have come for her,” said Ormiston, pressing over to lift the lady.
“May I beg you to assist me, my lord, in transferring her to my boat?”
“You must wait till I see her first,” said Rochester, partly raising her
head, and holding a lamp close to her face, “as I have picked her out, I
think I deserve it. Heavens! what an extraordinary likeness!”
The earl had glanced at the lady, then at his page, again at the lady,
and lastly at Ormiston, his handsome countenance full of the most
unmitigated wonder. “To whom?” asked Ormiston, who had very little need
to inquire.
“To Hubert, yonder. Why, don't you see it yourself? She might be his
twin-sister!”
“She might be, but as she is not, you will have the goodness to let me
take charge of her. She has escaped from her friends, and I must bring
her back to them.”
He half lifted her as he spoke; and the boatman, glad enough to get rid
of one sick of the plague, helped her into the batteau. The lady was
not insensible, as might be supposed, after her cold bath, but extremely
wide-awake, and gazing around her with her great, black, shining eyes.
But she made no resistance; either she was too faint or frightened
for that, and suffered herself to be hoisted about, “passive to all
changes.” Ormiston spread his cloak in the stern of the boat, and
laid her tenderly upon it, and though the beautiful, wistful eyes were
solemnly and unwinkingly fixed on his face, the pale, sweet lips parted
not--uttered never a word. The wet bridal robes were drenched and
dripping about her, the long dark hair hung in saturated masses over her
neck and arms, and contrasted vividly with a face, Ormiston thought at
once, the whitest, most beautiful, and most stonelike he had ever seen.
“Thank you, my man; thank you, my lord,” said Ormiston, preparing to
push off.
Rochester, who had been leaning from the barge, gazing in mingled
curiosity, wonder, and admiration at the lovely face, turned now to her
champion.
“Who is she, Ormiston?” he said, persuasively.
But Ormiston only laughed, and rowed energetically for the shore. The
crowd was still lingering; and half a dozen hands were extended to draw
the boat up to the landing. He lifted the light form in his arms and
bore it from the boat; but before he could proceed farther with his
armful of beauty, a faint but imperious voice spoke: “Please put me
down. I am not a baby, and can walk myself.”
Ormiston was so surprised, or rather dismayed, by this unexpected
address, that he complied at once, and placed her on her own pretty
feet. But the young lady's sense of propriety was a good deal stronger
than her physical powers; and she swayed and tottered, and had to cling
to her unknown friend for support.
“You are scarcely strong enough, I am afraid, dear lady,” he said,
kindly. “You had better let me carry you. I assure you I am quite equal
to it, or even a more weighty burden, if necessity required.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the faint voice, faintly; “but I would rather
walk. Where are you taking me to?”
“To your own house, if you wish--it is quite close at hand.”
“Yes. Yes. Let us go there! Prudence is there, and she will take care of
me.”.
“Will she?” said Ormiston, doubtfully. “I hope you do not suffer much
pain!”
“I do not suffer at all,” she said, wearily; “only I am so tired. Oh, I
wish I were home!”
Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.
“You are almost there, dear lady--see, it is close at hand!”
She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning panting on
his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her door. It was still
unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and not gone near it; and he
opened it, and helped her in.
“Where now?” he asked.
“Up stairs,” she said, feebly. “I want to go to my own room.”
Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly as he
could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the threshold; for the
room was dark.
“There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel,” said the faint, sweet
voice, “if you will only please to find them.”
Ormiston crowed the room--fortunately he knew the latitude of the place
--and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along the mantel-shelf,
lest he should upset any of the gimcracks thereon, soon obtained the
articles named, and struck a light. The lady was leaning wearily against
the door-post, but now she came forward, and dropped exhausted into the
downy pillows of a lounge.
“Is there anything I can do for you, madame?” began Ormiston, with as
solicitous an air as though he had been her father. “A glass of wine
would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you wish, I will go for a
doctor.”
“You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room opposite
this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better bring me some.”
Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young man
that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was returning with
it, was startled by a cry from the lady that nearly made him drop and
shiver it on the floor.
“What under heaven has come to her now?” he thought, hastening in,
wondering how she could possibly have come to grief since he left her.
She was sitting upright on the sofa, her dress palled down off her
shoulder where the plague-spot had been, and which, to his amazement, he
saw now pure and stainless, and free from every loathsome trace.
“You are cured of the plague!” was all he could say.
“Thank God!” she exclaimed, fervently clasping her hands. “But oh! how
can it have happened? It must be a miracle!”
“No, it was your plunge into the river; I have heard of one or two such
cases before, and if ever I take it,” said Ormiston, half laughing, half
shuddering, “my first rush shall be for old Father Thames. Here, drink
this, I am certain it will complete the cure.”
The girl--she was nothing but a girl--drank it off and sat upright like
one inspired with new life. As she set down the glass, she lifted her
dark, solemn, beautiful eyes to his face with a long, searching gaze.
“What is your name?” she simply asked.
“Ormiston, madame,” he said, bowing low.
“You have saved my life, have you not?”
“It was the Earl of Rochester who reserved you from the river; but I
would have done it a moment later.”
“I do not mean that. I mean”--with a slight shudder--“are you not one of
those I saw at the plague-pit? Oh! that dreadful, dreadful plague-pit!”
she cried, covering her face with her hands.
“Yes. I am one of those.”
“And who was the other?”
“My friend, Sir Norman Kingsley.
“Sir Norman Kingsley?” she softly repeated, with a sort of recognition
in her voice and eyes, while a faint roseate glow rose softly over
her face and neck. “Ah! I thought--was it to his house or yours I was
brought?”
“To his,” replied Ormiston, looking at her curiously; for he had seen
that rosy glow, and was extremely puzzled thereby; “from whence, allow
me to add, you took your departure rather unceremoniously.”
“Did I?” she said, in a bewildered sort of way. “It is all like a dream
to me. I remember Prudence screaming, and telling me I had the plague,
and the unutterable horror that filled me when I heard it; and then the
next thing I recollect is, being at the plague-pit, and seeing your face
and his bending over me. All the horror came back with that awakening,
and between it and anguish of the plague-sore I think I fainted again.”
(Ormiston nodded sagaciously), “and when I next recovered I was alone in
a strange room, and in bed. I noticed that, though I think I must have
been delirious. And then, half-mad with agony, I got out to the street,
somehow and ran, and ran, and ran, until the people saw and followed me
here. I suppose I had some idea of reaching home when I came here; but
the crowd pressed so close behind, and I felt though all my delirium,
that they would bring me to the pest-house if they caught me, and
drowning seemed to me preferable to that. So I was in the river before
I knew it--and you know the rest as well as I do. But I owe you my life,
Mr. Ormiston--owe it to you and another; and I thank you both with all
my heart.”
“Madame, you are too grateful; and I don't know as we have done anything
much to deserve it.”
“You have saved my life; and though you may think that a valueless
trifle, not worth speaking of, I assure you I view it in a very
different light,” she said, with a half smile.
“Lady, your life is invaluable; but as to our saving it, why, you would
not have us throw you alive into the plague-pit, would you?”
“It would have been rather barbarous, I confess, but there are few who
would risk infection for the sake of a mere stranger. Instead of doing
as you did, you might have sent me to the pest-house, you know.”
“Oh, as to that, all your gratitude is due to Sir Norman. He managed the
whole affair, and what is more, fell--but I will leave that for himself
to disclose. Meantime, may I ask the name of the lady I have been so
fortunate as to serve!”
“Undoubtedly, sir--my name is Leoline.”
“Leoline is only half a name.”
“Then I am so unfortunate an only to possess half a name, for I never
had any other.”
Ormiston opened his eyes very wide indeed.
“No other! you must have had a father some time in your life; most
people have,” said the young gentleman, reflectively.
She shook her head a little sadly.
“I never had, that I know of, either father or mother, or any one but
Prudence. And by the way,” she said, half starting up, “the first thing
to be done is, to see about this same Prudence. She must be somewhere in
the house.”
“Prudence is nowhere in the house,” said Ormiston, quietly; “and will
not be, she says, far a month to come. She is afraid of the plague.”
“Is she?” said Leoline, fixing her eyes on him with a powerful glance.
“How do you know that?”
“I heard her say so not half an hour ago, to a lady a few doors distant.
Perhaps you know her--La Masque.”
“That singular being! I don't know her; but I have seen her often. Why
was Prudence talking of me to her, I wonder?”
“That I do not know; but talking of you the was, and she said she
was coming back here no more. Perhaps you will be afraid to stay here
alone?”
“Oh no, I am used to being alone,” she said, with a little sigh, “but
where”--hesitating and blushing vividly, “where is--I mean, I should
like to thank sir Norman Kingsley.”
Ormiston saw the blush and the eyes that dropped, and it puzzled him
again beyond measure.
“Do you know Sir Norman Kingsley?” he suspiciously asked.
“By sight I know many of the nobles of the court,” she answered
evasively, and without looking up: “they pass here often, and Prudence
knows them all; and so I have learned to distinguish them by name and
sight, your friend among the rest.”
“And you would like to see my friend?” he said, with malicious emphasis.
“I would like to thank him,” retorted the lady, with some asperity:
“you have told me how much I owe him, and it strikes me the desire is
somewhat natural.”
“Without doubt it is, and it will save Sir Norman much fruitless labor;
for even now he is in search of you, and will neither rest nor sleep
until he finds you.”
“In search of me!” she said softly, and with that rosy glow again
illumining her beautiful face; “he is indeed kind, and I am most anxious
to thank him.”
“I will bring him here in two hours, then,” said Ormiston, with energy;
“and though the hour may be a little unseasonable, I hope you will
not object to it; for if you do, he will certainly not survive until
morning.”
She gayly laughed, but her cheek was scarlet.
“Rather than that, Mr. Ormiston, I will even see him tonight. You will
find me here when you come.”
“You will not run away again, will you?” said Ormiston, looking at her
doubtfully. “Excuse me; but you have a trick of doing that, you know.”
Again she laughed merrily.
“I think you may safely trust me this time. Are you going?”
By way of reply, Ormiston took his hat and started for the door. There
he paused, with his hand upon it.
“How long have you known Sir Norman Kingsley?” was his careless, artful
question.
But Leoline, tapping one little foot on the floor, and looking down at
it with hot cheeks and humid ayes, answered not a word.
CHAPTER VIII. THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN.
When Sir Norman Kingsley entered the ancient ruin, his head was full of
Leoline--when he knelt down to look through the aperture in the flagged
floor, head and heart were full of her still. But the moment his eyes
fell on the scene beneath, everything fled far from his thoughts,
Leoline among the rest; and nothing remained but a profound and
absorbing feeling of intensest amaze.
Right below him he beheld an immense room, of which the flag he had
raised seemed to form part of the ceiling, in a remote corner. Evidently
it was one of a range of lower vaults, and as he was at least fourteen
feet above it, and his corner somewhat in shadow, there was little
danger of his being seen. So, leaning far down to look at his leisure,
he took the goods the gods provided him, and stared to his heart's
content.
Sir Norman had seen some queer sights during the four-and-twenty years
he had spent in this queer world, but never anything quite equal to
this. The apartment below, though so exceedingly large, was lighted with
the brilliance of noon-day; and every object it contained; from one end
to the other, was distinctly revealed. The floor, from glimpses he
had of it in obscure corners, was of stone; but from end to end it was
covered with richest rugs and mats, and squares of velvet of as many
colors as Joseph's coat. The walls were hung with splendid tapestry,
gorgeous in silk and coloring, representing the wars of Troy, the
exploits of Coeur de Lion among the Saracens, the death of Hercules, all
on one side; and on the other, a more modern representation, the Field
of the Cloth of Gold. The illumination proceeded from a range of wax
tapers in silver candelabra, that encircled the whole room. The air was
redolent of perfumes, and filled with strains of softest and sweetest
music from unseen hands. At one extremity of the room was a huge door
of glass and gilding; and opposite it, at the other extremity, was
a glittering throne. It stood on a raised dais, covered with crimson
velvet, reached by two or three steps carpeted with the same; the throne
was as magnificent as gold, and satin, and ornamentation could make
it. A great velvet canopy of the same deep, rich color, cut in antique
points, and heavily hung with gold fringe, was above the seat of honor.
Beside it, to the right, but a little lower down, was a similar throne,
somewhat less superb, and minus a canopy. From the door to the throne
was a long strip of crimson velvet, edged and embroidered with gold, and
arranged in a sweeping semi-circle, on either side, were a row of great
carved, gilded, and cushioned chairs, brilliant, too, with crimson and
gold, and each for every-day Christians, a throne in itself. Between the
blaze of illumination, the flashing of gilding and gold, the tropical
flush of crimson velvet, the rainbow dyes on floor and walls, the
intoxicating gushes of perfume, and the delicious strains of unseen
music, it is no wonder Sir Norman Kingsley's head was spinning like a
bewildered teetotum.
Was he sane--was he sleeping? Had he drank too much wine at the Golden
Crown, and had it all gone to his head? Was it a scene of earnest
enchantment, or were fairy-tales true? Like Abou Hasson when he awoke
in the palace of the facetious Caliph of Bagdad, he had no notion of
believing his own eyes and ears, and quietly concluded it was all an
optical illusion, as ghosts are said to be; but he quietly resolved to
stay there, nevertheless, and see how the dazzling phantasmagoria would
end. The music was certainly ravishing, and it seemed to him, as he
listened with enchanted ears, that he never wanted to wake up from so
heavenly a dream.
One thing struck him as rather odd; strange and bewildered as everything
was, it did not seem at all strange to him, on the contrary, a vague
idea was floating mistily through his mind that he had beheld precisely
the same thing somewhere before. Probably at some past period of his
life he had beheld a similar vision, or had seen a picture somewhere
like it in a tale of magic, and satisfying himself with this conclusion,
he began wondering if the genii of the place were going to make their
appearance at all, or if the knowledge that human eyes were upon them
had scared them back to Erebus.
While still ruminating on this important question, a portion of the
tapestry, almost beneath him, shriveled up and up, and out flocked a
glittering throng, with a musical mingling of laughter and voices. Still
they came, more and more, until the great room was almost filled, and
a dazzling throng they were. Sir Norman had mingled in many a brilliant
scene at Whitehall, where the gorgeous court of Charles shone in all its
splendor, with the “merry monarch” at their head, but all he had ever
witnessed at the king's court fell far short of this pageant. Half
the brilliant flock were ladies, superb in satins, silks, velvets and
jewels. And such jewels! every gem that ever flashed back the sunlight
sparkled and blazed in blending array on those beautiful bosoms and
arms--diamonds, pearls, opals, emeralds, rubies, garnets, sapphires,
amethysts--every jewel that ever shone. But neither dresses nor gems
were half so superb as the peerless forms they adorned; and such an army
of perfectly beautiful faces, from purest blonde to brightest brunette,
had never met and mingled together before.
Each lovely face was unmasked, but Sir Norman's dazzled eyes in vain
sought among them for one he knew. All that “rosebud garden of girls”
were perfect strangers to him, but not so the gallants, who fluttered
among them like moths around meteors. They, too, were in gorgeous array,
in purple and fine linen, which being interpreted, signifieth in silken
hose of every color under the sun, spangled and embroidered slippers
radiant with diamond buckles, doublets of as many different shades as
their tights, slashed with satin and embroidered with gold. Most of them
wore huge powdered wigs, according to the hideous fashion then in vogue,
and under those same ugly scalps, laughed many a handsome face Sir
Norman well knew. The majority of those richly-robed gallants were
strangers to him as well as the ladies, but whoever they were, whether
mortal men or “spirits from the vasty deep,” they were in the tallest
sort of clover just then. Evidently they knew it, too, and seemed to be
on the best of terms with themselves and all the world, and laughed,
and flirted, and flattered, with as much perfection as so many ball-room
Apollos of the present day.
Still no one ascended the golden and crimson throne, though many of the
ladies and gentlemen fluttering about it were arrayed as royally as any
common king or queen need wish to be. They promenaded up and down, arm
in arm; they seated themselves in the carved and gilded chairs; they
gathered in little groups to talk and laugh, did everything, in short,
but ascend the throne; and the solitary spectator up above began to grow
intensely curious to know who it was for. Their conversation he could
plainly hear, and to say that it amazed him, would be to use a feeble
expression, altogether inadequate to his feelings. Not that it was the
remarks they made that gave his system each a shook, but the names by
which they addressed each other. One answered to the aspiring cognomen
of the Duke of Northumberland; another was the Earl of Leicester;
another, the Duke of Devonshire; another, the Earl of Clarendon;
another, the Duke of Buckingham; and so on, ad infinitum, dukes and
earls alternately, like bricks and mortar in the wall of a house.
There were other dignitaries besides, some that Sir Norman had a faint
recollection of hearing were dead for some years--Cardinal Wolsey,
Sir Thomas More, the Earl of Bothwell, King Henry Darnley, Sir Walter
Raleigh, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Southampton, the Duke of York,
and no end of others with equally sonorous titles. As for mere lords and
baronets, and such small deer, there was nothing so plebeian present,
and they were evidently looked upon by the distinguished assembly, like
small deer in thunder, with pity and contempt. The ladies, too, were all
duchesses, marchionesses, countesses, and looked fit for princesses,
Sir Norman thought, though he heard none of them styled quite so high as
that. The tone of conversation was light and easy, but at the same
time extremely ceremonious and courtly, and all seemed to be enjoying
themselves in the most delightful sort of a way, which people of,
such distinguished rank, I am told, seldom do. All went merry as a
marriage-bell, and sweetly over the gay jingle of voices rose the sweet,
faint strains of the unseen music.
Suddenly all was changed. The great door of glass and gilding opposite
the throne was flung wide, and a grand usher in a grand court livery
flourished a mighty grand wand, and shouted, in a stentorian voice,
“Back: back, ye lieges, and make way for Her Majesty, Queen Miranda!”
Instantly the unseen band thundered forth the national anthem. The
splendid throng fell back on either hand in profoundest silence and
expectation. The grand usher mysteriously disappeared, and in his place
there stalked forward a score of soldiers, with clanking swords and
fierce moustaches, in the gorgeous uniform of the king's body-guard.
These showy warriors arranged themselves silently on either side of the
crimson throne, and were followed by half a dozen dazzling personages,
the foremost crowned with mitre, armed with crozier, and robed in the
ecclesiastical glory of an archbishop, but the face underneath, to the
deep surprise and scandal of Sir Norman, was that of the fastest young
roue of Charles court, after him came another pompous dignitary, in such
unheard of magnificence that the unseen looker-on set him down for
a prime minister, or a lord high chancellor, at the very least. The
somewhat gaudy-looking gentlemen who stepped after the pious prelate and
peer wore the stars and garters of foreign courts, and were evidently
embassadors extraordinary to that of her midnight majesty. After them
came a snowy flock of fair young girls, angels all but the wings,
slender as sylphs, and robed in purest white. Each bore on her arm a
basket of flowers, roses and rosebuds of every tint, from snowy white to
darkest crimson, and as they floated in they scattered them lightly
as they went. And then after all came another vision, “the last, the
brightest, the best--the Midnight Queen,” herself. One other figure
followed her, and as they entered, a shout arose from the whole
assemblage, “Long live Queen Miranda!” And bowing gracefully and easily
to the right and left, the queen with a queenly step, trod the long
crimson carpet and mounted the regal throne.
From the first moment of his looking down, Sir Norman had been staring
with all the eyes in his head, undergoing one shock of surprise after
another with the equanimity of a man quite new to it; but now a cry
arose to his lips, and died there in voiceless consternation. For he
recognized the queen--well he might!--he had seen her before, and her
face was the face of Leoline!
As she mounted the stairs, she stood there for a moment crowned and
sceptred, before sitting down, and in that moment he recognized the
whole scene. That gorgeous room and its gorgeous inmates; that regal
throne and its regal owner, all became palpable as the sun at noonday;
that slender, exquisite figure, robed in royal purple and ermine; the
uncovered neck and arms, snowy and perfect, ablaze with jewels; that
lovely face, like snow, like marble, in its whiteness and calm, with
the great, dark, earnest eyes looking out, and the waving wealth of hair
falling around it. It was the very scene, and room, and vision, that
La Masque had shown him in the caldron, and that face was the face of
Leoline, and the earl's page.
Could he be dreaming? Was he sane or mad, or were the three really one?
While he looked, the beautiful queen bowed low, and amid the profoundest
and most respectful silence, took her seat. In her robes of purple,
wearing the glittering crown, sceptre in hand, throned and canopied,
royally beautiful she looked indeed, and a most vivid contrast to the
gentleman near her, seated very much at his ease, on the lower throne.
The contrast was not of dress--for his outward man was resplendent to
look at; but in figure and face, or grace and dignity, he was a very
mean specimen of the lords of creation, indeed. In stature, he scarcely
reached to the queen's royal shoulder, but made up sideways what he
wanted in length--being the breadth of two common men; his head was in
proportion to his width, and was decorated with a wig of long, flowing,
flaxen hair, that scarcely harmonized with a profusion of the article
whiskers, in hue most unmitigated black; his eyes were small, keen,
bright, and piercing, and glared on the assembled company as they had
done half an hour before on Sir Norman Kingsley, in the bar-room of the
Golden Crown; for the royal little man was no other than Caliban, the
dwarf. Behind the thrones the flock of floral angels grouped themselves;
archbishop, prime minister, and embassadors, took their stand within the
lines of the soldiery, and the music softly and impressively died sway
in the distance; dead silence reigned.
“My lord Duke,” began the queen, in the very voice he had heard at the
plague-pit, as she turned to the stylish individual next the archbishop,
“come forward and read us the roll of mortality since our last meeting.”
His grace, the duke, instantly stepped forward, bowing so low that
nothing was seen of him for a brief space, but the small of his back,
and when he reared himself up, after this convulsion of nature, Sir
Norman beheld a face not entirely new to him. At first, he could not
imagine where he had seen it, but speedily she recollected it was the
identical face of the highwayman who had beaten an inglorious retreat
from him and Count L'Estrange, that very night. This ducat robber drew
forth a roll of parchment, and began reading, in lachrymose tones,
a select litany of defunct gentlemen, with hifalutin titles who had
departed this life during the present week. Most of them had gone with
the plague, but a few had died from natural causes, and among these were
the Earls of Craven and Ashley.
“My lords Craven and Ashley dead!” exclaimed the queen, in tones of some
surprise, but very little anguish; “that is singular, for we saw them
not two hours ago, in excellent health and spirits.”
“True, poor majesty,” said the duke, dolefully, “and it is not an hour
since they quitted this vale of tears. They and myself rode forth
at nightfall, according to Custom, to lay your majesty's tax on all
travelers, and soon chanced to encounter one who gave vigorous battle;
still, it would have done him little service, had not another person
come suddenly to his aid, and between them they clove the skulls of
Ashley and Craven; and I,” said the duke, modestly, “I left.”
“Were either of the travelers young, and tall, and of courtly bearing?”
exclaimed the dwarf with sharp rudeness.
“Both were, your highness,” replied the duke, bowing to the small
speaker, “and uncommonly handy with their weapons.”
“I saw one of them down at the Golden Crown, not long ago,” said the
dwarf; “a forward young popinjay, and mighty inquisitive about this,
our royal palace. I promised him, if he came here, a warm reception--a
promise I will have the greatest pleasure in fulfilling.”
“You may stand aside, my lord duke,” said the queen, with a graceful
wave of her hand, “and if any new subjects have been added to our court
since our last weekly meeting, let them come forward, and be sworn.”
A dozen or more courtiers immediately stepped forward, and kneeling
before the queen, announced their name and rank, which were both
ambitiously high. A few silvery-toned questions were put by that royal
lady and satisfactorily answered, and then the archbishop, armed with
a huge tome, administered a severe and searching oath, which the
candidates took with a great deal of sang froid, and were then
permitted to kiss the hand of the queen--a privilege worth any amount of
swearing--and retire.
“Let any one who has any reports to make, make them immediately,” again
commanded her majesty.
A number of gentlemen of high rank, presented themselves at this
summons, and began relating, as a certain sect of Christians do
in church, their experience! Many of these consisted, to the deep
disapproval of Sir Norman, of accounts of daring highway robberies, one
of them perpetrated on the king himself, which distinguished personage
the duplicate of Leoline styled “our brother Charles,” and of the
sums thereby attained. The treasurer of state was then ordered to show
himself, and give an account of the said moneys, which he promptly did;
and after him came a number of petitioners, praying for one thing and
another, some of which the queen promised to grant, and some she didn't.
These little affairs of state being over, Miranda turned to the little
gentleman beside her, with the observation,
“I believe, your highness, it is on this night the Earl of Gloucester is
to be tried on a charge of high treason, is it not?”
His highness growled a respectful assent.
“Then let him be brought before us,” said the queen. “Go, guards, and
fetch him.”
Two of the soldiers bowed low, and backed from the royal presence, amid
dead and ominous silence. At this interesting stage of the proceedings,
as Sir Norman was leaning forward, breathless and excited, a footstep
sounded on the flagged floor beside him, and some one suddenly grasped
his shoulder with no gentle hand.
CHAPTER IX. LEOLINE.
In one instant Sir Norman was on his feet and his hand on his sword. In
the tarry darkness, neither the face nor figure of the intruder could be
made out, but he merely saw a darker shadow beside him standing in the
sea of darkness. Perhaps he might have thought it a ghost, but that the
hand which grasped his shoulder was unmistakably of flesh, and blood,
and muscle, and the breathing of its owner was distinctly audible by his
side.
“Who are you?” demanded Sir Norman, drawing out his sword, and wrenching
himself free from his unseen companion.
“Ah! it is you, is it? I thought so,” said a not unknown voice. “I have
been calling you till I am hoarse, and at last gave it up, and started
after you in despair. What are you doing here?”
“You, Ormiston!” exclaimed Sir Norman, in the last degree astonished.
“How--when--what are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? that's more to the purpose. Down flat on
your face, with your head stuck through that hole. What is below there,
anyway?”
“Never mind,” said Sir Norman, hastily, who, for some reason quite
unaccountable to himself, did not wish Ormiston to see. “There's nothing
therein particular, but a lower range of vaults. Do you intend telling
me what has brought you here?”
“Certainly; the very fleetest horse I could find in the city.”
“Pshaw! You don't say so?” exclaimed Sir Norman, incredulously. “But
I presume you had some object in taking such a gallop? May I ask what?
Your anxious solicitude on my account, very likely?”
“Not precisely. But, I say, Kingsley, what light is that shining through
there? I mean to see.”
“No, you won't,” said Sir Norman, rapidly and noiselessly replacing the
flag. “It's nothing, I tell you, but a number of will-o-'wisps having
a ball. Finally, and for the last time, Mr. Ormiston, will you have the
goodness to tell me what has sent you here?”
“Come out to the air, then. I have no fancy for talking in this place;
it smells like a tomb.”
“There is nothing wrong, I hope?” inquired Sir Norman, following his
friend, and threading his way gingerly through the piles of rubbish in
the profound darkness.
“Nothing wrong, but everything extremely right. Confound this place!
It would be easier walking on live eels than through these winding and
lumbered passages. Thank the fates, we are through them, at last! for
there is the daylight, or, rather the nightlight, and we have escaped
without any bones broken.”
They had reached the mouldering and crumbling doorway, shown by a square
of lighter darkness, and exchanged the damp, chill atmosphere of the
vaults for the stagnant, sultry open air. Sir Norman, with a notion in
his head that his dwarfish highness might have placed sentinels around
his royal residence, endeavored to pierce the gloom in search of them.
Though he could discover none, he still thought discretion the better
part of valor, and stepped out into the road.
“Now, then, where are you going?” inquired Ormiston for, following him.
“I don't wish to talk here; there is no telling who may be listening.
Come along.”
Ormiston glanced back at the gloomy rain looming up like a black spectre
in the blackness.
“Well, they must have a strong fancy for eavesdropping, I must say, who
world go to that haunted heap to listen. What have you seen there, and
where have you left your horse?”
“I told you before,” said Sir Norman, rather impatiently, “that I have
seen nothing--at least, nothing you would care about; and my horse is
waiting me at the Golden Crown.”
“Very well, we have no time to lose; so get there as fast as you can,
and mount him and ride as if the demon were after you back to London.”
“Back to London? Is the man crazy? I shall do no such thing, let me tell
you, to-night.”
“Oh, just as you please,” said Ormiston, with a great deal of
indifference, considering the urgent nature of his former request. “You
can do as you like, you know, and so can I--which translated, means, I
will go and tell her you have declined to come.”
“Tell her? Tell whom? What are you talking about? Hang it, man!”
exclaimed Sir Norman, getting somewhat excited and profane, “what are
you driving at? Can't you speak out and tell me at once?”
“I have told you!” said Ormiston, testily: “and I tell you again, she
sent me in search of you, and if you don't choose to come, that's your
own affair, and not mine.”
This was a little too much for Sir Norman's overwrought feelings, and in
the last degree of exasperation, he laid violent hands on the collar of
Ormiston's doublet, and shook him as if he would have shaken the name
out with a jerk.
“I tell you what it is, Ormiston, you had better not aggravate me! I can
stand a good deal, but I'm not exactly Moses or Job, and you had better
mind what you're at. If you don't come to the point at once, and tell
me who I she is, I'll throttle you where you stand; and so give you
warning.”
Half-indignant, and wholly laughing, Ormiston stepped back out of the
way of his excited friend.
“I cry you mercy! In one word, then, I have been dispatched by a lady in
search of you, and that lady is--Leoline.”
It has always been one of the inscrutable mysteries in natural
philosophy that I never could fathom, why men do not faint. Certain it
is, I never yet heard of a man swooning from excess of surprise or
joy, and perhaps that may account for Sir Norman's not doing so on the
present occasion. But he came to an abrupt stand-still in their rapid
career; and if it had not been quite so excessively dark, his friend
would have beheld a countenance wonderful to look on, in its mixture of
utter astonishment and sublime consternation.
“Leoline!” he faintly gasped. “Just stop a moment, Ormiston, and say
that again--will you?”
“No,” said Ormiston, hurrying unconcernedly on; “I shall do no such
thing, for there is no time to lose, and if there were I have no fancy
for standing in this dismal road. Come on, man, and I'll tell you as we
go.”
Thus abjured, and seeing there was no help for it, Sir Norman, in a
dazed and bewildered state, complied; and Ormiston promptly and briskly
relaxed into business.
“You see, my dear fellow, to begin at the beginning, after you left, I
stood at ease at La Masque's door, awaiting that lady's return, and
was presently rewarded by seeing her come up with an old woman called
Prudence. Do you recollect the woman who rushed screaming out of the
home of the dead bride?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Well, that was Prudence. She and La Masque were talking so earnestly
they did not perceive me, and I--well, the fact is, Kingsley, I stayed
and listened. Not a very handsome thing, perhaps, but I couldn't resist
it. They were talking of some one they called Leoline, and I, in a
moment, knew that it was your flame, and that neither of them knew any
more of her whereabouts than we did.”
“And yet La Masque told me to come here in search of her,” interrupted
Sir Norman.
“Very true! That was odd--wasn't it? This Prudence, it appears, was
Leoline's nurse, and La Masque, too, seemed to have a certain authority
over her; and between them, I learned she was to have been married this
very night, and died--or, at least, Prudence thought so--an hour or two
before the time.”
“Then she was not married?” cried Sir Norman, in an ecstasy of delight.
“Not a bit of it; and what is more, didn't want to be; and judging from
the remarks of Prudence, I should say, of the two, rather preferred the
plague.”
“Then why was she going to do it? You don't mean to say she was forced?”
“Ah, but I do, though! Prudence owned it with the most charming candor
in the world.”
“Did you hear the name of the person she was to have married?” asked Sir
Norman, with kindling eyes.
“I think not; they called him the count, if my memory serves me, and
Prudence intimated that he knew nothing of the melancholy fate of
Mistress Leoline. Most likely it was the person in the cloak and
slouched hat we saw talking to the watchman.”
Sir Norman said nothing, but he thought a good deal, and the burden of
his thoughts was an ardent and heartfelt wish that the Court L'Estrange
was once more under the swords of the three robbers, and waiting for him
to ride to the rescue--that was all!
“La Masque urged Prudence to go back,” continued Ormiston; “but Prudence
respectfully declined, and went her way bemoaning the fate of her
darling. When she was gone, I stepped up to Madame Masque, and that
lady's first words of greeting were an earnest hope that I had been
edified and improved by what I had overheard.”
“She saw you, then?” said Sir Norman.
“See me? I believe you! She has more eyes than ever Argus had, and each
one is as sharp as a cambric needle. Of course I apologized, and so on,
and she forgave me handsomely, and then we fell to discoursing--need I
tell you on what subject?”
“Love, of course,” said Sir Norman.
“Yes, mingled with entreaties to take off her mask that would have moved
a heart of stone. It moved what was better--the heart of La Masque; and,
Kingsley, she has consented to do it; and she says that if, after seeing
her face, I still love her, she will be my wife.”
“Is it possible? My dear Ormiston, I congratulate you with all my
heart!”
“Thank you! After that she left me, and I walked away in such a frenzy
of delight that I couldn't have told whether I was treading this earth
or the shining stars of the seventh heaven, when suddenly there flew
past me a figure all in white--the figure of a bride, Kingsley, pursued
by an excited mob. We were both near the river, and the first thing I
knew, she was plump into it, with the crowd behind, yelling to stop her,
that she was ill of the plague.”
“Great Heaven! and was she drowned?”
“No, though it was not her fault. The Earl of Rochester and his
page--you remember that page, I fancy--were out in their barge, and
the earl picked her up. Then I got a boat, set out after her, claimed
her--for I recognized her, of course--brought her ashore, and deposited
her safe and sound in her own house. What do you think of that?”
“Ormiston,” said Norman, catching him by the shoulder, with a very
excited face, “is this true?”
“True as preaching, Kingsley, every word of it! And the most
extraordinary part of the business is, that her dip in cold water has
effectually cured her of the plague; not a trace of it remains.”
Sir Norman dropped his hand, and walked on, staring straight before him,
perfectly speechless. In fact, no known language in the world could have
done justice to his feelings at that precise period; for three times
that night, in three different shapes, had he seen this same Leoline,
and at the same moment he was watching her decked out in royal state in
the rain, Ormiston had probably been assisting her from her cold bath in
the river Thames.
Astonishment and consternation are words altogether too feeble to
express his state of mind; but one idea remained clear and bright amid
all his mental chaos, and that was, that the Leoline he had fallen in
love with dead, was awaiting him, alive and well, in London.
“Well,” said Ormiston, “you don't speak! What do you think of all this?”
“Think! I can't think--I've got past that long ago!” replied his friend,
hopelessly. “Did you really say Leoline was alive and well?”
“And waiting for you--yes, I did, and I repeat it; and the sooner you
get back to town, the sooner you will see her; so don't loiter--”
“Ormiston, what do you mean! Is it possible I can see her to-night?”
“Yes, it is; the dear creature is waiting for you even now. You see,
after we got to the house, and she had consented to become a little
rational, mutual explanations ensued, by which it appeared she had ran
away from Sir Norman Kingsley's in a state of frenzy, had jumped into
the river in a similarly excited state of mind, and was most anxious
to go down on her pretty knees and thank the aforesaid Sir Norman for
saving her life. What could any one as gallant as myself do under these
circumstances, but offer to set forth in quest of that gentleman? And
she promptly consented to sit up and wait his coming, and dismissed me
with her blessing. And, Kingsley, I've a private notion she is as deeply
affected by you as you are by her; for, when I mentioned your name, she
blushed, yea, verily to the roots of her hair; and when she spoke of
you, couldn't so much as look me in the face--which is, you must own, a
very bad symptom.”
“Nonsense!” said Sir Norman, energetically. And had it been daylight,
his friend would have seen that he blushed almost as extensively as the
lady. “She doesn't know me.”
“Ah, doesn't she, though? That shows all you know about it! She has
seen you go past the window many and many a time; and to see you,” said
Ormiston, making a grimace undercover of the darkness, “is to love! She
told me so herself.”
“What! That she loved me!” exclaimed Sir Norman, his notions of
propriety to the last degree shocked by such a revelation.
“Not altogether, she only looked that; but she said she knew you well
by sight, and by heart, too, as I inferred from her countenance when
she said it. There now, don't make me talk any more, for I have told you
everything I know, and am about hoarse with my exertions.”
“One thing only--did she tell you who she was?”
“No, except that her name was Leoline, and nothing else--which struck me
as being slightly improbable. Doubtless, she will tell you everything,
and one piece of advice I may venture to give you, which is, you may
propose as soon as you like without fear of rejection. Here we are at
the Golden Crown, so go in and get your horse, and let us be off.”
All this time Ormiston had been leading his own horse by the bridle, and
as Sir Norman silently complied with this suggestion, in five minutes
more they were in their saddles, and galloping at break-neck speed toward
the city. To tell the truth, one was not more inclined for silence than
the other, and the profoundest and thoughtfulest silence was maintained
till they reached it. One was thinking of Leoline, the other of La
Masque, and both were badly in love, and just at that particular moment
very happy. Of course the happiness of people in that state never lasts
longer than half an hour at a stretch, and then they are plunged back
again into misery and distraction; but while it does last, it in, very
intense and delightful indeed.
Our two friends having drained the bitten, had got to the bottom of the
cup, and neither knew that no sooner were the sweets swallowed, than
it was to be replenished with a doubly-bitter dose. Neither of them
dismounted till they reached the house of Leoline, and there Sir Norman
secured his horse, and looked up at it with a beating heart. Not that
it was very unusual for his heart to beat, seeing it never did anything
else; but on that occasion its motion was so much accelerated, that any
doctor feeling his pulse might have justly set him down as a bad case
of heart-disease. A small, bright ray of light streamed like a beacon
of hope from an upper window, and the lover looked at it as a clouded
mariner might at the shining of the North Star.
“Are you coming in, Ormiston?” he inquired, feeling, for the first time
in his life, almost bashful. “It seems to me it would only be right, you
know.”
“I don't mind going in and introducing` you,” said Ormiston; “but after
you have been delivered over, you may fight your own battles, and take
care of yourself. Come on.”
The door was unfastened, and Ormiston sprang upstairs with the air of a
man--quite at home, followed more decorously by Sir Norman. The door
of the lady's room stood ajar, as he had left it, and in answer to his
“tapping at the chamber-door,” a sweet feminine voice called “come in.”
Ormiston promptly obeyed, and the next instant they were in the room,
and in the presence of the dead bride. Certainly she did not look dead,
but very much alive, just then, as she sat in an easy-chair, drawn up
before the dressing-table, on which stood the solitary lamp that illumed
the chamber. In one hand she held a small mirror, or, as it was then
called, a “sprunking-glass,” in which she was contemplating her own
beauty, with as much satisfaction as any other pretty girl might justly
do. She had changed her drenched dress during Ormiston's absence, and
now sat arrayed in a swelling amplitude of rose-colored satin, her dark
hair clasped and bound by a circle of milk-white pearls, and her pale,
beautiful face looking ten degrees more beautiful than ever, in contrast
with the bright rose-silk, shining dark hair, and rich white jewels. She
rose up as they entered, and came forward with the same glow on her face
and the same light in her eyes that one of them had seen before, and
stood with drooping eyelashes, lovely as a vision in the centre of the
room.
“You see I have lost no time in obeying your ladyship's commands,” began
Ormiston, bowing low. “Mistress Leoline, allow me to present Sir Norman
Kingsley.”
Sir Norman Kingsley bent almost as profoundly before the lady as
the lord high chancellor had done before Queen Miranda; and the lady
courtesied, in return, until her pink-satin skirt ballooned out all over
the floor. It was quite an affecting tableau. And so Ormiston felt, as
he stood eyeing it with preternatural gravity.
“I owe my life to Sir Norman Kingsley,” murmured the faint, sweet voice
of the lady, “and could not rest until I had thanked him. I have no
words to say how deeply thankful and grateful I am.”
“Fairest Leoline! one word from such lips would be enough to repay me,
had I done a thousandfold more,” responded Norman, laying his hand on
his heart, with another deep genuflection.
“Very pretty indeed!” remarked Ormiston to himself, with a little
approving nod; “but I'm afraid they won't be able to keep it up, and go
on talking on stilts like that, till they have finished. Perhaps they
may get on all the better if I take myself off, there being always one
too many in a case like this.” Then aloud: “Madame, I regret that I am
obliged to depart, having a most particular appointment; but, doubtless,
my friend will be able to express himself without my assistance. I have
the honor to wish you both good-night.”
With which neat and appropriate speech, Ormiston bowed himself out, and
was gone before Leoline could detain him, even if she wished to do so.
Probably, however, she thought the care of one gentleman sufficient
responsibility at once; and she did not look very seriously distressed
by his departure; and, the moment he disappeared, Sir Norman brightened
up wonderfully.
It is very discomposing to the feelings to make love in the presence of
a third party; and Sir Norman had no intention of wasting his time on
anything, and went at it immediately. Taking her hand, with a grace
that would have beaten Sir Charles Grandison or Lord Chesterfield all
to nothing, he led her to a couch, and took a seat as near her as was
at all polite or proper, considering the brief nature of their
acquaintance. The curtains were drawn; the lamp shed a faint light; the
house was still, and there was no intrusive papa to pounce down upon
them; the lady was looking down, and seemed in no way haughty
or discouraging, and Sir Norman's spirits went up with a jump to
boiling-point.
Yet the lady, with all her pretty bashfulness, was the first to speak.
“I'm afraid, Sir Norman, you must think this a singular hour to come
here; but, in these dreadful times, we cannot tell if we may live from
one moment to another; and I should not like to die, or have you die,
without my telling, and you hearing, all my gratitude. For I do
assure you, Sir Norman,” said the lady, lifting her dark eyes with the
prettiest and most bewitching earnestness, “that I am grateful, though I
cannot find words to express it.”
“Madame, I would not listen to you if you would; for I have done nothing
to deserve thanks. I wish I could tell you what I felt when Ormiston
told me you were alive and safe.”
“You are very kind, but pray do not call me madame. Say Leoline!”
“A thousand thanks, dear Leoline!” exclaimed Sir Norman, raising her
hand to his lips, and quite beside himself with ecstasy.
“Ah, I did not tell you to say that!” she cried, with a gay laugh and
vivid blush. “I never said you were to call me dear.”
“It arose from my heart to my lips,” said Sir Norman, with thrilling
earnestness and fervid glance; “for you are dear to me--dearer than all
the world beside!”
The flush grew a deeper glow on the lady's face; but, singular to
relate, she did not look the least surprised or displeased; and the hand
he had feloniously purloined lay passive and quite contented in his.
“Sir Norman Kingsley is pleased to jest,” said the lady, in a subdued
tone, and with her eyes fixed pertinaciously on her shining dress; “for
he has never spoken to me before in his life!”
“That has nothing to do with it, Leoline. I love you as devotedly as if
I had known you from your birthday; and, strange to say, I feel as if we
had been friends for years instead of minutes. I cannot realize at all
that you are a stranger to me!”
Leoline laughed:
“Nor I; though, for that matter, you are not a stranger to me, Sir
Norman!”
“Am I not? How is that!”
“I have seen you go past so often, you know; and Prudence told me who
you were; and so I need--I used--” hesitating and glowing to a degree
before which her dress paled.
“Well, dearest,” said Sir Norman, getting from the positive to the
superlative at a jump, and diminishing the distance between them, “you
need to--what?”
“To watch for you!” said Leoline, in a sly whisper. “And so I have got
to know you very well!”
“My own darling! And, O Leoline! may I hope--dare I hope--that you do
not altogether hate me?”
Leoline looked reflective; though her bleak eyes were sparkling under
their sweeping lashes.
“Why, no,” she said, demurely, “I don't know as I do. It's very sinful
and improper to hate one's fellow-creatures, you know, Sir Norman, and
therefore I don't indulge in it.”
“Ah! you are given to piety, I see. In that case, perhaps you are aware
of a precept commanding us to love our neighbors. Now, I'm your nearest
neighbor at present; so, to keep up a consistent Christian spirit, just
be good enough to say you love me!”
Again Leoline laughed; and this time the bright, dancing eyes beamed in
their sparkling darkness full upon him.
“I am afraid your theology is not very sound, my friend, and I have
a dislike to extremes. There is a middle course, between hating and
loving. Suppose I take that?”
“I will have no middle courses--either hating or loving it must be!
Leoline! Leoline!” (bending over her, and imprisoning both hands this
time) “do say you love me!”
“I am captive in your hands, so I must, I suppose. Yes, Sir Norman, I do
love you!”
Every man hearing that for the first time from a pair of loved lips
is privileged to go mad for a brief season, and to go through certain
manoeuvers much more delectable to the enjoyers than to society at
large. For fully ten minutes after Leoline's last speech, there was
profound silence. But actions sometimes speak louder than words; and
Leoline was perfectly convinced that her declaration had not fallen on
insensible ears. At the end of that period, the space between them on
the couch had so greatly diminished, that the ghost of a zephyr would
have been crushed to death trying to get between them; and Sir Norman's
face was fairly radiant. Leoline herself looked rather beaming; and she
suddenly, and without provocation, burst into a merry little peal of
laughter.
“Well, for two people who were perfect strangers to each other half
an hour ago, I think we have gone on remarkably well. What will Mr.
Ormiston and Prudence say, I wonder, when they hear this?”
“They will say what is the truth--that I am the luckiest man in England.
O Leoline! I never thought it was in me to love any one as I do you.”'
“I am very glad to hear it; but I knew that it was in me long before I
ever dreamed of knowing you. Are you not anxious to know something about
the future Lady Kingsley's past history?”
“It will all come in good time; it is not well to have a surfeit of joy
in one night.
“I do not know that this will add to your joy; but it had better be told
and be done with, at once and forever. In the first place, I presume I
am an orphan, for I have never known father or mother, and I have never
had any other name but Leoline.”
“So Ormiston told me.”
“My first recollection is of Prudence; she was my nurse and governess,
both in one; and we lived in a cottage by the sea--I don't know where,
but a long way from this. When I was about ten years old, we left it,
and came to London, and lived in a house in Cheapside, for five or six
years; and then we moved here. And all this time, Sir Norman you will
think it strange--but I never made any friends or acquaintances, and
knew no one but Prudence and an old Italian professor, who came to
our lodgings in Cheapside, every week, to give me lessons. It was not
because I disliked society, you must know; but Prudence, with all
her kindness and goodness--and I believe she truly loves me--has been
nothing more or less all my life than my jailer.”
She paused to clasp a belt of silver brocade, fastened by a pearl
buckle, close around her little waist, and Sir Norman fixed his eyes
upon her beautiful face, with a powerful glance.
“Knew no one--that is strange, Leoline! Not even the Count L'Estrange?”
“Ah! you know him?” she cried eagerly, lifting her eyes with a bright
look; “do--do tell me who he is?”
“Upon my honor, my dear,” said Sir Norman, considerably taken aback,
“it strikes me you are the person to answer that question. If I don't
greatly mistake, somebody told me you were going to marry him.”
“Oh, so I was,” said Leoline, with the utmost simplicity. “But I don't
know him, for all that; and more than that, Sir Norman, I do not believe
his name is Count L'Estrange, any more than mine is!”
“Precisely my opinion; but why, in the name of--no, I'll not swear; but
why were you going to marry him, Leoline?”
Leoline half pouted, and shrugged her pretty pink satin shoulders.
“Because I couldn't help it--that's why. He coaxed, and coaxed; and I
said no, and no, and no, until I got tired of it. Prudence, too, was as
bad as he was, until between them I got about distracted, and at last
consented to marry him to get rid of him.”
“My poor, persecuted little darling! Oh,” cried Sir Norman, with a burst
of enthusiasm, “how I should admire to have Count L'Estrange here for
about ten minutes, just now! I would spoil his next wooing for him, or I
am mistaken!”
“No, no!” said Leoline, looking rather alarmed; “you must not fight, you
know. I shouldn't at all like either of you to get killed. Besides, he
has not married me; and so there's no harm done.”
Sir Norman seemed rather struck by that view of the case, and after a
few moments reflection on it, came to the conclusion that she knew best,
and settled down peaceably again.
“Why do you suppose his name is not Count L'Estrange?” he asked.
“For many reasons. First--he is disguised; wears false whiskers,
moustache, and wig, and even the voice he uses appears assumed. Then
Prudence seems in the greatest awe of him, and she is not one to be
easily awed. I never knew her to be in the slightest degree intimidated
by any human being but himself and that mysterious woman, La Masque.
“Ah! you know La Masque, then?”
“Not personally; but I have seen her as I did you, you remember,”
with an arch glance; “and, like you, being once seen, is not to be
forgotten.”
Sir Norman promptly paid her for the compliment in Cupid's own coin:
“Little flatterer! I can almost forgive Count L'Estrange for wanting
to marry you; for I presume he it only a man, and not quite equal to
impossibilities. How long is it since you knew him first?”
“Not two months. My courtships,” said Leoline, with a gay laugh, “seem
destined to be of the shortest. He saw me one evening in the window,
and immediately insisted on being admitted; and after that, he continued
coming until I had to promise, as I have told you, to be Countess
L'Estrange.”
“He cannot be much of a gentleman, or he would not attempt to force a
lady against her will. And so, when you were dressed for your bridal,
you found you had the plague?”
“Yes, Sir Norman; and horrible as that was I do assure you I almost
preferred it to marrying him.”
“Leoline, tell me how long it is since you've known me?”
“Nearly three months,” said Leoline, blushing again celestial rosy red.
“And how long have you loved me?”
“Nonsense. What a question! I shall not tell you.”
“You shall--you must--I insist upon it. Did you love me before you met
the count? Out with it.”
“Well, then--yes!” cried Leoline desperately.
Sir Norman raised the hand he held, in rapture to his lips:
“My darling! But I will reserve my raptures, for it is growing late,
and I know you must want to go to rest. I have a thousand things to
tell you, but they must wait for daylight; only I will promise, before
parting, that this is the last night you must spend here.”
Leoline opened her bright eyes very wide.
“To-morrow morning,” went on Sir Norman, impressively, and with dignity,
“you will be up and dressed by sunrise, and shortly after that radiant
period, I will make my appearance with two horses--one of which I shall
ride, and the other I shall lead: the one I lead you shall mount, and
we will ride to the nearest church, and be married without any pomp or
pageant; and then Sir Norman and Lady Kingsley will immediately leave
London, and in Kingsley Castle, Devonshire, will enjoy the honeymoon and
blissful repose till the plague is over. Do you understand that?”
“Perfectly,” she answered, with a radiant face.
“And agree to it?”
“You know I do, Sir Norman; only--”
“Well, my pet, only what?”
“Sir Norman, I should like to see Prudence. I want Prudence. How can I
leave her behind?”
“My dear child, she made nothing of leaving you when she thought you
were dying; so never mind Prudence, but say, will you be ready?”
“I will.”
“That is my good little Leoline. Now give me a kiss, Lady Kingsley, and
good-night.”
Lady Kingsley dutifully obeyed; and Sir Norman went out with a glow at
his heart, like a halo round a full moon.
CHAPTER X. THE PAGE, THE FIRES, AND THE FALL.
The night was intensely dark when Sir Norman got into it once more; and
to any one else would have been intensely dismal, but to Sir Norman all
was bright as the fair hills of Beulah. When all is bright within, we
see no darkness without; and just at that moment our young knight had
got into one of those green and golden glimpses of sunshine that here
and there checker life's rather dark pathway, and with Leoline beside
him would have thought the dreary shores of the Dead Sea itself a very
paradise.
It was now near midnight, and there was an unusual concourse of people
in the streets, waiting for St. Paul's to give the signal to light the
fires. He looked around for Ormiston; but Ormiston was nowhere to be
seen--horse and rider had disappeared. His own horse stood tethered
where he had left him. Anxious as he was to ride back to the ruin, and
see the play played out, he could not resist the temptation of lingering
a brief period in the city, to behold the grand spectacle of the myriad
fires. Many persons were hurrying toward St. Paul's to witness it from
the dome; and consigning his horse to the care of the sentinel on guard
at the house opposite, he joined them, and was soon striding along, at
a tremendous pace, toward the great cathedral. Ere he reached it, its
long-tongued clock tolled twelve, and all the other churches, one after
another, took up the sound, and the witching hour of midnight rang and
rerang from end to end of London town. As if by magic, a thousand forked
tongues of fire shot up at once into the blind, black night, turning
almost in an instant the darkened face of the heavens to an inflamed,
glowing red. Great fires were blazing around the cathedral when they
reached it, but no one stopped to notice them, but only hurried on the
faster to gain their point of observation.
Sir Norman just glanced at the magnificent pile--for the old St. Paul's
was even more magnificent than the new,--and then followed after the
rest, through many a gallery, tower, and spiral staircase till the dome
was reached. And there a grand and mighty spectacle was before him--the
whole of London swaying and heaving in one great sea of fire. From one
end to the other, the city seemed wrapped in sheets of flame, and every
street, and alley, and lane within it shone in a lurid radiance far
brighter than noonday. All along the river fires were gleaming, too; and
the whole sky had turned from black to blood-red crimson. The streets
were alive and swarming--it could scarcely be believed that the
plague-infested city contained half so many people, and all were
unusually hopeful and animated; for it was popularly believed that these
fires would effectually check the pestilence. But the angry fiat of a
Mighty Judge had gone forth, and the tremendous arm of the destroying
angel was not to be stopped by the puny hand of man.
It has been said the weather for weeks was unusually brilliant, days of
cloudless sunshine, nights of cloudless moonlight, and the air was warm
and sultry enough for the month of August in the tropics. But now,
while they looked, a vivid flash of lightning, from what quarter of
the heavens no man knew, shot athwart the sky, followed by another and
another, quick, sharp, and blinding. Then one great drop of rain fell
like molten lead on the pavement, then a second and a third quicker,
faster, and thicker, until down it crashed in a perfect deluge. It did
not wait to rain; it fell in floods--in great, slanting sheets of water,
an is the very floodgates of heaven had opened for a second deluge. No
one ever remembered to have seen such torrents fall, and the populace
fled before it in wildest dismay. In five minutes, every fire, from one
extremity of London to the other, was quenched in the very blackness
of darkness, and on that night the deepest gloom and terror reigned
throughout the city. It was clear the hand of an avenging Deity was in
this, and He who had rained down fire on Sodom and Gomorrah had not lost
His might. In fifteen minutes the terrific flood was over; the dismal
clouds cleared away, a pale, fair, silver moon shone serenely out, and
looked down on the black, charred heaps of ashes strewn through the
streets of London. One by one, the stars that all night had been
obscured, glanced and sparkled over the sky, and lit up with their soft,
pale light the doomed and stricken town. Everybody had quitted the dome
in terror and consternation; and now Sir Norman, who had been lost in
awe, suddenly bethought him of his ride to the ruin, and hastened to
follow their example. Walking rapidly, not to say recklessly, along, he
abruptly knocked against some one sauntering leisurely before him,
and nearly pitched headlong on the pavement. Recovering his centre
of gravity by a violent effort, he turned to see the cause of the
collision, and found himself accosted by a musical and foreign-accented
voice.
“Pardon,” said the sweet, and rather feminine tones; “it was quite an
accident, I assure you, monsieur. I had no idea I was in anybody's way.”
Sir Norman looked at the voice, or rather in the direction whence it
came, and found it proceeded from a lad in gay livery, whose clear,
colorless face, dark eyes, and exquisite features were by no means
unknown. The boy seemed to recognize him at the same moment, and
slightly touched his gay cap.
“Ah! it is Sir Norman Kingsley! Just the very person, but one, in the
world that I wanted most to see.”
“Indeed! And, pray, whom have I the honor of addressing?” inquired Sir
Norman, deeply edified by the cool familiarity of the accoster.
“They call me Hubert--for want of a better name, I suppose,” said
the lad, easily. “And may I ask, Sir Norman, if you are shod with
seven-leagued boots, or if your errand is one of life and death, that
you stride along at such a terrific rate?”
“And what is that to you?” asked Sir Norman, indignant at his
free-and-easy impudence.
“Nothing; only I should like to keep up with you, if my legs were long
enough; and as they're not, and as company is not easily to be had in
these forlorn streets, I should feel obliged to you if you would just
slacken your pace a trifle, and take me in tow.”
The boy's face in the moonlight, in everything but expression, was
exactly that of Leoline, to which softening circumstance may be
attributed Sir Norman's yielding to the request, and allowing the page
to keep along side.
“I've met you once before to-night?” inquired Sir Norman, after a
prolonged and wondering stare at him.
“Yes; I have a faint recollection of seeing you and Mr. Ormiston on
London Bridge, a few hours ago, and, by the way, perhaps I may mention I
am now in search of that same Mr. Ormiston.”
“You are! And what may you want of him, pray?”
“Just a little information of a private character--perhaps you can
direct me to his whereabouts.”
“Should be happy to oblige you, my dear boy, but, unfortunately, I
cannot. I want to see him myself, if I could find any one good enough to
direct me to him. Is your business pressing?”
“Very--there is a lady in the case; and such business, you are aware,
is always pressing. Probably you have heard of her--a youthful angel,
in virgin white, who took a notion to jump into the Thames, not a great
while ago.”
“Ah!” said Sir Norman, with a start that did not escape the quick eyes
of the boy. “And what do you want of her?”
The page glanced at him.
“Perhaps you know her yourself, sir Norman? If so, you will answer quite
as well as your friend, as I only want to know where she lives.”
“I have been out of town to-night,” said Sir Norman, evasively, “and
there may have been more ladies than one jumped into the Thames during
my absence. Pray, describe your angel in white.”
“I did not notice her particularly myself,” said the boy, with easy
indifference, “as I am not in the habit of paying much attention
to young ladies who run wild about the streets at night and jump
promiscuously into rivers. However, this one was rather remarkable, for
being dressed as a bride, having long black hair, and a great quantity
of jewelry about her, and looking very much like me. Having said she
looks like me, I need not add she is handsome.”
“Vanity of vanities, all in vanity!” murmured Sir Norman, meditatively.
“Perhaps she is a relative of yours, Master Hubert, since you take such
an interest in her, and she looks so much like you.”
“Not that I know of,” said Hubert, in his careless way. “I believe I
was born minus those common domestic afflictions, relatives; and I don't
take the slightest interest in her, either; don't think it!”
“Then why are you in search of her?”
“For a very good reason--because I've been ordered to do so.”
“By whom--your master?”
“My Lord Rochester,” said that nobleman's page, waving off the
insinuation by a motion of his hand and a little displeased frown;
“he picked her up adrift, and being composed of highly inflammable
materials, took a hot and vehement fancy for her, which fact he did not
discover until your friend, Mr. Ormiston, had carried her off.”
Sir Norman scowled.
“And so he sent you in search of her, has he?”
“Exactly so; and now you perceive the reason why it is quite important
that I find Mr. Ormiston. We do not know where he has taken her to, but
fancy it must be somewhere near the river.”
“You do? I tell you what it is, my boy,” exclaimed Sir Norman, suddenly
and in an elevated key, “the best thing you can do is, to go home and
go to bed, and never mind young ladies. You'll catch the plague before
you'll catch this particular young lady--I can tell you that!”
“Monsieur is excited,” lisped the lad raising his hat and running his
taper fingers through his glossy, dark curls. “Is she as handsome as
they say she is, I wonder?”
“Handsome!” cried Sir Norman, lighting up with quite a new sensation at
the recollection. “I tell you handsome doesn't begin to describe her!
She is beautiful, lovely, angelic, divine--” Here Sir Norman's litany of
adjectives beginning to give out, he came to a sudden halt, with a face
as radiant as the sky at sunrise.
“Ah! I did not believe them, when they told me she was so much like
me; but if she is as near perfection as you describe, I shall begin to
credit it. Strange, is it not, that nature should make a duplicate of
her greatest earthly chef d'oeuvre?”
“You conceited young jackanapes!” growled Sir Norman, in deep
displeasure. “It is far stranger how such a bundle of vanity can
contrive to live in this work-a-day world. You are a foreigner, I
perceive?”
“Yes, Sir Norman, I am happy to say I am.”
“You don't like England, then?”
“I'd be sorry to like it; a dirty, beggarly, sickly place as I ever
saw!”
Sir Norman eyed the slender specimen of foreign manhood, uttering this
sentiment in the sincerest of tones, and let his hand fall heavily on
his shoulder.
“My good youth, be careful! I happen to be a native, and not altogether
used to this sort of talk. How long have you been here? Not long, I know
myself--at least, not in the Earl of Rochester's service, or I would
have seen you.”
“Right! I have not been here a month; but that month has seemed longer
than a year elsewhere. Do you know, I imagine when the world was
created, this island of yours must have been made late on Saturday
night, and then merely thrown in from the refuse to fill up a dent in
the ocean.”
Sir Norman paused in his walk, and contemplated the speaker a moment in
severest silence. But Master Hubert only lifted up his saucy face and
laughing black eyes, in dauntless sang froid.
“Master Hubert,” began Master Hubert's companion, in his deepest and
sternest bass, “I don't know your other name, and it would be of no
consequence if I did--just listen to me a moment. If you don't want to
get run through (you perceive I carry a sword), and have an untimely
end put to your career, just keep a civil tongue in your head, and don't
slander England. Now come on!”
Hubert laughed and shrugged his shoulders:
“Thought is free, however, so I can have my own opinion in spite of
everything. Will you tell me, monsieur, where I can find the lady?”
“You will have it, will you?” exclaimed Sir Norman, half drawing his
sword. “Don't ask questions, but answer them. Are you French?”
“Monsieur has guessed it.”
“How long have you been with your present master?”
“Monsieur, I object to that term,” said Hubert, with calm dignity.
“Master is a vulgarism that I dislike; so, in alluding to his lordship,
take the trouble to say, patron.”
Sir Norman laughed.
“With all my heart! How long, then, have you been with your present
patron?”
“Not quite two weeks.”
“I do not like to be impertinently inquisitive in addressing so
dignified a gentleman, but perhaps you would not consider it too great a
liberty, if I inquired how you became his page?”
“Monsieur shall ask as many questions as he pleases, and it shall not be
considered the slightest liberty,” said the young gentleman, politely.
“I had been roaming at large about the city and the palace of his
majesty--whom may Heaven preserve, and grant a little more wisdom!--in
search of a situation; and among that of all nobles of the court, the
Earl of Rochester's livery struck me as being the most becoming, and so
I concluded to patronize him.”
“What an honor for his lordship! Since you dislike England so much,
however, you will probably soon throw up the situation and, patronize
the first foreign ambassador--”
“Perhaps! I rather like Whitehall, however. Old Rowlie has taken rather
a fancy to me,” said the boy speaking with the same easy familiarity
of his majesty as he would of a lap-dog. “And what is better, so has
Mistress Stewart--so much so, that Heaven forefend the king should
become jealous. This, however, is strictly entre nous, and not to be
spoken of on any terms.”
“Your secret shall be preserved at the risk of my life,” said Sir
Norman, laying his hand on the left side of his doublet; “and in return,
may I ask if you have any relatives living--any sisters for instance?”
“I see! you have a suspicion that the lady in white may be a sister of
mine. Well, you may set your mind at rest on that point--for if she is,
it is news to me, as I never saw her in my life before tonight. Is she a
particular friend of yours, Sir Norman?”
“Never you mind that, my dear boy; but take my advice, and don't trouble
yourself looking for her; for, most assuredly, if you find her, I shall
break your head!”
“Much obliged,” said Hubert, touching his cap, “but nevertheless, I
shall risk it. She had the plague, though, when she jumped into the
river, and perhaps the best place to find her would be the pest-house. I
shall try.”
“Go, and Heaven speed you! Yonder is the way to it, and my road lies
here. Good night, master Hubert.”
“Good night, Sir Norman,” responded the page, bowing airily; “and if I
do not find the lady to-night, most assuredly I shall do so to-morrow.”
Turning along a road leading to the pest-house, and laughing as he
went, the boy disappeared. Fearing lest the page should follow him, and
thereby discover a clue to Leoline's abode, Sir Norman turned into a
street some distance from the house, and waited in the shadow until he
was out of sight. Then he came forth, and, full of impatience to get
back to the ruin, hurried on to where he had left his horse. He was
still in the care of the watchman, whom he repaid for his trouble; and
as he sprang on his back, he glanced up at the windows of Leoline's
house. It was all buried in profound darkness but that one window from
which that faint light streamed, and he knew that she had not yet gone
to rest. For a moment he lingered and looked at it in the absurd way
lovers will look, and was presently rewarded by seeing what he watched
for--a shadow flit between him and the light. The sight was a strong
temptation to him to dismount and enter, and, under pretence of warning
her against the Earl of Rochester and his “pretty page,” see her
once again. But reflection, stepping rebukingly up to him, whispered
indignantly, that his ladylove was probably by this time in her night
robe, and not at home to lovers; and Sir Norman respectfully bowed to
reflection's superior wisdom. He thought of Hubert's words, “If I do
not find her tonight, I shall most assuredly to-morrow,” and a chill
presentiment of coming evil fell upon him.
“To-morrow,” he said, as he turned to go. “Who knows what to-morrow may
bring forth! Fairest and dearest Leoline, good-night!”
He rode away in the moonlight, with the stars shining peacefully down
upon him. His heart at the moment was a divided one--one half being
given to Leoline, and the other to the Midnight Queen and her mysterious
court. The farther he went away from Leoline, the dimmer her star became
in the horizon of his thoughts; and the nearer he came to Miranda, the
brighter and more eagerly she loomed up, until he spurred his horse to
a most furious gallop, lest he should find the castle and the queen lost
in the regions of space when he got there. Once the plague-stricken city
lay behind him, his journey was short; and soon, to his great delight,
he turned into the silent deserted by-path leading to the ruin.
Tying his horse to a stake in the crumbling wall, he paused for a moment
to look at it in the pale, wan light of the midnight moon. He had looked
at it many a time before, but never with the same interest as now;
and the ruined battlements, the fallen roof, the broken windows, and
mouldering sides, had all a new and weird interest for him. No one was
visible far or near; and feeling that his horse was secure in the shadow
of the wall, he entered, and walked lightly and rapidly along in
the direction of the spiral staircase. With more haste, but the same
precaution, he descended, and passed through the vaults to where he knew
the loose flag-stone was. It was well he did know; for there was neither
strain of music nor ray of light to guide him now; and his heart sank
to zero as he thought he might raise the stone and discover nothing.
His hand positively trembled with eagerness as he lifted it; and with
unbounded delight, not to be described, looked down on the same titled
assembly he had watched before. But there had been a change since--half
the lights were extinguished, and the great vaulted room was
comparatively in shadow--the music had entirely died away and all was
solemnly silent. But what puzzled Sir Norman most of all was, the fact
that there seemed to be a trial of acme sort going on.
A long table, covered with green velvet, and looking not unlike a modern
billiard table, stood at the right of the queen's crimson throne; and
behind it, perched in a high chair, and wearing a long, solemn, black
robe, sat a small, thick personage, whose skin Sir Norman would have
known on a bush. He glanced at the lower throne and found it as he
expected, empty; and he saw at once that his little highness was not
only prince consort, but also supreme judge in the kingdom. Two or three
similar black-robed gentry, among whom was recognizable the noble duke
who so narrowly escaped with his life under the swords of Sir Norman
and Count L'Estrange. Before this solemn conclave stood a man who was
evidently the prisoner under trial, and who wore the whitest and most
frightened face Sir Norman thought he had ever beheld. The queen was
lounging negligently back on her throne, paying very little attention
to the solemn rites, occasionally gossiping with some of the snow-white
sylphs beside her, and often yawning behind her pretty finger-tips, and
evidently very much bored by it all.
The rest of the company were decorously seated in the crimson and gilded
arm-chairs, some listening with interest to what was going on, others
holding whispered tete-a-tetes, and all very still and respectful.
Sir Norman's interest was aroused to the highest pitch; he imprudently
leaned forward too far, in order to hear and see, and lost his balance.
He felt he was going, and tried to stop himself, but in vain; and seeing
there was no help for it, he made a sudden spring, and landed right in
the midst of the assembly.
CHAPTER XI. THE EXECUTION.
In an instant all was confusion. Everybody sprang to their feet--ladies
shrieked in chorus, gentlemen swore and drew their swords, and looked
to see if they might not expect a whole army to drop from the sky upon
them, as they stood. No other battalion, however, followed this forlorn
hope; and seeing it, the gentlemen took heart of grace and closed around
the unceremonious intruder. The queen had sprung from her royal seat,
and stood with her bright lips parted, and her brighter eyes dilating in
speechless wonder. The bench, with the judge at their head, had followed
her example, and stood staring with all their might, looking, truth to
tell, as much startled by the sudden apparition as the fair sex. The
said fair sex were still firing off little volleys of screams in chorus,
and clinging desperately to their cavaliers; and everything, in a word,
was in most admired disorder.
Tam O'Shanter's cry, “Weel done, Cutty sark!” could not have produced
half such a commotion among his “hellish legion” as the emphatic debut
of Sir Norman Kingsley among these human revelers. The only one who
seemed rather to enjoy it than otherwise was the prisoner, who was
quietly and quickly making off, when the malevolent and irrepressible
dwarf espied him, and the one shock acting as a counter-irritant to
the other, he bounced fleetly over the table, and grabbed him in his
crab-like claws.
This brisk and laudable instance of self-command had a wonderful and
inspiriting effect on the rest; and as he replaced the pale and palsied
prisoner in his former position, giving him a vindictive shake and
vicious kick with his royal boots as he did so, everybody began to feel
themselves again. The ladies stopped screaming, the gentlemen ceased
swearing, and more than one exclamation of astonishment followed the
cries of terror.
“Sir Norman Kingsley! Sir Norman Kingsley!” rang from lip to lip of
those who recognized him; and all drew closer, and looked at him as if
they really could not make up their mind to believe their eyes. As
for Sir Norman himself, that gentleman was destined literally, if not
metaphorically, to fall on his legs that night, and had alighted on
the crimson velvet-carpet, cat-like, on his feet. In reference to his
feelings--his first was one of frantic disapproval of going down;
his second, one of intense astonishment of finding himself there with
unbroken bones; his third, a disagreeable conviction that he had about
put his foot in it, and was in an excessively bad fix; and last, but
not least, a firm and rooted determination to make the beet of a bad
bargain, and never say die.
His first act was to take off his plumed hat, and make a profound
obeisance to her majesty the queen, who was altogether too much
surprised to make the return politeness demanded, and merely stared at
him with her great, beautiful, brilliant eyes, as if she would never
have done.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” said Sir Norman, turning gracefully to the
company; “I beg ten thousand pardons for this unwarrantable intrusion,
and promise you, upon my honor, never to do it again. I beg to assure
you that my coming here was altogether involuntary on my part, and
forced by circumstances over which I had no control; and I entreat you
will not mind me in the least, but go on with the proceeding, just as
you did before. Should you feel my presence here any restraint, I am
quite ready and willing to take my departure at any moment; and as
I before insinuated, will promise, on the honor of a gentleman and a
knight, never again to take the liberty of tumbling through the ceiling
down on your heads.”
This reference to the ceiling seemed to explain the whole mystery; and
everybody looked up at the corner whence he came from, and saw the flag
that had been removed. As to his speech, everybody had listened to it
with the greatest of attention; and sundry of the ladies, convinced
by this time that he was flesh and blood, and no ghost, favored the
handsome young knight with divers glances, not at all displeased
or unadmiring. The queen sank back into her seat, keeping him still
transfixed with her darkly-splendid eyes; and whether she admired or
otherwise, no one could tell from her still, calm face. The prince
consort's feelings--for such there could be no doubt he was--were
involved in no such mystery; and he broke out into a hyena-like scream
of laughter, as he recognized, upon a second look, his young friend of
the Golden Crown.
“So you have come, have you?” he cried, thrusting his unlovely visage
over the table, till it almost touched sir Norman's. “You have come,
have you, after all I said?”
“Yes, sir I have come!” said Sir Norman, with a polite bow.
“Perhaps you don't know me, my dear young sir--your little friend, you
know, of the Golden Crown.”
“Oh, I perfectly recognize you! My little friend,” said Sir Norman, with
bland suavity, and unconsciously quoting Leoline, “once seen in not easy
to be-forgotten.”
Upon this, his highness net up such another screech of mirth that it
quite woke an echo through the room; and all Sir Norman's friends looked
grave; for when his highness laughed, it was a very bad sign.
“My little friend will hurt himself,” remarked Sir Norman, with an air
of solicitude, “if he indulges in his exuberant and gleeful spirits to
such an extent. Let me recommend you, as a well-wisher, to sit down and
compose yourself.”
Instead of complying, however, the prince, who seemed blessed with a
lively sense of the ludicrous, was so struck with the extreme funniness
of the young man's speech, that he relaxed into another paroxysm of
levity, shriller and more unearthly, if possible, than any preceding
one, and which left him so exhausted, that he was forced to sink into
his chair and into silence through sheer fatigue. Seizing this, the
first opportunity, Miranda, with a glance of displeased dignity at
Caliban, immediately struck in:
“Who are you, sir, and by what right do you dare to come here?”
Her tone was neither very sweet nor suave; but it was much pleasanter
to be cross-examined by the owner of such a pretty face than by the ugly
little monster, for the moment gasping and extinguished; and Sir Norman
turned to her with alacrity, and a bow.
“Madame, I am Sir Norman Kingsley, very much at your service; and I beg
to assure you I did not come here, but fell here, through that hole, if
you perceive, and very much against my will.”
“Equivocation will not serve you in this case, sir,” said the queen,
with an austere dignity. “And, allow me to observe, it is just probable
you would not have fallen through that hole in our royal ceiling if you
had kept away from it. You raised that flag yourself--did you not?”
“Madam, I fear I must say yes!”
“And why did you do so?” demanded her majesty, with far more sharp
asperity than Sir Norman dreamed could ever come from such beautiful
lips.
“The rumor of Queen Miranda's charms has gone forth; and I fear I must
own that rumor drew me hither,” responded Sir Norman, inventing a polite
little work of fiction for the occasion; “and, let me add, that I came
to find that rumor had under-rated instead of exaggerated her majesty's
said charms.”
Here Sir Norman, whose spine seemed in danger of becoming the shape of
a rainbow, in excess of good breeding, made another genuflection before
the queen, with his hand over the region of his heart. Miranda tried
to look grave, and wear that expression of severe solemnity I am told
queens and rich people always do; but, in spite of herself, a little
pleased smile rippled over her face; and, noticing it, and the bow and
speech, the prince suddenly and sharply set up such another screech of
laughter as no steamboat or locomotive, in the present age of steam,
could begin to equal in ghastliness.
“Will your highness have the goodness to hold your tongue?” inquired the
queen, with much the air and look of Mrs. Caudle, “and allow me to ask
this stranger a few questions uninterrupted? Sir Norman Kingsley, how
long have you been above there, listening and looking on?”
“Madame, I was not there five minutes when I suddenly, and to my great
surprise, found myself here.”
“A lie!--a lie!” exclaimed the dwarf, furiously. “It is over two hours
since I met you at the bar of the Golden Crown.”
“My dear little friend,” said Sir Norman, drawing his sword, and
flourishing it within an inch of the royal nose, “just make that remark
again, and my sword will cleave your pretty head, as the cimetar of
Saladin clove the cushion of down! I earnestly assure you, madame, that
I had but just knelt down to look, when I discovered to my dismay, that
I was no longer there, but in your charming presence.”
“In that case, my lords and gentlemen,” said the queen, glancing blandly
round the apartment, “he has witnessed nothing, and, therefore, merits
but slight punishment.”
“Permit me, your majesty,” said the duke, who had read the roll of
death, and who had been eyeing Sir Norman sharply for some time, “permit
me one moment! This is the very individual who slew the Earl of Ashley,
while his companion was doing for my Lord Craven. Sir Norman Kingsley,”
said his grace, turning, with awful impressiveness to that young person,
“do you know me?”
“Quite as well as I wish to,” answered Sir Norman, with a cool and
rather contemptuous glance in his direction. “You look extremely like a
certain highwayman, with a most villainous countenance, I encountered a
few hours back, and whom I would have made mince most of if he had not
been coward enough to fly. Probably you may be the name; you look fit
for that, or anything else.”
“Cut him down!” “Dash his brains out!” “Run him through!” “Shoot him!”
were a few of the mild and pleasant insinuations that went off on every
side of him, like a fierce volley of pop-guns; and a score of bright
blades flashed blue and threatening on every side; while the prince
broke out into another shriek of laughter, that rang high over all.
Sir Norman drew his own sword, and stood on the defence, breathed one
thought to Leoline, gave himself up for lost; but before quite
doing so--to use a phrase not altogether as original as it might
be--“determined to sell his life as dearly as possible.” Angry eyes and
fierce faces were on every hand, and his dreams of matrimony and Leoline
seemed about to terminate then and there, when luck came to his side, in
the shape of her most gracious majesty the queen. Springing to her feet,
she waved her sceptre, while her black eyes flashed as fiercely as the
best of them, and her voice rang out like a trumpet-tone.
“Sheathe your swords, my lords, and back every man of you! Not one hair
of his head shall fall without my permission; and the first who lays
hands on him until that consent is given, shall die, if I have to shoot
him myself! Sir Norman Kingsley, stand near, and fear not. At his peril,
let one of them touch you!”
Sir Norman bent on one knee, and raised the gracious hand to his lips.
At the fierce, ringing, imperious tone, all involuntarily fell back, as
if they were accustomed to obey it; and the prince, who seemed to-night
in an uncommonly facetious mood, laughed again, long and shrill.
“What are your majesty's commands?” asked the discomfited duke, rather
sulkily. “Is this insulting interloper to go free?”
“That is no affair of yours, my lord duke!” answered the spirited voice
of the queen. “Be good enough to finish Lord Gloucester's trial; and
until then I will be responsible for the safekeeping of Sir Norman
Kingsley.”
“And after that, he is to go free eh, your majesty?” said the dwarf,
laughing to that extent that he ran the risk of rupturing an artery.
“After that, it shall be precisely as I please!” replied the ringing
voice; while the black eyes flashed anything but loving glances upon
him. “While I am queen here, I shall be obeyed; when I am queen no
longer, you may do as you please! My lords” (turning her passionate,
beautiful face to the hushed audience), “am I or am I not sovereign
here!”
“Madame, you alone are our sovereign lady and queen!”
“Then, when I condescend to command, you shall obey! Do you, your
highness, and you, lord duke, go on with the Earl of Gloucester's trial,
and I will be the stranger's jailer.”
“She is right,” said the dwarf, his fierce little eyes gleaming with a
malignant light; “let us do one thing before another; and after we have
settled Gloucester here, we will attend to this man's case. Guards keep
a sharp eye on your new prisoner. Ladies and gentlemen, be good enough
to resume your seats. Now, your grace, continue the trial.”
“Where did we leave off?” inquired his grace, looking rather at a loss,
and scowling vengeance dire at the handsome queen and her handsome
protege, as he sank back in his chair of state.
“The earl was confessing his guilt, or about to do so. Pray, my lord,”
said the dwarf, glaring upon the pallid prisoner, “were you not saying
you had betrayed us to the king?”
A breathless silence followed the question--everybody seemed to hold
his very breath to listen. Even the queen leaned forward and awaited the
answer eagerly, and the many eyes that had been riveted on Sir Norman
since his entrance, left him now for the first time and settled on the
prisoner. A piteous spectacle that prisoner was--his face whiter than
the snowy nymphs behind the throne, and so distorted with fear, fury,
and guilt, that it looked scarcely human. Twice he opened his eyes to
reply, and twice all sounds died away in a choking gasp.
“Do you hear his highness?” sharply inquired the lord high chancellor,
reaching over the great seal, and giving the unhappy Earl of Gloucester
a rap on the head with it, “Why do you not answer?”
“Pardon! Pardon!” exclaimed the earl, in a husky whisper. “Do not
believe the tales they tell you of me. For Heaven's sake, spare my
life!”
“Confess!” thundered the dwarf, striking the table with his clinched
fist, until all the papers thereon jumped spasmodically into the
air-“confess at once, or I shall run you through where you stand!”
The earl, with a perfect screech of terror, flung himself flat upon
his face and hands before the queen, with such force, that Sir Norman
expected to see his countenance make a hole in the floor.
“O madame! spare me! spare me! spare me! Have mercy on me as you hope
for mercy yourself!”
She recoiled, and drew back her very garments from his touch, as if
that touch was pollution, eyeing him the while with a glance frigid and
pitiless as death.
“There is no mercy for traitors!” she coldly said. “Confess your guilt,
and expect no pardon from me!”
“Lift him up!” shouted the dwarf, clawing the air with his hands, as if
he could have clawed the heart out of his victim's body; “back with him
to his place, guards, and see that he does not leave it again!”
Squirming, and writhing, and twisting himself in their grasp, in very
uncomfortable and eel-like fashion, the earl was dragged back to his
place, and forcibly held there by two of the guards, while his face grew
so ghastly and convulsed that Sir Norman turned away his head, and could
not bear to look at it.
“Confess!” once more yelled the dwarf in a terrible voice, while his
still more terrible eyes flashed sparks of fire--“confess, or by all
that's sacred it shall be tortured out of you. Guards, bring me the
thumb-screws, and let us see if they will not exercise the dumb devil by
which our ghastly friend is possessed!”
“No, no, no!” shrieked the earl, while the foam flew from his lips. “I
confess! I confess! I confess!”
“Good! And what do you confess?” said the duke blandly, leaning forward,
while the dwarf fell back with a yell of laughter at the success of his
ruse.
“I confess all--everything--anything! only spare my life!”
“Do you confess to having told Charles, King of England, the secrets
of our kingdom and this place?” said the duke, sternly rapping down the
petition with a roll of parchment.
The earl grew, if possible, a more ghastly white. “I do--I must! but oh!
for the love of--”
“Never mind love,” cut in the inexorable duke, “it is a subject that
has nothing whatever to do with the present case. Did you or did you not
receive for the aforesaid information a large sum of money?”
“I did; but my lord, my lord, spare--”
“Which sum of money you have concealed,” continued the duke, with
another frown and a sharp rap. “Now the question is, where have you
concealed it?”
“I will tell you, with all my heart, only spare my life!”
“Tell us first, and we will think about your life afterward. Let me
advise you as a friend, my lord, to tell at once, and truthfully,” said
the duke, toying negligently with the thumb-screws.
“It is buried at the north corner of the old wall at the head of
Bradshaw's grave. You shall have that and a thousandfold more if you'll
only pardon--”
“Enough!” broke in the dwarf, with the look and tone of an exultant
demon. “That is all we want! My lord duke, give me the death-warrant,
and while her majesty signs it, I will pronounce his doom!”
The duke handed him a roll of parchment, which he glanced critically
over, and handed to the queen for her autograph. That royal lady spread
the vellum on her knee, took the pen and affixed her signature as coolly
as if she were inditing a sonnet in an album. Then his highness, with a
face that fairly scintillated with demoniac delight, stood up and fixed
his eyes on the ghastly prisoner, and spoke in a voice that reverberated
like the tolling of a death-bell through the room.
“My Lord of Gloucester, you have been tried by a council of your
fellow-peers, presided over by her royal self, and found guilty of high
treason. Your sentence is that you be taken hence, immediately, to the
block, and there be beheaded, in punishment of your crime.”
His highness wound up this somewhat solemn speech, rather
inconsistently, bursting out into one of his shrillest peals of
laughter; and the miserable Earl of Gloucester, with a gasping,
unearthly cry, fell back in the arms of the attendants. Dead and
oppressive silence reigned; and Sir Norman, who half believed all along
the whole thing was a farce, began to feel an uncomfortable sense of
chill creeping over him, and to think that, though practical jokes were
excellent things in their way, there was yet a possibility of carrying
them a little too far. The disagreeable silence was first broken by the
dwarf, who, after gloating for a moment over his victim's convulsive
spasms, sprang nimbly from his chair of dignity and held out his arm for
the queen. The queen arose, which seemed to be a sign for everybody else
to do the same, and all began forming themselves in a sort of line of
march.
“What is to be done with this other prisoner, your highness?” inquired
the duke, making a poke with his forefinger at Sir Norman. “Is he to
stay here, or is he to accompany us?”
His highness turned round, and putting his face close up to Sir Norman's
favored him with a malignant grin.
“You'd like to come, wouldn't you, my dear young friend?”
“Really,” said Sir Norman, drawing back and returning the dwarf's stare
with compound interest, “that depends altogether on the nature of
the entertainment; but, at the same time, I'm much obliged to you for
consulting my inclinations.”
This reply nearly overset his highness's gravity once more, but he
checked his mirth after the first irresistible squeal; and finding
the company were all arranged in the order of going, and awaiting his
sovereign pleasure, he turned.
“Let him come,” he said, with his countenance still distorted by inward
merriment; “It will do him good to see how we punish offenders here, and
teach him what he is to expect himself. Is your majesty ready?”
“My majesty has been ready and waiting for the last five minutes,”
replied the lady, over-looking his proffered hand with grand disdain,
and stepping lightly down from her throne.
Her rising was the signal for the unseen band to strike up a grand
triumphant “Io paean,” though, had the “Rogue's March” been a popular
melody in those times, it would have suited the procession much more
admirably. The queen and the dwarf went first, and a vivid contrast they
were--she so young, so beautiful, so proud, so disdainfully cold; he so
ugly, so stunted, so deformed, so fiendish. After them went the band of
sylphs in white, then the chancellor, archbishop, and embassadors; next
the whole court of ladies and gentlemen; and after them Sir Norman, in
the custody of two of the soldiers. The condemned earl came last, or
rather allowed himself to be dragged by his four guards; for he seemed
to have become perfectly palsied and dumb with fear. Keeping time to the
triumphant march, and preserving dismal silence, the procession wound
its way along the room and through a great archway heretofore hidden
by the tapestry now lifted lightly by the nymphs. A long stone passage,
carpeted with crimson and gold, and brilliantly illuminated like
the grand saloon they had left, was thus revealed, and three similar
archways appeared at the extremity, one to the right and left, and one
directly before them. The procession passed through the one to the left,
and Sir Norman started in dismay to find himself in the most gloomy
apartment he had ever beheld in his life. It was all covered with
black--walls, ceiling, and floor were draped in black, and reminded
him forcibly of La Masque's chamber of horrors, only this was more
repellant. It was lighted, or rather the gloom was troubled, by a
few spectral tapers of black wax in ebony candlesticks, that seemed
absolutely to turn black, and make the horrible place more horrible.
There was no furniture--neither couch, chair, nor table nothing but a
sort of stage at the upper end of the room, with something that looked
like a seat upon it, and both were shrouded with the same dismal
drapery. But it was no seat; for everybody stood, arranging themselves
silently and noiselessly around the walls, with the queen and the dwarf
at their head, and near this elevation stood a tall, black statue,
wearing a mask, and leaning on a bright, dreadful, glittering axe. The
music changed to an unearthly dirge, so weird and blood-curdling, that
Sir Norman could have put his hands over his ear-drums to shut out the
ghastly sound. The dismal room, the voiceless spectators, the black
spectre with the glittering axe, the fearful music, struck a chill to
his inmost heart.
Could it be possible they were really going to murder the unhappy
wretch? and could all those beautiful ladies--could that surpassingly
beautiful queen, stand there serenely unmoved, to witness such a crime?
While he yet looked round in horror, the doomed man, already apparently
almost dead with fear, was dragged forward by his guards. Paralyzed
as he was, at sight of the stage which he knew to be the scaffold, he
uttered shriek after shriek of frenzied despair, and struggled like
a madman to get free. But as well might Laocoon have struggled in the
folds of the serpent; they pulled him on, bound him hand and foot, and
held his head forcibly down on the block.
The black spectre moved--the dwarf made a signal--the glittering axe was
raised--fell--a scream was cut in two--a bright jet of blood spouted up
in the soldiers faces, blinding them; the axe fell again, and the Earl
of Gloucester was minus that useful and ornamental appendage, a head.
It was all over so quickly, that Sir Norman could scarcely believe his
horrified senses, until the deed was done. The executioner threw a black
cloth over the bleeding trunk, and held up the grizzly head by the hair;
and Sir Norman could have sworn the features moved, and the dead eyes
rolled round the room.
“Behold!” cried the executioner, striking the convulsed face with the
palm of his open hand, “the fate of all traitors!”
“And of all spies!” exclaimed the dwarf, glaring with his fiendish
eyes upon the appalled Sir Norman. “Keep your axe sharp and bright, Mr.
Executioner, for before morning dawns there is another gentleman here to
be made shorter by a head.”
CHAPTER XII. DOOM.
“Let us go,” said the queen, glancing at the revolting sight, and
turning away with a shudder of repulsion. “Faugh! The sight of blood has
made me sick.”
“And taken away my appetite for supper,” added a youthful and elegant
beauty beside her. “My Lord Gloucester was hideous enough when living,
but, mon Dieu! he is ten times more so when dead!”
“Your ladyship will not have the same story to tell of yonder stranger,
when he shares the same fate in an hour or two!” said the dwarf, with a
malicious grin; “for I heard you remarking upon his extreme beauty when
he first appeared.”
The lady laughed and bowed, and turned her bright eyes upon Sir Norman.
“True! It is almost a pity to cut such a handsome head off--is it not? I
wish I had a voice in your highness's council, and I know what I should
do.”
“What, Lady Mountjoy?”
“Entreat him to swear fealty, and become one of us; and--”
“And a bridegroom for your ladyship?” suggested the queen, with a
curling lip. “I think if Sir Norman Kingsley knew Lady Mountjoy as well
as I do, he would even prefer the block to such a fate!”
Lady Mountjoy's brilliant eyes shone like two angry meteors; but she
merely bowed and laughed; and the laugh was echoed by the dwarf in his
shrillest falsetto.
“Does your highness intend remaining here all night?” demanded the
queen, rather fiercely. “If not, the sooner we leave this ghastly place
the better. The play is over, and supper is waiting.”
With which the royal virago made an imperious motion for her attendant
sprites in gossamer white to precede her, and turned with her accustomed
stately step to follow. The music immediately changed from its doleful
dirge to a spirited measure, and the whole company flocked after her,
back to the great room of state. There they all paused, hovering in
uncertainty around the room, while the queen, holding her purple train
up lightly in one hand, stood at the foot of the throne, glancing at
them with her cold, haughty and beautiful eyes. In their wandering,
those same darkly-splendid eyes glanced and lighted on Sir Norman,
who, in a state of seeming stupor at the horrible scene he had just
witnessed, stood near the green table, and they sent a thrill through
him with their wonderful resemblance to Leoline's. So vividly alike were
they, that he half doubted for a moment whether she and Leoline were not
really one; but no--Leoline never could have had the cold, cruel heart
to stand and witness such a horrible sight. Miranda's dark, piercing
glance fell as haughtily and disdainfully on him as it had on the rest;
and his heart sank as he thought that whatever sympathy she had felt for
him was entirely gone. It might have been a whim, a woman's caprice, a
spirit of contradiction, that had induced her to defend him at first.
Whatever it was, and it mattered not now, it had completely vanished. No
face of marble could have been colder, or stonier, or harder, than hers,
as she looked at him out of the depths of her great dark eyes; and with
that look, his last lingering hope of life vanished.
“And now for the next trial!” exclaimed the dwarf, briskly breaking in
upon his drab-colored meditations, and bustling past. “We will get it
over at once, and have done with it!”
“You will do no such thing!” said the imperious voice of the queenly
shrew. “We will have neither trials nor anything else until after
supper, which has already been delayed four full minutes. My lord
chamberlain, have the goodness to step in and see that all is in order.”
One of the gilded and decorated gentlemen whom sir Norman had mistaken
for ambassadors stepped off, in obedience, through another opening in
the tapestry--which seemed to be as extensively undermined with such
apertures as a cabman's coat with capes--and, while he was gone, the
queen stood drawn up to her full height, with her scornful face looking
down on the dwarf. That small man knit up his very plain face into a
bristle of the sourest kinks, and frowned sulky disapproval at an order
which he either would not, or dared not, countermand. Probably the
latter had most to do with it, as everybody looked hungry and mutinous,
and a great deal more eager for their supper than the life of Sir Norman
Kingsley.
“Your majesty, the royal banquet is waiting,” insinuated the lord high
chamberlain, returning, and bending over until his face and his shoe
buckles almost touched.
“And what is to be done with this prisoner, while we are eating it?”
growled the dwarf, looking drawn swords at his liege lady.
“He can remain here under care of the guards, can he not?” she retorted
sharply. “Or, if you are afraid they are not equal to taking care of
him, you had better stay and watch him yourself.”
With which answer, her majesty sailed majestically away, leaving the
gentleman addressed to follow or not, as he pleased. It pleased him to
do so, on the whole; and he went after her, growling anathemas between
his royal teeth, and evidently in the same state of mind that induces
gentlemen in private life to take sticks to their aggravating spouses,
under similar circumstances. However, it might not be just the thing,
perhaps, for kings and queens to take broom-sticks to settle their
little differences of opinion, like common Christians; and so the prince
peaceably followed her, and entered the salle a manger with the rest,
and Sir Norman and his keepers were left in the hall of state, monarchs
of all they surveyed. Notwithstanding he knew his hours were numbered,
the young knight could not avoid feeling curious, and the tapestry
having been drawn aside, he looked through the arch with a good deal of
interest.
The apartment was smaller than the one in which he stood--though still
very large, and instead of being all crimson and gold, was glancing and
glittering with blue and silver. These azure hangings were of satin,
instead of velvet, and looked quite light and cool, compared to the hot,
glowing place where he was. The ceiling was spangled over with silver
stars, with the royal arms quartered in the middle, and the chairs were
of white, polished wood, gleaming like ivory, and cushioned with blue
satin. The table was of immense length, as it had need to be, and
flashed and sparkled in the wax lights with heaps of gold and silver
plate, cut-glass, and precious porcelain. Golden and crimson wines
shone in the carved decanters; great silver baskets of fruit were strewn
about, with piles of cakes and confectionery--not to speak of more solid
substantials, wherein the heart of every true Englishman delighteth.
The queen sat in a great, raised chair at the head, and helped herself
without paying much attention to anybody, and the remainder were ranged
down its length, according to their rank--which, as they were all pretty
much dukes and duchesses, was about equal.
The spirits of the company--depressed for a moment by the unpleasant
little circumstance of seeing one of their number beheaded--seemed to
revive under the spirituous influence of sherry, sack, and burgundy; and
soon they were laughing, and chatting, and hobnobbing, as animatedly as
any dinner-party Sir Norman had ever seen. The musicians, too, appeared
to be in high feather, and the merriest music of the day assisted the
noble banqueters' digestion.
Under ordinary circumstances, it was rather a tantalizing scene to
stand aloof and contemplate; and so the guards very likely felt; but Sir
Norman's thoughts were of that room in black, the headsman's axe, and
Leoline. He felt he would never see her again--never see the sun rise
that was to shine on their bridal; and he wondered what she would think
of him, and if she was destined to fall into the hands of Lord Rochester
or Count L'Estrange. As a general thing, our young friend was not given
to melancholy moralizing, but in the present case, with the headsman's
axe poised like the sword of Damocles above him by a single hair, he may
be pardoned for reflecting that this world is all a fleeting show, and
that he had got himself into a scrape, to which the plague was a trifle.
And yet, with nervous impatience, he wished the dinner and his trial
were over, his fate sealed, and his life ended at once, since it was to
be ended soon. For the fulfillment of the first wish, he had not long
to wait; the feast, though gay and grand, was of the briefest, and they
could have scarcely been half an hour gone when they were all back.
Everybody seemed in better humor, too, after the refection, but the
queen and the dwarf--the former looked colder, and harder, and more
like a Labrador iceberg tricked out in purple velvet, than ever, and his
highness was grinning from ear to ear--which was the very worst possible
sign. Not even her majesty could make the slightest excuse for delaying
the trial now; and, indeed, that eccentric lady seemed to have no wish
to do so, had she the power, but seated herself in silent disdain of
them all, and dropping her long lashes over her dark eyes, seemed to
forget there was anybody in existence but herself.
His highness and his nobles took their stations of authority behind
the green table, and summoned the guards to lead the prisoner up before
them, which was done; while the rest of the company were fluttering down
into their seats, and evidently about to pay the greatest attention.
The cases in this midnight court seemed to be conducted on a decidedly
original plan, and with an easy rapidity that would have electrified any
other court, ancient or modern. Sir Norman took his stand, and eyed his
judges with a look half contemptuous, half defiant; and the proceedings
commenced by the dwarf a leaning forward and breaking into a roar of
laughter, right in his face.
“My little friend I warned you before not to be so facetious,” said
Sir Norman, regarding him quietly; “a rush of mirth to the brain will
certainly be the death of you one of these day.”
“No levity, young man!” interposed the lord chancellor, rebukingly;
“remember, you are addressing His Royal Highness Prince Caliban, Spouse,
and Consort of Her Most Gracious Majesty, Miranda!”
“Indeed! Then all I have to say, is, that her majesty has very bad taste
in the selection of a husband, unless, indeed, her wish was to marry
the ugliest man in the world, as she herself is the most beautiful of
women!”
Her majesty took not the slightest notice of this compliment, not so
much as a flatter of her drooping eye-lashes betrayed that she even
heard it, but his highness laughed until he was perfectly hoarse.
“Silence!” shouted the duke, shocked and indignant at this glaring
disrespect, “and answer truthfully the questions put to you. Your name,
you say, is Sir Norman Kingsley?”
“Yes. Has your grace any objection to it?”
His grace waved down the interruption with a dignified wave of the hand,
and went on with severe judicial dignity.
“You are the same who shot Lord Ashley between this and the city, some
hours ago?”
“I had the pleasure of shooting a highwayman there, and my only regret
is, I did not perform the same good office by his companion, in the
person of your noble self, before you turned and fled.”
A slight titter ran round the room, and the duke turned crimson.
“These remarks are impertinent, and not to the purpose. You are the
murderer of Lord Ashley, let that suffice. Probably you were on your way
hither when you did the deed?”
“He was,” said the dwarf, vindictively. “I met him at the Golden Crown
but a short time after.”
“Very well, that is another point settled, and either of them is strong
enough to seal his death warrant. You came here as a spy, to see and
hear and report--probably you were sent by King Charles?”
“Probably--just think as you please about it!” said Sir Norman, who knew
his case was as desperate as it could be, and was quite reckless what he
answered.
“You admit that you are a spy, then?”