The Midnight Queen

The Midnight Queen

by Mary Agnes Fleming

CONTENTS.

I. The Sorceress

II. The Dead Bride

III. The Court Page

IV. The Stranger

V. The Dwarf and the Ruin

VI. La Masque

VII. The Earl's Barge.

VIII. The Midnight Queen.

IX. Leoline.

X. The Page, the Fires, and the Fall

XI. The Execution

XII. The Doom

XIII. Escaped

XIV. In the Dungeon

XV. Leoline's Visitors

XVI. The Third Vision

XVII. The Hidden Face

XVIII. The Interview.

XIX. Hubert's Whisper

XX. At the Plague-pit

XXI. What was Behind the Mask

XXII. Day-dawn

XXIII. Finis

THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN,

CHAPTER I.

THE SORCERESS.

The plague raged in the city of London. The destroying angel had

gone forth, and kindled with its fiery breath the awful

pestilence, until all London became one mighty lazar-house.

Thousands were swept away daily; grass grew in the streets, and

the living were scarce able to bury the dead. Business of all

kinds was at an end, except that of the coffin-makers and drivers

of the pest-carte. Whole streets were shut up, and almost every

other house in the city bore the fatal red cross, and the ominous

inscription. "Lord have mercy on us." Few people, save the

watchmen, armed with halberts, keeping guard over the stricken

houses, appeared in the streets; and those who ventured there,

shrank from each other, and passed rapidly on with averted faces.

Many even fell dead on the sidewalk, and lay with their ghastly,

discolored faces, upturned to the mocking sunlight, until the

dead-cart came rattling along, and the drivers hoisted the body

with their pitchforks on the top of their dreadful load. Few

other vehicles besides those same dead-carts appeared in the city

now; and they plied their trade busily, day and night; and the

cry of the drivers echoed dismally through the deserted streets:

"Bring out your dead! bring out your dead!" All who could do so

had long ago fled from the devoted city; and London lay under the

burning heat of the June sunshine, stricken for its sins by the

hand of God. The pest-houses were full, so were the plague-pits,

where the dead were hurled in cartfuls; and no one knew who rose

up in health in the morning but that they might be lying stark

and dead in a few hours. The very churches were forsaken; their

pastors fled or lying in the plague-pits; and it was even

resolved to convert the great cathedral of St. Paul into a vast

plague-hospital. Cries and lamentations echoed from one end of

the city to the other, and Death and Charles reigned over London

together.

Yet in the midst of all this, many scenes of wild orgies and

debauchery still went on within its gates - as, in our own day,

when the cholera ravaged Paris, the inhabitants of that facetious

city made it a carnival, so now, in London, they were many who,

feeling they had but a few days to live at the most, resolved to

defy death, and indulge in the revelry while they yet existed.

"Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die!" was their

motto; and if in the midst of the frantic dance or debauched

revel one of them dropped dead, the others only shrieked with

laughter, hurled the livid body out to the street, and the

demoniac mirth grew twice as fast and furious as before. Robbers

and cut-purses paraded the streets at noonday, entered boldly

closed and deserted houses, and bore off with impunity, whatever

they pleased. Highwaymen infested Hounslow Heath, and all the

roads leading from the city, levying a toll on all who passed,

and plundering fearlessly the flying citizens. In fact,

far-famed London town, in the year of grace 1665, would have

given one a good idea of Pandemonium broke loose.

It was drawing to the close of an almost tropical June day, that

the crowd who had thronged the precincts of St. Paul's since

early morning, began to disperse. The sun, that had throbbed the

livelong day like a great heart of fire in a sea of brass, was

sinking from sight in clouds of crimson, purple and gold, yet

Paul's Walk was crowded. There were court-gallants in ruffles

and plumes; ballad-singers chanting the not over-delicate ditties

of the Earl of Rochester; usurers exchanging gold for bonds worth

three times what they gave for them; quack-doctors reading in

dolorous tones the bills of mortality of the preceding day, and

selling plague-waters and anti-pestilential abominations, whose

merit they loudly extolled; ladies too, richly dressed, and many

of them masked; and booksellers who always made St. Paul's a

favorite haunt, and even to this day patronize its precincts, and

flourish in the regions of Paternoster Row and Ave Maria Lane;

court pages in rich liveries, pert and flippant; serving-men out

of place, and pickpockets with a keen eye to business; all

clashed and jostled together, raising a din to which the Plain of

Shinar, with its confusion of tongues and Babylonish workmen,

were as nothing.

Moving serenely through this discordant sea of his fellow-

creatures came a young man booted and spurred, whose rich doublet

of cherry colored velvet, edged and spangled with gold, and

jaunty hat set slightly on one side of his head, with its long

black plume and diamond clasp, proclaimed him to be somebody. A

profusion of snowy shirt-frill rushed impetuously out of his

doublet; a black-velvet cloak, lined with amber-satin, fell

picturesquely from his shoulders; a sword with a jeweled hilt

clanked on the pavement as he walked. One hand was covered with

a gauntlet of canary-colored kid, perfumed to a degree that would

shame any belle of to-day, the other, which rested lightly on his

sword-hilt, flashed with a splendid opal, splendidly set. He was

a handsome fellow too, with fair waving hair (for he had the good

taste to discard the ugly wigs then in vogue), dark, bright,

handsome eyes, a thick blonde moustache, a tall and remarkably

graceful figure, and an expression of countenance wherein easy

good-nature and fiery impetuosity had a hard struggle for

mastery. That he was a courtier of rank, was apparent from his

rich attire and rather aristocratic bearing and a crowd of

hangers-on followed him as he went, loudly demanding spur-money.

A group of timbril-girls, singing shrilly the songs of the day,

called boldly to him as he passed; and one of them, more free and

easy than the rest, danced up to him striking her timbrel, and

shouting rather than singing the chorus of the then popular ditty

          "What care I for pest or plague?

            We can die but once, God wot,

           Kiss me darling - stay with me:

            Love me - love me, leave me not!"

The darling in question turned his bright blue eyes on that

dashing street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.

"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm

afraid I must. How long have you been here, may I ask?"

"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley

been, may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."

"Not exactly. Have you seen - ah! there he is. The very man I

want."

With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the

girl's extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's

Walk. A tall, dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms,

looking fixedly at the ground, and taking no notice of the busy

scene around him until Sir Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled

hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Good morning, Ormiston. I had an idea I would find you here,

and - but what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the

plague? or has your mysterious inamorata jilted you? or what

other annoyance has happened to make you look as woebegone as old

King Lear, sent adrift by his tender daughters to take care of

himself?"

The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and

rather handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy

discontent. He slightly raised his hat as he saw who his

questioner was.

"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your

coming, and was about to quit this confounded babel - this

tumultuous den of thieves. What has detained you?"

"I was on duty at Whitehall. Are we not in time to keep our

appointment?"

"Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours,

day and night. I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep

means."

"And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare

swear! I have no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking

when I came up. Nothing else could ever have made you look so

dismally woebegone as you did, when Providence sent me to your

relief."

"I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a

darkening brow.

Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous

stare for a moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to

purchase some cigarettes; lit one, and after smoking for a few

minutes, pleasantly remarked, as if the fact had just struck him:

"Ormiston, you're a fool!"

"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.

"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the

end of his cigar with the tip of his little finger - "the idea of

falling in love with a woman whose face you have never seen! I

can understand a man a going to any absurd extreme when he falls

in love in proper Christian fashion, with a proper Christian

face; but to go stark, staring mad, as you have done, my dear

fellow, about a black loo mask, why - I consider that a little

too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."

Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir

Norman Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out

through the great door of the cathedral, followed by his

melancholy friend. Pausing for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous

sunset with a look of languid admiration, Sir Norman passed his

arm through that of his friend, and they walked on at rather a

rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge. There were

few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down

before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they

passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped

down the centre. Smoking zealously they had walked on for a

season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to

inquire:

"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should

imagine, for bonfires."

"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not

intended for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked

Witch of Endor than common sense (for I believe she is nothing

better than a witch), you could not have helped knowing. The

Lord Mayor of London has been inspired suddenly, with a notion,

that if several thousand fires are kindled at once in the

streets, it will purify the air, and check the pestilence; so

when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles are

to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but

as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that

it is altogether too good to be true."

"Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever."

"No. But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also

foretold that it would last for many months yet; and since one

prophecy has come true, I see no reason why the other should

not."

"Except the simple one that there would be nobody left alive to

take it. All London will be lying in the plague-pits by that

time."

"A pleasant prospect; but a true one, I have no doubt. And, as I

have no ambition to be hurled headlong into one of those horrible

holes, I shall leave town altogether in a few days. And,

Ormiston, I would strongly recommend you to follow my example."

"Not I!" said Ormiston, in a tone of gloomy resolution. "While

La Masque stays, so will I."

"And perhaps die of the plague in a week."

"So be it! I don't fear the plague half as much as I do the

thought of losing her!"

Again Sir Norman stared.

"Oh, I see! It's a hopeless case! Faith, I begin to feel

curious to see this enchantress, who has managed so effectually

to turn your brain. When did you see her last?"

"Yesterday," said Ormiston, with a deep sigh. "And if she were

made of granite, she could not be harder to me than she is!"

"So she doesn't care about you, then?"

"Not she! She has a little Blenheim lapdog, that she loves a

thousand times more than she ever will me!"

"Then what an idiot you are, to keep haunting her like her

shadow! Why don't you be a man, and tear out from your heart

such a goddess?"

"Ah! that's easily said; but if you were in my place, you'd act

exactly as I do."

"I don't believe it. It's not in me to go mad about anything

with a masked face and a marble heart. If I loved any woman -

which, thank Fortune! at this present time I do not - and she had

the bad taste not to return it, I should take my hat, make her a

bow, and go directly and love somebody else made of flesh and

blood, instead of cast iron! You know the old song, Ormiston:

           'If she be not fair for me

             What care I how fair she be!'"

"Kingsley, you know nothing about it!" said Ormiston,

impatiently. "So stop talking nonsense. If you are cold-blooded,

I am not; and - I love her!"

Sir Norman slightly shrugged his shoulders, and flung his

smoked-out weed into a heap of fire-wood.

"Are we near her house?" he asked. "Yonder is the bridge."

"And yonder is the house," replied Ormiston, pointing to a large

ancient building - ancient even for those times - with three

stories, each projecting over the other. "See! while the houses

on either side are marked as pest-stricken, hers alone bears no

cross. So it is: those who cling to life are stricken with

death: and those who, like me, are desperate, even death shuns."

"Why, my dear Ormiston, you surely are not so far gone as that?

Upon my honor, I had no idea you were in such a bad way."

"I am nothing but a miserable wretch! and I wish to Heaven I was

in yonder dead-cart, with the rest of them - and she, too, if she

never intends to love me!"

Ormiston spoke with such fierce earnestness, that there was no

doubting his sincerity; and Sir Norman became profoundly shocked

• so much so, that he did not speak again until they were almost

at the door. Then he opened his lips to ask, in a subdued tone:

"She has predicted the future for you - what did she foretell?"

"Nothing good; no fear of there being anything in store for such

an unlucky dog as I am."

"Where did she learn this wonderful black art of hers?"

"In the East, I believe. She has been there and all over the

world; and now visits England for the first time."

"She has chosen a sprightly season for her visit. Is she not

afraid of the plague, I wonder?"

"No; she fears nothing," said Ormiston, as he knocked loudly at

the door. "I begin to believe she is made of adamant instead of

what other women are made of."

"Which is a rib, I believe," observed Sir Norman, thoughtfully.

"And that accounts, I dare say, for their being of such a crooked

and cantankerous nature. They're a wonderful race women are; and

for what Inscrutable reason it has pleased Providence to create

them - "

The opening of the door brought to a sudden end this little touch

of moralizing, and a wrinkled old porter thrust out a very

withered and unlovely face.

"La Masque at home?" inquired Ormiston, stepping in, without

ceremony.

The old man nodded, and pointed up stairs; and with a "This way,

Kingsley," Ormiston sprang lightly up, three at a time, followed

in the same style by Sir Norman.

"You seem pretty well acquainted with the latitude and longitude

of this place," observed that young gentleman, as they passed

into a room at the head of the stairs.

"I ought to be; I've been here often enough," said Ormiston.

"This is the common waiting-room for all who wish to consult La

Masque. That old bag of bones who let us in has gone to announce

us."

Sir Norman took a seat, and glanced curiously round the room. It

was a common-place apartment enough, with a floor of polished

black oak, slippery as ice, and shining like glass; a few old

Flemish paintings on the walls; a large, round table in the

centre of the floor, on which lay a pair of the old musical

instruments called "virginals." Two large, curtainless windows,

with minute diamond-shaped panes, set in leaden casements,

admitted the golden and crimson light.

"For the reception-room of a sorceress," remarked Sir Norman,

with an air of disappointed criticism, "there is nothing very

wonderful about all this. How is it she spaes fortunes any way?

As Lilly does by maps and charts; or as these old Eastern mufti

do it by magic mirrors and all each fooleries?"

"Neither," said Ormiston, "her style in more like that of the

Indian almechs, who show you your destiny in a well. She has a

sort of magic lake in her room, and - but you will see it all for

yourself presently."

"I have always heard," said Sir Norman, in the same meditative

way, "that truth lies at the bottom of a well, and I am glad some

one has turned up at last who is able to fish it out. Ah! Here

comes our ancient Mercury to show us to the presence of your

goddess."

The door opened, and the "old bag of bones," as Ormiston

irreverently styled his lady-love's ancient domestic, made a sign

for them to follow him. Leading the way down along a corridor,

he flung open a pair of shining folding-doors at the end, and

ushered them at once into the majestic presence of the sorceress

and her magic room. Both gentlemen doffed their plumed hats.

Ormiston stepped forward at once; but Sir Norman discreetly

paused in the doorway to contemplate the scene of action. As he

slowly did so, a look of deep displeasure settled on his

features, on finding it not half so awful as he had supposed.

In some ways it was very like the room they had left, being low,

large, and square, and having floors, walls and ceiling paneled

with glossy black oak. But it had no windows - a large bronze

lamp, suspended from the centre of the ceiling, shed a

flickering, ghostly light. There were no paintings - some grim

carvings of skulls, skeletons, and serpents, pleasantly wreathed

the room - neither were there seats nor tables - nothing but a

huge ebony caldron at the upper end of the apartment, over which

a grinning skeleton on wires, with a scythe in one hand of bone,

and an hour-glass in the other, kept watch and ward. Opposite

this cheerful-looking guardian, was a tall figure in black,

standing an motionless as if it, too, was carved in ebony. It

was a female figure, very tall and slight, but as beautifully

symmetrical as a Venus Celestis. Her dress was of black velvet,

that swept the polished floor, spangled all over with stars of

gold and rich rubies. A profusion of shining black hair fell in

waves and curls almost to her feet; but her face, from forehead

to chin, was completely hidden by a black velvet mask. In one

hand, exquisitely small and white, she held a gold casket,

blazing (like her dress) with rubies, and with the other she

toyed with a tame viper, that had twined itself round her wrist.

This was doubtless La Masque, and becoming conscious of that fact

Sir Norman made her a low and courtly bow. She returned it by a

slight bend of the head, and turning toward his companion, spoke

"You here, again, Mr. Ormiston! To what am I indebted for the

honor of two visits in two days?"

Her voice, Sir Norman thought, was the sweetest he had ever

heard, musical as a chime of silver bells, soft as the tones of

an aeolian harp through which the west wind plays.

"Madam, I am aware my visits are undesired," said Ormiston, with

a flushing cheek and, slightly tremulous voice; "but I have

merely come with my friend, Sir Norman Kingsley, who wishes to

know what the future has in store for him."

Thus invoked, Sir Norman Kingsley stepped forward with another

low bow to the masked lady.

"Yes, madam, I have long heard that those fair fingers can

withdraw the curtain of the future, and I have come to see what

Dame Destiny is going to do for me."

"Sir Norman Kingsley is welcome," said the sweet voice, "and

shall see what he desires. There is but one condition, that he

will keep perfectly silent; for if he speaks, the scene he

beholds will vanish. Come forward!"

Sir Norman compressed his lips as closely am if they were forever

hermetically sealed, and came forward accordingly. Leaning over

the edge of the ebony caldron, he found that it contained nothing

more dreadful than water, for he labored under a vague and

unpleasant idea that, like the witches' caldron in Macbeth, it

might be filled with serpents' blood and children's' brains. La

Masque opened her golden casket, and took from it a portion of

red powder, with which it was filled. Casting it into the

caldron, she murmured an invocation in Sanscrit, or Coptic, or

some other unknown tongue, and slowly there arose a dense cloud

of dark-red smoke, that nearly filled the room. Had Sir Norman

ever read the story of Aladdin, he would probably have thought of

it then; but the young courtier did not greatly affect literature

of any kind, and thought of nothing now but of seeing something

when the smoke cleared away. It was rather long in doing so, and

when it did, he saw nothing at first but his own handsome, half-

serious,

half-incredulous face; but gradually a picture, distinct and

clear, formed itself at the bottom, and Sir Norman gazed with

bewildered eyes. He saw a large room filled with a sparkling

crowd, many of them ladies, splendidly arrayed and flashing in

jewels, and foremost among them stood one whose beauty surpassed

anything he had ever before dreamed of. She wore the robes of a

queen, purple and ermine - diamonds blazed on the beautiful neck,

arms, and fingers, and a tiara of the same brilliants crowned her

regal head. In one hand she held a sceptre; what seemed to be a

throne was behind her, but something that surprised Sir Norton

most of all was, to find himself standing beside her, the

cynosure of all eyes. While he yet gazed in mingled astonishment

and incredulity, the scene faded away, and another took its

place. This time a dungeon-cell, damp and dismal; walls, and

floor, and ceiling covered with green and hideous slime. A small

lamp stood on the floor, and by its sickly, watery gleam, he saw

himself again standing, pale and dejected, near the wall. But he

was not alone; the same glittering vision in purple and diamonds

stood before him, and suddenly he drew his sword and plunged it

up to the hilt in her heart! The beautiful vision fell like a

stone at his feet, and the sword was drawn out reeking with her

life-blood. This was a little too much for the real Sir Norman,

and with an expression of indignant consternation, he sprang

upright. Instantly it all faded away and the reflection of his

own excited face looked up at him from the caldron.

"I told you not to speak," said La Masque, quietly, "but you must

look on still another scene."

Again she threw a portion of the contents of the casket into the

caldron, and "spake aloud the words of power." Another cloud of

smoke arose and filled the room, and when it cleared away, Sir

Norman beheld a third and less startling sight. The scene and

place he could not discover, but it seemed to him like night and

a storm. Two men were lying on the ground, and bound fast

together, it appeared to him. As he looked, it faded away, and

once more his own face seemed to mock him in the clear water.

"Do you know those two last figures!" asked the lady.

"I do," said Sir Norman, promptly; "it was Ormiston and myself."

"Right! and one of them was dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Sir Norman, with a perceptible start. "Which

one, madam?"

"If you cannot tell that, neither can I. If there is anything

further you wish to see, I am quite willing to show it to you."

"I'm obliged to you," said Sir Norman, stepping back; "but no

more at present, thank you. Do you mean to say, madam, that I'm

some day to murder a lady, especially one so beautiful as she I

just now saw?"

"I have said nothing - all you've seen will come to pass, and

whether your destiny be for good or evil, I have nothing to do

with it, except," said the sweet voice, earnestly, "that if La

Masque could strew Sir Norman Kingsley's pathway with roses, she

would most assuredly do so."

"Madam, you are too kind," said that young gentleman, laying his

hand on his heart, while Ormiston scowled darkly - "more

especially as I've the misfortune to be a perfect stranger to

you."

"Not so, Sir Norman. I have known you this many a day; and

before long we shall be better acquainted. Permit me to wish you

good evening!"

At this gentle hint, both gentlemen bowed themselves out, and

soon found themselves in the street, with very different

expressions of countenance. Sir Norman looking considerably

pleased and decidedly puzzled, and Mr. Ormiston looking savagely

and uncompromisingly jealous. The animated skeleton who had

admitted them closed the door after them; and the two friends

stood in the twilight on London Bridge.

CHAPTER II.

THE DEAD BRIDE

"Well," said Ormiston, drawing a long bath, "what do you think of

"that?"

"Think? Don't ask me yet." said Sir Norman, looking rather

bewildered. "I'm in such a state of mystification that I don't

rightly know whether I'm standing on my head or feet. For one

thing, I have come to the conclusion that your masked ladylove

must be enchantingly beautiful."

"Have I not told you that a thousand times, O thou of little

faith? But why have you come to such a conclusion?"

"Because no woman with such a figure, such a voice and such hands

could be otherwise."

"I knew you would own it some day. Do you wonder now that I love

her?"

"Oh! as to loving her," said Sir Norman, coolly, "that's quite

another thing. I could no more love her or her hands, voice, and

shape, than I could a figure in wood or wax; but I admire her

vastly, and think her extremely clever. I will never forget that

face in the caldron. It was the most exquisitely beautiful I

ever saw."

"In love with the shadow of a face! Why, you are a thousand-fold

more absurd than I."

"No," said Sir Norman, thoughtfully, "I don't know as I'm in love

with it; but if ever I see a living face like it, I certainly

shall be. How did La Masque do it, I wonder?"

"You had better ask her," said Ormiston, bitterly. "She seems to

have taken an unusual interest in you at first sight. She would

strew your path with roses, forsooth! Nothing earthly, I

believe, would make her say anything half so tender to me."

Sir Norman laughed, and stroked his moustache complacently.

"All a matter of taste, my dear fellow: and these women are noted

for their perfection in that line. I begin to admire La Masque

more and more, and I think you had better give up the chase, and

let me take your place. I don't believe you have the ghost of a

chance, Ormiston."

"I don't believe it myself," said Ormiston, with a desperate face

"but until the plague carries me off I cannot give her up; and

the sooner that happens, the better. Ha! what is this?"

It was a piercing shriek - no unusual sound; and as he spoke, the

door of an adjoining house was flung open, a woman rushed wildly

out, fled down an adjoining street, and disappeared.

Sir Norman and his companion looked at each other, and then at

the house.

"What's all this about?" demanded Ormiston.

"That's a question I can't take it upon myself to answer," said

Sir Norman; "and the only way to solve the mystery, is to go in

and see."

"It may be the plague," said Ormiston, hesitating. "Yet the

house is not marked. There is a watchman. I will ask him."

The man with the halberd in his hand was walking up and down

before an adjoining house, bearing the ominous red cross and

piteous inscription: "Lord have mercy on us!"

"I don't know, sir," was his answer to Ormiston. "If any one

there has the plague, they must have taken it lately; for I heard

this morning there was to be a wedding there to-night."

"I never heard of any one screaming in that fashion about a

wedding," said Ormiston, doubtfully. "Do you know who lives

there?"

"No, sir. I only came here, myself, yesterday, but two or three

times to-day I have seen a very beautiful young lady looking out

of the window."

Ormiston thanked the man, and went back to report to his friend.

"A beautiful young lady!" said Sir Norman, with energy. "Then I

mean to go directly up and see about it, and you can follow or

not, just as you please."

So saying, Sir Norman entered the open doorway, and found himself

in a long hall, flanked by a couple of doors on each side. These

he opened in rapid succession, finding nothing but silence and

solitude; and Ormiston - who, upon reflection, chose to follow -

ran up a wide and sweeping staircase at the end of the hall. Sir

Norman followed him, and they came to a hall similar to the one

below. A door to the right lay open; and both entered without

ceremony, and looked around.

The room was spacious, and richly furnished. Just enough light

stole through the oriel window at the further end, draped with

crimson satin embroidered with gold, to show it. The floor was

of veined wood of many colors, arranged in fanciful mosaics, and

strewn with Turkish rugs and Persian mats of gorgeous colors.

The walls were carved, the ceiling corniced, and all fretted with

gold network and gilded mouldings. On a couch covered with

crimson satin, like the window drapery, lay a cithren and some

loose sheets of music. Near it was a small marble table, covered

with books and drawings, with a decanter of wine and an exquisite

little goblet of Bohemian glass. The marble mantel was strewn

with ornaments of porcelain and alabaster, and a

beautifully-carved vase of Parian marble stood in the centre,

filled with brilliant flowers. A great mirror reflected back the

room, and beneath it stood a toilet-table, strewn with jewels,

laces, perfume-bottles, and an array of costly little feminine

trifles such as ladies were as fond of two centuries ago as they

are to-day. Evidently it was a lady's chamber; for in a recess

near the window stood a great quaint carved bedstead, with

curtains and snowy lace, looped back with golden arrows and

scarlet ribbons. Some one lay on it, too - at least, Ormiston

thought so; and he went cautiously forward, drew the curtain, and

looked down.

"Great Heaven! what a beautiful face!" was his cry, as he bent

still further down.

"What the plague is the matter?" asked Sir Norman, coming

forward.

"You have said it," said Ormiston, recoiling. "The plague is the

matter. There lies one dead of it!"

Curiosity proving stronger than fear, Sir Norman stepped forward

to look at the corpse. It was a young girl with a face as lovely

as a poet's vision. That face was like snow, now; and, in its

calm, cold majesty, looked as exquisitely perfect as some ancient

Grecian statue. The low, pearly brow, the sweet, beautiful lips,

the delicate oval outline of countenance, were perfect. The eyes

were closed, and the long dark lashes rested on the ivory cheeks.

A profusion of shining dark hair fell in elaborate curls over her

neck and shoulders. Her dress was that of a bride; a robe of

white satin brocaded with silver, fairly dazzling in its shining

radiance, and as brief in the article of sleeves and neck as that

of any modern belle. A circlet of pearls were clasped round her

snow-white throat, and bracelets of the same jewels encircled the

snowy taper arms. On her head she wore a bridal wreath and veil

• the former of jewels, the latter falling round her like a cloud

of mist. Everything was perfect, from the wreath and veil to the

tiny sandaled feet and lying there in her mute repose she looked

more like some exquisite piece of sculpture than anything that

had ever lived and moved in this groveling world of ours. But

from one shoulder the dress had been pulled down, and there lay a

great livid purple plague-spot!

"Come away!" said Ormiston, catching his companion by the arm.

"It is death to remain here!"

Sir Norman had been standing like one in a trance, from which

this address roused him, and he grasped Ormiston's shoulder

almost frantically.

"Look there, Ormiston! There lies the very face that sorceress

showed me, fifteen minutes ago, in her infernal caldron! I would

know it at the other end of the world!";

"Are you sure?" said Ormiston, glancing again with new curiosity

at the marble face. "I never saw anything half so beautiful in

all my life; but you see she is dead of the plague."

"Dead? she cannot be! Nothing so perfect could die!"

"Look there," said Ormiston pointing to the plague-spot. "There

is the fatal token! For Heaven's sake let us get out of this, or

we will share the same fate before morning!"

But Sir Norman did not move - could not move; he stood there

rooted to the spot by the spell of that lovely, lifeless face.

Usually the plague left its victims hideous, ghastly, discolored,

and covered with blotches; but in this case then was nothing to

mar the perfect beauty of the satin-smooth skin, but that one

dreadful mark.

There Sir Norman stood in his trance, as motionless as if some

genii out of the "Arabian Nights" had suddenly turned him into

stone (a trick they were much addicted to), and destined him to

remain there an ornamental fixture for ever. Ormiston looked at

him distractedly, uncertain whether to try moral suasion or to

take him by the collar and drag him headlong down the stairs,

when a providential but rather dismal circumstance came to his

relief. A cart came rattling along the street, a bell was loudly

rang, and a hoarse voice arose with it: "Bring out your dead!

Bring out your dead!"

Ormiston rushed down stair to intercept the dead-cart, already

almost full on it way to the plague-pit. The driver stopped at

his call, and instantly followed him up stairs, and into the

room. Glancing at the body with the utmost sang-froid, he

touched the dress, and indifferently remarked:

"A bride, I should say; and an uncommonly handsome one too.

We'll just take her along as she is, and strip these nice things

off the body when we get it to the plague-pit."

So saying, he wrapped her in the sheet, and directing Ormiston to

take hold of the two lower ends, took the upper corners himself,

with the air of a man quite used to that sort of thing. Ormiston

recoiled from touching it; and Sir Norman seeing what they were

about to do, and knowing there was no help for it, made up his

mind, like a sensible young man as he was, to conceal his

feelings, and caught hold of the sheet himself. In this fashion

the dead bride was carried down stairs, and laid upon a shutter

on the top of a pile of bodies in the dead-cart.

It was now almost dark, and as the cart started, the great clock

of St. Paul's struck eight. St. Michael's, St Alban's, and the

others took up the sound; and the two young men paused to listen.

For many weeks the sky had been clear, brilliant, and blue; but

on this night dark clouds were scudding in wild unrest across it,

and the air was oppressingly close and sultry.

Where are you going now?" said Ormiston. "Are you for

Whitehall's to night?"

"No!" said Sir Norman, rather dejectedly, turning to follow the

pest-cart. "I am for the plague-pit in Finsbury fields!"

"Nonsense, man!" exclaimed Ormiston, energetically, "what will

take you there? You surely are not mad enough to follow the body

of that dead girl?"

"I shall follow it! You can come or not, just as you please."

"Oh! if you are determined, I will go with you, of course; but it

is the craziest freak I ever heard of. After this, you need

never laugh at me."

"I never will," said Sir Norman, moodily; "for if you love a face

you have never seen, I love one I have only looked on when dead.

Does it not seem sacrilege to throw any one so like an angel into

that horrible plague-pit?"

"I never saw an angel," said Ormiston, as he and his friend

started to go after the dead-cart. "And I dare say there have

been scores as beautiful as that poor girl thrown into the

plague-pit before now. I wonder why the house has been deserted,

and if she was really a bride. The bridegroom could not have

loved her much, I fancy, or not even the pestilence could have

scared him away."

"But, Ormiston, what an extraordinary thing it is that it should

be precisely the same face that the fortune-teller showed me.

There she was alive, and here she is dead; so I've lost all faith

in La Masque for ever."

Ormiston looked doubtful.

"Are you quite sure it is the same, Kingsley?"

"Quite sure?" said Sir Norman, indignantly. "Of course I am! Do

you think I could be mistaken is such a case? I tell you I would

know that face at Kamschatka or, the North Pole; for I don't

believe there ever was such another created."

"So be it, then! Your object, of course, in following that cart

is, to take a last look at her?"

"Precisely so. Don't talk; I feel in no mood for it just at

present."

Ormiston smiled to himself, and did not talk, accordingly; and in

silence the two friends followed the gloomy dead-cart. A faint

young moon, pale and sickly, was struggling dimly through drifts

of dark clouds, and lighted the lonesome, dreary streets with a

wan, watery glimmer. For weeks, the weather had been brilliantly

fine - the days all sunshine, the nights all moonlight; but now

Ormiston, looking up at the troubled face of the sky, concluded

mentally that the Lord Mayor had selected an unpropitious night

for the grand illumination. Sir Norman, with his eyes on the

pest-cart, and the long white figure therein, took no heed of

anything in the heaven above or in the earth beneath, and strode

along in dismal silence till they reached, at last, their

journey's end.

As the cart stopped the two young men approached the edge of the

plague-pit, and looked in with a shudder. Truly it was a

horrible sight, that heaving, putrid sea of corruption; for the

bodies of the miserable victims were thrown in in cartfuls, and

only covered with a handful of earth and quicklime. Here and

there, through the cracking and sinking surface, could be seen

protruding a fair white arm, or a baby face, mingled with the

long, dark tresses of maidens, the golden curls of children, and

the white hairs of old age. The pestilential effluvia arising

from the dreadful mass was so overpowering that both shrank back,

faint and sick, after a moment's survey. It was indeed as Sir

Norman had, said, a horrible grave wherein to lie.

Meantime the driver, with an eye to business, and no time for

such nonsense as melancholy moralizing, had laid the body of the

young girl on the ground, and briskly turned his cart and dumped

the remainder of his load into the pit. Then, having flung a few

handfuls of clay over it, he unwound the sheet, and kneeling

beside the body, prepared to remove the jewels. The rays of the

moon and his dark lantern fell on the lovely, snow-white face

together, and Sir Norman groaned despairingly as he saw its

death-cold rigidity. The man had stripped the rings off the

fingers, the bracelets off the arms; but as he was about to

perform the same operation toward the necklace, he was stopped by

a startling interruption enough. In his haste, the clasp entered

the beautiful neck, inflicting a deep scratch, from which the

blood spouted; and at the same instant the dead girl opened her

eyes with a shrill cry. Uttering a yell of terror, as well he

might, the man sprang back and gazed at her with horror,

believing that his sacrilegious robbery had brought the dead to

life. Even the two young men-albeit, neither of them given to

nervousness nor cowardice - recoiled for an instant, and stared

aghast. Then, as the whole truth struck them, that the girl had

been in a deep swoon and not dead, both simultaneously darted

forward, and forgetting all fear of infection, knelt by her side.

A pair of great, lustrous black eyes were staring wildly around,

and fixed themselves first on one face and then on the other.

"Where am I?" she exclaimed, with a terrified look, as she strove

to raise herself on her elbow, and fell instantaneously back with

a cry of agony, as she felt for the first time the throbbing

anguish of the wound.

You are with friends, dear lady!" said Sir Norman, in a voice

quite tremulous between astonishment and delight. "Fear nothing,

for you shall be saved."

The great black eyes turned wildly upon him, while a fierce spasm

convulsed the beautiful face.

"O, my God, I remember! I have the plague!" And, with a

prolonged shriek of anguish, that thrilled even to the hardened

heart of the dead-cart driver, the girl fell back senseless

again. Sir Norman Kingsley sprang to his feet, and with more the

air of a frantic lunatic than a responsible young English knight,

caught the cold form in his arms, laid it in the dead-cart, and

was about springing into the driver's seat, when that individual

indignantly interposed.

"Come, now; none of that! If you were the king himself, you

shouldn't run away with my cart in that fashion; so you just get

out of my place as fast as you can!"

"My dear Kingsley, what are you about to do?" asked Ormiston,

catching his excited friend by the arm.

"Do!" exclaimed Sir Norman, in a high key. "Can't you see that

for yourself! And I'm going to have that girl cured of the

plague, if there is such a thing as a doctor to be had for love

or money in London."

"You had better have her taken to the pest house at once, then;

there are chirurgeons and nurses enough there."

"To the pest-house! Why man, I might as well have her thrown

into the plague-pit there, at once! Not I! I shall have her

taken to my own house, and there properly cared for, and this

good fellow will drive her there instantly."

Sir Norman backed this insinuation by putting a broad gold-piece

into the driver's hand, which instantly produced a magical effect

on his rather surly countenance.

"Certainly, sir," he began, springing into his seat with

alacrity. "Where shall I drive the young lady to?"

"Follow me," said Sir Norman. "Come along, Ormiston." And

seizing his friend by the arm, he hurried along with a velocity

rather uncomfortable, considering they both wore cloaks, and the

night was excessively sultry. The gloomy vehicle and its

fainting burden followed close behind.

"What do you mean to do with her?" asked Ormiston, as soon as he

found breath enough to speak.

"Haven't I told you?" said Sir Norman, impatiently. Take her

home, of course."

"And after that?"

"Go for a doctor."

"And after that?"

"Take care of her till she gets well."

"And after that?"

"Why - find out her history, and all about her."

"And after that?"

"After that! After that! How do I know what after that!"

exclaimed Sir Norman, rather fiercely. "Ormiston, what do you

mean?"

Ormiston laughed.

"And after that you'll marry her, I suppose!"

"Perhaps I may, if she will have me. And what if I do?"

"Oh, nothing! Only it struck me you may be saving another man's

wife."

"That's true!" said Sir Norman, in a subdued tone, "and if such

should unhappily be the case, nothing will remain but to live in

hopes that he may be carried off by the plague."

"Pray Heaven that we may not be carried off by it ourselves!"

said Ormiston, with a slight shudder. "I shall dream of nothing

but that horrible plague-pit for a week. If it were not for La

Masque, I would not stay another hour in this pest-stricken

city."

"Here we are," was Sir Norman's rather inapposite answer, as they

entered Piccadilly, and stopped before a large and handsome

house, whose gloomy portal was faintly illuminated by a large

lamp. "Here, my man just carry the lady in."

He unlocked the door as he spoke, and led the way across a long

hall to a sleeping chamber, elegantly fitter up. The man placed

the body on the bed and departed while Sir Norman, seizing a

handbell, rang a peal that brought a staid-looking housekeeper to

the scene directly. Seeing a lady, young and beautiful, in bride

robes, lying apparently dead on her young master's bed at that

hour of the night, the discreet matron, over whose virtuous head

fifty years and a snow-white cap had passed, started back with a

slight scream.

"Gracious me, Sir Norman! What on earth is the meaning of this?"

"My dear Mrs. Preston," began Sir Norman blandly, this young lady

is ill of the plague, and - "

But all further explanation was cut short by a horrified shriek

from the old lady, and a precipitate rush from the room. Down

stairs she flew, informing the other servants as she went,

between her screams, and when Sir Norman, in a violent rage, went

in search of her five minutes after, he found not only the

kitchen, but the whole house deserted.

"Well," said Ormiston, as Sir Norman strode back, looking fiery

hot and savagely angry.

"Well, they have all fled, every man and woman of them, the - "

Sir Norman ground out something not quite proper, behind his

moustache. "I shall have to go for the doctor, myself. Doctor

Forbes is a friend of mine, and lives near; and you," looking at

him rather doubtfully, "would you mind staying here, lest she

should recover consciousness before I return?"

"To tell you the truth," said Ormiston, with charming frankness,

"I should! The lady is extremely beautiful, I must own; but she

looks uncomfortably corpse-like at this present moment. I do not

wish to die of the plague, either, until I see La Masque once

more; and so if it is all the same to you, my dear friend, I will

have the greatest pleasure in stepping round with you to the

doctor's."

Sir Norman, though he did not much approve of this, could not

very well object, and the two sallied forth together. Walking a

short distance up Piccadilly, they struck off into a bye street,

and soon reached the house they were in search of. Sir Norman

knocked loudly at the door, which was opened by the doctor

himself. Briefly and rapidly Sir Norman informed him how and

where his services were required; and the doctor being always

provided with everything necessary for such cases, set out with

him immediately. Fifteen minutes after leaving his own house,

Sir Norman was back there again, and standing in his own chamber.

But a simultaneous exclamation of amazement and consternation

broke from him and Ormiston, as on entering the room they found

the bed empty, and the lady gone!

A dead pause followed, during which the three looked blankly at

the bed, and then at each other. The scene, no doubt, would have

been ludicrous enough to a third party; but neither of our trio

could saw anything whatever to laugh at. Ormiston was the first

to speak.

"What in Heaven's name has happened!" he wonderingly exclaimed.

"Some one has been here," said Sir Norman, turning very pale,

"and carried her off while we were gone."

"Let us search the house," said the doctor; "you should have

locked your door, Sir Norman; but it may not be too late yet."

Acting on the hint, Sir Norman seized the lamp burning on the

table, and started on the search. His two friends followed him,

and

   "The highest, the lowest, the loveliest spot,



    They searched for the lady, and found her not."

No, though there was not the slightest trace of robbers or

intruders, neither was there the slightest trace of the beautiful

plague-patient. Everything in the house was precisely as it

always was, but the silver shining vision was gone.

CHAPTER III.

THE COURT PAGE

The search was given over at last in despair, and the doctor took

his hat and disappeared. Sir Norman and Ormiston stopped in the

lower hall and looked at each other in mute amaze.

"What can it all mean?" asked Ormiston, appealing more to society

at large than to his bewildered companion.

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Sir Norman, distractedly;

"only I am pretty certain, if I don't find her, I shall do

something so desperate that the plague will be a trifle compared

to it!"

"It seems almost impossible that she can have been carried off -

doesn't it?"

"If she has!" exclaimed Sir Norman, "and I find out the abductor,

he won't have a whole bone in his body two minutes after!"

"And yet more impossible that she can have gone off herself,"

pursued Ormiston with the air of one entering upon an abstruse

subject, and taking no heed whatever of his companion's marginal

notes.

"Gone off herself! Is the man crazy?" inquired Sir Norman, with

a stare. "Fifteen minutes before we left her dead, or in a dead

swoon, which is all the same in Greek, and yet he talks of her

getting up and going off herself!"

"In fact, the only way to get at the bottom of the mystery," said

Ormiston, "is to go in search of her. Sleeping, I suppose, is

out of the question."

"Of course it is! I shall never sleep again till I find her!"

They passed out, and Sir Norman this time took the precaution of

turning the key, thereby fulfilling the adage of locking the

stable-door when the steed was stolen. The night had grown

darker and hotter; and as they walked along, the clock of St.

Paul's tolled nine.

"And now, where shall we go?" inquired Sir Norman, as they

rapidly hurried on.

"I should recommend visiting the house we found her first; if not

there, then we can try the pest-house."

Sir Norman shuddered.

"Heaven forefend she should be there! It is the most mysterious

thing ever I heard of!"

"What do you think now of La Masque's prediction - dare you doubt

still?"

"Ormiston, I don't know what to think. It is the same face I

saw, and yet - "

"Well - and yet - "

"I can't tell you - I am fairly bewildered. If we don't find the

lady st her own house, I have half a mind to apply to your

friend, La Masque, again."

"The wisest thing you could do, my dear fellow. If any one knows

your unfortunate beloved's whereabouts, it is La Masque, depend

upon it."

"That's settled then; and now, don't talk, for conversation at

this smart pace I don't admire."

Ormiston, like the amiable, obedient young man that he was,

instantly held his tongue, and they strode along at a breathless

pace. There was an unusual concourse of men abroad that night,

watching the gloomy face of the sky, and waiting the hour of

midnight to kindle the myriad of fires; and as the two tall, dark

figures went rapidly by, all supposed it to be a case of life or

death. In the eyes of one of the party, perhaps it was; and

neither halted till they came once more in sight of the house,

whence a short time previously they had carried the death-cold

bride. A row of lamps over the door-portals shed a yellow,

uncertain light around, while the lights of barges and wherries

were sown like stars along the river.

"There is the house," cried Ormiston, and both paused to take

breath; "and I am about at the last gasp. I wonder if your

pretty mistress would feel grateful if she knew what I have come

through to-night for her sweet sake?"

"There are no lights," mad Sir Norman, glancing ,anxiously up at

the darkened front of the house; "even the link before the door

is unlit. Surely she cannot be there."

"That remains to be seen, though I'm very doubtful about it

myself. Ah I who have we here?"

The door of the house in question opened, as he spoke, and a

figure - a man's figure, wearing a slouched hat and long, dark

cloak, came slowly out. He stopped before the house and looked

at it long and earnestly; and, by the twinkling light of the

lamps, the friends saw enough of him to know he was young and

distinguished looking.

"I should not wonder in the least it that were the bridegroom,"

whispered Ormiston, maliciously.

Sir Norman turned pale with jealousy, and laid his hand on his

sword, with a quick and natural impulse to make the bride a widow

forthwith. But he checked the desire for an instant as the

brigandish-looking gentleman, after a prolonged stare at the

premises, stepped up to the watchman, who had given them their

information an hour or two before, and who was still at his post.

The friends could not be seen, but they could hear, and they did

so very earnestly indeed.

"Can you tell me, my friend," began the cloaked unknown, "what

has become of the people residing in yonder house?"

The watchman, held his lamp up to the face of the interlocutor -

a handsome face by the way, what could be seen of it - and

indulged himself in a prolonged survey.

"Well!" said the gentleman, impatiently, "have you no tongue,

fellow? Where are they, I say?"

"Blessed if I know," said the watchman. "I, wasn't set here to

keep guard over them was I? It looks like it, though," said the

man in parenthesis; "for this makes twice to-night I've been

asked questions about it."

"Ah!" said the gentleman, with a slight start. "Who asked you

before, pray?"

"Two young gentlemen; lords, I expect, by their dress. Somebody

ran screaming out of the house, and they wanted to know what was

wrong."

"Well?" said the stranger, breathlessly, "and then?"

"And then, as I couldn't tell them they went in to see for

themselves, and shortly after came out with a body wrapped in a

sheet, which they put in a pest-cart going by, and had it buried,

I suppose, with the rest in the plague-pit."

The stranger fairly staggered back, and caught at s pillar near

for support. For nearly ten minutes, he stood perfectly

motionless, and then, without a word, started up and walked

rapidly away. The friends looked after him curiously till he was

out of eight.

"So she is not there," said Ormiston; "and our mysterious friend

in the cloak is as much at a loss as we are ourselves. Where

shall we go next - to La Masque or the peat-house?"

"To La Masque - I hate the idea of the pest-house!"

"She may be there, nevertheless; and under present circumstances,

it is the beat place for her."

"Don't talk of it!" said Sir Norman, impatiently. "I do not and

will not believe she is there! If the sorceress shows her to me

in the caldron again, I verily believe I shall jump in head

foremost."

"And I verily believe we will not find La Masque at home. She

wanders through the streets at all hours, but particularly

affects the night."

"We shall try, however. Come along!"

The house of the sorceress was but a short distance from that of

Sir Norman's plague-stricken lady-love's; and shod with a sort of

seven-league boots, they soon reached it. Like the other, it was

all dark and deserted.

"This is the home," said Ormiston, looking at it doubtfully, "but

where is La Masque?"

"Here!" said a silvery voice at his elbow; and turning round,

they saw a tall, slender figure, cloaked, hooded, and masked.

"Surely, you two do not want me again to-night?"

Both gentlemen doffed their plumed hats, and simultaneously

bowed.

"Fortune favors us," said Sir Norman. "Yes, madam, it is even

so; once again to-night we would tax your skill."

"Well, what do you wish to know?"

"Madam, we are in the street."

"Sir, I'm aware of that. Pray proceed,"

"Will you not have the goodness to permit us to enter?" said Sir

Norman, inclined to feel offended. "How can you tell us what we

wish to know, here?"

"That is my secret," said the sweet voice. "Probably Sir Norman

Kingsley wishes to know something of the fair lady I showed him

some time ago?"

"Madam, you've guessed it. It is for that purpose I have sought

you now."

"Then you have seen her already?"

"I have."

"And love her?"

"With all my heart!"

"A rapid flame," said the musical voice, in a tone that had just

a thought of sarcasm; "for one of whose very existence you did

not dream two hours ago."

"Madame La Masque," said Norman, flushed sad haughty, "love is

not a question of time."

"Sir Norman Kingsley," said the lady, somewhat sadly, "I am aware

of that. Tell me what you wish to know, and if it be in my

power, you shall know it."

"A thousand thanks! Tell me, then, is she whom I seek living or

dead?"

"She is alive."

"She has the plague?" said Sir Norman.

"I know it."

"Will she recover?"

"She will."

"Where is she now?"

Ls Masque hesitated and seemed uncertain whether or not to reply.

Sir Norman passionately broke in:

"Tell me, madam, for I must know!"

"Then you shall; but, remember, if you get into danger, you must

not blame me."

"Blame you! No, I think I would hardly do that. Where am I to

seek for her?"

"Two miles from London beyond Newgate," said the mask. "There

stand the ruins of what was long ago a hunting-lodge, now a

crumbling skeleton, roofless and windowless, and said, by rumor,

to be haunted. Perhaps you have seen or heard of it?"

"I have seen it a hundred times," broke in Sir Norman. "Surely,

you do not mean to say she is there?"

"Go there, and you will see. Go there to-night, and lose no time

• that is, supposing you can procure a license."

"I have one already. I have a pass from the Lord Mayor to come

and go from the city when I please."

"Good! Then you'll go to-night."

"I will go. I might as well do that as anything else, I suppose;

but it is quite impossible," said Sir Norman, firmly, not to say

obstinately, "that she can be there."

"Very well you'll see. You had better go on horseback, if you

desire to be back in time to witness the illumination."

"I don't particularly desire to see the illumination, as I know

of; but I will ride, nevertheless. What am I to do when I get

there?"

"You will enter the ruins, and go on till you discover a spiral

staircase leading to what was once the vaults. The flags of

these vaults are loose from age, and if you should desire to

remove any of them, you will probably not find it an

impossibility."

"Why should I desire to remove them?" asked Sir Norman, who felt

dubious, and disappointed, and inclined to be dogmatical.

"Why, you may see a glimmering of light - hear strange noises;

and if you remove the stones, may possibly see strange sights.

As I told you before, it is rumored to be haunted, which is true

enough, though not in the way they suspect; and so the fools and

the common herd stay away."

"And if I am discovered peeping like a rascally valet, what will

be the consequences?"

"Very unpleasant ones to you; but you need not be discovered if

you take care. Ah! Look there!"

She pointed to the river, and both her companions looked. A

barge gayly painted and gilded, with a light in prow and stern,

came gliding up among less pretentious craft, and stopped at the

foot of a flight of stairs leading to the bridge. It contained

four persons - the oarsman, two cavaliers sitting in the stern,

and a lad in the rich livery of a court-page in the act of

springing out. Nothing very wonderful in all this; and Sir

Norman and Ormiston looked at her for an explanation.

"Do you know those two gentlemen?" she asked.

"Certainly," replied Sir Norman, promptly; "one is the Duke of

York, the other the Earl of Rochester."

"And that page, to which of them does he belong?"

"The page!" said Sir Norman, with a stare, as he leaned forward

to look; "pray, madam, what has the page to do with it?"

"Look and see!"

The two peers has ascended the stairs, and were already on the

bridge. The page loitered behind, talking, as it seemed, to the

waterman.

"He wears the livery of the Earl of Rochester," said Ormiston,

speaking for the first time, "but I cannot see his face."

"He will follow presently, and be sure you see it then! Possibly

you may not find it entirely new to you."

She drew back into the shadow as she spoke; and the two nobles,

as they advanced, talking earnestly, beheld Sir Norman and

Ormiston. Both raised their hats with a look of recognition, and

the salute was courteously returned by the others.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said Lord Rochester; "a hot evening, is

it not? Have you come here to witness the illumination?"

"Hardly," said Sir Norman; "we have come for a very different

purpose, my lord."

"The fires will have one good effect," said Ormiston laughing;

"if they clear the air and drive away this stifling atmosphere."

"Pray God they drive away the plague!" said the Duke of York, as

he and his companion passed from view.

The page sprang up the stairs after them, humming as he came, one

of his master's love ditties - songs, saith tradition, savoring

anything but the odor of sanctity. With the warning of La Masque

fresh in their mind, both looked at him earnestly. His gay

livery was that of Lord Rochester, and became his graceful figure

well, as he marched along with a jaunty swagger, one hand on his

aide, and the other toying with a beautiful little spaniel, that

frisked in open violation of the Lord Mayor's orders, commanding

all dogs, great and small, to be put to death as propagators of

the pestilence. In passing, the lad turned his face toward them

for a moment - a bright, saucy, handsome face it was - and the

next instant he went round an angle and disappeared. Ormiston

suppressed an oath. Sir Norman stifled a cry of amazement - for

both recognized that beautiful colorless face, those perfect

features, and great, black, lustrous eyes. It was the face of

the lady they had saved from the plague-pit!"

"Am I sane or mad?" inquired Sir Norman, looking helplessly about

him for information. Surely that is she we are in search of."

"It certainly is!" said Ormiston. "Where are the wonders of this

night to end?"

"Satan and La Masque only know; for they both seem to have united

to drive me mad. Where is she?"

"Where, indeed?" said Ormiston; "where is last year's snow?" And

Sir Norman, looking round at the spot where she had stood a

moment before, found that she, too, had disappeared.

CHAPTER IV.

THE STRANGER.

The two friends looked at each other in impressive silence for a

moment, and spake never a word. Not that they were astonished -

they were long past the power of that emotion: and if a cloud

had dropped from the sky at their feet, they would probably have

looked at it passively, and vaguely wonder if the rest would

follow. Sir Norman, especially, had sank into a state of mind

that words are faint and feeble to describe. Ormiston, not being

quite so far gone, was the first to open his lips.

"Upon my honor, Sir Norman, this is the most astonishing thing

ever I heard of. That certainly was the face of our half-dead

bride! What, in the name ad all the gods, can it mean, I wonder?"

"I have given up wondering," said Sir Norman, in the same

helpless tone. "And if the earth was to open and swallow London

up, I should not be the least surprised. One thing is certain:

the lady we are seeking and that page are one and the same."

"And yet La Masque told you she was two miles from the city, in

the haunted ruin; and La Masque most assuredly knows."

"I have no doubt she is there. I shall not be the least

astonished if I find her in every street between this and

Newgate."

"Really, it is a most singular affair! First you see her in the

magic caldron; then we find her dead; then, when within an ace of

being buried, she comes to life; then we leave her lifeless as a

marble statue, shut up in your room, and fifteen minutes after,

she vanishes as mysteriously as a fairy in a nursery legend.

And, lastly, she turns up in the shape of a court-page, and

swaggers along London Bridge at this hour of the night, chanting

a love song. Faith! it would puzzle the sphinx herself to read

this riddle, I've a notion!"

"I, for one, shall never try to read it," said Sir Norman. "I am

about tired of this labyrinth of mysteries, and shall save time

and La Masque to unravel them at their leisure."

"Then you mean to give up the pursuit?"

"Not exactly. I love this mysterious beauty too well to do that;

and when next I find her, be it where it may, I shall take care

she does not slip so easily through my fingers."

"I cannot forget that page," said Ormiston, musingly. "It is

singular, since, he wears the Earl of Rochester's livery, that we

have never seen him before among his followers. Are you quite

sure, Sir Norman, that you have not?"

"Seen him? Don't be absurd, Ormiston! Do you think I could ever

forget such a face as that?"

"It would not be easy, I confess. One does not see such every

day. And yet - and yet - it is most extraordinary!"

"I shall ask Rochester about him the first thing to-morrow; and

unless he is an optical illusion - which I vow I half believe is

the case - I will come at the truth in spite of your demoniac

friend, La Masque!"

"Then you do not mean to look for him to-night?"

"Look for him? I might as well look for a needle in a haystack.

No! I have promised La Masque to visit the old ruins, and there

I shall go forthwith. Will you accompany me?"

"I think not. I have a word to say to La, Masque, and you and

she kept talking so busily, I had no chance to put it in."

Sir Norman laughed.

"Besides, I have no doubt it is a word you would not like to

utter in the presence of a third party, even though that third

party be your friend and Pythias, Kingsley. Do you mean to stay

here like a plague-sentinel until she returns?"

"Possibly; or if I get tired I may set out in search of her.

When do you return?"

"The Fates, that seem to make a foot-ball of my best affections,

and kick them as they please, only know. If nothing happens -

which, being interpreted, means, if I am still in the land of the

living - I shall surely be back by daybreak."

"And I shall be anxious about that time to hear the result of

your night's adventure; so where shall we meet?"

"Why not here? it is as good a place an any."

"With all my heart. Where do you propose getting a horse?"

"At the King's Arms - but a stones throw from here. Farewell."

"Good-night, and God speed you!" said Ormiston. And wrapping his

cloak close about him, he leaned against the doorway, and,

watching the dancing lights on the river, prepared to await the

return of La Masque.

With his head full of the adventures and misadventures of the

night, Sir Norman walked thoughtfully on until he reached the

King's Arms - a low inn on the bank of the river. To his dismay

he found the house shut up, and bearing the dismal mark and

inscription of the pestilence. While he stood contemplating it

in perplexity, a watchman, on guard before another plague-

stricken house, advanced and informed him that the whole family

had perished of the disease, and that the landlord himself, the

last survivor, had been carried off not twenty minutes before to

the plague-pit.

"But," added the man, seeing Sir Norman's look of annoyance, and

being informed what he wanted, "there are two or three horses

around there in the stable, and you may as well help yourself,

for if you don't take them, somebody else will."

This philosophic logic struck Sir Norman as being so extremely

reasonable, that without more ado he stepped round to the stables

and selected the best it contained. Before proceeding on his

journey, it occurred to him that, having been handling a plague-

patient, it would be a good thing to get his clothes fumigated;

so he stepped into an apothecary's store for that purpose, and

provided himself also with a bottle of aromatic vinegar. Thus

prepared for the worst, Sir Norman sprang on his horse like a

second Don Quixote striding his good steed Rozinante, and sallied

forth in quest of adventures. These, for a short time, were of

rather a dismal character; for, hearing the noise of a horse's

hoofs in the silent streets at that hour of the night, the people

opened their doors as he passed by, thinking it the pest-cart,

and brought forth many a miserable victim of the pestilence.

Averting his head from the revolting spectacles, Sir Norman held

the bottle of vinegar to his nostrils, and rode rapidly till he

reached Newgate. There he was stopped until his bill of health

was examined, and that small manuscript being found all right, he

was permitted to pass on in peace. Everywhere he went, the trail

of the serpent was visible over all. Death and Desolation went

hand in hand. Outside as well as inside the gates, great piles

of wood and coal were arranged, waiting only the midnight hour to

be fired. Here, however, no one seemed to be stirring; and no

sound broke the silence but the distant rumble of the death-cart,

and the ringing of the driver's bell. There were lights in some

of the houses, but many of them were dark and deserted, and

nearly every one bore the red cross of the plague.

It was a gloomy scene and hour, and Sir Norman's heart turned

sick within him as he noticed tho ruin and devastation the

pestilence had everywhere wrought. And he remembered, with a

shudder, the prediction of Lilly, the astrologer, that the paved

streets of London would be like green fields, and the living be

no longer able to bury the dead. Long before this, he had grown

hardened and accustomed to death from its very frequence; but

now, as he looked round him, he almost resolved to ride on and

return no more to London till the plague should have left it.

But then came the thought of his unknown lady-love, and with it

the reflection that he was on his way to find her; and, rousing

himself from his melancholy reverie, he rode on at a brisker

pace, heroically resolved to brave the plague or any other

emergency, for her sake. Full of this laudable and lover-like

resolution, he had got on about half a mile further, when he was

suddenly checked in his rapid career by an exciting, but in no

way surprising, little incident.

During the last few yards, Sir Norman had come within sight of

another horseman, riding on at rather a leisurely pace,

considering the place and the hour. Suddenly three other

horsemen came galloping down upon him, and the leader presenting

a pistol at his head, requested him in a stentorial voice for his

money or his life. By way of reply, the stranger instantly

produced a pistol of his own, and before the astonished

highwayman could comprehend the possibility of such an act,

discharged it full in his face. With a loud yell the robber

reeled and fell from his saddle, and in a twinkling both his

companions fired their pistols at the traveler, and bore, with a

simultaneous cry of rage, down upon him. Neither of the shots

had taken effect, but the two enraged highwaymen would have made

short work of their victim had not Sir Norman, like a true

knight, ridden to the rescue. Drawing his sword, with one

vigorous blow he placed another of the assassins hors de combat;

and, delighted with the idea of a fight to stir his stagnant

blood, was turning (like a second St. George at the Dragon), upon

the other, when that individual, thinking discretion the better

part of valor, instantaneously turned tail and fled. The whole

brisk little episode had not occupied five minutes, and Sir

Norman was scarcely aware the fight had began before it had

triumphantly ended.

"Short, sharp, and decisive!" was the stranger's cool criticism,

as he deliberately wiped his blood=stained sword, and placed it

in a velvet scabbard. "Our friends, there, got more than they

bargained for, I fancy. Though, but for you, Sir," he said,

politely raising him hat and bowing, "I should probably have been

ere this in heaven, or - the other place."

Sir Norman, deeply edified by the easy sang-froid of the speaker,

turned to take a second look at him. There was very little

light; for the night had grown darker as it wore on, and the few

stars that had glimmered faintly had hid their diminished heads

behind the piles of inky clouds. Still, there was a sort of

faint phosphorescent light whitening the gloom, and by it Sir

Norman's keen bright eyes discovered that he wore a long dark

cloak and slouched hat. He discovered something else, too - that

he had seen that hat and cloak, and the man inside of them on

London Bridge, not an hour before. It struck Sir Norman there

was a sort of fatality in their meeting; and his pulses quickened

a trifle, as he thought that he might be speaking to the husband

of the lady for whom he had so suddenly conceived such a rash and

inordinate attachment. That personage meantime having reloaded

his pistol, with a self-possession refreshing to witness,

replaced it in his doublet, gathered up the reins, and, glancing

slightly at his companion, spoke again

"I should thank you for saving my life, I suppose, but thanking

people is so little in my line, that I scarcely know how to set

about it. Perhaps, my dear sir, you will take the will for the

deed."

"An original, this," thought Sir Norman,"whoever he is." Then

aloud: "Pray don't trouble yourself about thanks, sir, I should

have dome precisely the same for the highwaymen, had you been

three to one over them."

"I don't doubt it in the least; nevertheless I feel grateful, for

you have saved my life all the same, and you have never seen me

before."

"There you are mistaken," said Sir Norman, quietly "I had the

pleasure of seeing you scarce an hour ago."

"Ah!" said the stranger, in an altered tone, "and where?"

"On London Bridge."

"I did not see you."

"Very likely, but I was there none the less."

"Do you know me?" said the stranger; and Sir Norman could see he

was gazing at him sharply from under the shadow of his slouched

hat.

"I have not that honor, but I hope to do so before we part."

"It was quite dark when you saw me on the bridge - how comes it,

then, that you recollect me so well?"

"I have always been blessed with an excellent memory," said Sir

Norman carelessly, "and I knew your dress, face, and voice

instantly."

"My voice! Then you heard me speak, probably to the watchman

guarding a plague-stricken house?"

"Exactly! and the subject being a very interesting one, I

listened to all you said."

"Indeed I and what possible interest could; the subject have for

you, may I ask?"

"A deeper one than you think!" said Sir Norman, with a slight

tremor in his voice as he thought of the lady, "the watchman told

you the lady you sought for had been carried away dead, and

thrown into the plague-pit!"

"Well," cried the stranger starting violently, "and was it not

true?"

"Only partly. She was carried away in the pest-cart sure enough,

but she was not thrown into the plague-pit!"

"And why?"

"Because, when on reaching that horrible spot, she was found to

be alive!"

"Good Heaven! And what then?"

"Then," exclaimed Sir Norman, in a tone almost as excited as his

own, "she was brought to the house of a friend, and left alone

for a few minutes, while that friend went in search of a doctor.

On returning they found her - where do you think?"

"Where?"

"Gone!" said Sir Norman emphatically, "spirited away by some

mysterious agency; for she was dying of the plague, and could not

possibly stir hand or foot herself."

"Dying of the plague, O Leoline!" said the stranger, in a voice

full of pity and horror, while for a moment he covered his face

with his hands.

"So her name is Leoline?" said Sir Norman to himself. "I have

found that out, and also that this gentleman, whatever he may be

to her, is as ignorant of her whereabouts as I am myself. He

seems in trouble, too. I wonder if he really happens to be her

husband?"

The stranger suddenly lifted his head and favored Sir Norman with

a long and searching look.

"How come you to know all this, Sir Norman Kingsley," he asked

abruptly.

"And how come you to know my name?" demanded Sir Norman, very

much amazed, notwithstanding his assertion that nothing would

astonish him more.

"That is of no consequence! Tell me how you've learned all

this?" repeated the stranger, in a tone of almost stern

authority.

Sir Norman started and stared. That voice I have had heard it a

thousand times! It had evidently been disguised before; but now,

in the excitement of the moment, the stranger was thrown off his

guard, and it became perfectly familiar. But where had he heard

it? For the life of him, Sir Norman could not tell, yet it was

as well known to him as his own. It had the tone, too, of one

far more used to command than entreaty; and Sir Norman, instead

of getting angry, us he felt he ought to have done, mechanically

answered:

"The watchman told you of the two young men who brought her out

and laid her in the dead-cart - I was one of the two."

"And who was the other?"

"A friend of mine - one Malcolm Ormiston."

"Ah! I know him! Pardon my abruptness, Sir Norman," said the

stranger, once more speaking in his assumed suave tone, "but I

feel deeply on this subject, and was excited at the moment. You

spoke of her being brought to the house of a friend - now, who

may that friend be, for I was not aware that she had any?"

"So I judged," said Sir Norman, rather bitterly, or she would not

have been left to die alone of the plague. She was brought to my

house, sir, and I am the friend who would have stood by her to

the last!"

Sir Norman sat up very straight and haughty on his horse; and had

it been daylight, he would have seen a slight derisive smile pass

over the lips of his companion.

"I have always heard that Sir Norman Kingsley was a chivalrous

knight," he said; "but I scarcely dreamed his gallantry would

have carried him go far as to brave death by the pestilence for

the sake of an unknown lady - however beautiful. I wonder you,

did not carry her to the pest-house."

"No doubt! Those who could desert her at such a time would

probably be capable of that or any other baseness!"

"My good friend," said the stranger, calmly, "your insinuation is

not over-courteous, but I can forgive it, more for the sake of

what you've done for her to-night than for myself."

Sir Norman's lip curled.

"I'm obliged to you! And now, sir, as you have seen fit to

question me in this free and easy manner, will you pardon me if I

take the liberty of returning the compliment, and ask you a few

in return?"

"Certainly; pray proceed, Sir Norman," said the stranger,

blandly; "you are at liberty to ask as many questions as you

please - so am I to answer them."

"I answered all yours unhesitatingly, and you owe it to me to do

the same," said Sir Norman, somewhat haughtily. "In the first

place, you have an advantage of me which I neither understand,

nor relish; so, to place us on equal terms, will you have the

goodness to tell me your name?"

"Most assuredly! My name," said the stranger, with glib

airiness, "is Count L'Estrange."

"A name unknown to me," said Sir Norman, with a piercing look,

"and equally unknown, I believe, at Whitehall. There is a Lord

L'Estrange in London; or you and he are certainly not one and the

same."

"My friend does not believe me," said the count, almost gayly -

"a circumstance I regret, but cannot help. Is there anything

else Sir Norman wishes to know?"

"If you do not answer my questions truthfully, there to little

use in my asking them," said Sir Norman, bluntly. "Do you mean

to say you are a foreigner?"

"Sir Norman Kingsley is at perfect liberty to answer that

question as he pleases," replied the stranger, with most

provoking indifference.

Sir Norman's eye flashed, and his hand fell on his sword; but,

reflecting that the count might find it inconvenient to answer

any more questions if he ran him through, he restrained himself

and went on.

"Sir, you are impertinent, but that is of no consequence, just

now. Who was that lady - what was her name?"

"Leoline."

Was she your wife?"

The stranger paused for a moment, as if reflecting whether she

was or not, and then said, meditatively

"No - I don't know as she was. On the whole, I am pretty sure

she was not."

Sir Norman felt as if a ton weight had been suddenly hoisted from

the region of his heart.

"Was she anybody else's wife?"

"I think not. I'm inclined to think that, except myself, she did

not know another man in London."

"Then why was she dressed as a bride?" inquired Sir Norman,

rather mystified.

"Was she? My poor Leoline!" said the stranger, sadly. "Because

-" he hesitated, "because - in short, Sir Norman," said the

stranger, decidedly, "I decline answering any more questions!"

"I shall find out, for all that," said Sir Norman, "and here I

shall bid you good-night, for this by-path leads to my

destination."

"Good-night," said the stranger, "and be careful, Sir

Norman-remember, the plague is abroad."

"And so are highwaymen!" called Sir Norman after him, a little

maliciously; but a careless laugh from the stranger was the only

reply as he galloped away.

CHAPTER V.

THE DWARF AND THE RUIN.

The by-path down which Sir Norman rode, led to an inn, "The

Golden Crown," about a quarter of a mile from the ruin. Not

wishing to take his horse, lest it should lead to discovery, he

proposed leaving it here till his return; and, with this

intention, and the strong desire for a glass of wine - for the

heat and his ride made him extremely thirsty - he dismounted at

the door, and consigning the animal to the care of a hostler, he

entered the bar-room. It was not the most inviting place in the

world, this same bar-room - being illy-lighted, dim with

tobacco-smoke, and pervaded by a strong spirituous essence of

stronger drinks than malt or cold water. A number of men were

loitering about, smoking, drinking, and discussing the

all-absorbing topic of the plague, and the fires that might be

kindled. There was a moment's pause, as Sir Norman entered, took

a seat, and called for a glass of sack, and then the conversation

went on as before. The landlord hastened to supply his wants by

placing a glass and a bottle of wine before him, and Sir Norman

fell to helping himself, and to ruminating deeply on the events

of the night. Rather melancholy these ruminations were, though

to do the young gentleman justice, sentimental melancholy was not

at all in his line; but then you will please to recollect he was

in love, and when people come to that state, they are no longer

to be held responsible either for their thoughts or actions. It

is true his attack had been a rapid one, but it was no less

severe for that; and if any evil-minded critic is disposed to

sneer at the suddenness of his disorder, I have only to say, that

I know from observation, not to speak of experience, that love at

first sight is a lamentable fact, and no myth.

Love is not a plant that requires time to flourish, but is quite

capable of springing up like the gourd of Jonah full grown in a

moment. Our young friend, Sir Norman, had not been aware of the

existence of the object of his affections for a much longer space

than two hours and a half, yet he had already got to such a

pitch, that if he did not speedily find her, he felt he would do

something so desperate as to shake society to its utmost

foundations. The very mystery of the affair spurred him on, and

the romantic way in which she had been found, saved, and

disappeared, threw such a halo of interest round her, that he was

inclined to think sometimes she was nothing but a shining vision

from another world. Those dark, splendid eyes; that lovely

marblelike face; those wavy ebon tresses; that exquisitely

exquisite figure; yes, he felt they were all a great deal too

perfect for this imperfect and wicked world. Six Norman was in a

very bad way, beyond doubt, but no worse than millions of young

men before and after him; and he heaved a great many profound

sighs, and drank a great many glasses of sack, and came to the

sorrowful conclusion that Dame Fortune was a malicious jade,

inclined to poke fun at his best affections, and make a

shuttlecock of his heart for the rest of his life. He thought,

too, of Count L'Estrange; and the longer he thought, the more he

became convinced that he knew him well, and had met him often.

But where? He racked his brain until, between love, Leoline, and

the count, he got that delicate organ into such a maze of

bewilderment and distraction, that he felt he would be a case of

congestion, shortly, if he did not give it up. That the count's

voice was not the only thing about him assumed, he was positive;

and he mentally called over the muster-roll of his past friends,

who spent half their time at Whitehall, and the other half going

through the streets, making love to the honest citizens' pretty

wives and daughters; but none of them answered to Count

L'Estrange. He could scarcely be a foreigner - he spoke English

with too perfect an accent to be that; and then he knew him, Sir

Norman, as if he had been his brother. In short, there was no

use driving himself insane trying to read so unreadable a riddle;

and inwardly consigning the mysterious count to Old Nick, he

swallowed another glass of sack, and quit thinking about him.

So absorbed had Sir Norman been in his own mournful musings, that

he paid no attention whatever to those around him, and had nearly

forgotten their very presence, when one of them, with aloud cry,

sprang to his feet, and then fell writhing to the floor. The

others, in dismay, gathered abut him, but the ne=t instant fell

back with a cry of, "He has the plague!" At that dreaded

announcement, half of them scampered off incontinently; and the

other half with the landlord at their head, lifted the sufferer

whose groans and cries were heart-rendering, and carried him out

of the house. Sir Norman, rather dismayed himself, had risen to

his feet, fully aroused from his reverie, and found himself and

another individual sole possessors of the premises. His

companion he could not very well make out; for he was sitting, or

rather crouching, in a remote and shadowy corner, where nothing

was clearly visible but the glare of a pair of fiery eyes. There

was a great redundancy of hair, too, about his head and face,

indeed considerable more about the latter than there seemed any

real necessity for, and even with the imperfect glimpse he caught

of him the young man set him down in his own mind as about as

hard-looking a customer as he had ever seen. The fiery eyes were

glaring upon him like those of a tiger, through a jungle of bushy

hair, but their owner spoke never a word, though the other stared

back with compound interest. There they sat, beaming upon each

other - one fiercely, the other curiously, until the

re-appearance of the landlord with a very lugubrious and

woebegone countenance. It struck Sir Norman that it was about

time to start for the ruin; and, with an eye to business, he

turned to cross-examine mine host a trifle.

"What have they done with that man?" he asked by way of preface.

"Sent him to the pest-house," replied the landlord, resting his

elbows on the counter and his chin in his hands, and staring

dismally at the opposite wall. "Ah! Lord 'a' mercy on us I

these be dreadful times!"

"Dreadful enough!" said Sir Norman, sighing deeply, as he thought

of his beautiful Leoline, a victim of the merciless pestilence.

"Have there been many deaths here of the distemper?"

"Twenty-five to-day!" groaned the man. "Lord! what will become of

us?"

"You seem rather disheartened," said Sir Norman, pouring out a

glass of wine and handing it to him. Just drink this, and don't

borrow trouble. They say sack is a sure specific against the

plague."

Mine host drained the bumper, and wiped his mouth, with another

hollow groan.

"If I thought that, sir, I'd not be sober from one week's end to

t'other; but I know well enough I will be in a plague-pit in less

than a week. O Lord! have mercy on us!"

"Amen!" said Sir Norman, impatiently. "If fear has not taken

away your wits, my good sir, will you tell me what old ruin that

is I saw a little above here as I rode up?"

The man started from his trance of terror, and glanced, first at

the fiery eyes in the corner, and then at Sir Norman, in evident

trepidation of the question.

"That ruin, sir? You must be a stranger in this place, surely,

or you would not need to ask that question."

"Well, suppose I am a stranger? What then?"

"Nothing, sir; only I thought everybody knew everything about

that ruin."

"But I do not, you see? So fill your glass again, and while you

are drinking it, just tell me what that everything comprises."

Again the landlord glanced fearfully st the fiery eyes in the

corner, and again hesitated.

"Well!" exclaimed Sir Norman, at once surprised and impatient at

his taciturnity, "Can't you speak man? I want you to tell me all

about it."

"There is nothing to tell, sir," replied the host, goaded to

desperation. "It is an old, deserted ruin that's been here ever

since I remember; and that's all I know about it."

While, he spoke, the crouching shape in the corner reared itself

upright, and keeping his fiery eyes still glaring upon Sir

Norman, advanced into the light. Our young knight was in the act

of raising his glass to his lips; but as the apparition

approached, he laid it down again, untasted, and stared at it in

the wildest surprise and intensest curiosity. Truly, it was a

singular-looking creature, not to say a rather startling one. A

dwarf of some. four feet high, and at least five feet broad

across the shoulders, with immense arms and head - a giant in

everything but height. His immense skull was set on such a

trifle of a neck as to be scarcely worth mentioning, and was

garnished by a violent mat of coarse, black hair, which also

overran the territory of his cheeks and chin, leaving no neutral

ground but his two fiery eyes and a broken nose all twisted awry.

On a pair of short, stout legs he wore immense jack-boots, his

Herculean shoulders and chest were adorned with a leathern

doublet, and in the belt round his waist were conspicuously stuck

a pair of pistols and a dagger. Altogether, a more ugly or

sinister gentleman of his inches it would have been hard to find

in all broad England. Stopping deliberately before Sir Norman,

he placed a hand on each hip, and in a deep, guttural voice,

addressed him:

"So, sir knight - for such I perceive you are - you are anxious

to know something of that old ruin yonder?"

"Well," said Sir Norman, so far recovering from his surprise as

to be able to speak, "suppose I am? Have you anything to say

against it, my little friend?"

"Oh, not in the least!" said the dwarf, with a hoarse chuckle.

Only, instead of wasting your breath asking this good man, who

professes such utter ignorance, you had better apply to me for

information."

Again Sir Norman surveyed the little Hercules from head to foot

for a moment, in silence, as one, nowadays, would an intelligent

gorilla.

"You think so - do you? And what may you happen to know about

it, my pretty little friend?"

"O Lord!" exclaimed the landlord, to himself, with a frightened

face, while the dwarf "grinned horribly a ghastly smile" from ear

to ear.

"So much, my good sir, that I would strongly advise you not to go

near it, unless you wish to catch something worse than the

plague. There have been others - our worthy host, there, whose

teeth, you may perceive, are chattering in his head, can tell you

about those that have tried the trick, and - "

"Well?" said Sir Norman, curiously.

"And have never returned to tell what they found!" concluded the

little monster, with a diabolical leer. And as the landlord

fell, gray and gasping, back in his seat, he broke out into a

loud and hyena-like laugh.

"My dear little friend," said Sir Norman, staring at him in

displeased wonder, "don't laugh, if you can help it. You are

unprepossessing enough at best, but when you laugh, you look like

the very (a downward gesture) himself!"

Unheeding this advice, the dwarf broke again into an unearthly

cachinnation, that frightened the landlord nearly into fits, and

seriously discomposed the nervous system even of Sir Norman

himself. Then, grinning like a baboon, and still transfixing our

puissant young knight with the same tiger-like and unpleasant

glare, he nodded a farewell; and in this fashion, grinning, and

nodding, and backing, he got to the door, and concluding the

interesting performance with a third hoarse and hideous laugh,

disappeared in the darkness.

For fully ten minutes after he was gone, the young man kept his

eyes blankly fixed on the door, with a vague impression that he

was suffering from an attack of nightmare; for it seemed

impossible that anything so preposterously ugly as that dwarf

could exist out of one. A deep groan from the landlord, however,

convinced him that it was no disagreeable midnight vision, but a

brawny reality; and turning to that individual, he found him

gasping, in the last degree of terror, behind the counter.

"Now, who in the name of all the demons oat of Hades may that

ugly abortion be?" inquired Sir Norman.

"O Lord I be merciful! sir, it's Caliban; and the only wonder is,

he did not leave you a bleeding corpse at his feet!"

"I should like to see him try it. Perhaps he would have found

that is a game two can play at! Where does he come from and who

is he!"

The landlord leaned over the counter, and placed a very pale and

startled face close to Sir Norman's.

"That's just what I wanted to tell you, sir, but I was afraid to

speak before him. I think he lives up in that same old ruin you

were inquiring about - at least, he is often seen hanging around

there; but people are too much afraid of him to ask him any

questions. Ah, sir, it's a strange place, that ruin, and there

be strange stories afloat about it," said the man, with a

portentious shake of the head.

"What are they?" inquired Sir Norman. "I should particularly

like to know."

"Well, sir, for one thing, some folks say it is haunted, on

account of the queer lights and noises abort it, sometimes; but,

again, there be other folks, sir, that say the ghosts are alive,

and that he" - nodding toward the door - "is a sort of ringleader

among them."

"And who are they that out up such cantrips in the old place,

pray?"

"Lord only knows, sir. I'm sure I don't. I never go near it

myself; but there are others who have, and some of them tell of

the most beautiful lady, all in white, with long, black hair, who

walks on the battlements moonlight nights."

"A beautiful lady, all in white, with long, black hair! Why,

that description applies to Leoline exactly."

And Sir Norman gave a violent start, and arose to proceed to the

place directly.

"Don't you go near it, sir!" said the host, warningly. "Others

have gone, as he told you, and never come back; for these be

dreadful times, and men do as they please. Between the plague

and their wickedness, the Lord only known what will become of

us!"

"If I should return here for my horse in an hour or two, I

suppose I can get him?" sad Sir Norman, as he turned toward the

door.

"It's likely you can, sir, if I'm not dead by that time," said

the landlord, as he sank down again, groaning dismally, with his

chin between his hands.

The night was now profoundly dark; but Sir Norman knew the road

and ruin well, and, drawing his sword, walked resolutely on. The

distance between it and the ruin was trifling, and in less than

ten minutes it loomed up before him, a mass of deeper black in

the blackness. No white vision floated on the broken battlements

this night, as Sir Norman looked wistfully up at them; but

neither was there any ungainly dwarf, with two-edged sword,

guarding the ruined entrance; and Sir Norman passed unmolested

in. He sought the spiral staircase which La Masque had spoken

of, and, passing carefully from one ancient chamber to another,

stumbling over piles of rubbish and stones as he went, he reached

it at last. Descending gingerly its tortuous steepness, he found

himself in the mouldering vaults, and, as he trod them, his ear

was greeted by the sound of faint and far-off music. Proceeding

farther, he heard distinctly, mingled with it, a murmur of voices

and laughter, and, through the chinks in the broken flags, he

perceived a few faint rays of light. Remembering the directions

of La Masque, and feeling intensely curious, he cautiously knelt

down, and examined the loose flagstones until he found one he

could raise; he pushed it partly aside, and, lying flat on the

stones, with his face to the aperture, Sir Norman beheld a most

wonderful sight.

CHAPTER VI.

"Love is like a dizziness," says the old song. Love is something

else - it is the most selfish feeling in existence. Of course, I

don't allude to the fraternal or the friendly, or any other such

nonsensical old-fashioned trash that artless people still believe

in, but to the real genuine article that Adam felt for Eve when

he first saw her, and which all who read this - above the

innocent and unsusceptible age of twelve - have experienced. And

the fancy and the reality are so much alike, that they amount to

about the same thing. The former perhaps, may be a little

short-lived; but it is just as disagreeable a sensation while it

lasts se its more enduring sister. Love is said to be blind, and

it also has a very injurious effect on the eyesight of its

victims - an effect that neither spectacles nor oculists can aid

in the slightest degree, making them see whether sleeping or

waking, but one object, and that alone.

I don't know whether these were Mr. Malcolm or Ormiston's

thoughts, as he leaned against the door-way, and folded his arms

across his chest to await the shining of his day-star. In fact,

I am pretty sure they were not: young gentlemen, as a general

thing, not being any more given to profound moralizing in the

reign of His Most Gracious Majesty, Charles II., than they are at

the present day; but I do know, that no sooner was his bosom

friend and crony, Sir Norman Kingsley, out of eight, than he

forgot him as teetotally an if he had never known that

distinguished individual. His many and deep afflictions, his

love, his anguish, and his provocations; his beautiful,

tantalizing, and mysterious lady-love; his errand and its

probable consequences, all were forgotten; and Ormiston thought

of nothing or nobody in the world but himself and La Masque. La

Masque! La Masque! that was the theme on which his thoughts

rang, with wild variations of alternate hope and fear, like every

other lover since the world began, and love was first an

institution. "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall

be," truly, truly it is an odd and wonderful thing. And you and

I may thank our stars, dear readers, that we are a great deal too

sensible to wear our hearts in our sleeves for such s

bloodthirsty dew to peck at. Ormiston's flame was longer-lived

than Sir Norman's; he had been in love a whole month, and had it

badly, and was now at the very crisis of a malady. Why did she

conceal her face - would she ever disclose it - would she listen

to him - would she ever love him? feverishly asked Passion; and

Common Sense (or what little of that useful commodity he had

left) answered - probably because she was eccentric - possibly

she would disclose it for the same reason; that he had only to

try and make her listen; and as to her loving him, why, Common

Sense owned he had her there.

I can't say whether the adage! "Faint heart never won fair lady!"

was extant in his time; but the spirit of it certainly was, and

Ormiston determined to prove it. He wanted to see La Masque, and

try his fate once again; and see her he would, if he had to stay

there as a sort of ornamental prop to the house for a week. He

knew he might as well look for a needle in a haystack as his

whimsical beloved through the streets of London - dismal and dark

now as the streets of Luxor and Tadmor in Egypt; and he wisely

resolved to spare himself and his Spanish leathers boots the

trial of a one-handed game of "hide-and-go-to-seek." Wisdom,

like Virtue, is its own reward; and scarcely had he come to this

laudable conclusion, when, by the feeble glimmer of the

house-lamps, he saw a figure that made his heart bound, flitting

through the night-gloom toward him. He would have known that

figure on the sands of Sahara, in an Indian jungle, or an

American forest - a tall, slight, supple figure, bending and

springing like a bow of steel, queenly and regal as that of a

young empress. It was draped in a long cloak reaching to the

ground, in color as black as the night, and clasped by a jewel

whose glittering flash, he saw even there; a velvet hood of the

same color covered the stately head; and the mask - the tiresome,

inevitable mask covered the beautiful - he was positive it was

beautiful - face. He had seen her a score of times in that very

dress, flitting like a dark, graceful ghost through the city

streets, and the sight sent his heart plunging against his side

like an inward sledge-hammer. Would one pulse in her heart stir

ever so faintly at sight of him? Just as he asked himself the

question, and was stepping forward to moot her, feeling very like

the country swain in love - "hot and dry like, with a pain in his

side like" - he suddenly stopped. Another figure came forth from

the shadow of an opposite house, and softly pronounced her name.

It was a short figure - a woman's figure. He could not see the

face, and that was an immense relief to him, and prevented his

having jealousy added to his other pains sad tribulations. La

Masque paused as well as he, and her soft voice softly asked:

"Who calls?"

"It is I, madame - Prudence."

"Ah! I am glad to meet you. I have been searching the city

through for you. Where have you been?"

"Madame, I was so frightened that I don't know where I fled to,

and I could scarcely make up my mind to come back at all. I did

feel dreadfully sorry for her, poor thing! but you know, Madame

Masque, I could do nothing for her, and I should not have come

back, only I was afraid of you."

"You did wrong, Prudence," said La Masque, sternly, or at least

as sternly as so sweet a voice could speak; "you did very wrong

to leave her in such a way. You should have come to me at once,

and told me all."

"But, madame, I was so frightened!"

"Bah! You are nothing but a coward. Come into this doorway, and

tell me all about it."

Ormiston drew back as the twain approached, and entered the deep

portals of La Masque's own doorway. He could see them both by

the aforesaid faint lamplight, and he noticed that La Masque's

companion was a wrinkled old woman, that would not trouble the

peace of mind of the most jealous lover in Christendom. Perhaps

it was not just the thing to hover aloof and listen; but he could

not for the life of him help it; and stand and listen he

accordingly did. Who knew but this nocturnal conversation might

throw some light on the dark mystery he was anxious to see

through, and, could his ears have run into needle-points to hear

the better, he would have had the operation then and there

performed. There was a moment's silence after the two entered

the portal, during which La Masque stood, tall, dark, and

commanding, motionless as a marble column; and the little

withered old specimen of humanity beside her stood gazing up at

her with something between fear and fascination.

"Do you know what has become of your charge, Prudence?" asked the

low, vibrating voice of La Masque, at last.

"How could I, madame? You know I fled from the house, and I

dared not go back. Perhaps she is there still."

"Perhaps she is not? Do you suppose that sharp shriek of yours

was unheard? No; she was found; and what do you suppose has

become of her?"

The old woman looked up, and seemed to read in the dark, stern

figure, and the deep solemn voice, the fatal truth. She wrong

her hands with a sort of cry.

"Oh! I know, I know; they have put her in the dead-cart, and

buried her in the plague-pit. O my dear, sweet young mistress."

"If you had stayed by your dear, sweet young mistress, instead of

running screaming away as you did, it might not have happened,"

said La Masque, in a tone between derision and contempt.

"Madame," sobbed the old woman, who was crying, "she was dying of

the plague, and how could I help it? They would have buried her

in spite of me."

"She was not dead; there was your mistake. She was as much alive

as you or I at this moment."

"Madame, I left her dead!" said the old woman positively.

"Prudence, you did no such thing; you left her fainting, and in

that state she was found and carried to the plague-pit."

The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense

horror, and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.

"O my God! And they buried her alive - buried her alive in that

dreadful plague-pit!"

La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her

voice, when she spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.

"Not exactly. She was not buried at all, as I happen to know.

But when did you discover that she had the plague, and how could

she possibly have caught it?"

"That I do not know, madam. She seemed well enough all day,

though not in such high spirits as a bride should be. Toward

evening die complained of a headache and a feeling of faintness;

but I thought nothing of it, and helped her to dress for the

bridal. Before it was over, the headache and faintness grew

worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspected nothing. The

last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, that

notwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed,

looking for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the

most dreadful burning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the

horrid truth struck me - I tore down her dress, and there, sure

enough, was the awful mark of the distemper. `You have the

plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down stairs and out of the

house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shall never forget

it - it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor child;

and the count does not know a word of it!"

La Masque laughed - a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count

does not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when

he finds it out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as

he was you know!"

Prudence looked up a little puzzled.

"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great

deal fonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said

Prudence, lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper,

"she never seemed fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been

married, I think, if she could have helped it."

"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made

her, did they?"

Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.

"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know -

you know you told me - "

"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.

"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation;

"and I did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day.

And then the count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he

was handsome and had such ways with him that no woman could

resist, much less one so little used to gentlemen as Leoline.

And so, Madame Masque, we kept at her till we got her to consent

to it at last; but in her secret heart, I know she did not want

to be married - at least to the count," said Prudence, on serious

afterthought.

"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it. The question is,

where it she to be found?"

"Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?"

"Of coarse she has, you old simpleton! How could she help it,

and she dead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque,

with something like a half laugh. "She was carried to the

plague-pit in her bridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about

to be thrown in, was discovered, like Moses is the bulrushes, to

be all alive."

"Well," whispered Prudence, breathlessly.

"Well, O most courageous of guardians! she was carried to a

certain house, and left to her own devices, while her gallant

rescuer went for a doctor; and when they returned she was

missing. Our pretty Leoline seems to have a strong fancy for

getting lost!"

There was a pause, during which Prudence looked at her with a

face fall of mingled fear and curiosity. At last:

"Madame, how do you know all this? Were you there?"

"No. Not I, indeed! What would take me there?"

"Then how do you happen to know everything about it?"

La Masque laughed.

"A little bird told me, Prudence! Have you returned to resume

your old duties?"

"Madame, I dare not go into that house again. I am afraid of

taking the plague."

"Prudence, you are a perfect idiot! Are you not liable to take

the plague in the remotest quarter of this plague-infested city?

And even if you do take it, what odds? You have only a few years

to live, at the most, and what matter whether you die now or at

the end of a year or two?"

"What matter?" repeated Prudence, in a high key of indignant

amazement. "It may make no matter to you, Madame Masque, but it

makes a great deal to me; I can tell you; and into that infected

house I'll not put one foot."

"Just as you please, only in that case there is no need for

further talk, so allow me to bid you good-night!"

"But, madame, what of Leoline? Do stop one moment and tell me of

her."

"What have I to tell? I have told you all I know. If you want

to find her, you must search in the city or in the pest-house!"

Prudence shuddered, and covered her face with her hands.

"O, my poor darling! so good and so beautiful. Heaven might

surely have spared her! Are you going to do nothing farther

about it?"

"What can I do? I have searched for her and have not found her,

and what else remains?"

"Madame, you know everything - surely, surely you know where my

poor little nursling is, among the rest."

Again La Masque laughed - another of her low, sweet, derisive

laughs.

"No such thing, Prudence. If I did, I should have her here in a

twinkling, depend upon - it. However, it all comes to the same

thing in the end. She is probably dead by this time, and would

have to be buried in the plague-pit, anyhow. If you have nothing

further to say, Prudence, you had better bid me good-night, and

let me go."

"Good-night, madame!" said Prudence, with a sort of groan, as she

wrapped her cloak closely around her, and turned to go.

La Masque stood for a moment looking after her, and then placed a

key in the lock of the door. But there is many a slip - she was

not fated to enter as soon as she thought; for just at that

moment a new step sounded beside her, a new voice pronounced her

name, and looking around, she beheld Ormiston. With what

feelings that young person had listened to the neat and

appropriate dialogue I have just had the pleasure of

immortalizing, may be - to use a phrase you may have heard

before, once or twice - better imagined than described. He knew

very well who Leoline was, and how she had been saved from the

plague-pit; but where in the world had La Masque found it out.

Lost in a maze of wonder, and inclined to doubt the evidence of

his own ears, he had stood perfectly still, until his ladylove

had so coolly dismissed her company, and then rousing himself

just in time, he had come forward and accosted her. La Masque

turned round, regarded him in silence for a moment, and when she

spoke, her voice had an accent of mingled surprise and

displeasure.

"You, Mr. Ormiston! How many more times am I to have the

pleasure of seeing you again to-night?"

"Pardon, madame; it is the last time. But you must hear me now."

"Must I? Very well, then; if I must, you had better begin at

once, for the night-air is said to be unhealthy, and as good

people are scarce, I want to take care of myself."

"In that case, perhaps you had better let me enter, too. I hate

to talk on the street, for every wall has ears."

"I am aware of that. When I was talking to my old friend,

Prudence, two minutes ago, I saw a tall shape that I have reason

to know, since it haunts me, like my own shadow, standing there

and paying deed attention. I hope you found our conversation

improving, Mr. Ormiston!"

"Madame!" began Ormiston, turning crimson.

"Oh, don't blush; there is quite light enough from yonder lamp to

show that. Besides," added the lady, easily, "I don't know as I

had any objection; you are interested in Leoline, and must feel

curious to know something about her."

"Madame, what must you think of me? I have acted unpardonably."

"Oh, I know all that. There is no need to apologize, and I don't

think any the worse of you for it. Will you come to business,

Mr. Ormiston? I think I told you I wanted to go in. What may

you want of me at this dismal hour?"

"O madame, need you ask! Does not your own heart tell you?"

"I am not aware that it does! And to tell you the truth, Mr.

Ormiston, I don't know that I even have a heart! I am afraid I

mast trouble you to put it in words."

"Then, madame, I love you!"

"Is that all? If my memory serves me, you have told me that

little fact several times before. Is there anything else

tormenting you, or may I go in?"

Ormiston groaned out an oath between his teeth, and La Masque

raised one jeweled, snowy taper finger, reprovingly.

"Don't Mr. Ormiston - it's naughty, you know! May I go in?"

"Madame, you are enough to drive a man mad. Is the love I bear

you worthy of nothing but mockery!"

"No, Mr. Ormiston, it is not; that is, supposing you really love

me, which you don't."

"Madame!"

"Oh, you needn't flash and look indignant; it is quite true!

Don't be absurd, Mr. Ormiston. How is it possible for you to

love one you have never seen?"

"I have seen you. Do you think I am blind?" he demanded,

indignantly.

"My face, I mean. I don't consider that you can see a person

without looking in her face. Now you have never looked in mine,

and how do you know I have any face at all?"

"Madame, you mock me."

"Not at all. How are you to know what is behind this mask?"

"I feel it, and that is better; and I love you all the same."

"Mr. Ormiston, how do you know but I am ugly."

"Madame, I do not believe you are; you are all too perfect not to

have a perfect face; and even were it otherwise, I still love

you!"

She broke into a laugh -one of her low, short, deriding laughs.

"You do! O man, how wise thou art! I tell you, if I took off

this mask, the sight would curdle the very blood in your veins

with horror - would freeze the lifeblood in your heart. I tell

you!" she passionately cried, "there are sights too horrible for

human beings to look on and live, and this -this is one of

them!"

He started back, and stared at her aghast.

"You think me mad," she said, in a less fierce tone, "but I am

not; and I repeat it, Mr. Ormiston, the sight of what this mask

conceals would blast you. Go now, for Heaven's sake, and leave

me in peace, to drag out the rest of my miserable life; and if

ever you think of me, let it be to pray that it might speedily

end. You have forced me to say this: so now be content. Be

merciful, and go!"

She made a desperate gesture, and turned to leave him, but he

caught her hand and held her fast.

"Never!" he cried, fiercely. "Say what you will! let that mask

hide what it may! I will never leave you till life leaves me!"

"Man, you are mad! Release my hand and let me go!"

"Madame, hear me. There is but one way to prove my love, and my

sanity, and that is - "

"Well?" she said, almost touched by his earnestness.

"Raise your mask and try me! Show me your face and see if I do

not love you still!"

"Truly I know how much love you will have for me when it is

revealed. Do you know that no one has looked in my face for the

last eight years."

He stood and gazed at her in wonder.

"It is so, Mr. Ormiston; and in my heart I have vowed a vow to

plunge headlong into the most loathsome plague-pit in London,

rather than ever raise it again. My friend, be satisfied. Go

and leave me; go and forget me."

"I can do neither until I have ceased to forget every thing

earthly. Madame, I implore you, hear me!"

"Mr. Ormiston, I tell you, you but court your own doom. No one

can look on me and live!"

"I will risk it," he said with an incredulous smile. "Only

promise to show me your face."

"Be it so then!" she cried almost fiercely. "I promise, and be

the consequences on your own head."

His whole face flushed with joy.

"I accept them. And when is that happy time to come?"

"Who knows! What must be done, had best be done quickly; but I

tell thee it were safer to play with the lightning's chain than

tamper with what thou art about to do."

"I take the risk! Will you raise your mask now?"

"No, no - I cannot! But yet, I may before the sun rises. My

face" - with bitter scorn - "shows better by darkness than by

daylight. Will you be out to see, the grand illumination."

"Most certainly."

"Then meet me here an hour after midnight, and the face so long

hidden shall be revealed. But, once again, on the threshold of

doom, I entreat you to pause."

"There is no such word for me!" he fiercely and exultingly cried.

"I have your promise, and I shall hold you to it! And, madame,

if, at last, you discover my love is changeless as fate itself,

then - then may I not dare to hope for a return?"

"Yes; then you may hope," she said, with cold mockery. "If your

love 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 s 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 world 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, then, 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 lover, rather, the 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 sad 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 fall 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 meet 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 in 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 st 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?" h? 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 s 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 mast 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 at 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

fall 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 daring 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 hang with gold fringe, was above the seat of honor.

Beside it, to the right, but a little lower down, was a similar

throne, somewhat lees 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 shown 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 mach 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 beer 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 moat 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 rou? 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

end 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 need 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 end 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 mare 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 frond, 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 a on this night the Earl of

Gloucester is to be tried on a charge of high treason, in 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 ads.

"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 most 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, "I 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 mach for Sir Norman's overwrought feelings,

and in the last degree of exasperation, he laid violent hands on

the collar of Ormiston's doublet let, and shook him as if be

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 s 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 atop 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 fast 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. Moat likely it was the person in the

cloak and slouched hat we caw 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 atone. 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 shares 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, yea

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

breakneck 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 mush 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 poor 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 moat bewitching

earnestness, "that I am grateful, though I cannot find words to

express it."

"Madame, I would not listen to you it 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 fall 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

in!"

"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 tea minutes, just now! I world 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 mach 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, is rapture to his lips:

"My darling! But I will reserve my raptures, for it is growing

late, and I know you mast 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 mast

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 whores of the Dead Sea itself a very paradise.

It was now near midnight, and there was an unusual concourse of

people in the sheets, 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

if 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," paid 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, end 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, daring 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 raining his hat end 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 in 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 is 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 hag 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 base, "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 moat 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 entra 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 I 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 beat place to find her world 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,

goodnight!"

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 bear 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, wan 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 st

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 lead 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.

"Whist 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, tho 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 are 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 as; 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 eight. 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, of 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 war 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 were 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?"

"No such thing. I have owned nothing. As I told you before, you

are welcome to put what construction you please on my actions."

"Sir Norman Kingsley, this is nonsensical equivocation! You own

you came to hear and see?"

"Well!"

"Well, hearing and seeing constitute spying, do they not?

Therefore, you are a spy."

"I confess it looks like it. What next?"

"Need you ask What is the fate of all spies?"

"No matter what they are in other places, I am pretty certain

what they are here!"

"And that is?"

"A room in black, and a chop with an axe -the Earl of

Gloucester's fate, in a word!"

"You have said it! Have you any reason why such a sentence

should not be pronounced on you?"

"None; pronounce it as soon as you like."

"With the greatest pleasure!" said the duke, who had been

scrawling on another ominous roll of vellum, and now passed it to

the dwarf. "I never knew anyone it gave me more delight to

condemn. Will your highness pass that to her majesty for

signature, and pronounce his sentence."

His highness, with a grin of most exquisite delight, did as

directed; and Sir Norman looked steadfastly at the queen as she

received it. One of the gauzy nymphs presented it to her,

kneeling, and she took it with a look half bored, half impatient,

and lightly scrawled her autograph. The long, dark lashes did

not lift; no change passed over the calm, cold face, as icily

placid as a frozen lake in the moonlight - evidently the life or

death of the stranger was less than nothing to her. To him she,

too, was as nothing, or nearly so; but yet there was a sharp

jarring pain at his heart, as he saw that fair hand, that had

saved him once, so coolly sign his death warrant now. But there

was little time left for to watch her; for, as she pushed it

impatiently away, and relapsed into her former proud

listlessness, the dwarf got up with one of his death's-head

grins, and began:

"Sir Norman Kingsley, you have been tried and convicted as a spy,

and the paid-hireling of the vindictive and narrow-minded

Charles; and the sentence of this court, over which I have the

honor to preside, is, that you be taken hence immediately to the

place of execution, and there lose your head by the axe!"

"And a mighty small loss it will be!" remarked the duke to

himself, in a sort of parenthesis, as the dwarf concluded his

pleasant observation by thrusting himself forward across the

table, after his rather discomposing fashion, and breaking out

into one of has diabolical laughter-chips.

The queen, who had been sitting passive, and looking as if she

were in spirit a thousand miles away, now started up with sharp

suddenness, and favored his highness with one of her fieriest

fiery glances.

"Will your highness just permit somebody else to have a voice in

that matter? How many more trials are to come on tonight?"

"Only one," replied the duke, glancing over a little roll which

he held; "Lady Castlemaine's, for poisoning the Duchess of

Sutherland."

"And what is my Lady Castlemaine's fate to be?"

"The same as our friend's here, in all probability," nodding

easily, not to say playfully, at Sir Norman.

"And how long will her trial last?"

"Half an hour, or thereabouts. There are some secrets in the

matter that have to be investigated, and which will require some

time."

"Then let all the trials be over first, and all the beheadings

take place together. We don't choose to take the trouble of

traveling to the Black Chamber just to see his head chopped off,

and then have the same journey to undergo half an hour after, for

a similar purpose. Call Lady Castlemaine, and let this prisoner

be taken to one of the dungeons, and there remain until the time

for execution. Guards, do you hear? Take him away!"

The dwarf's face grew black as a thunder-cloud, and he jumped to

his feet and confronted the queen with a look so intensely ugly

that no other earthly face could have assumed it. But that lady

merely met it with one of cold disdain and aversion, and, keeping

her dark bright eyes fixed chillingly upon him, waved her white

hand, in her imperious way, to the guards. Those warlike

gentlemen knew better than to disobey her most gracious majesty

when she happened to be, like Mrs. Joe Gargary, on the "rampage,"

which, if her flashing eye and a certain expression about her

handsome mouth spoke the truth, must have been twenty hours out

of the twenty-four. As the soldiers approached to lead him away,

Sir Norman tried to catch her eye; but in vain, for she kept

those brilliant optics most unwinkingly fixed on the dwarf's

face.

"Call Lady Castlemaine," commanded the duke, as Sir Norman with

his guards passed through the doorway leading to the Black

Chamber. "Your highness, I presume, is ready to attend to her

case."

"Before I attend to hers or any one else's case," said the dwarf,

hopping over the table like an overgrown toad, "I will first see

that this guest of ours is properly taken care, of, and does not

leave us without the ceremony of saying good-bye."

With which, he seized one of the wax candles, and trotted, with

rather unprincely haste, after Sir Norman and his conductors.

The young knight had been led down the same long passage he had

walked through before; but instead of entering the chamber of

horrors, they passed through the centre arch, and found

themselves in another long, vaulted corridor, dimly lit by the

glow of the outer one. It was as cold and dismal a place, Sir

Norman thought, as he had ever seen; and it had an odor damp and

earthy, and of the grave. It had two or three great, ponderous

doors on either aide, fastened with huge iron bolts; and before

one of these his conductors paused. Just as they did so, the

glimmer of the dwarf's taper pierced the gloom, and the next

moment, smiling from ear to ear, he was by their side.

"Down with the bars!" he cried. "This is the one for him - the

strongest and safest of them all. Now, my dashing courtier, you

will see how tenderly your little friend provides for his

favorites!"

If Sir Norman made any reply, it was drowned id the rattle and

clank of the massive bars, and is hopelessly lost to posterity.

The huge door swung back; but nothing was visible but a sort of

black velvet pall, and effluvia much stronger than sweet.

Involuntarily he recoiled as one of the guards made a motion for

him to enter.

"I Shove him in! shove him in!" shrieked the dwarf, who was

getting so excited with glee that he was dancing about in a sort

of jig of delight. "In with him - in with him! If he won't go

peaceably, kick him in head-foremost!"

"I would strongly advise them not to try it," said Sir Norman, as

he stepped into the blackness, "if they have any regard for their

health! It does not make much difference after all, my little

friend, whether I spend the next half-hour in the inky blackness

of this place or the blood-red grandeur of your royal court. My

little friend, until we meet again, permit me to say, au revoir."

The dwarf laughed in his pleasant way, and pushed the candle

cautiously inside the door.

"Good-by for a little while, my dear young sir, and while the

headsmen is sharpening his axe, I'll leave you to think about

your little friend. Lest you should lack amusement, I'll leave

you a light to contemplate your apartment; and for fear you may

get lonesome, these two gentlemen will stand outside your door,

with their swords drawn, till I come back. Good-by, my dear

,young sir - good-bye!"

The dungeon-door swung to with a tremendous bang Sir Norman was

barred in his prison to await his doom and the dwarf was skipping

along the passage with sprightliness, laughing as he went.

CHAPTER XIII.

ESCAPED.

Probably not one of you; my dear friends, who glance graciously

over this, was ever shut up in a dungeon under expectation of

bearing the unpleasant operation of decapitation within half an

hour. It never happened to myself, either, that I can recollect;

so, of course, you or I personally can form no idea what the

sensation may be like; but in this particular case, tradition

saith Sir Norman Kingsley's state of mind was decidedly

depressed. As the door shut violently, he leaned against it, and

listened to his jailers place the great bars into their sockets,

and felt he was shut in, in the dreariest, darkest, dismalest,

disagreeablest place that it had ever been his misfortune to

enter. He thought of Leoline, and reflected that in all

probability she was sleeping the sleep of the just - perhaps

dreaming of him, and little knowing that his head was to be cut

off in half an hour.

In course of time morning would come - it was not likely the

ordinary course of nature would be cut off because he was; and

Leoline would get up and dress herself, and looking a thousand

times prettier than ever, stand at the window and wait for him.

Ah! she might wait - much good would it do her; about that time

he would probably be - where? It was a rather uncomfortable

question, but easily answered, and depressed him to a very

desponding degree indeed.

He thought of Ormiston and La Masque - no doubt they were billing

and cooing in most approved fashion just then, and never thinking

of him; though, but for La Masque and his own folly, he might

have been half married by this time. He thought of Count

L'Estrange and Master Hubert, and become firmly convinced, if one

did not find Leoline the other would; and each being equally bad,

it was about a toss up in agony which got her.

He thought of Queen Miranda, and of the adage, "put no trust in

princes," and sighed deeply as he reflected what a bad sign of

human nature it was - more particularly such handsome human

nature - that she could, figuratively speaking, pat him on the

back one moment, and kick him to the scaffold the next. He

thought, dejectedly, what a fool he was ever to have come back;

or even having come back, not to have taken greater pains to stay

up aloft, instead of pitching abruptly head-foremost into such a

select company without an invitation. He thought, too, what a

cold, damp, unwholesome chamber they had lodged him in, and how

apt he would be to have a bad attack of ague and miasmatic fever,

if they would only let him live long enough to enjoy those

blessings. And this having brought him to the end of his

melancholy meditation, he began to reflect how he could best

amuse himself in the interim, before quitting this vale of tears.

The candle was still blinking feebly on the floor, shedding tears

of wax in its feeble prostration, and it suddenly reminded him of

the dwarf's advice to examine his dark bower of repose. So be

picked it up and snuffed it with his fingers, and held it aloof,

much as Robinson Crusoe held the brand in the dark cavern with

the dead goat.

In the velvet pall of blackness before alluded to, its small, wan

ray pierced but a few inches, and only made the darkness visible.

But Sir Norman groped his way to the wall, which he found to be

all over green and noisome slime, and broken out into a cold,

clammy perspiration, as though it were at its last gasp. By the

aid of his friendly light, for which he was really much obliged -

a fact which, had his little friend known, he would not have left

it - he managed to make the circuit of his prison, which he found

rather spacious, and by no means uninhabited; for the walls and

floor were covered with fat, black beetles, whole families of

which interesting specimens of the insect-world he crunched

remorselessly under foot, and massacred at every step; and great,

depraved-looking rats, with flashing eyes and sinister-teeth, who

made frantic dives and rushes at him, and bit at his jack-boots

with fierce, fury. These small quadrupeds reminded him forcibly

of the dwarf, especially in the region of the eyes and the

general expression of countenance; and he began to reflect that

if the dwarf's soul (supposing him to possess such an article as

that, which seemed open to debate) passed after death into the

body of any other animal, it would certainly be into that of a

rat.

He had just come to this conclusion, and was applying the flame

of the candle to the nose of an inquisitive beetle, when it

struck him he heard voices in altercation outside his door. One,

clear, ringing, and imperious, yet withal feminine, was certainly

not heard for the first time; and the subdued and respectful

voices that answered, were those of his guards.

After a moment, he heard the sound of the withdrawing bolts, and

his heart beat fast. Surely, his half-hour had not already

expired; and if it had, would she be the person to conduct him to

death? The door opened; a puff of wind extinguished his candle,

but not until he had caught the glimmer of jewels, the shining of

gold, and the flutter of long, black hair; and then some one came

in. The door was closed; the bolts shot back! - and he was alone

with Miranda, the queen.

There was no trouble about recognising her, for she carried in

her hand a small lamp, which she held up between them, that its

rays might fall directly on both faces. Each was rather white,

perhaps, and one heart was going faster than it had ever gone

before, and that one was decidedly not the queen's. She was

dressed exactly as he had seen her, in purple and ermine, in

jewels and gold; and strangely out of place she looked there, in

her splendid dress and splendid beauty, among the black beetles

and rats. Her face might have been a dead, blank wall, or cut

out of cold, white stone, for all it expressed; and as she

lightly held up her rich robes in one hand, and in the other bore

the light, the dark, shining eyes were fixed on his face, and

were as barren of interest, eagerness, compassion, tenderness, or

any other feeling, as the shining, black glass ones of a wax

doll. So they stood looking at each other for some ten seconds

or so, and then, still looking full at him, Miranda spoke, and

her voice was as clear and emotionless as her eyes

"Well, Sir Norman Kingsley, I have come to see you before you

die."

"Madame," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he said, "you are

kind."

"Am I? Perhaps you forget I signed your death-warrant."

"Probably it would have been at the risk of your own life to

refuse?"

"Nothing of the kind! Not one of them would hurt a hair of my

head if I refused to sign fifty death-warrants! Now, am I kind?"

"Very likely it would have amounted to the same thing in the end

• they would kill me whether you signed it or not; so what does

it matter?"

"You are mistaken! They would not kill you; at least, not

tonight, if I had not signed it. They would have let you live

until their next meeting, which will be this night week; and I

would have incurred neither risk nor danger by refusing."

Sir Norman glanced round the dungeon and shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not know that that prospect is much more inviting than the

present one. Even death is preferable to a week's imprisonment

in a place like this."

"But in the meantime you might have escaped."

"Madame, look at this stone floor, that stone roof, these solid

walls, that barred and massive door; reflect that I am some forty

feet under ground - cannot perform impossibilities, and then ask

yourself how?"

"Sir Norman, have you ever heard of good fairies visiting brave

knights and setting them free?"

Sir Norman smiled.

"I am afraid the good fairies and brave knights went the way of

all flesh with King Arthur's round table; and even if they were

in existence, none of them would take the trouble to limp down so

far to save such an unlucky dog as I."

"Then you forgive me for what I have done?"

"Your majesty, I have nothing to forgive."

"Bah!" she said, scornfully. "Do not mock me here. My majesty,

forsooth! you have but fifteen minutes to live in this world, Sir

Norman; and if you have no better way of spending them, I will

tell you a strange story - my own, and all about this place."

"Madame, there is nothing in the world I would like so much to

hear."

"You shall hear it, then, and it may beguile the last slow

moments of time before you go out into eternity."

She set her lamp down on the floor among the rats and beetles,

and stood watching the small, red flame a moment with a gloomy,

downcast eye; and Sir Norman, gazing on the beautiful darkening

face, so like and yet so unlike Leoline, stood eagerly awaiting

what was to come.

                       ________________

Meantime, the half-hour sped. In the crimson court the last

trial was over, and Lady Castlemaine, a slender little beauty of

eighteen stood condemned to die.

"Now for our other prisoner!" exclaimed the dwarf with sprightly

animation; "and while I go to the cell, you, fair ladies, and you

my lord, will seek the black chamber and await our coming there."

Ordering one of his attendants to precede him with a light, the

dwarf skipped jauntily away, to gloat over his victim. He

reached the dungeon door, which the guards, with some trepidation

in their countenance, as they thought of what his highness would

say when he found her majesty locked in with the prisoner, threw

open.

"Come forth, Sir Norman Kingsley!" shouted the dwarf, rushing in.

"Come forth and meet your doom!"

But no Sir Norman Kingsley obeyed the pleasant invitation, and a

dull echo from the darkness alone answered him. There was a lamp

burning on the floor, and near it lay a form, shining and specked

with white in the gloom. He made for it between fear and fury,

but there was something red and slippery on the ground, in which

his foot slipped, and he fell. Simultaneously there was a wild

cry from the two guards and the attendant, that was echoed by a

perfect screech of rage from the dwarf, as on looking down he

beheld Queen Miranda lying on the floor in the pool of blood, and

apparently quite dead, and Sir Norman Kingsley gone.

CHAPTER, XIV.

IN THE DUNGEON.

The interim between Miranda setting down her lamp on the dungeon

floor among the rats and the beetles, and the dwarf's finding her

bleeding and senseless, was not more than twenty minutes, but a

great deal may be done in twenty minutes judiciously expended,

and most decidedly it was so in the present case. Both rats and

beetles paused to contemplate the flickering lamp, and Miranda

paused to contemplate them, and Sir Norman paused to contemplate

her, for an instant or so in silence. Her marvelous resemblance

to Leoline, in all but one thing, struck him more and more -

there was the same beautiful transparent colorless complexion,

the same light, straight, graceful figure, the same small oval

delicate features; the same profuse waves of shining dark hair,

the same large, dark, brilliant eyes; the same, little, rosy

pretty mouth, like one of Correggio's smiling angels. The one

thing wanting was expression - in Leoline's face there was a kind

of childlike simplicity; a look half shy, half fearless, half

solemn in her wonderful eyes; but in this, her prototype, there

was nothing shy or solemn; all was cold, hard, and glittering,

and the brooding eyes were full of a dull, dusky fire. She

looked as hard and cold and bitter, as she was beautiful; and Sir

Norman began to perplex himself inwardly as to what had brought

her here. Surely not sympathy, for nothing wearing that face of

stone, could even know the meaning of such a word. While he

looked at her, half wonderingly, half pityingly, half tenderly -

a queer word that last, but the feeling was caused by her

resemblance to Leoline - she had been moodily watching an old

gray rat, the patriarch of his tribe, who was making toward her

in short runs, stopping between each one to stare at her, out of

his unpleasantly bright eyes. Suddenly, Miranda shut her teeth,

clenched her hands, and with a sort of fierce suppressed

ejaculation, lifted her shining foot and planted it full on the

rat's head. So sudden, so fierce, and so strong, was the stamp,

that the rat was crushed flat, and uttered a sharp and indignant

squeal of expostulation, while Sir Norman looked at her, thinking

she had lost her wits. Still she ground it down with a fiercer

and stronger force every second; and with her eyes still fixed

upon it, and blazing with reddish black flame, she said, in a

sort of fiery hiss:

"Look at it! The ugly, loathsome thing! Did you ever see

anything look more like him?"

There must have been some mysterious rapport between them, for he

understood at once to whom the solitary personal pronoun

referred.

"Certainly, in the general expression of countenance there is

rather a marked resemblance, especially in the region of the

teeth and eyes."

"Except that the rat's eyes are a thousand times handsomer," she

broke in, with a derisive laugh.

"But as to shape," resumed Sir Norman, eyeing the excited and

astonished little animal, still shrilly squealing, with the

glance of a connoisseur,"I confess I do not see it! The rat is

straight and shapely - which his highness, with all reverence be

it said - is not, but rather the reverse, if you will not be

offended at me for saying so."

She broke into a short laugh that had a hard, metallic ring, and

then her face darkened, blackened, and she ground the foot that

crushed the rat fiercer, and with a sort of passionate

vindictiveness, as if she had the head of the dwarf under her

heel.

"I hate him! I hate him!" she said, through her clenched teeth

and though her tone was scarcely above a whisper, it was so

terrible in its fiery earnestness that

Sir Norman thrilled with repulsion. "Yes, I hate him with all my

heart and soul, and I wish to heaven I had him here, like this

rat, to trample to death under my feet!"

Not knowing very well what reply to make to this strong and

heartfelt speech, which rather shocked his notions of female

propriety, Sir Norman stood silent, and looked reflectively after

the rat, which, when she permitted it at last to go free, limped

away with an ineffably sneaking and crest-fallen expression on

his hitherto animated features. She watched it, too, with a

gloomy eye, and when it crawled into the darkness and was gone,

she looked up with a face so dark and moody that it was almost

sullen.

"Yes, I hate him!" she repeated, with a fierce moodiness that was

quite dreadful, " yes, I hate him! and I would kill him, like

that rat, if I could! He has been the curse of my whole life; he

has made life cursed to me; and his heart's blood shall be shed

for it some day yet, I swear!"

With all her beauty there was something so horrible in the look

she wore, that Sir Norman involuntarily recoiled from her. Her

sharp eyes noticed it, and both grew red and fiery as two

devouring flames.

"Ah! you, too, shrink from me, would you? You, too, recoil in

horror! Ingrate! And I have come to save your life!"

"Madame, I recoil not from you, but from that which is tempting

you to utter words like these. I have no reason to love him of

whom you speak - you, perhaps, have even less; but I would not

have his blood, shed in murder, on my head, for ten thousand

worlds! Pardon me, but you do not mean what you say."

"Do I not? That remains to be seen! I would not call it murder

plunging a knife into the heart of a demon incarnate like that,

and I would have done it long ago and he knows it, too, if I had

the chance!"

"What has he done to you to make you do bitter against him?"

"Bitter! Oh, that word is poor and pitiful to express what I

feel when his name is mentioned. Loathing and hatred come a

little nearer the mark, but even they are weak to express the

utter - the - " She stopped in a sort of white passion that

choked her very words.

"They told me he was your husband," insinuated Sir Norman,

unutterably repelled.

"Did they?" she said, with a cold sneer, "he is, too - at least

as far as church and state can make him; but I am no more his

wife at heart than I am Satan's. Truly of the two I should

prefer the latter, for then I should be wedded to something grand

• a fallen angel; as it is, I have the honor to be wife to a

devil who never was an angel?"

At this shocking statement Sir Norman looked helplessly round, as

if for relief; and Miranda, after a moment's silence, broke into

another mirthless laugh.

"Of all the pictures of ugliness you ever saw or heard of, Sir

Norman Kingsley, do tell me if there ever was one of them half so

repulsive or disgusting as that thing?"

"Really," said Sir Norman, in a subdued tone, "he is not the most

prepossessing little man in the world; but, madame, you do look

and speak in a manner quite dreadful. Do let me prevail on you

to calm yourself, and tell me your story, as you promised."

"Calm myself!" repeated the gentle lady, in a tone half snappish,

half harsh, "do you think I am made of iron, to tell you my story

and be calm? I hate him! I hate him! I would kill him if I

could: and if you, Sir Norman, are half the man I take you to be,

you will rid the world of the horrible monster before morning

dawns!"

"My dear lady, you seem to forget that the case is reversed, and

that he is going to rid the world of me,", said Sir Norman, with

a sigh.

"No, not if you do as I tell you; and when I have told you how

much cause I have to abhor him, you will agree with me that

killing him will be no murder! Oh, if there is One above who

rules this world, and will judge us all, why, why does He permit

such monsters to live?"

"Because He is more merciful than his creatures," replied Sir

Norman, with calm reverence, - though His avenging hand is heavy

on this doomed city. But, madame, time is on the wing, and the

headsman will be here before your story is told."

"Ah, that story! How am I to tell it, I wonder, two words will

comprise it all - sin and misery - misery and sin! For, buried

alive here, as I am - buried alive, as I've always been - I know

what both words mean; they have been branded on heart and brain

in letters of fire. And that horrible monstrosity is the cause

of all - that loathsome, misshapen, hideous abortion has banned

and cursed my whole life! He is my first recollection. As far

back as I can look through the dim eye of childhood's years, that

horrible face, that gnarled and twisted trunk, those devilish

eyes glare at me like the eyes and face of a wild beast. As

memory grows stronger and more vivid, I can see that same face

still - the dwarf! the dwarf! the dwarf! - Satan's true

representative on earth, darkening and blighting ever passing

year. I do not know where we lived, but I imagine it to have

been one of the vilest and lowest dens in London, though the

rooms I occupied were, for that matter, decent and orderly

enough. Those rooms the daylight never entered, the windows were

boarded up within, and fastened by shutters without, so that of

the world beyond I was as ignorant as a child of two hours old.

I saw but two human faces, his" - she seemed to hate him too much

even to pronounce his name - "and his housekeeper's, a creature

almost as vile as himself, and who is now a servant here; and

with this precious pair to guard me I grew up to be fifteen years

old. My outer life consisted of eating, sleeping, reading - for

the wretch taught me to read - playing with my dogs and birds,

and listening to old Margery's stories. But there was an inward

life, fierce and strong, as it was rank and morbid, lived and

brooded over alone, when Margery and her master fancied me

sleeping in idiotic content. How were they to know that the

creature they had reared and made ever had a thought of her own -

ever wondered who she was, where she came from, what she was

destined to be, and what lay in the great world beyond? The

crooked little monster made a great mistake in teaching me to

read, he should have known that books sow seed that grow up and

flourish tall and green, till they become giants in strength. I

knew enough to be certain there was a bright and glad world

without, from which they shut me in and debarred me; and I knew

enough to hate them both for it, with a strong and heartfelt

hatred, only second to what I feel now."

She stopped for a moment, and fixed her dark, gloomy eyes on the

swarming floor, and shook off, with out a shudder, the hideous

things that crawled over her rich dress. She had scarcely looked

at Sir Norman since she began to speak, but he had done enough

looking for them both, never once taking his eyes from the

handsome darkening face. He thought how strangely like her story

was to Leoline's - both shut in and isolated from the outer

world. Verily, destiny seemed to have woven the woof and warp of

their fates wonderfully together, for their lives were as much

the same as their faces. Miranda, having shook off her crawling

acquaintances, watched them glancing along the foul floor in the

darkness, and went moodily on.

"It was three years ago when I was fifteen years old, as I told

you, that a change took place in my life. Up to that time, that

miserable dwarf was what people would call my guardian, and did

not trouble me much with his heavenly company. He was a great

deal from our house, sometimes absent for weeks together; and I

remember I used to envy the freedom with which he came and went,

far more than I ever wondered where he spent his precious time.

I did not know then that he belonged to the honorable profession

of highwaymen, with variations of coining when travelers were few

and money scarce. He was then, and is still, at the head of a

formidable gang, over whom he wields most desperate authority -

as perhaps you have noticed during the brief and pleasant period

of your acquaintance."

"Really, madam, it struck me that your authority over them was

much more despotic than his," said Sir Norman, in all sincerity,

feeling called upon to give the - well, I'd rather not repeat the

word, which is generally spelled with a d and a dash - his due.

"No thanks to him for that! He would make me a slave now, as he

did then, if he dared, but he has found that, poor, trodden worm

as I was, I had life enough left to turn and sting."

"Which you do with a vengeance! Oh I you're a Tartar!" remarked

Sir Norman to himself. "The saints forefend that Leoline should

be like you in temper, as she is in history and face; for if she

is, my life promises to be a pleasant one."

"This rascally crew of cut-throats, whom his villainous highness

headed," said Miranda, "were an almost immense number then, being

divided in three bodies - London cut-purses, Hounslow Heath

highwaymen, and assistant-coiners, but all owning him for their

lord and master. He told me all this himself, one day when, in

an after-dinner and most gracious mood, he made a boasting

display of his wealth and greatness; told me I was growing up

very pretty indeed, and that I was shortly to be raised to the

honor and dignity, and bliss of being his wife.

"I fancy I must have had a very vague idea of what that one small

word meant, and was besides in an unusually contented and

peaceful state of mind, or I should, undoubtedly, have raised one

of his cut-glass decanters and smashed in his head with it. I

know how I should receive such an assertion from him now, but I

think I took it then with a resignation, he must have found

mighty edifying; and when he went on to tell me that all this

richness and greatness were to be shared by me when that

celestial time came, I think I rather liked the idea than

otherwise. The horrible creature seemed to have woke up that

day, for the first time, and all of a sudden, to a conviction

that I was in a fair way to become a woman, and rather a handsome

one, and that he had better make sure of me before any accident

interfered to take me from him. Full of this laudable notion, he

became a daily visitor of mine from thenceforth, and made the

discovery, simultaneously with myself, that the oftener he came

the less favor he found in my sight. I had, before, tacitly

disliked him, and shrank with a natural repulsion from his

dreadful ugliness ness; but now, from negative dislike, I grew to

positive hate. The utter loathing and abhorrence I have had for

him ever since, began then - I grew dimly and intuitively

conscious of what he would make me, and shrank from my fate with

a vague horror not to be told in words. I became strong in my

fearful dread of it. I told him I detested, abhorred, loathed,

hated him; that he might keep his riches, greatness, and ungainly

self for those who wanted him; they were temptations too weak to

move me.

"Of course, there was raving, and storming, threatening, terrible

looks and denunciations, and I quailed and shrank like a coward,

but was obstinate still. Then as a dernier resort, he tried

another bribe - the glorious one of liberty, the one he knew

would conquer me, and it did. He promised me freedom - if I

married him, I might go out into the great unknown world,

fetterless and free; and I, O! fool that I was! consented. Not

that my object was to stay with him one instant longer her my

prison doors were opened; no, I was not quite so besotted as that

• once out, and the little demon might look for me with last

year's partridges. Of course, those demoniac eyes read my heart

like an open book; and when I pronounced the fatal 'yes,' he

laughed in that delightful way of his own, which will probably be

the last thing you will hear when you lay your head under the

axe.

"I don't know who the clergyman who married us was; but he was a

clergyman: there can be no doubt about that. It was three days

after, and for the first time in my fifteen years of life, I

stood in sunshine, and daylight, and open air. We drove to the

cathedral - for it was in St. Paul's the sacrilege was committed.

I never could have walked there, I was so stunned, and giddy, and

bewildered. I never thought of the marriage - I could think of

nothing but the bright, crashing, sun-shiny world without, till I

was led up before the clergyman, with much the air, I suppose, of

one walking in her sleep. He was a very young man, I remember,

and looked from the dwarf to me, and from me to the dwarf, in a

great state of fear and uncertainty, but evidently not daring to

refuse. Margery and one of his gang were our only attendants,

and there, in God's temple, the deed was done, and I was made the

miserable thing I am to-day."

The suppressed passion, rising and throbbing like a white flame

in her face and eyes, made her stop for a moment, breathing hard.

Looking up she met Sir Norman's gaze, and as if there was

something in its quiet, pitying tenderness that mesmerized her

into calm, she steadily and rapidly went on.

"I awoke to a new life, after that; but not to one of freedom and

happiness. I was as closely, even more closely, guarded than

ever; and I found, when too late, that I had bartered myself,

soul and body, for an empty promise. The only difference was,

that I saw more new faces; for the dwarf began to bring his

confederates and subordinates to the house, and would have me

dressed up and displayed to them, with a demoniac pride that

revolted me beyond everything else, if I were a painted puppet or

an overgrown wax doll. Most of the precious crew of scoundrels

had wives of their own and these began to be brought with them of

an evening; and then, what with dancing, and music, and cards,

and feasting, we had quite a carnival of it til] morning.

"I liked this part of the business excessively well at first, and

I was flattered and fooled to the top of my bent, and made from

the first, the reigning belle and queen. There was more policy

in that than admiration, I fancy; for the dwarf was all-powerful

among them and dreaded accordingly, and I was the dwarf's pet and

plaything, and all-powerful with him. The hideous creature had a

most hideous passion for me then, and I could wind him round my

finger as easily as Delilah and Samson; and by his command and

their universal consent, the mimicry of royalty was begun, and I

was made mistress and sovereign head, even over the dwarf

himself. It was a queer whim; but that crooked slug was always

taking such odd notions into his head, which nobody there dared

laugh at. The band were bound together by a terrible oath, women

and all; but they had to take another oath then, that of

allegiance to me.

"It quite turned my brain at first; and my eyes were so dazzled

by the pitiful glistening of the pageant, the sham splendor of

the sham court, and the half-mocking, half-serious homage paid

me, that I could see nothing beyond the shining surface, and the

blackness, and corruption, and horror within, were altogether

lost upon me. This feeling increased when, as months and months

went by, they were added to the mock peers of the Midnight Court,

real nobles from that of St. Charles. I did not know then that

they were ruined gamesters, vicious profligates, and desperate

broken-down roues, who would have gone to pandemonium itself,

nightly, for the mad license and lawless excesses they could

indulge in here to their heart's content. But I got tired of it

all, after a time: my eyes began slowly to open, and my heart -

at least, what little of that article I ever had - turned sick

with horror within me at what I had done. The awful things I

saw, the fearful deeds that were perpetrated, would curdle your

very blood with horror, were I to relate them. You have seen a

specimen yourself, in the cold-blooded murder of that wretch half

an hour ago; and his is not the only life crying for vengeance on

these men. The slightest violation of their oath was punished,

and the doom of traitors and informers was instant death, whether

male or female. The sham trials and executions always took place

in presence of the whole court, to strike a salutary terror into

them, and never occurred but once a week, when the whole band

regularly met. My power continued undiminished; for they knew

either the dwarf or I must be supreme; and though the queen was

bad, the prince was worse. The said prince would willingly have

pulled me down from my eminence, and have mounted it himself; but

that he was probably restrained by a feeling that law-makers

should not be law-breakers, and that, if he set the example,

there would be no end to the insubordination and rebellion that

would follow."

"Were you living here or in London then?" inquired Sir Norman,

taking an advantage of a pause, employed by Miranda in shaking

off the crawling beetles.

"Oh, in London! We did not come here until the outbreak of the

plague - that frightened them, especially the female portion, and

they held a scared meeting, and resolved that we should take up

our quarters somewhere else. This place being old and ruined,

and deserted and with all sorts of evil rumors hanging about it,

was hit upon; and secretly, by night, these mouldering old vaults

were fitted up, and the goods and chattels of the royal court

removed. And here I, too, was brought by night under the dwarf's

own eye; for he well knew I would have risked a thousand plagues

to escape from him. And here I have been ever since, and here

the weekly revels are still held, and may for years to come,

unless something is done to-night to prevent it.

"The night before these weekly anniversaries they all gather; but

during the rest of the time I am alone with Margery and the

dwarf, and have learned more secrets about this place than they

dream of. For the rest, there is little need of explanation -

the dwarf and his crew have industriously circulated the rumor

that it is haunted; and some of those white figures you saw with

me, and who, by the way, are the daughters of these robbers, have

been shown on the broken battlements, as if to put the fact

beyond doubt.

"Now, Sir Norman, that is all - you have heard my whole history

as far as I know it; and nothing remains but to tell you what you

must see yourself, that I am mad for revenge, and must have it,

and you must help me!"

Her eyes were shining with the fierce red fire he had seen in

them before, and the white face wore a look so deadly and

diabolical that, with all its beauty, it was absolutely

repulsive. He took a step from her-for in each of those gleaming

eyes sat a devil.

"You must help me!" she persisted. " You - you, Sir Norman! For

many a day I have been waiting for a chance like this, and until

now I have waited in vain. Alone, I want physical strength to

kill him, and I dare not trust any one else. No one was ever

cast among us before as you have been; and now, condemned to die,

you must be desperate, and desperate men will do desperate

things. Fate, Destiny, Providence - whatever you like - has

thrown you in my way, and help me you must and shall!"

"Madame, madame I what are you saying? How can I help you?"

"There is but one way - this!"

She held up in the pale ray of the lamp, something she drew from

the folds of her dress, that glistened blue, and bright, and

steelly in the gloom.

"A dagger!" he exclaimed, with a shudder, and a recoil. "Madame,

are you talking of murder?"

"I told you!" she said, through her closed teeth, and with her

eyes flaming like fire, "that ridding the earth of that fiend

incarnate would be a good deed, and no murder! I would do it

myself if I could take him off his guard; but he never is that

with me; and then my arm is not strong enough to reach his black

heart through all that mass of brawn, and blood, and muscle. No,

Sir Norman, Doom has allotted it to you - obey, and I swear to

you, you shall go free; refuse - and in ten minutes your head

will roll under the executioner's axe!"

"Better that than the freedom you offer! Madame, I cannot

murder!"

"Coward!" she passionately cried; "you fear to do it, and yet you

have but a life to lose, and that is lost to you now!"

Sir Norman raised his head; and even in the darkness she saw the

haughty flush that crimsoned his face.

"I fear no man living; but, madame, I fear One who is higher than

man!"

"But you will die if you refuse; and I repeat, again and again,

there is no risk. These guards will not let you out; but there

are more ways of leaving a room than through the door, and I can

lead you up behind the tapestry to where he is standing, and you

can stab him through the back, and escape with me! Quick, quick,

there is no time to lose!"

"I cannot do it !" he said, resolutely, drawing back and folding

his arms. "In short, I will not do it!"

There was such a terrible look in the beautiful eyes, that he

half expected to see her spring at him like a wild cat, and bury

the dagger in his own breast. But the rule of life works by

contraries: expect a blow and you will get a kiss, look for an

embrace, and you will be startled by a kick. When the virago

spoke, her voice was calm, compared with what it had been before,

even mild.

"You refuse! Well, a willful man must have him way; and since

you are so qualmish about a little bloodletting, we must try

another plan. If I release you - for short as the time is, I can

do it - will you promise me to go direct to the king this very

night, and inform him of all you've seen and heard here?"

She looked at him with an eagerness that was almost fierce; and

in spite of her steady voice, there was something throbbing and

quivering, deadly and terrible, in her upturned face. The form

she looked at was erect and immovable, the eyes were quietly

resolved, the mouth half-pityingly, half-sadly smiling.

"Are you aware, dear lady, what the result of such a step would

be?"

"Death!" she said, coldly.

"Death, transportation, or life-long imprisonment to them all -

misery and disgrace to many a noble house; for some I saw there

were once friends of mine, with families I honor and respect.

Could I bring the dwarf and his attendant imps to Tyburn, and

treat them to a hempen cravat, I would do it without remorse -

though the notion of being informer, even then, would not be very

pleasant; but as it is, I cannot be the death of one without

ruining all, and as I told you, some of those were once my

friends. No, madame, I cannot do it. I have but once to die and

I prefer death here, to purchasing life at such a price."

                      _____________

There was a short silence, during which they gazed into each

other's eyes ominously, and one was about as colorless as the

other.

"You refuse?" she coldly said.

"I must! But if you can save my life, as you say, why not do it,

and fly with me? You will find me the truest and most grateful

of friends, while life remains."

"You are very kind; but I want no friendship, Sir Norman -

nothing but revenge! As to escaping, I could have done that any

time since we came here, for I have found out a secret means of

exit from each of these vaults, that they know nothing of. But I

have staid to see him dead at my feet - if not by my hand, at

least by my command; and since you will not do it, I will make

the attempt myself. Farewell, Sir Norman Kingsley; before many

minutes you will be a corpse, and your blood be upon yourself!"

She gave him a glance as coldly fierce as her dagger's glance,

and turned to go, when he stepped hastily forward, and

interposed:

"Miranda - Miranda - you are crazed! Stop and tell me what you

intend to do."

"What you feared to attempt," she haughtily replied; "Sheathe

this dagger in his demon heart!"

"Miranda, give me the dagger. You must not, you shall not,

commit such a crime!"

"Shall not?" she uttered scornfully. "And who are you that dares

to speak to me like this? Stand aside, coward, and let me pass!"

"Pardon me, but I cannot, while you hold that dagger. Give it to

me, and you shall go free; but while you hold it with this

intention, for your own sake, I will detain you till some one

comes."

She uttered a low, fierce cry, and struck at him with it, but he

caught her hand, and with sudden force snatched it from her. In

doing so he was obliged to hold it with its point toward her, and

struggling for it in a sort of frenzy, as he raised the hand that

held it, she slipped forward and it was driven half-way to the

hilt in her side. There was a low, grasping cry - a sudden

clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she

fell headlong prostrate on the loathsome floor.

Sir Norman stood paralyzed. She half raised herself on her

elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood

shot up and crimsoned her hands. She did not faint - there

seemed to be a deathless energy within her that chained life

strongly in its place - she only pressed both hands hard over the

wound, and looked mournfully and reproachfully up in his face.

Those beautiful, sad, solemn dyes, void of everything savage and

fierce, were truly Leoline's eyes now.

Through all his first shock of horror, another thing dawned on

his mind; he had looked on this scene before. It was the second

view in La Masque's caldron, and but one remained to be verified

The next instant, he was down on his knees in a paroxysm of grief

and despair.

"What have I done? what have I done?" was his cry.

"Listen!" she said, faintly raising one finger. "Do you hear

that?"

Distant steps were echoing along the passage. Yes; he heard

them, and knew what they were.

"They are coming to lead you to death!" she said, with some of

her old fire; "but I will baffle them yet. Take that lamp - go

to the wall yonder, and in that corner, near the floor, you will

see a small iron ring. Pull it - it does not require much force

• and you will find an opening leading through another vault; at

the end there is a broken flight of stairs, mount them, and you

will find yourself in the same place from which you fell. Fly,

fly! There is not a second to lose!"

"How can I fly? how can I leave you dying here?"

"I am not dying!" she wildly cried, lifting both hands from the

wound to push him away, while the blood flowed over the floor.

"But we will both die if you stay. Go-go-go!"

The footsteps had paused st his door. The bolts were beginning

to be withdrawn. He lifted the lamp, flew across his prison,

found the ring, and took a pull at it with desperate strength.

Part of what appeared to be the solid wall drew out, disclosing

an aperture through which he could just squeeze sideways. Quick

as thought he was through, forgetting the lamp in his haste. The

portion of the wall slid noiselessly back, just as the prison

door was thrown open, and the dwarfs voice was heard, socially

inviting him, like Mrs. Bond's ducks, to come and be killed.

Some people talk of darkness so palpable that it may be felt, and

if ever any one was qualified to tell from experience what it

felt like, Sir Norman was in that precise condition at that

precise period. He groped his way through the blind blackness

along what seemed an interminable distance, and stumbled, at

last, over the broken stairs at the end. With some difficult,

and at the serious risk of his jugular, he mounted them, and

found himself, as Miranda had stated, in a place he knew very

well. Once here he allowed no grass to grow under him feet; and,

in five minutes after, to his great delight, he found himself

where he had never hoped to be again - in the serene moonlight

and the open air, fetterless and free.

His horse was still where he had left him, and in a twinkling he

was on his back, and dashing away to the city, to love - to

Leoline!

CHAPTER XV.

LEOLINE'S VISITORS.

If things were done right - but they are not and, never will be,

while this whirligig world of mistakes spins round, and all

Adam's children, to the end of the chapter, will continue sinning

to-day and repenting tomorrow, falling the next and bewailing it

the day after. If Leoline had gone to bed directly, like a good,

dutiful little girl, as Sir Norman ordered her, she would have

saved herself a good deal of trouble and tears; but Leoline and

sleep were destined to shake hands and turn their backs on each

other that night. It was time for all honest folks to be in bed,

and the dark-eyed beauty knew it too, but she had no notion of

going, nevertheless. She stood in the centre of the room, where

he had left her, with a spot like a scarlet roseberry on either

cheek; a soft half-smile on the perfect mouth, and a light

unexpressibly tender and dreamy, in those artesian wells of

beauty - her eyes. Most young girls of green and tender years,

suffering from "Love's young dream," and that sort of thing, have

just that soft, shy, brooding look, whenever their thoughts

happen to turn to their particular beloved; and there are few

eyes so ugly that it does not beautify, even should they be as

cross as two sticks. You should have seen Leoline standing in

the centre of her pretty room, with her bright rose-satin

glancing and glittering, and flowing over rug and mat; with her

black waving hair clustering and curling like shining floss silk;

with a rich white shimmer of pearls on the pale smooth forehead

and large beautiful arms. She did look irresistibly bewitching

beyond doubt; and it was just as well for Sir Norman's peace of

mind that he did not see her, for he was bad enough without that.

So she stood thinking tenderly of him for a half-hour or so,

quite undisturbed by the storm; and how strange it was that she

had risen up that very morning expecting to be one man's bride,

and that she should rise up the next, expecting to be another's.

She could not realize it at all; and with a little sigh-half

pleasure, half presentiment - she walked to the window, drew the

curtain, and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and

serene; the moon was fall to overflowing, and a great deal of

extra light ran over the brim; quite a quantity of stars were

out, and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet

below, that went round, and round, with grim stoicism, and paid

no attention to anybody's business but its own. She saw the

heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched;

she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy

houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She

had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of

the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous

inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!" till the words seemed

branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was

opened, a night-cap was thrust out and s voice from its cavernous

depths hailed the guard.

"Robert! I say, Robert!"

"Well!" said Robert, looking up.

"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till

morning."

"Won't they?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Got 'em

ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round."

Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud

ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring

out your dead! bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's

silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with

its load of death. The watchman hailed the driver, according to

promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one

long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of

the ghastly heap.

"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so - don't forget to

come round," suggested the watchman.

"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his

horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the

plague-pit.

Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to

see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite

alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had

been no noise, yet soma one had entered, and was standing beside

her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes

spangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of

incomparable grace and beauty. It had worn a cloak that had

dropped lightly from its shoulders, and lay on the floor and the

long hair streamed in darkness over shoulder and waist. The

face was masked, the form stood erect and perfectly motionless,

and the scream of surprise and consternation that arose to

Leoline's lips died out in wordless terror. Her noiseless

visitor perceived it, and touching her arm lightly with one

little white hand, said in her sweetest and most exquisite of

tones:

"My child, do not tremble so, and do not look so deathly white.

You know me, do you not?"

"You are La Masque!" said Leoline trembling with nervous dread.

"I am, and no stranger to you; though perhaps you think so. Is

it your habit every night to look out of your window in full

dress until morning?"

"How did you enter?" asked Leoline, her curiosity overcoming for

a moment even her fear.

"Through the door. Not a difficult thing, either, if you leave

it wide open every night, as it is this."

"Was it open?" said Leoline, in dismay. "I never knew it."

"Ah! then it was not you who went out last. Who was it?"

"It was - was - " Leoline's cheeks were scarlet; "it was a

friend!"

"A somewhat late hour for one's friends to visit," said La

Masque, sarcastically; "and you should learn the precaution of

seeing them to the door and fastening it after them."

"Rest assured, I shall do so for the future," said Leoline, with

a look that would have reminded Sir Nor man of Miranda had he

seen it. "I scarcely expected the honor of any more visits,

particularly from strangers to-night."

"Civil, that! Will you ask me to sit down, or am I to consider

myself an unseasonable intruder, and depart?"

"Madame, will you do me the honor to be seated. The hour, as you

say, is somewhat unseasonable, and you will oblige me by letting

me know to what I am indebted for the pleasure of this visit, as

quickly as possible."

There was something quite dignified about Mistress Leoline as she

swept rustling past La Masque, sank into the pillowy depths of

her lounge, and motioned her visitor to a seat with a slight and

graceful wave of her hand. Not but that in her secret heart she

was a good deal frightened, for something under her pink satin

corsage was going pit-a-pat at a wonderful rate; but she thought

that betraying such a feeling would not be the thing. Perhaps

the tall, dark figure saw it, and smiled behind her mask; but

outwardly she only leaned lightly against the back of the chair,

and glanced discreetly at the door.

"Are you sure we are quite alone?"

"Quite:"

"Because," said La Masque, in her low, silvery tones, "what I

have come to say is not for the ears of any third person living:"

"We are entirely alone, madame," replied Leoline, opening her

black eyes very wide. "Prudence is gone, and I do not know when

she will be back."

"Prudence will never come back," said La Masque, quietly.

"Madame!"

"My dear, do not look so shocked - it is not her fault. You know

she deserted you for fear of the plague."

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, that did not save her; nay, it even brought on what she

dreaded so much. Your nurse is plague-stricken, my dear, and

lies ill unto death in the pesthouse in Finsbury Fields."

"Oh, dreadful!" exclaimed Leoline, while every drop of blood fled

from her face. "My poor, poor old nurse!"

"Your poor, poor old nurse left you without much tenderness when

she thought you dying of the same disease," said La Masque,

quietly.

"Oh, that is nothing. The suddenness, the shock drove her to it.

My poor, dear Prudence."

"Well, you can do nothing for her now," said La Masque, in a tone

of slight impatience. "Prudence is beyond all human aid, and so

• let her rest in peace. You were carried to the plague-pit

yourself, for dead, were you not?"

"Yes," answered the pale lips, while she shivered all over at the

recollection.

"And was saved by - by whom were you saved, my dear?"

"By two gentlemen."

"Oh, I know that; what were their names?"

"One was Mr. Ormiston, the other was," hesitating and blushing

vividly, "Sir Norman Kingsley."

La Masque leaned across her chair, and laid one dainty finger

lightly on the girl's hot cheek.

"And for which is that blush, Leoline?"

"Madame, was it only to ask me questions you came here?" said

Leoline, drawing proudly back, though the hot red spot grew

hotter and redder; "if so, you will excuse my declining to answer

any more."

"Child, child!" said La Masque, in a tone so strangely sad that

it touched Leoline, "do not be angry with me. It is no idle

curiosity that sent me here at this hour to ask impertinent

questions, but a claim that I have upon you, stronger than that

of any one else in the world."

Leoline's beautiful eyes opened wider yet.,

"A claim upon me! How? Why? I do not understand."

"All in good time. Will you tell me something of your past

history, Leoline?"

"Madame Masque, I have no history to tell. All my life I have

lived alone with Prudence; that in the whole of it in nine

words."

La Masque half laughed.

"Short, sharp, and decisive. Had you never father or mother?"

There is a slight probability I may have had at some past

period," said Leoline, sighing; "but none that I ever knew."

"Why does not Prudence tell you?"

"Prudence is only my nurse, and says she has nothing to tell. My

parents died when I was an infant, and left me in her care - that

is her story."

"A likely one enough, and yet I see by your face that you doubt

it."

"I do doubt it! There are a thousand little outward things that

make me fancy it is false, and an inward voice that assures me it

is so."

"Then let me tell you that inward voice tells falsehoods, for I

know that your father and mother are both dead these fourteen

years!"

Leoline's great black eyes were fixed on her face with a look so

wild and eager, that La Masque laid her hand lightly and

soothingly on her shoulder.

"Don't look at me with such a spectral face! What is there so

extraordinary in all I have said?"

"You said you knew my father and mother."

"No such thing! I said I knew they were dead, but the other fact

is true also; I did know them when living!"

"Madame, who are you? Who were they?"

"I? Oh, I am La Masque, the sorceress, and they - they were

Leoline's father and mother!" and again La Masque slightly

laughed.

"You mock me, madame!" cried Leoline, passionately. "You are

cruel - you are heartless! If you know anything, in Heaven's

name tell me - if not, go and leave me in peace!"

"Thank you! I shall do that presently; and as to the other - of

course I shall tell you; what else do you suppose I have come for

to-night? Look here! Do you see this?"

She drew out from some hidden pocket in her dress a small and

beautifully-wrought casket of ivory and silver, with straps and

clasps of silver, and a tiny key of the same.

"Well!" asked Leoline, looking from it to her, with the blank air

of one utterly bewildered

"In this casket, my dear, there is a roll of papers, closely

written, which you are to read as soon as I leave you. Those

papers contain your whole history - do you understand?"

She was looking so white, and staring so hard and so hopelessly,

that there was need of the question. She took the casket and

gazed at it with a perplexed air.

"My child, have your thoughts gone wool-gathering? Do you not

comprehend what I have said to you! Your whole history is hid in

that box?"

"I know!" said Leoline, slowly, and with her eyes again riveted

to the black mask. "But; madame, who are you?"

"Have I not told you? What a pretty inquisitor it is! I am La

Masque - your friend, now; something more soon, as you will see

when you read what I have spoken of. Do not ask me how I have

come by it - you will read all about it there. I did not know

that I would give it to you to-night, but I have a strange

foreboding that it is destined to be my last on earth. And,

Leoline my child, before I leave you, let me hear you say you

will not hate me when you read what is there."

"What have you done to me? Why should I hate you?"

"Ah! you will find that all out soon enough. Do content me,

Leoline - let me hear you say; `La Masque, whatever you've done

to me, however you have wronged me, I will forgive you!' Can you

say that?"

Leoline repeated it simply, like a little child. La Masque took

her hand, held it between both her own, leaned over and looked

earnestly in her face.

"My little Leoline! my beautiful rosebud! May Heaven bless you

and grant you a long and happy life with - shall I say it,

Leoline?"

"Please - no!" whispered Leoline, shyly.

La Masque softly patted the little tremulous hand.

"We are both saying the name now in our hearts, my dear, so it is

little matter whether our lips repeat it or not. He is worthy,

of you, Leoline, and your life will be a happy one by his side;

but there is another." She paused and lowered her voice. " When

have you seen Count L'Estrange?"

"Not since yesterday, madame."

"Beware of him! Do you know who he is, Leoline?"

"I know nothing of him but his name."

"Then do not seek to know," said La Masque, emphatically. "For

it is a secret you would tremble to hear. And now I must leave

you. Come with me to the door, and fasten it as soon as I go

out, lest you should forget it altogether."

Leoline, with a dazed expression, thrust the precious little

casket into the bosom of her dress, and taking up the lamp,

preceded her visitor down stairs. At the door they paused, and

La Masque, with her hand on her arm, repeated, in a low, earnest

voice

"Leoline, beware of Count L'Estrange, and become Lady Kingsley as

soon as you can."

"I will bear that name to-morrow!" thought Leoline, with a glad

little thrill at her heart, as La Masque flitted out into the

moonlight.

Leoline closed and locked the door, driving the bolts into their

sockets, and making all secure. "I defy any one to get in again

tonight!" she said, smiling at her own dexterity; and lamp in

hand, she ran lightly up stairs to read the long unsolved riddle.

So eager was she, that she had crossed the room, laid the lamp on

the table, and sat down before it, ere she became aware that she

was not alone. Some one was leaning against the mantel, his arm

on it, and his eyes do her, gazing with an air of incomparable

coolness and ease. It was a man this time - something more than

a man,- a count, and Count L'Estrange, at that!

Leoline sprang to her feet with a wild scream, a cry full of

terror, amaze, and superstitious dread; and the count raised his

band with a self-possessed smile.

"Pardon, fair Leoline, if I intrude! But have I not a right to

come at all hours and visit my bride?"

"Leoline is no bride of yours!" retorted that young lady,

passionately, her indignation overpowering both fear and

surprise. "And, what is more, never will be! Now, sir!"

"So my little bird of paradise can fire up, I see! As to your

being my bride, that remains to be seen. You promised to be

tonight, you know!"

"Then I'll recall that promise. I have changed my mind."

"Well, that's not very astonishing; it is but the privilege of

your sex! Nevertheless, I'm afraid I must insist on your

becoming Countess L'Estrange, and that immediately!"

"Never, sir! I will die first!"

"Oh, no! We could not spare such a bright little beauty out of

this ugly world! You will live, and live for me!"

"Sir!" cried Leoline, white with passion, and her black eyes

blazing with a fire that would have killed him, could fiery

glances slay! I do not know how you have entered here; but I do

know, if you are a gentleman, you will leave me instantly! Go

sir! I never wish to see you again!"

"But when I wish to see you so much, my darling Leoline," said

the count, with provoking indifference, "what does a little

reluctance on your part signify? Get your hood and mantle, my

love - my horse awaits us without - and let us fly where neither

plague nor mortal man will interrupt our nuptials!"

"Will no one take this man away?" she cried, looking helplessly

round, and wringing her hands.

"Certainly not, my dear - not even Sir Norman Kingsley! George,

I am afraid this pretty little vixen will not go peaceably; you

had better come in!"

With a smile on his face, he took a step toward her. Shrieking

wildly, she darted across the room, and made for the door, just

as somebody else was entering it. The next instant, a shawl was

thrown over her head, her cries smothered in it, and she was

lifted in a pair of strong arms, carried down stairs, and out

into the night.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE THIRD VISION.

Presentments are strange things. From the first moment Sir

Norman entered the city, and his thoughts had been able to leave

Miranda and find themselves wholly on Leoline, a heavy foreboding

of evil to her had oppressed him. Some danger, he was sure, had

befallen her during his absence - how could it be otherwise with

the Earl of Rochester and Count L'Estrange both on her track?

Perhaps, by this time, one or other had found her, and alone and

unaided she had been an easy victim, and was now borne beyond his

reach forever. The thought goaded him and his horse almost to

distraction; for the moment it struck him, he struck spurs into

his horse, making that unoffending animal jump spasmodically,

like one of those prancing steeds Miss Bonheur is fond of

depicting. Through the streets

he flew at a frantic rate, growing more excited and full of

apprehension the nearer he came to old London Bridge; and calling

himself a select litany of hard names inwardly, for having left

the dear little thing at all.

"If I find her safe and well," thought Sir Norman, emphatically,

"nothing short of an earthquake or dying of the plague will ever

induce me to leave her again, until she is Lady Kingsley, and in

the old manor of Devonshire. What a fool, idiot, and ninny I

must have been, to have left her as I did, knowing those two

sleuth-hounds were in full chase! What are all the Mirandas and

midnight queens to me, if Leoline is lost?"

That last question was addressed to the elements in general; and

as they disdained reply, he cantered on furiously, till the old

house by the river was reached. It was the third time that night

he had paused to contemplate it, and each time with very

different feelings; first, from simple curiosity; second, in an

ecstasy of delight, and third and last, in an agony of

apprehension. All around was peaceful and still; moon and stars

sailed serenely through a sky of silver and snow; a faint cool

breeze floated up from the river and fanned his hot and fevered

forehead; the whole city lay wrapped in stillness as profound and

deathlike as the fabled one of the marble prince in the Eastern

tale-nothing living moved abroad, but the lonely night-guard

keeping their dreary vigils before the plague-stricken houses,

and the ever-present, ever-busy pest-cart, with its mournful bell

and dreadful cry.

As far as Sir Norman could see, no other human being but himself

and the solitary watchman, so often mentioned, were visible.

Even he could scarcely be said to be present; for, though leaning

against the house with his halberd on his shoulder, he was sound

asleep at his post, and far away in the land of dreams. It was

the second night of his watch; and with a good conscience and a

sound digestion, there is no earthly anguish short of the

toothache, strong enough to keep a man awake two nights in

succession. So sound were his balmy slumbers in his airy

chamber, that not even the loud clatter of Sir Norman's horse's

hoofs proved strong enough to arouse him; and that young

gentleman, after glancing at him, made ap his mind to try to find

out for himself before arousing him to seek information.

Securing his home, he looked up at the house with wistful eyes,

and saw that the solitary light still burned in her chamber. It

struck him now how very imprudent it was to keep that lamp

burning; for if Count L'Estrange saw it, it was all up with

Leoline - and there was even more to be dreaded from him than

from the earl. How was he to find out whether that illuminated

chamber had a tenant or not? Certainly, standing there staring

till doomsday would not do it; and there seemed but two ways,

that of entering the house at once or arousing the man. But the

man was sleeping so soundly that it seemed a pity to awake him

for a trifle; and, after all, there could be no great harm or

indiscretion in his entering to see if his bride was safe.

Probably Leoline was asleep, and would know nothing about it; or,

even were she wide awake, and watchful, she was altogether too

sensible a girl to be displeased at his anxiety about her. If

she were still awake, and waiting for day-dawn, he resolved to

remain with her and keep her from feeling lonesome until that

time came - if she were asleep, he would steal out softly again,

and keep guard at her door until morning.

Full of these praiseworthy resolutions, he tried the handle of

the door, half expecting to find it locked, and himself obliged

to effect an entrance through the window; but no, it yielded to

his touch, and he went in. Hall and staircase were intensely

dark, but he knew his way without a pilot this time, and steered

clear of all shoals and quicksands, through the hall and up the

stairs.

The door of the lighted room - Leoline's room - lay wide open,

and he paused on the threshold to reconnoitre. He had gone

softly for fear of startling her, and now, with the same tender

caution, he glanced round the room. The lamp burned on the

dainty dressing table, where undisturbed lay jewels, perfume

bottles and other knickknacks. The cithern lay unmolested on the

couch, the rich curtains were drawn; everything was as he had

left it last - everything, but the pretty pink figure, with

drooping eyes, and pearls in the waves of her rich, black hair.

He looked round for the things she had worn, hoping she had taken

them off and retired to rest, but they were not to be seen; and

with a cold sinking of the heart, he went noiselessly across the

room, and to the bed. It was empty, and showed no trace of

having been otherwise since he and the pest-cart driver had borne

from it the apparently lifeless form of Leoline.

Yes, she was gone; and Sir Norman turned for a moment so sick

with utter dread, that he leaned against one of the tall carved

posts, and hated himself for having left her with a heartlessness

that his worst enemy could not have surpassed. Then aroused into

new and spasmodic energy by the exigency of the case, he seized

the lamp, and going out to the hall, made the house ring from

basement to attic with her name. No reply, but that hollow,

melancholy echo that sounds so lugubriously through empty houses,

was returned; and he jumped down stairs with an impetuous rush,

flinging back every door in the hall below with a crash, and

flying wildly from room to room. In solemn grim repose they lay;

but none of them held the bright figure in rose-satin he sought.

And he left them in despair, and went back to her chamber again.

"Leoline! Leoline! Leoline!" he called, while he rushed

impetuously ap stairs, and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber;

but Leoline answered not - perhaps never would answer more! Even

"hoping against hope," he had to give up the chase at last - no

Leoline did that house hold; and with this conviction

despairingly impressed on leis mind, Sir Norman Kingsley covered

his face with his hands, and uttered a dismal groan.

Yet, forlorn as was the case, he groaned but once, "only that and

nothing more;" there was no time for such small luxuries as

groaning and tearing his hair, and boiling over with wrath and

vengeance against the human race generally, and those two

diabolical specimens of it, the Earl of Rochester and Count

L'Estrange, particularly. He plunged head foremost down stairs,

and out of the door. There he was impetuously brought up all

standing; for somebody stood before it, gazing up at the gloomy

front with as much earnestness as he had done himself, and

against this individual he rushed recklessly with a shock that

nearly sent the pair of them over into the street.

"Sacr-r-re!" cried a shrill voice, in tones of indignant

remonstrance. "What do you mean, monsieur? Are you drunk, or

crazy, that you come running head foremost into peaceable

citizens, and throwing them heels uppermost on the king's

highway! Stand off, sir! And think yourself lucky that I don't

run you through with my dirk for such an insult!"

At the first sound of the outraged treble tones, Sir Norman had

started back and glared upon the speaker with much the same

expression of countenance as an incensed tiger. The orator of

the spirited address had stooped to pick up his plumed cap, and

recover his centre of gravity, which was considerably knocked out

of place by the unexpected collision, and held forth with very

flashing eyes, and altogether too angry to recognize his auditor.

Sir Norman waited until he had done, and then springing at him,

grabbed him by the collar.

"You young hound!" he exclaimed, fairly lifting him off his feet

with one hand, and shaking him as if he would have wriggled him

out of hose and doublet. "You infernal young jackanapes! I'll

run you through in less than two minutes, if you don't tell me

where you have taken her."

The astonishment, not to say consternation, of Master Hubert for

that small young gentleman and no other it was - on thus having

his ideas thus shaken out of him, was unbounded, and held him

perfectly speechless, while Sir Norman glared at him and shook

him in a way that would have instantaneously killed him if his

looks were lightning. The boy had recognized his aggressor, and

after his first galvanic shock, struggled like a little hero to

free himself, and at last succeeded by an artful spring.

"Sir Norman Kingsley," he cried, keeping a safe yard or two of

pavement between him and that infuriated young knight, "have you

gone mad, or what, is Heaven's name, is the moaning of all this?"

"It means," exclaimed Sir Norman, drawing his sword, and

flourishing it within an inch of the boy's curly head, - that

you'll be a dead page in lees than half a minute, unless you tell

me immediately where she has been taken to."

"Where who has been taken to?" inquired Hubert, opening his

bright and indignant black eyes in a way that reminded Sir Norman

forcibly of Leoline. "Pardon, monsieur, I don't understand at

all."

"You young villain! Do you mean to stand up there and tell me to

my face that you have not searched for her, and found her, and

have carried her off?"

"Why, do you mean the lady we were talking of, that was saved

from the river?" asked Hubert, a new light dawning upon him.

"Do I mean the lady we were talking of?" repeated Sir Norman,

with another furious flourish of his sword. "Yes, I do mean the

lady we were talking of; and what's more - I mean to pin you

where you stand, against that wall, unless you tell me,

instantly, where she has been taken."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed the boy, raising his hands with an

earnestness there was no mistaking, "I do assure you, upon my

honor, that I know nothing of the lady whatever; that I have not

found her; that I have never set eyes on her since the earl saved

her from the river."

The earnest tone of truth would, in itself, almost have convinced

Sir Norman, but it was not that, that made him drop his sword so

suddenly. The pale, startled face; the dark, solemn eyes, were

so exactly like Leoline's, that they thrilled him through and

through, and almost made him believe, for a moment, he was

talking to Leoline herself.

"Are you - are you sure you are not Leoline?" he inquired, almost

convinced, for an instant, by the marvelous resemblance, that it

was really so.

"I? Positively, Sir Norman, I cannot understand this at all,

unless you wish to enjoy yourself at my expense."

"Look here, Master Hubert!" said Sir Norman with a sudden change

of look and tone. "If you do not understand, I shall just tell

you in a word or two how matters are, and then let me hear you

clear yourself. You know the lady we were talking about, that

Lord Rochester picked up afloat, and sent you in search of?"

"Yes - yes."

"Well," went on Sir Norman, with a sort of grim stoicism. "After

leaving you, I started on a little expedition of my own, two

miles from the city, from which expedition I returned ten minutes

ago. When I left, the lady was secure and safe in this house;

when I came back, she was gone. You were in search of her - had

told me yourself you were determined on finding her, and having

her carried off; and now, my youthful friend, put this and that

together," with a momentary returning glare, "and see what it

amounts to!"

"It amounts to this:" retorted his youthful friend, stoutly,

"that I know nothing whatever about it. You may make out a case

of strong circumstantial evidence against me; but if the lady has

been carried off, I have had no hand in it."

Again Sir Norman was staggered by the frank, bold gaze and

truthful voice, but still the string was in a tangle somewhere.

"And where have you been ever since?" he began severely, and with

the air of a lawyer about to go into a rigid cross-examination.

"Searching for her," was the prompt reply.

"Where?"

"Through the streets; in the pest-houses, and at the plague-pit."

"How did you find out she lived here?"

"I did not find it out. When I became convinced she was in none

of the places I have mentioned, I gave up the search in despair,

for to-night, and was returning to his lordship to report my ill

success."

"Why, then, were you standing in front of her house, gaping at it

with all the eyes in your head, as if it were the eighth wonder

of the world?"

"Monsieur has not the most courteous way of asking questions,

that I ever heard of; but I have no particular objection to

answer him. It struck me that, as Mr. Ormiston brought the lady

up this way, and as I saw you and he haunting this place so much

to-night, I thought her residence was somewhere here, and I

paused to look at the house as I went along. In fact, I intended

to ask old sleepy-head, over there, for further particulars,

before I left the neighborhood, had not you, Sir Norman, run bolt

into me, and knocked every idea clean out of my head."

"And you are sure you are not Leoline?" said Sir Norman,

suspiciously.

"To the best of my belief, Sir Norman, I am not," replied Hubert,

reflectively.

"Well, it is all very strange, and very aggravating," said Sir

Norman sighing ,and sheathing his sword. "She is gone, at all

events; no doubt about that - and if you have not carried her

off, somebody else has."

Perhaps she has gone herself," insinuated Hubert.

"Bah! Gone herself!" said Sir Norman, scornfully. "The idea is

beneath contempt: I tell you, Master Fine-feathers, the lady and

I were to be married bright and early to-morrow morning, and

leave this disgusting city for Devonshire. Do you suppose, then,

she would run out in the small hours of the morning, and go

prancing about the streets, or eloping with herself?"

"Why, of course, Sir Norman, I can't take it upon myself to

answer positively; but, to use the mildest phrase, I must say the

lady seems decidedly eccentric, and capable of doing very queer

things. I hope, however, you believe me; for I earnestly assure

you, I never laid eyes on her but that once."

"I believe you," said Sir Norman, with another profound and

broken-hearted sigh, "and I'm only too sure she has been abducted

by that consummate scoundrel and treacherous villain, Count

L'Estrange."

"Count who?" said Hubert, with a quick start, and a look of

intense curiosity. "What was the name?"

"L'Estrange - a scoundrel of the deepest dye! Perhaps you know

him?"

"No," replied Hubert, with a queer, half musing smile, "no; but I

have a notion I have heard the name. Was he a rival of yours?"

"I should think so! He was to have been married to the lady this

very night!"

"He was, eh! And what prevented the ceremony?"

"She took the plague!" said Sir Norman, strange to say, not at

all offended at the boy's familiarity. "And would have been

thrown into the plague-pit but for me. And when she recovered

she accepted me and cast him off!"

"A quick exchange! The lady's heart must be most flexible, or

unusually large, to be able to hold so many at once."

"It never held him!" said Sir Norman, frowning; "she was forced

into the marriage by her mercenary friends. Oh! if I had him

here, wouldn't I make him wish the highwaymen had shot him

through the head, and done for him, before I would let him go!"

"What is he like - this Count L'Estrange?" said Hubert,

carelessly.

"Like the black-hearted traitor and villain he is!" replied Sir

Norman, with more energy than truth; for he had caught but

passing glimpses of the count's features, and those showed him

they were decidedly prepossessing; "and he slinks along like a

coward and an abductor as he is, in a slouched hat and shadowy

cloak. Oh! if I had him here!" repeated Sir Norman, with

vivacity; "wouldn't I - "

"Yes, of course you would," interposed Hubert, "and serve him

right, too! Have you made any inquiries about the matter - for

instance, of our friend sleeping the sleep of the just, across

there?"

"No - why?"

"Why, it seems to me, if she's been carried off before he fell

asleep, he has probably heard or seen something of it; and I

think it would not be a bad plan to step over and inquire."

"Well, we can try," said Sir Norman, with a despairing face; "but

I know it will end in disappointment and vexation of spirit, like

all the rest!"

With which dismal view of things, he crossed the street side by

side with his jaunty young friend. The watchman was still

enjoying the balmy, and snoring in short, sharp snorts, when

Master Hubert remorselessly caught him by the shoulder, and began

a series of shakes and pokes, and digs, and hallos!" while Sir

Norman stood near and contemplated the scene with a pensive eye.

At last while undergoing a severe course of this treatment the

watchman was induced to open his eyes on this mortal life, and

transfix the two beholders with, an intensely vacant and blank

share.

"Hey?" he inquired, helplessly. "What was you a saying of,

gentlemen? What is it?"

"We weren't a saying of anything as yet " returned Hubert; "but

we mean to, shortly. Are you quite sure you are wide awake?"

"What do you want?" was the cross question, given by way of

answer. "What do you come bothering me for at such a rate, all

night, I want to know?"

"Keep civil, friend, we wear swords," said Hubert, touching, with

dignity, the hilt of the little dagger he carried; "we only want

to ask you a few questions. First, do you see that house over

yonder?"

"Oh! I see it!" said the man gruffly; "I am not blind!"

"Well who was the last person you saw come out of that house?"

"I don't know who they was!" still more gruffly. "I ain't got

the pleasure of their acquaintance!"

"Did you see a young lady come out of it lately?"

"Did I see a young lady?" burst out the watchman, in a high key

of aggrieved expostulation. "How many more times this blessed

night am I to be asked about that young lady. First and

foremost, there comes two young men, which this here is one of

them, and they bring out the young lady and have her hauled away

in the dead-cart; then comes along another and wants to know all

the particulars, and by the time he gets properly away, somebody

else comes and brings her back like a drowned rat. Then all

sorts of people goes in and out, and I get tired looking at them,

and then fall asleep, and before I've been in that condition

about a minute, you two come punching me and waken me up to ask

questions about her! I wish that young lady was in Jerico - I

do!" said the watchman, with a smothered growl.

"Come, come, my man!" said Hubert, slapping him soothingly on the

shoulder. "Don't be savage, if you can help it! This gentleman

has a gold coin in some of his pockets, I believe, and it will

fall to you if you keep quiet and answer decently. Tell me how

many have been in that house since the young lady was brought

back like a drowned rat?"

"How many?" said the man, meditating, with his eyes fixed on Sir

Norman's garments, and he, perceiving that, immediately gave him

the promised coin to refresh his memory, which it did with

amazing quickness. "How many - oh - let me see; there was the

young man that brought her in, and left her there, and came out

again, and went away. By-and-by, he came back with another,

which I think this as gave me the money is him. After a little,

they came out, first the other one, then this one, and went off;

and the next that went in was a tall woman in black, with a mask

on, and right behind her there came two men; the woman in the

mask came out after a while; and about ten minutes after, the two

men followed, and one of them carried something in his arms, that

didn't look unlike a lady with her head in a shawl. Anything

wrong, sir?" as Sir Norman gave a violent start and caught Hubert

by the arm.

"Nothing! Where did they carry her to? What did they do with

her? Go on! go on!"

"Well," said the watchman, eyeing the speaker curiously, "I'm

going to. They went along, down to the river, both of them, and

I saw a boat shove off, shortly after, and that something, with

its head in a shawl, lying as peaceable as a lamb, with one of

the two beside it. That's all - I went asleep about then, till

you two were shaking me and waking me up."

Sir Norman and Hubert looked at each other, one between despair

and rage, the other with s thoughtful, half-inquiring air, as if

he had some secret to tell, and was mentally questioning whether

it was safe to do so. On the whole, he seemed to come to the

conclusion, that a silent tongue maketh a wise head, and nodding

and saying "Thank you!" to the watchman, he passed his arm

through Sir Norman's, and drew him back to the door of Leoline's

house.

"There is a light within," he said, looking up at it; "how comes

that?"

"I found the lamp burning, when I returned, and everything

undisturbed. They must have entered noiselessly, and carried her

off without a straggle," replied Sir Norman, with a sort of

groan,

"Have you searched the house - searched it well?"

"Thoroughly - from top to bottom!"

"It seems to me there ought to be some trace. Will you come back

with me and look again?"

"It is no use; but there in nothing else I can do; so come

along!"

They entered the house, and Sir Norman led the page direct to

Leoline's room, where the light was.

"I left her here when I went away, and here the lamp was burning

when I came back: so it must have been from this room she was

taken."

Hubert was gazing slowly and critically round, taking note of

everything. Something glistened and flashed on the floor, under

the mantel, and he went over and picked it up.

"What have you there?" asked Sir Norman in surprise; for the boy

had started so suddenly, and flushed so violently, that it might

have astonished any one.

"Only a shoe-buckle - a gentleman's - do you recognize it?"

Though he spoke in his usual careless way, and half-hummed the

air of one of Lord Rochester's love songs, he watched him keenly

as he examined it. It was a diamond buckle, exquisitely set, and

of great beauty and value; but Sir Norman knew nothing of it.

"There are initials upon it -see there!" said Hubert, pointing,

and still watching him with the same powerful glance. "The

letters C. S. That can't stand for Count L'Estrange."

"Who then can it stand for?" inquired Sir Norman, looking at him

fixedly, and with far more penetration than the court page had

given him credit for. "I am certain you know."

"I suspect!" said the boy, emphatically, "nothing more; and if it

is as I believe, I will bring you news of Leoline before you are

two hours older."

"How am I to know you are not deceiving me, and will not betray

her into the power of the Earl of Rochester - if, indeed, she be

not in his power already."

"She is not in it, and never will be through me! I feel an odd

interest in this matter, and I will be true to you, Sir Norman -

though why I should be, I really don't know. I give you my word

of honor that I will do what I can to find Leoline and restore

her to you; and I have never yet broken my word of honor to any

man," said Hubert, drawing himself up.

"Well, I will trust you, because I cannot do anything better,"

said Sir Norman, rather dolefully; "but why not let me go with

you?"

"No, no! that would never do! I must go alone, and you must

trust me implicitly. Give me your hand upon it."

They shook hands silently, went down stairs, and stood for a

moment at the door.

"You'll find me here at any hour between this and morning," said

Sir Norman. "Farewell now, and Heaven speed you!"

The boy waved his hand in adieu, and started off at a sharp pace.

Sir Norman turned in the opposite direction for a short walk, to

cool the fever in his blood, and think over all that had

happened. As be went slowly along, in the shadow of the houses,

he suddenly tripped up over something lying in his path, and was

nearly precipitated over it.

Stooping down to examine the stumbling-block, it proved to be the

rigid body of a man, and that man was Ormiston, stark and dead,

with his face upturned to the calm night-sky.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HIDDEN FACE

When Mr. Malcolm Ormiston, with his usual good sense and

penetration, took himself off, and left Leoline and Sir Norman

tete-a-tete, his steps turned as mechanically as the needle to

the North Pole toward La Masque's house. Before it he wandered,

around it he wandered, like an uneasy ghost, lost in speculation

about the hidden face, and fearfully impatient about the flight

of time. If La Masque saw him hovering aloof and unable to tear

himself away, perhaps it might touch her obdurate heart, and

cause her to shorten the dreary interval, and summon him to her

presence at once. Just then some one opened the door, and his

heart began to beat with anticipation; some one pronounced his

name, and, going over, he saw the animated bag of bones -

otherwise his lady-love's vassal and porter.

"La Masque says," began the attenuated lackey, and Ormiston's

heart nearly jumped out of his mouth, "that she can't have

anybody hanging about her house like its shadow; and she wants

you to go away, and keep away, till the time comes she has

mentioned."

So saying the skeleton shut the door, and Ormiston's heart went

down to zero. There being nothing for it but obedience, however,

he slowly and reluctantly turned away, feeling in his bones, that

if ever he came to the bliss and ecstasy of calling La Masque

Mrs. Ormiston, the gray mare in his stable would be by long odds

the better horse. Unintentionally his steps turned to the

water-side, and he descended the flight of stairs, determined to

get into a boat and watch the illumination from the river.

Late as was the hour, the Thames seemed alive with wherries and

barges, and their numerous lights danced along the surface like

fire-flies over a marsh. A gay barge, gilded and cushioned, was

going slowly past; and as he stood directly under the lamp, he

was recognized by a gentleman within it, who leaned over and

hailed him

"Ormiston! I say, Ormiston!"

"Well, my lord," said Ormiston, recognizing the handsome face and

animated voice of the Earl of Rochester.

"Have you any engagement for the next half-hour? If not, do me

the favor to take a seat here, and watch London in flames from

the river."

"With all my heart," said Ormiston, running down to the water's

edge, and leaping into the boat. "With all this bustle of life

around here, one would think it were noonday instead of

midnight."

"The whole city is astir about these fires. Have you any idea

they will be successful?"

"Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the

plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the

dead."

"It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly,

"if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.

How do the bills of mortality ran to-day?"

"I have not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve."

"And there goes a flash of fire - the first among many. Look,

look! How they spring up into the black darkness."

"They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord."

The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red

color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like

angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of

fiery red.

"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy

burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires

extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets."

"And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of

rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.

"A remarkable coincidence, truly. There seems to be a fatality

hanging over this devoted city."

"I wonder your lordship remains?"

The earl shrugged his shoulders significantly.

"It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr. Ormiston; but I

am to turn my back to it to-morrow for a brief period. You are

aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for

Oxford."

"I believe I have heard something of it - how long to remain?"

"Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again," said

the earl, familiarly, "which will probably be in a week or two.

Look at that sky, all black and scarlet; and look at those people

• I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in

London."

"Even the sick have come out to-night," said Ormiston. "Half the

pest-stricken in the city have left their beds, full of newborn

hope. One would think it were a carnival."

"So it is - a carnival of death! I hope, Ormiston," said the

earl, looking at him with a light laugh, "the pretty little white

fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading

the streets."

Ormiston looked grave.

"No, my lord, I think she is not. I left her safe and secure."

"Who is she, Ormiston?" coaxed the earl, laughingly. "Pshaw,

man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her

name!"

"Her name is Leoline."

"What else?"

"That is just what I would like to have some one tell me. I give

you my honor, my lord, I do not know."

The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly

curious, made Ormiston smile.

"It is a fact, my lord. I asked her her name, and she told me

Leoline - a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory."

"How long have you known her?"

"To the best of my belief," said Ormiston, musingly, "about four

hours."

"Nonsense!" cried the earl, energetically. "What are you telling

me, Ormiston? You said she was an old friend."

"I beg your pardon, my lord, I said no such thing. I told you

she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true."

"Then how the demon had you the impudence to come up and carry

her off in that style? I certainly had a better right to her

than you - the right of discovery; and I shall call upon you to

deliver her up!"

"If she belonged to me I should only be too happy to oblige your

lordship," laughed Ormiston; "but she is at present the property

of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply."

"Ah! His inamorata, in she? Well, I must say his taste is

excellent; but I should think you ought to know her name, since

you and he are noted for being a modern Damon and Pythias."

"Probably I should, my lord, only Sir Norman, unfortunately, does

not know himself."

The earl's countenance looked so utterly blank at this

announcement, that Ormiston was forced to throw in a word of

explanation.

"I mean to say, my lord, that he has fallen in love with her;

and, judging from appearances, I should say his flame is not

altogether hopeless, although they have met to-night for the

first time."

"A rapid passion. Where have you left her, Ormiston?"

"In her own house, my lord," Ormiston replied, smiling quietly to

himself.

"Where is that?"

"About a dozen yards from where I stood when you called me."

"Who are her family?" continued the earl, who seemed possessed of

a devouring curiosity.

"She has none that I know of. I imagine Mistress Leoline is an

orphan. I know there was not a living soul but ourselves in the

house I brought her to."

"And you left her there alone?" exclaimed the earl, half starting

up, an if about to order the boatman to row back to the landing.

Ormiston looked at his excited face with a glance full of quiet

malice.

"No, my lord, not quits; Sir Norman Kingsley was with her!"

"Oh!" said the earl, smiling back with a look of chagrin. "Then

he will probably find out her name before he comes away. I

wonder you could give her up so easily to him, after all your

trouble!"

"Smitten, my lord?" inquired Ormiston, maliciously.

"Hopelessly!" replied the earl, with a deep sigh. "She was a

perfect little beauty; and if I can find her, I warn Sir Norman

Kingsley to take care! I have already sent Hubert out in search

of her; and, by the way," said the earl, with a sudden increase

of animation, "what a wonderful resemblance she bears to Hubert -

I could almost swear they were one and the same!"

"The likeness is marvelous; but I should hate to take such an

oath. I confess I am somewhat curious myself; but I stand no

chance of having it gratified before to-morrow, I suppose."

"How those fires blaze! It is much brighter than at noon-day.

Show me the house in which Leoline lies?".

Ormiston easily pointed it out, and showed the earl the light

still burning in her window.

"It was in that room we found her first, dead of the plague!"

"Dead of the what?" cried the earl, aghast.

"Dead of the plague! I'll tell your lordship how it was," said

Ormiston, who forthwith commend and related the story of their

finding Leoline; of the resuscitation at the plague-pit; of the

flight from Sir Norman's house, and of the delirious plunge into

the river, and miraculous cure.

"A marvelous story," commented the earl, much interested. "And

Leoline seems to have as many lives as a cat! Who can she be - a

princess in disguise - eh, Ormiston?"

"She looks fit to be a princess, or anything else; but your

lordship knows as much about her, now, as I do."

"You say she was dressed as a bride - how came that?"

"Simply enough. She was to be married to-night, had she not

taken the plague instead."

"Married? Why, I thought you told me a few minutes ago she was

in love with Kingsley. It seems to me, Mr. Ormiston, your

remarks are a trifle inconsistent," said the earl, in a tone of

astonished displeasure.

"Nevertheless, they are all perfectly true. Mistress Leoline was

to be married, as I told you; but she was to marry to please her

friends, and not herself. She had been in the habit of watching

Kingsley go past her window; and the way she blushed, and went

through the other little motions, convinces me that his course of

true love will ran as smooth as this glassy river runs at

present."

"Kingsley is a lucky fellow. Will the discarded suitor have no

voice in the matter; or is he such a simpleton as to give her up

at a word?"

Ormiston laughed.

"Ah! to be sure; what will the count say? And, judging from some

things I've heard, I should say he is violently in love with

her."

"Count who?" asked Rochester. "Or has he, like his ladylove, no

other name?"

"Oh, no! The name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for

life, and missed it, is Count L'Estrange!"

The earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon

his answer, as he watched the fire; but now he sprang sharply up,

and stared Ormiston full in the face.

"Count what did you say?" was his eager question, while his eyes,

more eager than his voice, strove to read the reply before it was

repeated.

"Count L'Estrange. You know him, my lord?" said Ormiston,

quietly.

"Ah!" said the earl. And then such a strange meaning smile went

wandering about his face. "I have not said that! So his name is

Count L'Estrange? Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's

beauty."

The earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for

a moment or two into deep musing; and then, as if the whole thing

struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an

immoderate fit of laughter. Ormiston looked at him curiously.

"It is my turn to ask questions, now, my lord. Who is Count

L'Estrange?"

"I know of no such person, Ormiston. I was thinking of something

else! Was it Leoline who told you that was her lover's name?"

No; I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure,

if Leoline is not a personage in disguise, he is."

"And why do you think so?"

"An inward conviction, my lord. So you will not tell me who he

is?"

"Have I not told you I know of no such person as Count

L'Estrange? You ought to believe me. Oh, here it comes."

This last was addressed to a great drop of rain, which splashed

heavily on his upturned face, followed by another and another in

quick succession.

"The storm is upon us," said the earl, sitting up and wrapping

his cloak closer around him, "and I am for Whitehall. Shall we

land you, Ormiston, or take you there, too?"

"I must land," said Ormiston. "I have a pressing engagement for

the next half-hour. Here it is, in a perfect deluge; the fires

will be out in five minutes."

The barge touched the stairs, and Ormiston sprang out, with

"Good-night" to the earl. The rain was rushing along, now, in

torrents, and he ran upstairs and darted into an archway of the

bridge, to seek the shelter. Some one else had come there before

him, in search of the same thing; for he saw two dark figures

standing within it as he entered.

"A sudden storm," was Ormiston's salutation, "and a furious one.

There go the fires - hiss and splutter. I knew how it would be."

"Then Saul and Mr. Ormiston are among the prophets?"

Ormiston had heard that voice before; it was associated in his

mind with a slouched hat and shadowy cloak; and by the fast-

fading flicker of the firelight, he saw that both were here. The

speaker wan Count L'Estrange; the figure beside him, slender and

boyish, was unknown.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," he said affecting ignorance.

"May I ask who you are?"

"Certainly. A gentlemen, by courtesy and the grace of God."

"And your name?"

"Count L'Estrange, at your service."

Ormiston lifted his cap and bowed, with a feeling somehow, that

the count was a man in authority.

"Mr. Ormiston assisted in doing a good deed, tonight, for a

friend of mine," said the count.

"Will he add to that obligation by telling me if he has not

discovered her again, and brought her back?"

"Do you refer to the fair lady in yonder house?"

"So she is there? I thought so, George," said the count,

addressing himself to his companion. "Yes, I refer to her, the

lady you saved from the river. You brought her there?"

"I brought her there," replied Ormiston.

"She is there still?"

"I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary "

"And alone?"

"She may be, now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left

her," said Ormiston, administering the fact with infinite relish.

There was a moment's silence. Ormiston could not see the count's

face; but, judging from his own feelings, he fancied its

expression must be sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke

the silence, until the spirit again moved the count to speak.

"By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her?" he inquired,

in a voice betokening not the least particle of emotion.

"By the best of rights - that of her preserver, hoping soon to be

her lover."

There was an other brief silence, broken again by the count, in

the same composed tone:

"Since the lady holds her levee so late, I, too, must have a word

with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without

danger of drowning."

"It shown symptoms of clearing off, already," said Ormiston, who,

in his secret heart, thought it would be an excellent joke to

bring the rivals face to face in the lady's presence; "so you

will not have long to wait."

To which observation the count replied not; and the three stood

in silence, watching the fury of the storm.

Gradually it cleared away; and as the moon began to straggle out

between the rifts in the clouds, the count saw something by her

pale light that Ormiston saw not. That latter gentleman,

standing with his back to the house of Leoline, and his face

toward that of Ls Masque, did not observe the return of Sir

Norman from St. Paul's, nor look after him as he rode away. But

the count did both; and ten minutes after, when the rain had

entirely ceased, and the moon and stars got the better of the

clouds in their struggle for supremacy, he beheld La Masque

flitting like a dark shadow in the same direction, and vanishing

in at Leoline's door. The same instant, Ormiston started to go.

"The storm has entirely ceased," he said, stepping out, and with

the profound air of one making a new discovery, "and we are

likely to have fine weather for the remainder of the night - or

rather, morning. Good night, count."

"Farewell," said the count, as he and, his companion came out

from the shadow of the archway, and turned to follow La Masque.

Ormiston, thinking the hour of waiting had elapsed, and feeling

much more interested in the coming meeting than in Leoline or her

visitors, paid very little attention to his two acquaintances.

He saw them, it is true, enter Leoline's house, but at the same

instant, he took up his post at La Masque's doorway, and

concentrated his whole attention on that piece of architecture.

Every moment seemed like a week now; and before he had stood at

his post five minutes, he had worked himself up into a perfect

fever of impatience. Sometimes he was inclined to knock and seek

La Masque in her own home; but as often the fear of a chilling

rebuke paralyzed his hand when he raised it. He was so sure she

was within the house, that he never thought of looking for her

elsewhere; and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a

century or two, but which in reality was about a quarter of an

hour, there was a soft rustling of drapery behind him, and the

sweetest of voices sounded in his ear, it fairly made him bound.

"Here again, Mr. Ormiston? Is this the fifth or sixth time I've

found you in this place to-night?"

"La Masque!" he cried, between joy and surprise. "But surely, I

was not totally unexpected this time?"

"Perhaps not. You are waiting here for me to redeem my promise,

I suppose?"

"Can you doubt it? Since I knew you first, I have desired this

hour as the blind desire sight."

"Ah! And you will find it as sweet to look back upon as you have

to look forward to," said La Masque, derisively. "If you are

wise for yourself, Mr. Ormiston, you will pause here, and give me

back that fatal word."

"Never, madame! And surely you will not be so pitilessly cruel

as to draw back, now?"

"No, I have promised, and I shall perform; and let the

consequences be what they may, they will rest upon your own head.

You have been warned, and you still insist."

"I still insist!"

Then let us move farther over here into the shadow of the houses;

this moonlight is so dreadfully bright!"

They moved on into the deep shadow, and there was a pulse

throbbing in Ormiston's head and heart like the beating of a

muffed drum. They paused and faced each other silently.

"Quick, madame!" cried Ormiston, hoarsely, his whole face flushed

wildly.

His strange companion lifted her hand as if to remove the mask,

and he saw that it shook like an aspen. She made one motion as

though about to lift it, and then recoiled, as if from herself,

in a sort of horror.

"My God! What is this man urging me to do? How can I ever

fulfill that fatal promise?"

"Madame, you torture me!" said Ormiston, whose face showed what

he felt. "You must keep your promise; so do not drive me wild

waiting. Let me - "

He took a step toward her, as if to lift the mask himself, but

she held out both arms to keep him off.

"No, no, no! Come not near me, Malcolm Ormiston! Fated man,

since you will rush on your doom, Look! and let the sight blast

you, if it will!"

She unfastened her mask, raised it, and with it the profusion of

long, sweeping black hair.

Ormiston did look - in much the same way, perhaps, that Zulinka

looked at the Veiled Prophet. The next moment there was a

terrible cry, and he fell headlong with a crash, as if a bullet

had whined through his hart.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE INTERVIEW.

I am not aware whether fainting was as much the fashion among the

fair sex, in the days (or rather the nights) of which I have the

honor to hold forth, as at the present time; but I am inclined to

think not, from the simple fact that Leoline, though like John

Bunyan, "grievously troubled and tossed about in her mind," did

nothing of the kind. For the first few moments, she was

altogether too stunned by the suddenness of the shock to cry out

or make the least resistance, and was conscious of nothing but of

being rapidly borne along in somebody's arms. When this hazy

view of things passed away, her new sensation was, the intensely

uncomfortable one of being on the verge of suffocation. She made

one frantic but futile effort to free herself and scream for

help, but the strong arms held her with most loving tightness,

and her cry was drowned in the hot atmosphere within the shawl,

and never passed beyond it. Most assuredly Leoline would have

been smothered then and there, had their journey been much

longer; but, fortunately for her, it was only the few yards

between her house and the river. She knew she was then carried

down some steps, and she heard the dip of the oars in the water,

and then her bearer paused, and went through a short dialogue

with somebody else - with Count L'Estrange, she rather felt than

knew, for nothing was audible but a low murmur. The only word

she could make out was a low, emphatic "Remember!" in the count's

voice, and then she knew she was in a boat, and that it was

shoved off, and moving down the rapid river. The feeling of heat

and suffocation was dreadful and as her abductor placed her on

some cushions, she made another desperate but feeble effort to

free herself from the smothering shawl, but a hand was laid

lightly on hers, and a voice interposed.

"Lady, it is quite useless for you to struggle, as you are

irrevocably in my power, but if you will promise faithfully not

to make any outcry, and will submit to be blindfolded, I shall

remove this oppressive muffling from your head. Tell me if you

will promise."

He had partly raised the shawl, and a gush of free air came

revivingly in, and enabled Leoline to gasp out a faint " I

promise!" As she spoke, it was lifted off altogether, and she

caught one bright fleeting glimpse of the river, sparkling and

silvery in the moonlight; of the bright blue sky, gemmed with

countless stars, and of some one by her side in the dress of a

court-page, whose face was perfectly unknown to her. The next

instant, a bandage was bound tightly over her eyes, excluding

every ray of light, while the strange voice again spoke

apologetically

"Pardon, lady, but it is my orders! I am commanded to treat you

with every respect, but not to let you see where you are borne

to."

"By what right does Count L'Estrange commit this outrage!" began

Leoline, almost as imperiously as Miranda herself, and making use

of her tongue, like a true woman, the very first moment it was at

her disposal. "How dare he carry me off in this atrocious way?

Whoever you are, sir, if you have the spirit of a man, you will

bring me directly back to my own house

"I am very sorry, lady, but I have received orders that must be

obeyed! You must come with me, but you need fear nothing; you

will be an safe and secure as in your own home."

"Secure enough, no doubt!" paid Leoline, bitterly. "I never did

like Count L'Estrange, but I never knew he was a coward and a

villain till now!"

Her companion made no reply to this forcible address, and there

was a moment's indignant silence on Leoline's part, broken only

by the dip of the oars, and the rippling of the water. Then

"Will you not tell me, at least, where you are taking me to?"

haughtily demanded Leoline.

"Lady, I cannot! It was to prevent you knowing, that you have

been blindfolded."

"Oh! your master has a faithful servant, I see! How long am I to

be kept a prisoner?"

"I do not know."

"Where is Count L'Estrange?"

"I cannot tell."

"Where am I to see him?"

"I cannot say."

"Ha!" said Leoline, with infinite contempt, and turning her back

upon him she relapsed into gloomy silence. It had all been so

sudden, and had taken her so much by surprise, that she had not

had time to think of the consequences until now. But now they

came upon her with a rush, and with dismal distinctness; and most

distinct among all was, what would Sir Norman say! Of course,

with all a lover's impatience, he would be at his post by

sunrise, would come to look for his bride, and find himself sold!

By that time she would be far enough away, perhaps a melancholy

corpse (and at this dreary passage in her meditations, Leoline

sighed profoundly), and he would never know what had become of

her, or how much and how long she had loved him. And this

hateful Count L'Estrange, what did he intend to do with her?

Perhaps go so far as to make her marry him, and imprison her with

the rest of his wives; for Leoline was prepared to think the very

worst of the count, and had not the slightest doubt that he

already had a harem full of abducted wives, somewhere. But no -

he never could do that, he might do what he liked with weaker

minds, but she never would be a bride of his while the plague or

poison was to be had in London. And with this invincible

determination rooted fixedly, not to say obstinately, in her

mind, she was nearly pitched overboard by the boat suddenly

landing at some unexpected place. A little natural scream of

terror was repressed on her lips by a hand being placed over

them, and the determined but perfectly respectful tones of the

person beside her speaking.

"Remember your promise, lady, and do not make a noise. We have

arrived at our journey's end, and if you will take my arm, I will

lead you along, instead of carrying you."

Leoline was rather surprised to find the journey so short, but

she arose directly, with silence and dignity - at least with as

much of the latter commodity as could be reasonably expected,

considering that boats on water are rather unsteady things to be

dignified in - and was led gently and with care out of the

swaying vessel, and up another flight of stairs. Then, in a few

moments, she was conscious of passing from the free night air

into the closer atmosphere of a house; and in going through an

endless labyrinth of corridors, and passages, and suites of

rooms, and flights of stairs, until she became so extremely

tired, that she stopped with spirited abruptness, and in the

plainest possible English, gave her conductor to understand that

they had gone about far enough for all practical purposes. To

which that patient and respectful individual replied that he was

glad to inform her they had but a few more steps to go, which the

next moment proved to be true, for he stopped and announced that

their promenade was over for the night.

"And I suppose I may have the use of my eyes at last?" inquired

Leoline, with more haughtiness than Sir Norman could have

believed possible so gentle a voice could have expressed.

For reply, her companion rapidly untied the bandage, and withdrew

it with a flourish. The dazzling brightness that burst upon her,

so blinded her, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing;

and when she looked round to contemplate her companion, she found

him hurriedly making his exit, and securely locking the door.

The sound of the key turning in the lock gave her a most peculiar

sensation, which none but those who have experienced it can

properly understand. It is not the most comfortable feeling in

the world to know you are a prisoner, even if you have no key

turned upon you but the weather, and your jailer be a high east

wind and lashing rain. Leoline's prison and jailer were

something worse; and, for the first time, a chill of fear and

dismay crept icily to the core of her heart. But Leoline had

something of Miranda's courage, as well as her looks and temper;

so she tried to feel as brave as possible, and not think of her

unpleasant predicament while there remained anything else to

think about. Perhaps she might escape, too; and, as this notion

struck her, she looked with eager anxiety, not unmixed with

curiosity, at the place where she was. By this time, her eyes

had been accustomed to the light, which proceeded from a great

antique lamp of bronze, pendent by a brass chain from the

ceiling; and she saw she was in a moderately sized and by no

means splendid room. But what struck her most was, that

everything had a look of age about it, from the glittering oak

beams of the floor to the faded ghostly hangings on the wall.

There was a bed at one end - a great spectral ark of a thing,

like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and spectral as that on the

walls, and in which she could no more have lain than in a moth-

eaten shroud. The seats and the one table the room held were of

the same ancient and weird pattern, and the sight of them gave

her a shivering sensation not unlike an ague chill. There was

but one door - a huge structure, with shining panels, securely

locked; and escape from that quarter was utterly out of the

question. There was one window, hung with dark curtains of

tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them aside, she met only a

dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters were firmly

secured without. Altogether, she could not form the slightest

idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she sat

down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling

as if she were sitting in a tomb.

What would Sir Norman say? What would he ever think of her, when

he found her gone. And what was destined to be her fate in this

dreadful out-of-the-way place? She would have cried, as most of

her sex would be tempted to do in such a situation, but that her

dislike and horror of Count L'Estrange was a good deal stronger

than her grief, and turned her tears to sparks of indignant fire.

Never, never, never! would she be his wife! He might kill her a

thousand times, if he liked, and she wouldn't yield an inch. She

did not mind dying in a good cause; she could do it but once.

And with Sir Norman despising her, as she felt he must do, when

he found her run away, she rather liked the idea than otherwise.

Mentally, she bade adieu to all her friends before beginning to

prepare for her melancholy fate - to her handsome lover, to his

gallant friend Ormiston, to her poor nurse, Prudence, and to her

mysterious visitor, La Masque.

La Masque! Ah! that name awoke a new chord of recollection - the

casket, she had it with her yet. Instantly, everything was

forgotten but it and its contents; and she placed a chair

directly under the lamp, drew it out, and looked at it. It was a

pretty little bijou itself, with its polished ivory surface, and

shining clasps of silver. But the inside had far more interest

for her than the outside, and she fitted the key and unlocked it

with a trembling hand. It was lined with azure velvet, wrought

with silver thread, in dainty wreathe of water lilies; and in the

bottom, neatly folded, lay a sheet of foolscap. She opened it

with nervous haste; it was a common sheet enough, stamped with

fool's cap and bells, that showed it belonged to Cromwell's time.

It was closely written, in a light, fair hand, and bore the title

"Leoline's History."

Leoline's hand trembled so with eagerness, she could scarcely

hold the paper; but her eye rapidly ran from line to line, and

she stopped not till she reached the end. While she read, her

face alternately flushed and paled, her eyes dilated, her lips

parted; and before she finished it, there came over all a look of

the most unutterable horror. It dropped from her powerless

fingers as she finished; and she sank back in her chair with such

a ghastly paleness, that it seemed absolutely like the lividness

of death.

A sudden and startling noise awoke her from her trance of horror

• some one trying to get in at the window! The chill of terror

it sent through every vein acted as a sort of counter-irritant to

the other feeling, and she sprang from her chair and turned her

face fearfully toward the sounds. But in all her terror she did

not forget the mysterious sheet of foolscap, which lay, looking

up at her, on the floor; and she snatched it up, and thrust it

and the casket out of sight. Still the sounds went on, but

softly and cautiously; and at intervals, as if the worker were

afraid of being heard. Leoline went back, step by step, to the

other extremity of the room, with her eyes still fixed on the

window, and on her face a white terror, that left her perfectly

colorless.

Who could it be? Not Count L'Estrange, for he would surely not

need to enter his own house like a burglar - not Sir Norman

Kingsley, for he could certainly not find out her abduction and

her prison so soon, and she had no other friends in the whole

wide world to trouble themselves about her. There was one, but

the idea of ever seeing her again was so unspeakably dreadful,

that she would rather have seen the most horrible spectre her

imagination could conjure up, than that tall, graceful,

rich-robed form.

Still the noises perseveringly continued; there was the sound of

withdrawing bolts, and then a pale ray of moonlight shot between

the parted curtains, shoving the shutters had been opened.

Whiter and whiter Leoline grew, and she felt herself growing cold

and rigid with mortal fear. Softly the window was raised, a hand

stole in and parted the curtains, and a pale face and two great

dark eyes wandered slowly round the room, and rested at last on

her, standing, like a galvanized corpse, as far from the window

as the wall would permit. The hand was lifted in a warning

gesture, as if to enforce silence; the window was raised still

higher, a figure, lithe and agile as a cat, sprang lightly into

the room, and standing with his back to her, re-closed the

shutters, re-shut the window, and re-drew the curtains, before

taking the trouble to turn round.

This discreet little manoeuvre, which showed her visitor was

human, and gifted with human prudence, re-assured Leoline a

little; and, to judge by the reverse of the medal, the nocturnal

intruder was nothing very formidable after all. But the stranger

did not keep her long in suspense; while she stood gazing at him,

as if fascinated, he turned round, stepped forward, took off his

cap, made her a courtly bow, and then straightening himself up,

prepared, with great coolness, to scrutinize and be scrutinized.

Well might they look at each other; for the two faces were

perfectly the same, and each one saw himself and herself as

others saw them. There was the same coal-black, curling hair;

the same lustrous dark eyes; the same clear, colorless

complexion, the same delicate, perfect features; nothing was

different but the costume and the expression. That latter was

essentially different, for the young lady's betrayed amazement,

terror, doubt, and delight all at once; while the young

gentleman's was a grand, careless surprise, mixed with just a

dash of curiosity.

He was the first to speak; and after they had stared at each

other for the space of five minutes, he described a graceful

sweep with his hand, and held forth in the following strain

"I greatly fear, fair Leoline, that I have startled you by my

sudden and surprising entrance; and if I have been the cause of a

moment's alarm to one so perfectly beautiful, I shall hate myself

for ever after. If I could have got in any other way, rest

assured I would not have risked my neck and your peace of mind by

such a suspicious means of ingress as the window; but if you will

take the trouble to notice, the door is thick, and I am composed

of too solid flesh to whisk through the keyhole; so I had to make

my appearance the best way I could."

"Who are you?" faintly asked Leoline.

"Your friend, fair lady, and Sir Norman Kingsley's."

Hubert looked to see Leoline start and blush, and was deeply

gratified to see her do both; and her whole pretty countenance

became alive with new-born hope, as if that name were a magic

talisman of freedom and joy.

"What is your name, and who are you?" she inquired, in a

breathless sort of way, that made Hubert look at her a moment in

calm astonishment.

"I have told you your friend; christened at some remote period,

Hubert. For further particulars, apply to the Earl of Rochester,

whose page I am."

"The Earl of Rochester's page!" she repeated, in the same quick,

excited way, that surprised and rather lowered her in that good

youth's opinion, for giving way to any feelings so plebeian. "It

is - it must be the same!"

"I have no doubt of it," said Hubert. "The same what?"

"Did you not come from France - from Dijon, recently?" went on

Leoline, rather inappositely, as it struck her hearer.

"Certainly I came from Dijon. Had I the honor of being known to

you there?"

"How strange! How wonderful!" said Leoline, with a paling cheek

and quickened breathing. "How mysterious those things turn out I

Thank Heaven that I have found some one to love at last!"

This speech, which was Greek, algebra, high Dutch, or

thereabouts, to Master Hubert, caused him to stare to such an

extent, that when he came to think of it afterward, positively

shocked him. The two great, wondering dark eyes transfixing her

with so much amazement, brought Leoline to a sense of her talking

unfathomable mysteries, quite incomprehensible to her handsome

auditor. She looked at him with a smile, held out her hand; and

Hubert received a strange little electric thrill, to see that her

eyes were full of tears. He took the hand and raised it to his

lips, wondering if the young lady, struck by his good looks, had

conceived a rash and inordinate attack of love at first sight,

and was about to offer herself to him and discard Sir Norman for

ever. From this speculation, the sweet voice aroused him.

"You have told me who you are. Now, do you know who I am?"

"I hope so, fairest Leoline. I know you are the most beautiful

lady in England, and to-morrow will be called Lady Kingsley!"

"I am something more," said Leoline, holding his hand between

both hers, and bending near him; " I am your sister!"

The Earl of Rochester's page must have had good blood in his

veins; for never was there duke, grandee, or peer of the realm,

more radically and unaffectedly nonchalant than he. To this

unexpected announcement he listened with most dignified and

well-bred composure, and in his secret heart, or rather vanity,

more disappointed than otherwise, to find his first solution of

her tenderness a great mistake. Leoline held his hand tight in

hers, and looked with loving and tearful eyes in his face.

"Dear Hubert, you are my brother - my long-unknown brother, and I

love you with my whole heart!"

"Am I?" said Hubert. "I dare say I am, for they all say we look

as much alike as two peas. I am excessively delighted to hear

it, and to know that you love me. Permit me to embrace my new

relative."

With which the court page kissed Leoline with emphasis, while she

scarcely knew whether to laugh, cry, or be provoked at his

composure. On the whole, she did a little of all three, and

pushed him away with a halt pout.

"You insensible mortal! How can you stand there and hear that

you have found a sister with so much indifference?"

"Indifferent? Not I! You have no idea how wildly excited I am!"

said Hubert, in a voice not betokening the slightest emotion.

"How did you find it out, Leoline?"

"Never mind! I shall tell you that again. You don't doubt it, I

hope?"

"Of course not! I knew from the first moment I set eyes on you,

that if you were not my sister, you ought to be! I wish you'd

tell me all the particulars, Leoline."

"I shall do so as soon as I am out of this; but how can I tell

you anything here?"

"That's true!" said Hubert, reflectively. "Well, I'll wait.

Now, don't you wonder how I found you out, and came here?"

"Indeed I do. How was it, Hubert?"

"Oh, well, I don't know as I can altogether tell you; but you

see, Sir Norman Kingsley being possessed of an inspiration that

something was happening to you, came to your house a short time

ago, and, as he suspected, discovered that you were missing. I

met him there, rather depressed in his mind about it, and he told

me - beginning the conversation, I must say, in a very excited

manner," said Hubert, parenthetically, as memory recalled the

furious shaking he had undergone - "and he told me he fancied you

were abducted, and by one Count L'Estrange. Now I had a hazy

idea who Count L'Estrange was, and where he would be most apt to

take you to; and so I came here, and after some searching, more

inquiring, and a few unmitigated falsehoods (you'll regret to

hear), discovered you were locked up in this place, and succeeded

in getting in through the window. Sir Norman is waiting for me

in a state of distraction so now, having found you, I will go and

relieve his mind by reporting accordingly."

"And leave me here?" cried Leoline, in affright, "and in the

power of Count L'Estrange? Oh! no, no! You must take me with

you, Hubert!"

"My dear Leoline, it is quite impossible to do it without help,

and without a ladder. I will return to Sir Norman; and when the

darkness comes that precedes day-dawn, we will raise the ladder

to your window, and try to get you out. Be patient - only wait

an hour or two, and then you will be free."

"But, O Hubert, where am I? What dreadful place it this?" .

"Why, I do not know that this is a very dreadful place; and most

people consider it a sufficiently respectable house; but, still,

I would rather see my sister anywhere else than in it, and will

take the trouble of kidnapping her out of it as quickly as

possible."

"But, Hubert, tell me - do tell me, who is Count L'Estrange?"

Hubert laughed.

"Cannot, really, Leoline! at least, not until to-morrow, and you

are Lady Kingsley."

"But, what if he should come here to-night?"

"I do not think there is much danger of that, but whether he does

or not, rest assured you shall be free to-morrow! At all events,

it is quite impossible for you to escape with me now; and even as

it is, I run the risk of being detected, and made a prisoner,

myself. You must be patient and wait, Leoline, and trust to

Providence and your brother Hubert!"

"I must, I suppose!" said Leoline, sighing, "and you cannot take

me away until day-dawn."

"Quite impossible; and then all this drapery of yours will be

ever so much in the way. Would you object to garments like

these?" pointing to his doublet and hose. "If you would not, I

think I could procure you a fit-out."

"But I should, though!" said Leoline, with spirit "and most

decidedly, too! I shall wear nothing of the kind, Sir Page!"

"Every one to her fancy!" said Hubert, with a French shrug, "and

my pretty sister shall have hers in spite of earth, air, fire,

and water! And now, fair Leoline, for a brief time, adieu, and

au revoir !"

"You will not fail me!" exclaimed Leoline, earnestly, clasping

her hands.

"If I do, it shall be the last thing I will fail in on earth; for

if I am alive by to-morrow morning, Leoline shall be free!"

"And you will be careful - you will both be careful!"

"Excessively careful! Now then."

The last two words were addressed to the window which he

noiselessly opened as he spoke. Leoline caught a glimpse of the

bright free moonlight, and watched him with desperate envy; but

the next moment the shutters were closed, and Hubert and the

moonlight were both gone.

CHAPTER XIX

HUBERT'S WHISPER.

Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the

dead body of his friend, was only equalled by his amazement as to

how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all. The livid

face, up turned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a

dead man - it was no swoon, no deception, like Leoline's; for the

blue, ghastly paleness that marks the flight of the soul from the

body was stamped on every rigid feature. Yet, Sir Norman could

not realize it. We all know how hard it is to realize the death

of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health

and life, and Ormiston's death was so sudden. Why, it was not

quite two hours since they had parted in Leoline's house, and

even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this.

"Ormiston! Ormiston!" he called, between grief and dismay, as he

raised him in his arms, with his hand over the stilled heart; but

Ormiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath

his fingers. He tore open his doublet, as the thought of the

plague flashed through his mind, but no plague-spot was to be

seen, and it was quite evident, from the appearance of the face,

that he had not died of the distemper, neither was there any

wound or mark to show that he had met his end violently. Yet the

cold, white face was convulsed, as if he had died in throes of

agony, the hands were clenched, till the nails sank into the

flesh; and that was the only outward sign or token that he had

suffered in expiring.

Sir Norman was completely at a lose, and half beside himself,

with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment, and

mystification. The rapid and exciting events of the night had

turned his head into a mental chaos, as they very well might, but

he still had commonsense enough left to know that something must

be done about this immediately. He knew the best place to take

Ormiston was to the nearest apothecary's shop, which

establishments were generally open, and filled, the whole

livelong night, by the sick and their friends. As he was

meditating whether or not to call the surly watchman to help him

carry the body, a pest-cart came, providentially, along, and the

driver-seeing a young man bending over a prostrate form-guessed

at once what was the matter, and came to a halt.

"Another one!" he said, coming leisurely up, and glancing at the

lifeless form with a very professional eye. "Well, I think there

is room for another one in the cart; so bear a hand, friend, and

let us have him out of this."

"You are mistaken!" said Sir Norman sharply, "he has not died of

the plague. I am not even certain whether he is dead at all."

The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched

Ormiston's icy face, and listened to hear him breathe. He stood

up after a moment, with some thing like a small laugh.

"If he's alive," he said, turning to go, "then I never saw any

one dead! Good night, sir, I wish you joy when you bring him

to."

"Stay!" exclaimed the young man, "I wish you to assist me in

bringing him to yonder apothecary's shop, and you may have this

for your pains."

"This " proved to be a talisman of alacrity; for the man pocketed

it, and briskly laid hold of Ormiston by the feet, while Sir

Norman wrapped his cloak reverently about him and took him by the

shoulders. In this style his body was conveyed to the

apothecary's shop which they found half full of applicants for

medicine, among whom their entrance with the corpse produced no

greater sensation than a momentary stare. The attire and bearing

of Sir Norman proving him to be something different from their

usual class of visitors, bringing one of the drowsy apprentices

immediately to his side, inquiring what were his orders.

"A private room, and your master's attendance directly," was the

authoritative reply.

Both were to be had; the former, a hole in the wall behind the

shop; the latter, a pallid, cadaverous-looking person, with the

air of one who had been dead a week, thought better of it and

rose again. There was a long table in the aforesaid hole in the

wall, bearing a strong family likeness to a dissecting-table;

upon which the stark figure was laid, and the pest-cart driver

disappeared. The apothecary held a mirror close to the, face;

applied his ear to the pulse and heart; held a pocket-mirror over

his mouth, looked at it; shook his head; and set down the candle

with decision.

"The man is dead, sir!" was his criticism, "dead as a door nail!

All the medicine in the shop wouldn't kindle one spark of life in

such ashes!"

"At least, try! Try something - bleeding for instance,"

suggested Sir Norman.

Again the apothecary examined the body, and again he shook his

head dolefully.

"It's no use, sir: but, if it will please, you can try."

The right arm was bared; the lancet inserted, one or two black

drops sluggishly followed and nothing more.

"It's all a waste of time, you see," remarked the apothecary,

wiping his dreadful little weapon, "he's as dead as ever I saw

anybody in my life! How did he come to his end, sir - not by the

plague?"

"I don't know," said Sir Norman, gloomily. "I wish you would

tell me that."

"Can't do it, sir; my skill doesn't extend that far. There is no

plague-spot or visible wound or bruise on the person; so he must

have died of some internal complaint - probably disease of the

heart."

"Never knew him to have such a thing," said Sir Norman, sighing.

"It is very mysterious and very dreadful, and notwithstanding all

you have said, I cannot believe him dead. Can he not remain here

until morning, at least?"

The starved apothecary looked at him out of a pair of hollow,

melancholy eyes.

"Gold can do anything," was his plaintive reply.

"I understand. You shall have it. Are you sure you can do

nothing more for him?"

"Nothing whatever, sir; and excuse me, but there are customers in

the shop, and I must leave, sir."

Which he did, accordingly; and Sir Norman was left alone with all

that remained of him who, two hours before, was his warm friend.

He could scarcely believe that it was the calm majesty of death

that so changed the expression of that white face, and yet, the

longer he looked, the more deeply an inward conviction assured

him that it was so. He chafed the chilling hands and face, he

applied hartshorn and burnt feathers to the nostrils, but all

these applications, though excellent in their way, could not

exactly raise the dead to life, and, in this case, proved a

signal, failure. He gave up his doctoring, at last, in despair,

and folding his arms, looked down at what lay on the table, and

tried to convince himself that it was Ormiston. So absorbed was

he in the endeavor, that he heeded not the passing moments, until

it struck him with a shock that Hubert might even now be waiting

for him at the trysting-place, with news of Leoline. Love is

stronger than friendship, stronger than grief, stronger than

death, stronger than every other feeling in the world; so he

suddenly seized his bat, turned his back on Ormiston and the

apothecary's shop, and strode oft to the place he had quitted.

No Hubert was there, but two figures were passing slowly along in

the moonlight, and one of them he recognized, with an impulse to

spring at him like a tiger and strangle him. But he had been so

shocked and subdued by his recent discovery, that the impulse

which, half an hour before, would have been unhesitatingly

obeyed, went for nothing, now; and there was more of reproach,

even, than anger in his voice, as he went over and laid his hand

on the shoulder of one of them.

"Stay!" he said. "One word with you, Count L'Estrange. What

have you done with Leoline!"

"Ah! Sir Norman, as I live!" cried the count wheeling round and

lifting his hat. "Give me good even - or rather, good morning -

Kingsley, for St. Paul's has long gone the midnight hour."

Sir Norman, with his hand still on his shoulder, returned not the

courtesy, and regarding the gallant count with a stern eye.

"Where is Leoline?" he frigidly repeated.

"Really," said the count, with some embarrassment,"you attack me

so unexpectedly, and so like a ghost or a highwayman - by the way

I have a word to say to you about highwaymen, and was seeking you

to say it."

"Where is Leoline?" shouted the exasperated young knight,

releasing his shoulder, and clutching him by the throat. "Tell

me or, by Heaven! I'll pitch you neck and heels into the Thames!"

Instantly the sword of the count's companion flashed in the

moonlight, and, in two seconds more, its blue blade would have

ended the earthly career of Sir Norman Kingsley, had not the

count quickly sprang back, and made a motion for his companion to

hold.

"Wait!" he cried, commandingly, with his arm outstretched to

each. "Keep off! George, sheathe your sword and stand aside.

Sir Norman Kingsley, one word with you, and be it in peace."

"There can be no peace between us," replied that aggravated young

gentleman, fiercely "until you tell me what has become of

Leoline."

"All in good time. We have a listener, and does it mot strike

you our conference should be private!"

"Public or private, it matters not a jot, so that you tell me

what you've done with Leoline," replied Sir Norman, with whom it

was evident getting beyond this question was a moral and physical

impossibility. "And if you do not give an account of yourself,

I'll run you through as sure as your name is Count L'Estrange!"

A strange sort of smile came over the face of the count at this

direful threat, as if he fancied in that case, he was safe

enough; but Sir Norman, luckily, did not see it, and heard only

the suave reply:

"Certainly, Sir Norman; I shall be delighted to do so. Let us

stand over there in the shadow of that arch; and, George, do you

remain here within call."

The count blandly waved Sir Norman to follow, which Sir Norman

did, with much the mein of a sulky lion; and, a moment after,

both were facing each other within the archway.

"Well!" cried the young knight, impatiently; "I am waiting. Go

on!"

"My dear Kingsley," responded the count, in his easy way, "I

think you are laboring under a little mistake. I have nothing to

go on about; it is you who are to begin the controversy."

"Do you dare to play with me?" exclaimed Sir Norman, furiously.

"I tell you to take care how you speak! What have you done with

Leoline?"

"That is the fourth or fifth time that you've asked me that

question," said the count, with provoking indifference. "What do

you imagine I have done with her?"

Sir Norman's feelings, which had been rising ever since their

meeting, got up to such a height at this aggravating question,

that he gave vent to an oath, and laid his hand on him sword; but

the count's hand lightly interposed before it came out.

"Not yet, Sir Norman. Be calm; talk rationally. What do you

accuse me of doing with Leoline?"

"Do you dare deny having carried her off?"

"Deny it? No; I am never afraid to father my own deeds."

"Ah!" said Sir Norman grinding his teeth. "Then you acknowledge

it?"

"I acknowledge it - yes. What next?"

The perfect composure of his tone fell like a cool, damp towel on

the fire of Sir Norman's wrath. It did not quite extinguish the

flame, however - only quenched it a little - and it still hissed

hotly underneath.

"And you dare to stand before me and acknowledge such an act?"

exclaimed Sir Norman, perfectly astounded at the cool assurance

of the man.

"Verily, yea," said the count, laughing. "I seldom take the

trouble to deny my acts. What next?"

"There is nothing next," said Sir Norman, severely, "until we

have come to a proper understanding about this. Are you aware,

sir, that that lady is my promised bride?"

"No, I do not know that I am. On the contrary, I have an idea

she is mine."

"She was, you mean. You know she was forced into consenting by

yourself and her nurse!"

"Still she consented; and a bond is a bond, and a promise a

promise, all the world over."

"Not with a woman," said Sir Norman, with stern dogmatism. "It

is their privilege to break their promise and change their mind

sixty times an hour, if they choose. Leoline has seen fit to do

both, and has accepted me in your stead; therefore I command you

instantly to give her up!"

"Softly, my friend - softly. How was I to know all this?"

"You ought to have known it!" returned Sir Norman, in the same

dogmatical way; "or if you didn't, you do now; so say no more

about it. Where is she, I tell you?" repeated the young man, in

a frenzy.

"Your patience one moment longer, until we see which of us has

the best right to the lady. I have a prior claim."

"A forced one. Leoline does not care a snap far you - and she

loves me."

"What extraordinary bad taste!" raid the count, thoughtfully.

"Did she tell you that?"

"Yes; she did tell me this, and a great deal more. Come - have

done talking, and tell me where she is, or I'll - "

"Oh, no, you wouldn't!" said the count, teasingly. "Since

matters stand in this light I'll tell you what I'll do. I

acknowledge that I carried off Leoline, viewing her as my

promised bride, and have sent her to my own home in the care of a

trusty messenger, where I give you my word of honor, I have not

been since. She is as safe there, and much safer than in her own

house, until morning, and it would be a pity to disturb her at

this unseasonable hour. When the morning comes, we will both go

to her together - state our rival claims - and whichever one she

decides on accepting, can have her, and end the matter at once."

The count paused and meditated. This proposal was all very

plausible and nice on the surface, but Sir Norman with his usual

penetration and acuteness, looked farther than the surface, and

found a flaw.

"And how am I to know," he asked, doubtingly, "that you will not

go to her to-night and spirit her off where I will never hear of

either of you again?"

"In the very best way in the world: we will not part company

until morning comes, are we at peace?" inquired the count,

smiling and holding out but hand.

"Until then, we will have to be, I suppose," replied Sir Norman,

rather ungraciously taking the hand as if it were red-hot, and

dropping it again. "And we are to stand here and rail at each

other, in the meantime?"

"By no means! Even the most sublime prospect tires when surveyed

too long. There is a little excursion which I would like you to

accompany me on, if you have no objection."

"Where to?"

"To the ruin, where you have already been twice to-night."

Sir Norman stared.

"And who told you this fact, Sir Count?"

"Never mind; I have heard it. Would you object to a third

excursion there before morning?"

Again Sir Norman paused and meditated. There was no use in

staying where he was, that would bring him no nearer to Leoline,

and nothing was to be gained by killing the count beyond the mere

transitory pleasure of the thing. On the other hand, he had an

intense and ardent desire to re-visit the ruin, and learn what

had become of Miranda -the only draw-back being that, if they

were found they would both be most assuredly beheaded. Then,

again, there was Hubert.

"Well," inquired the count, as Sir Norman looked up.

"I have no objection to go with you to the ruin," was the reply,

"only this; if we are seen there, we will be dead men two minutes

after; and I have no desire to depart this life until I have had

that promised interview with Leoline."

"I have thought of that," said the count, "and have provided for

it. We may venture in the lion's den without the slightest

danger: all that is required being your promise to guide us

thither. Do you give it?"

"I do; but I expect a friend here shortly, and cannot start until

he comes."

"If you mean me by that, I am here," said a voice at his elbow;

and, looking round, he saw Hubert himself, standing there, a

quiet listener and spectator of the scene.

Count L'Estrange looked at him with interest, and Hubert,

affecting not to notice the survey, watched Sir Norman.

"Well," was that individual's eager address, "were you

successful?"

The count was still watching the boy so intently, that that most

discreet youth was suddenly seized with a violent fit of

coughing, which precluded all possibility of reply for at least

five minutes; and Sir Norman, at the same moment, felt his arm

receive a sharp and warning pinch.

"Is this your friend?" asked the count. "He is a very small one,

and seems in a bad state of health."

Sir Norman, still under the influence of the pinch, replied by an

inaudible murmur, and looked with a deeply mystified expression,

at Hubert.

"He bears a strong resemblance to the lady we were talking of a

moment ago," continued the count - "is sufficiently like her, in

fact, to be her brother; and, I see wears the livery of the Earl

of Rochester."

"God spare you your eye-sight!" said Sir Norman, impatiently.

"Can you not see, among the rest, that I have a few words to say

to him in private? Permit us to leave you for a moment."

"There is no need to do so. I will leave you, as I have a few

words to say to the person who is with me."

So saying the count walked away, and Hubert followed him with a

most curious look.

"Now," cried Sir Norman, eagerly, "what news?"

"Good!" said the boy. "Leoline is safe!"

"And where?"

"Not far from here. Didn't he tell you?"

"The count ? No - yes; he said she was at his house."

"Exactly. That is where she is," said Hubert, looking much

relieved. "And, at present, perfectly safe."

"And did you see her?"

"Of course; and heard her too. She was dreadfully anxious to

come with me; but that was out of the question."

"And how is she to be got away?"

"That I do not clearly see. We will have to bring a ladder, and

there will be so much danger, and so little chance of success,

that, to me it seems an almost hopeless task. Where did you meet

Count L'Estrange?"

"Here; and he told me that he bad abducted her, and held her a

prisoner in his own house."

"He owned that did he? I wonder you were not fit to kill him?"

"So I was, at first, but he talked the matter over somehow."

And hereupon Sir Norman briefly and quickly rehearsed the

substance of their conversation. Hubert listened to it

attentively, and laughed as he concluded.

"Well, I do not see that you can do otherwise, Sir Norman, and I

think it would be wise to obey the count for to-night, at least.

Then to-morrow - if things do not go on well, we can take the law

in our own hands."

"Can we?" said Sir Norman, doubtfully, "I do wish you would tell

me who this infernal count is, Hubert, for I am certain you

know."

"Not until to-morrow - you shall know him then."

"To-morrow! to-morrow!" exclaimed Sir Norman, disconsolately.

"Everything is postponed until to-morrow! Oh, here comes the

count back again. Are we going to start now, I wonder?"

"Is your friend to accompany us on our expedition?" inquired the

count, standing before them. " It shall be quite as you say, Mr.

Kingsley."

"My friend can do as he pleases. What do you say, Hubert?"

"I should like to go, of all things, if neither of you have any

objections."

"Come on, then," said the count, "we will find horses in

readiness a short distance from this."

The three started together, and walked on in silence through

several streets, until they reached a retired inn, where the

count's recent companion stood, with the horses. Count

L'Estrange whispered a few words to him, upon which he bowed and

retired; and in an instant they were all in the saddle, and

galloping away.

The journey was rather a silent one, and what conversation there

was, was principally sustained by the count. Hubert's usual flow

of pertinent chat seemed to have forsaken him, and Sir Norman had

so many other things to think of - Leoline, Ormiston, Miranda,

and the mysterious count himself - that he felt in no mood for

talking. Soon, they left the city behind them; the succeeding

two miles were quickly passed over, and the "Golden Crown," all

dark and forsaken, now hove in sight. As they reached this, and

cantered up the road leading to the ruin, Sir Norman drew rein,

and said:

"I think our best plan would be, to dismount, and lead our horses

the rest of the way, and not incur any unnecessary danger by

making a noise. We can fasten them to these trees, where they

will be at hand when we come out."

"Wait one moment," said the count, lifting his finger with a

listening look. "Listen to that!"

It was a regular tramp of horses' hoofs, sounding in the silence

like a charge of cavalry. While they looked, a troop of horsemen

came galloping up, and came to a halt when they saw the count.

No words can depict the look of amazement Sir Norman's face wore;

but Hubert betrayed not the least surprise. The count glanced at

his companions with a significant smile, and riding back, held a

brief colloquy with him who seemed the leader of the horsemen.

He rode up to them, smiling still, and saying, as he passed

"Now then, Kingsley; lead on, and we will follow!"

"I go not one step further," said Sir Norman, firmly, "until I

know who I am leading. Who are you, Count L'Estrange?"

The count looked at him, but did not answer. A warning hand -

that of Hubert - grasped Sir Norman's arm; and Hubert's voice

whispered hurriedly in his ear:

"Hush, for God's sake! It is the king!"

CHAPTER XX.

AT THE PLAGUE-PIT.

The effect of the whisper was magical. Everything that had been

dark before, became clear as noonday; and Sir Norman sat

absolutely astounded at his own stupidity in not having found it

out for himself before. Every feature, notwithstanding the

disguise of wig and beard, became perfectly familiar; and even

through the well-assumed voice, he recognized the royal tones.

It struck him all at once, and with it the fact of Leoline's

increased danger. Count L'Estrange was a formidable rival, but

King Charles of England was even more formidable.

Thought is quick - quicker than the electric telegraph or balloon

traveling; and in two seconds the whole stated things, with all

the attendant surprises and dangers, danced before his mind's eye

like a panorama; and he comprehended the past, the present, and

the future, before Hubert had uttered the last word of his

whisper. He turned his eyes, with a very new and singular

sensation, upon the quondam count, and found that gentlemen

looking very hard at him, with, a preternaturally grave

expression of countenance. Sir Norman knew well as anybody the

varying moods of his royal countship, and, notwithstanding his

general good nature, it was not safe to trifle with him at all

times; so he repressed every outward sign of emotion whatever,

and resolved to treat him as Count L'Estrange until he should

choose to sail under his own proper colors.

"Well," said the count, with unruffled eagerness, "and so you

decline to go any further Sir Norman?"

Hubert's eye was fixed with a warning glance upon him, and Sir

Norman composedly answered

"No, count; I do not absolutely decline; but before I do go any

further, I should like to know by what right do you bring all

these men here, and what are your intentions in so doing."

"And if I refuse to answer?"

"Then I refuse to move a step further in the business!" said Sir

Norman, with decision.

"And why, my good friend? You surely can have no objection to

anything that can be done against highwaymen and cut-throats."

"Right! I have no objections, but others may."

"Whom do you mean by others?"

"The king, for instance. His gracious majesty is whimsical at

times; and who knows that he may take it into his royal head to

involve us somehow with them. I know the adage, 'put not your

trust in princes.'"

"Very good," said the count, with a slight and irrepressible

smile; "your prudence is beyond all praise! But I think, in this

matter I may safely promise to stand between you and the king's

wrath. Look at those horsemen beyond you, and see if they do not

wear the uniform of his majesty's own body-guard."

Sir Norman looked, and saw the dazzling of their splendid

equipments glancing and glistening in the moonbeams.

"I see. Then you have the royal permission for all this?"

"You have said it. Now, most scrupulous of men, proceed!"

"Look there!" exclaimed Hubert, suddenly pointing to a corner of

the rain. "Someone has seen us, and is going now to give the

alarm."

"He shall miss it, though!" said Sir Norman, detecting, at the

same instant, a dark figure getting through the broken doorway;

and striking spurs into his horse, he was instantaneously beside

it, out of the saddle, and had grasped the retreater by the

shoulder.

"By your leave!" exclaimed Sir Norman. "Not quite so fast!

Stand out here in the moonlight, until I see who you are."

"Let me go!" cried the man, grappling with his opponent. "I know

who you are, and I swear you'll never see moonlight or sunlight

again, if you do not instantly let me go."

Sir Norman recognized the voice with a perfect shout of delight.

"The duke, by all that's lucky! O, I'll let you go: but not until

the hangman gets hold of you. Villain and robber, you shall pay

for your misdeeds now!"

"Hold!" shouted the commanding voice of Count L'Estrange.

"Cease, Sir Norman Kingsley! there is no time, and this is no

person for you to scoff with. He is our prisoner, and shall show

us the nearest way into this den of thieves. Give me your sword,

fellow, and be thankful I do not make you shorter by a head with

it."

"You do not know him!" cried Sir Norman; in vivid excitement. "I

tell you this is the identical scoundrel who attempted to rob and

murder you a few hours ago."

"So much the better! He shall pay for that and all his other

shortcomings, before long! But, in the meantime, I order him to

bring us before the rest of this outlawed crew."

"I shall do nothing of the kind," said the duke, sullenly.

"Just as you please. Here, my men, two of you take hold of this

scoundrel, and dispatch him at once."

The guard had all dismounted; and two of them came forward with

edifying obedience, to do as they were told.

The effect upon the duke was miraculous. Instantly he started

up, with an energy perfectly amazing:

"No, no, no! I'll do it! Come this way, gentlemen, and I'll

bring you direct into their midst. O good Lord! whatever will

become of us?"

This last frantic question was addressed to society in general,

but Sir Norman felt called upon to answer:

"That's very easily told, my man. If you and the rest of your

titled associates receive your deserts (as there is no doubt you

will) from the gracious hand of our sovereign lord, the king, the

strongest rope and highest gallows at Tyburn will be your

elevated destiny."

The duke groaned dismally, and would have come to a halt to beg

mercy on the spot, had not Hubert given him a probe in, the ribs

with the point of his dagger, that sent him on again, with a

distracted howl.

"Why, this is a perfect Hades!" said the count, as he stumbled

after, in the darkness. "Are you sure we are going right,

Kingsley"

The inquiry was not unnatural, for the blackness was perfectly

Tartarian, and the soldiers behind were knocking their tall shins

against all sorts of obstacles as they groped blindly along,

invoking from them countless curses, not loud, but deep.

"I don't know whether we are or not," said Sir Norman

significantly; "only, God help him if we're not! Where are you

taking us to, you black-looking bandit?"

"I give you my word of honor, gentlemen," said an imploring voice

in the darkness, "that I'm leading you, by the nearest way, to

the Midnight Court. All I ask ,of you in return is, that you

will let me enter before you; for if they find that I lead you

in, my life will not be worth a moment's purchase."

"As if it ever was worth it," said Sir Norman, contemptuously.

"On with you, and be thankful I don't save your companions the

trouble, by making an end of you where you stand."

"Rush along, old fellow," suggested Hubert, giving him another

poke with his dagger, that drew forth a second doleful howl.

Notwithstanding the darkness, Sir Norman discovered that they

were being led in a direction exactly opposite that by which he

had previously effected an entrance. They were in the vault, he

knew, by the darkness, though they had descended no stair-case,

and he was just wondering if their guide was not meditating some

treachery by such a circuitous route, when suddenly a tumult of

voices, and uproar, and confusion, met his ear. At the same

instant, their guide opened a door, revealing a dark passage,

illuminated by a few rays of light, and which Sir Norman

instantly recognized as that leading to the Black Chamber. Here

again the duke paused, and turned round to them with a

wildly-imploring face.

"Gentlemen, I do conjure you to let me enter before you do! I

tell you they will murder me the very instant they discover I

have led you here!"

"That would be a great pity!" said the count; "and the gallows

will be cheated of one of its brightest ornaments! That is your

den of thieves, I suppose, from which all this uproar comes?"

"It is. And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve

this trifling boon."

"Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you

make your escape, as you most assuredly will do the moment you

are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught

with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off

scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have

found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if

your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought

that they have only anticipated the executioner by a few days!"

With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked

on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room,

he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step

farther. It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage

of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and

be assassinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive

influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an

inch farther.

"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference. "And,

soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us

just have a glimpse of what is going on within."

Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and

had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with

the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it

was not heeded, or even heard. With very different feelings from

those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped

forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.

The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and

the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel. No longer were they

languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but

all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which

the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the

terrified white sylphs. Everybody appeared to be talking

together, and paying no attention whatever to the sentiments of

their neighbors. One universal centre of union alone seemed to

exist, and that was the green, judicial table near the throne,

upon which, while all tongues ran, all eyes turned. For some

minutes, neither of the beholders could make out why, owing to

the crowd (principally of the ladies) pressing around it; but Sir

Norman guessed, and thrilled through with a vague sensation of

terror, lest it should prove to be the dead body of Miranda.

Skipping in and out among the females he saw the dwarf,

performing a sort of war dance of rage and frenzy; twining both

hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots,

and anon tearing at somebody else's wig, so that everybody backed

off when he came near them.

"Who is that little fiend?" inquired the count; "and what have

they got there at the and of the room, pray?"

"That little fiend is the ringleader here, and is entitled Prince

Caliban. Regarding your other question," said Sir Norman, with a

faint thrill, "there was a table there when I saw it last, but I

am afraid there is something worse now."

"Could ever any mortal conceive of such a scene," observed the

count to himself; "look at that little picture of ugliness; how

he hops about like a dropsical bull-frog. Some of those women

are very pretty, too, and outshine more than one court-beauty

that I have seen. Upon my word, it is the most extraordinary

spectacle I ever heard of. I wonder what they've got that's so

attractive down there?"

At the same moment, a loud voice within the circle abruptly

exclaimed

"She revives, she revives! Back, back, and give her air!"

Instantly, the throng swayed and fell back; and the dwarf, with a

sort of yell (whether of rage or relief, nobody knew), swept them

from side to side with a wave of his long arms, and cleared a

wide vacancy for his own especial benefit. The action gave the

count an opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. The object of

attraction was now plainly visible. Sir Norman's surmises had

been correct. The green table of the parliament-house of the

midnight court had been converted, by the aid of cushions and

pillows, into an extempore couch.; and half-buried in their downy

depths lay Miranda, the queen. The sweeping robe of royal

purple, trimmed with ermine, the circlets of jewels on arms,

bosom, and head, she still wore, and the beautiful face was

white: than fallen snow. Yet she was not dead, as Sir Norman had

dreaded; for the dark eyes were open, and were fixed with an

unutterable depth of melancholy on vacancy. Her arms lay

helplessly by her side, and someone, the court physician

probably, was bending over her and feeling her pulse.

As the count's eyes fell upon her, he started back, and grasped

Sir Norman's arm with consternation.

"Good heavens, Kingsley!" he cried; "it is Leoline, herself!"

In his excitement he had spoken so loud, that in the momentary

silence that followed the physician's direction, his voice had

rung through the room, and drew every eye upon them.

"We are seen, we are seen!" shouted Hubert, and as he spoke, a

terrible cry idled the room. In an instant every sword leaped

from its scabbard, and the shriek of the startled women rang

appallingly out on the air. Sir Norman drew his sword, too; but

the count, with his eyes yet fixed on Miranda, still held him by

the arm, and excitedly exclaimed

"Tell me, tell me, is it Leoline?"

"Leoline! No - how could it be Leoline? They look alike, that's

all. Draw your sword, count, and defend yourself; we are

discovered, and they are upon us!"

"We are upon them, you mean, and it is they who are discovered,"

said the count, doing as directed, and stepping boldly in. "A

pretty hornet's next is this we have lit upon, if ever there was

one."

Side by side with the count, with a dauntless step and eye, Sir

Norman entered, too; and, at sight of him a burst of surprise and

fury rang from lip to lip. There was a yell of "Betrayed,

betrayed!" and the dwarf, with a face so distorted by fiendish

fury that it was scarcely human, made a frenzied rush at him,

when the clear, commanding voice of the count rang like a bugle

blast through the assembly

"Sheathe your swords, the whole of you, and yield yourselves

prisoners. In the king's name, I command you to surrender."

"There is no king here but I!" screamed the dwarf, gnashing his

teeth, and fairly foaming with rage. "Die; traitor and spy! You

have escaped me once, but your hour is come now."

"Allow me to differ from you," said Sir Norman, politely, as he

evaded the blindly-frantic lunge of the dwarf's sword, and

inserted an inch or two of the point of his own in that enraged

little prince's anatomy. "So far from my hour having come - if

you will take the trouble to reflect upon it - you will find it

is the reverse, and that my little friend's brief and brilliant

career in rapidly drawing to a close."

At these bland remarks, and at the sharp thrust that accompanied

them, the dwarfs previous war-dance of anxiety was nothing to the

horn-pipe of exasperation he went through when Sir Norman ceased.

The blood was raining from his side, and from the point of his

adversary's sword, as he withdrew it; and, maddened like a wild

beast at the sight of his own blood, he screeched, and foamed,

and kicked about his stout little legs, and gnashed his teeth,

and made grabs at his wig, and lashed the air with his sword, and

made such desperate pokes with it, at Sir Norman and everybody

else who came in his way, that, for the public good, the young

knight run him through the sword-arm, and, in spite of all his

distracted didos, captured him by the help of Hubert, and passed

him over to the soldiers to cheer and keep company with the duke.

This brisk little affair being over, Sir Norman had time to look

about him. It had all passed in so short a space, and the dwarf

had been so desperately frantic, that the rest had paused

involuntarily, and were still looking on. Missing the count, he

glanced around the room, and discovered him standing on Miranda's

throne, looking over the company with the cool air of a

conqueror. Miranda, aroused, as she very well might be by all

this screaming and fighting, had partly raised herself upon her

elbow, and was looking wildly about her. As her eye fell on Sir

Norman, she sat fairly erect, with a cry of exultation and joy.

"You have come, you have come, as I knew you would," she

excitedly cried, "and the hour of retribution is at hand!"

At the words of one who, a few moments before, they had supposed

to be dead, an awestruck silence fell; and the count, taking

advantage of it, waved his hand, and cried

"Yield yourselves prisoners, I command you! The royal guards are

without; and the first of you who offers the slightest resistance

will die like a dog! Ho, guards I enter, and seize your

prisoners!"

Quick as thought the room was full of soldiers! but the rest of

the order was easier said than obeyed. The robbers, knowing

their doom was death, fought with the fury of desperation, and a

snort, wild, and terrible conflict ensued. Foremost in the melee

was Sir Norman and the count; while Hubert, who had taken

possession of the dwarf's sword, fought like a young lion. The

shrieks of the women were heart-rending, as they all fled,

precipitately, into the blue dining-room; and, crouching in

corners, or flying distractedly about - true to their sex - made

the air resound with the most lamentable cries. Some five or

six, braver than the rest, alone remained; and more than one of

these actually mixed in the affray, with a heroism worthy a

better cause. Miranda, still sitting erect, and supported in the

arms of a kneeling and trembling sylph in white, watched the

conflict with terribly-exultant eyes, that blazed brighter and

brighter with the lurid fire of vengeful joy st every robber that

fell.

"Oh, that I were strong enough to wield a sword!" was her fierce

aspiration every instant; "if I could only mix in that battle for

five minutes, I could die with a happy heart!"

Had she been able to wield a sword for five minutes, according to

her wish, she would probably have wielded it from beginning to

end of the battle; for it did not last much longer than that.

The robbers fought with fury and ferocity; but they had been

taken by surprise, and were overpowered by numbers, and obliged

to yield.

The crimson court was indeed crimson now; for the velvet

carpeting was dyed a more terrible red, and was slippery with a

rain of blood! A score of dead and dying lay groaning on the

ground; and the rest, beaten and bloody, gave up their swords and

surrendered.

"You should have done this at first!" said the count, coolly

wiping his blood-stained weapon, end replacing it in its sheath;

"and, by so doing, saved some time and more bloodshed. Where are

all the fair ladies, Kingsley, I saw here when we entered first?"

"They fled like a flock of frightened deer," said Hubert, taking

it upon himself to answer,"through yonder archway when the fight

commenced. I will go in search of them if you like."

"I am rather at a loss what to do with them," said the count,

half-laughing. "It would be a pity to bring such a cavalcade of

pretty women into the city to die of the plague. Can you suggest

nothing, Sir Norman?"

"Nothing, but to leave then here to take care of themselves, or

let them go free."

"They would be a great addition to the court at Whitehall,"

suggested Hubert, in his prettiest tone, "and a thousand times

handsomer than half the damsels therein. There, for instance, is

one a dozen timer more beautiful than Mistress Stuart herself!"

Leaning, in his nonchalant way, on the hilt of his sword, he

pointed to Miranda, whose fiercely-joyful eyes were fixed w with

a glance that made the three of them shudder, on the bloody floor

and the heap of slain.

"Who is that?" asked the count, curiously. "Why is she perched

up there, and why does she bear such an extraordinary resemblance

to Leoline? Do you know anything about her, Kingsley?"

"I know she is the wife of that unlovely little man, whose howls

in yonder passage you can hear, if you listen, and that she was

the queen of this midnight court, and is wounded, if not dying,

now!"

"I never saw such fierce eyes before in a female head! One would

think she fairly exulted in this wholesale slaughter of her

subjects."

"So she does; and she hates both her husband and her subjects,

with an intensity you cannot conceive."

"How very like royalty!" observed Hubert, in parenthesis. "If

she were a real queen, she could not act more naturally."

Sir Norman smiled, and the count glanced at the audacious page,

suspiciously; but Hubert's face was touching to witness, in its

innocent unconsciousness. Miranda, looking up at the same time,

caught the young knight's eye, and made a motion for him to

approach. She held out both her hands to him as he came near,

with the same look of dreadful delight.

"Sir Norman Kingsley, I am dying, and my last words are in

thanksgiving to you for having thus avenged me!"

"Let me hope you have many days to live yet, fair lady," said Sir

Norman, with the same feeling of repulsion he had experienced in

the dungeon. "I am sorry you have been obliged to witness this

terrible scene."

"Sorry!" she cried, fiercely. "Why, since the first hour I

remember at all, I remember nothing that has given me such joy as

what has passed now; my only regret is that I did not see them

all die before my eyes! Sorry! I tell you I would not have

missed it for ten thousand worlds!"

"Madame, you must not talk like this!" said Sir Norman, almost

sternly. "Heaven forbid there should exist a woman who could

rejoice in bloodshed and death. You do not, I know. You wrong

yourself and your own nature in saying so. Be calm, now; do not

excite yourself. You shall come with us, and be properly cared

for; and I feel certain you have a long and happy life before you

yet."

"Who are those men?" she said, not heeding him, "and who - ah,

great Heaven! What is that?"

In looking round, she had met Hubert face to face. She knew that

that face was her own; and, with a horror stamped on every

feature that no words can depict, she fell back, with a terrible

scream and was dead!

Sir Norman was so shocked by the suddenness of the last

catastrophe, that, for some time, he could not realize that she

had actually expired, until he bent over her, and placed his ear

to her lips. No breath was there; no pulse stirred in that

fierce heart - the Midnight Queen was indeed dead!

"Oh, this is fearful!" exclaimed Sir Norman, pale and horrified.

"The sight of Hubert, and his wonderful resemblance to her, has

completed what her wound and this excitement began. Her last is

breathed on earth!"

"Peace be with her!" said the count, removing his hat, which, up

to the present, he had worn. "And now, Sir Norman, if we are to

keep our engagement at sunrise, we had better be on the move;

for, unless I am greatly mistaken, the sky is already grey with

day-dawn."

"What are your commands?" asked Sir Norman, turning away, with a

sigh, from the beautiful form already stiffening in death.

"That you come with me to seek out those frightened fair ones,

who are a great deal too lovely to share the fate of their male

companions. I shall give them their liberty to go where they

please, on condition that they do not enter the city. We have

enough vile of their class there already."

Sir Norman silently followed him into the azure and silver

saloon, where the crowd of duchesses and countesses were "weeping

and wringing their hands," and as white as so many pretty ghosts.

In a somewhat brief and forcible manner, considering his

characteristic gallantry, the count made his proposal, which,

with feelings of pleasure and relief, was at once acceded to; and

the two gentlemen bowed themselves out, and left the startled

ladies.

On returning to the crimson court, he commanded a number of his

soldiers to remain and bury the dead, and assist the wounded; and

then, followed by the remainder and the prisoners under their

charge, passed out, and were soon from the heated atmosphere in

the cool morning air. The moon was still serenely shining, but

the stars that kept the earliest hours were setting, and the

eastern sky was growing light with the hazy gray of coming morn.

"I told you day-dawn was at hand," said the count, as he sprang

into his saddle; "and, lo! in the sky it is gray already."

"It is time for it!" said Sir Norman, as he, too, got into his

seat; "this has been the longest night I have ever known, and the

most eventful one of my life."

"And the end is not yet! Leoline waits to decide between us!"

Sir Norman shrugged his shoulders.

"True! But I have little doubt what that decision will be! I

presume you will have to deliver up your prisoners before you can

visit her, and I will avail myself of the opportunity to snatch a

few moments to fulfill a melancholy duty of my own."

"As you please. I have no objection; but in that case you will

need some one to guide you to the place of rendezvous; so I will

order my private attendant, yonder, to keep you in sight, and

guide you to me when your business is ended."

The count had given the order to start, the moment they had left

the ruin, and the conversation had been carried on while riding

at a break-neck gallop. Sir Norman thanked him for his offer,

and they rode in silence until they reached the city, and their

paths diverged; Sir Norman's leading to the apothecary's shop

where be had left Ormiston, and the count's leading - he best

knew where. George - the attendant referred to - joined the

knight, and leaving his horse in his care, Sir Norman entered the

shop, and encountered the spectral proprietor at the door.

"What of my friend?" was his eager inquiry. "Has he yet shown

signs of returning consciousness?"

"Alas, no!" replied the apothecary, with a groan, that came

wailing up like a whistle; "he was so excessively dead, that

there was no use keeping him; and as the room was wanted for

other purposes, I - pray, my dear sir, don't look so violent - I

put him in the pest-cart and had him buried."

"In the plague-pit!" shouted Sir Norman, making a spring at him;

but the man darted off like a ghostly flash into the inner room,

and closed and bolted the door in a twinkling.

Sir Norman kicked at it spitefully, but it resisted his every

effort; and, overcoming a strong temptation to smash every bottle

in the shop, he sprang once more into the saddle, and rode off to

the plague-pit. It was the second time within the last twelve

hours he had stood there; and, on the previous occasion, he who

now lay in it, had stood by his side. He looked down, sickened

and horror-struck. Perhaps, before another morning, he, too,

might be there; and, feeling his blood run cold at the thought,

he was turning away, when some one came rapidly up, and sank down

with a moaning gasping cry on its very edge. That shape - tall

and slender, and graceful - he well knew; and, leaning over her,

ho laid his hand on her shoulder, and exclaimed:

"La Masque!"

CHAPTER, XXI.

WHAT WAS BEHIND TWO MASK.

The cowering form rose up; but, seeing who it was, sank down

again, with its face groveling in the dust, and with another

prolonged, moaning cry.

"Madame Masque!" he said, wonderingly; "what is this?"

He bent to raise her; but, with a sort of scream she held out her

arms to keep him back.

"No, no, no I Touch me not! Hate me - kill me! I have murdered

your friend!"

Sir Norman recoiled as if from a deadly tent.

"Murdered him! Madame, in Heaven's name, what have you said?"

"Oh, I have not stabbed him, or poisoned him, or shot him; but I

am his murderer, nevertheless!" she wailed, writhing in a sort of

gnawing inward torture.

"Madame, I do not understand you at all! Surely you are raving

when you talk like this."

Still moaning on the edge of the plague-pit, she half rose up,

with both hands clasped tightly over her heart, as if she would

have held back from all human ken the anguish that was destroying

her

"NO - no! I am not mad - pray Heaven I were! Oh, that they had

strangled me in the first hour of my birth, as they would a

viper, rather than I should have lived through all this life of

misery and guilt, to end it by this last, worst crime of all!"

Sir Norman stood and looked at her still with a dazed expression.

He knew well enough whose murderer she called herself; but why

she did so, or how she could possibly bring about his death, was

a mystery altogether too deep for him to solve.

"Madame, compose yourself, I beseech you, and tell me what you

mean. It is to my friend, Ormiston, you allude - is it not?"

"Yes - yes! surely you need not ask."

"I know that he is dead, and buried in this horrible place; but

why you should accuse yourself of murdering him, I confess I do

not know."

"Then you shall!" she cried, passionately. "And you will wonder

at it no longer! You are the last one to whom the revelation can

ever be made on earth; and, now that my hours are numbered, it

matters little whether it is told or not! Was it not you who

first found him dead?"

"It was I - yes. And how he came to his end, I have been

puzzling myself in vain to discover ever since."

She rose up, drew herself to her full majestic height, and looked

at him with a terrible glance

"Shall I tell you?"

"You have had no hand in it," he answered, with a cold chill at

the tone and look, "for he loved you!"

"I have had a hand in it - I alone have been the cause of it.

But for me he would be living still!"

"Madame," exclaimed Sir Norman, in horror.

"You need not look as if you thought me mad, for I tell you it is

Heaven's truth! You say right - he loved me; but for that love

he would be living now!"

"You speak in riddles which I cannot read. How could that love

have caused his death, since his dearest wishes were to be

granted to-night?"

"He told you that, did he?"

"He did. He told me you were to remove your mask; and if, on

seeing you, he still loved you, you were to be his wife."

"Then woe to him for ever having extorted such a promise from me!

Oh, I warned him again, and again, and again. I told him how it

would be - I begged him to desist; but no, he was blind, he was

mad; he would rush on his own doom! I fulfilled my promise, and

behold the result!"

She pointed with a frantic gesture to the plague-pit, and wrung

her beautiful hands with the same moaning of anguish.

"Do I hear aright?" said Sir Norman, looking at her, and really

doubting if his ears had not deceived him. "Do you mean to say

that, in keeping your word and showing him your face, you have

caused his death?"

"I do. I had warned him of it before. I told him there were

sights too horrible to look on and live, but nothing would

convince him! Oh, why was the curse of life ever bestowed upon

such a hideous thing as I!"

Sir Norman gazed at her in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He

had thought, from the moment he saw her first, that there was

something wrong with her brain, to make her act in such a

mysterious, eccentric sort of way; but he had never positively

thought her so far gone as this. In his own mind, he set her

down, now, as being mad as a March hare, and accordingly answered

in that soothing tone people use to imbeciles

"My dear Madame Masque, pray do not excite yourself, or say such

dreadful things. I am sure you would not willfully cause the

death of any one, much less that of one who loved you as he did."

La Masque broke into a wild laugh, almost worse to hear than her

former despairing moans.

"The man thinks me mad! He will not believe, unless he sees and

knows for himself! Perhaps you, too, Sir Norman Kingsley," she

cried, changing into sudden fierceness, "would like to see the

face behind this mask? - would like to see what has slain your

friend, and share his fate?"

"Certainly," said Sir Norman. "I should like to see it; and I

think I may safely promise not to die from the effects. But

surely, madame, you deceive yourself; no face, however ugly -

even supposing you to possess such a one - could produce such

dismay as to cause death."

"You shall see."

She was looking down into the plague-pit, standing so close to

its cracking edge, that Sir Norman's blood ran cold, in the

momentary expectation to see her slip and fall headlong in. Her

voice was less fierce and less wild, but her hands were still

clasped tightly over her heart, as if to ease the unutterable

pain there. Suddenly, she looked up, and said, in an altered

tone:

"You have lost Leoline?"

"And found her again. She is in the power of one Count

L'Estrange."

"And if in his power, pray, how have you found her?"

"Because we are both to meet in her presence within this very

hour, and she is to decide between us,"

"Has Count L'Estrange promised you this?"

"He has."

"And you have no doubt what her decision will be?"

"Not the slightest."

"How came you to know she was carried off by this count?"

"He confessed it himself."

"Voluntarily?"

"No; I taxed him with it, and he owned to the deed; but he

voluntarily promised to take me to her and abide by her

decision."

"Extraordinary!" said La Masque, as if to herself. "Whimsical as

he is, I scarcely expected he would give her up no easily as

this."

"Then you know him, madame?" said Sir Norman, pointedly.

"There are few things I do not know, and rare are the disguises I

cannot penetrate. So you have discovered it, too?"

"No, madame, my eyes were not sharp enough, nor had I sufficient

cleverness, even, for that. It was Hubert, the Earl of

Rochester's page, who told me who he was."

"Ah, the page!" said La Masque, quickly. "You have then been

speaking to him? What do you think of his resemblance to

Leoline?"

"I think it is the most astonishing resemblance I ever saw. But

he is not the only one who bears Leoline's face."

"And the other is?"

The other is she whom you sent me to see in the old ruins.

Madame, I wish you would tell me the secret of this wonderful

likeness; for I am certain you know, and I am equally certain it

is not accidental."

"You are right. Leoline knows already; for, with the

presentiment that my end was near, I visited her when you left,

and gave her her whole history, in writing. The explanation is

simple enough. Leoline, Miranda, and Hubert, are sisters and

brother."

Some misty idea that such was the case had been struggling

through Sir Norman's slow mind, unformed and without shape, ever

since he had seen the trio, therefore he was not the least

astonished when he heard the fact announced. Only in one thing

he was a little disappointed.

"Then Hubert is really a boy?" he said, half dejectedly.

"Certainly he is. What did you take him to be?"

"Why, I thought - that is, I do not know," said Sir Norman, quite

blushing at being guilty of so much romance, "but that he was a

woman in disguise. You see he is so handsome, and looks so much

like Leoline, that I could not help thinking so."

"He is Leoline's twin brother - that accounts for it. When does

she become your wife?"

"This very morning, God willing!" raid Sir Norman, fervently.

"Amen! And may her life and yours be long and happy. What

becomes of the rest?"

"Since Hubert is her brother, he shall come with us, if he will.

As for the other, she, alas! is dead."

"Dead!" cried La Masque. "How? When? She was living, tonight!"

"True! She died of a wound."

"A wound? Surely not given by the dwarfs hand?"

"No, no; it was quite accidental. But since you know so much of

the dwarf, perhaps you also know he is now the king's prisoner?"

"I did not know it; but I surmised as much when I discovered that

you and Count L'Estrange, followed by such a body of men, visited

the ruin. Well, his career has been long and dark enough, and

even the plague seemed to spare him for the executioner. And so

the poor mock-queen is dead? Well, her sister will not long

survive her."

"Good Heavens, madame!" cried Sir Norman, aghast. "You do not

mean to say that Leoline is going to die?"

"Oh, no! I hope Leoline has a long and happy life before her.

But the wretched, guilty sister I mean is, myself; for I, too,

Sir Norman, am her sister."

At this new disclosure, Sir Norman stood perfectly petrified; and

La Masque, looking down at the dreadful place at her feet, went

rapidly on:

"Alas and alas! that it should be so; but it is the direful

truth. We bear the same name, we had the same father; and yet I

have been the curse and bane of their lives."

"And Leoline knows this?"

"She never knew it until this night, or any one else alive; and

no one should know it now, were not my ghastly life ending. I

prayed her to forgive me for the wrong I have done her; and she

may, for she is gentle and good - but when, when shall I be able

to forgive myself?"

The sharp pain in her voice jarred on Sir Norman's ear and heart;

and, to get rid of its dreary echo, he hurriedly asked:

"You say you bear the same name. May I ask what name that is?"

"It is one, Sir Norman Kingsley, before which your own ancient

title pales. We are Montmorencis, and in our veins runs the

proudest blood in France."

"Then Leoline is French and of noble birth?" said Sir Norman,

with a thrill of pleasure. "I loved her for herself alone, and

would have wedded her had she been the child of a beggar; but I

rejoice to hear this nevertheless. Her father, then, bore a

title?"

"Her father was the Marquis de Montmorenci. but Leoline's mother

and mine were not the same - had they been, the lives of all four

might have been very different; but it is too late to lament that

now. My mother had no gentle blood in her veins, as Leoline's

had, for she was but a fisherman's daughter, torn from her home,

and married by force. Neither did she love my father

notwithstanding his youth, rank, and passionate love for her, for

she was betrothed to another bourgeois, like herself. For his

sake she refused even the title of marchioness, offered her in

the moment of youthful and ardent passion, and clung, with

deathless truth, to her fisher-lover. The blood of the

Montmorencis is fierce and hot, and brooks no opposition" (Sir

Norman thought of Miranda, and inwardly owned that that was a

fact); "and the marquis, in his jealous wrath, both hated and

loved her at the same time, and vowed deadly vengeance against

her bourgeois lover. That vow he kept. The young fisherman was

found one morning at his lady-love's door without a head, and the

bleeding trunk told no tales.

"Of course, for a while, she was distracted and so on; but when

the first shock of her grief was over, my father carried her off,

and forcibly made her his wife. Fierce hatred, I told you, was

mingled with his fierce love, and before the honeymoon was over

it began to break out. One night, in a fit of jealous passion,

to which he was addicted, he led her into a room she had never

before been permitted to enter; showed her a grinning human

skull, and told her it was her lover's! In his cruel exultation,

he confessed all; how he had caused him to be murdered; his head

severed from the body; and brought here to punish her, some day,

for her obstinate refusal to love him.

"Up to this time she had been quiet and passive, bearing her fate

with a sort of dumb resignation; but now a spirit of vengeance,

fiercer and more terrible than his own, began to kindle within

her; and, kneeling down before the ghastly thing, she breathed a

wish - a prayer - to the avenging Jehovah, so unutterably

horrible, that even her husband had to fly with curdling blood

from the room. That dreadful prayer was heard - that wish

fulfilled in me; but long before I looked on the light of day

that frantic woman had repented of the awful deed she had done.

Repentance came too late the sin of the father was visited on the

child, and on the mother, too, for the moment her eyes fell upon

me, she became a raving maniac, and died before the first day of

my life had ended.

"Nurse and physician fled at the sight of me; but my father,

though thrilling with horror, bore the shock, and bowed to the

retributive justice of the angry Deity she had invoked. His

whole life, his whole nature, changed from that hour; and,

kneeling beside my dead mother, as he afterward told me, he vowed

before high Heaven to cherish and love me, even as though I had

not been the ghastly creature I was. The physician he bound by a

terrible oath to silence; the nurse he forced back, and, in spite

of her disgust and abhorrence, compelled her to nurse and care

for me. The dead was buried out of sight; and we had rooms in a

distant part of the house, which no one ever entered but my

father and the nurse. Though set apart from my birth as

something accursed, I had the intellect and capacity of - yes,

far greater intellect and capacity than, most children; and, as

years passed by, my father, true to his vow, became himself my

tutor and companion. He did not love me - that was an utter

impossibility; but time so blunts the edge of all things, that

even the nurse became reconciled to me, and my father could

scarcely do less than a stranger. So I was cared for, and

instructed, and educated; and, knowing not what a monstrosity I

was, I loved them both ardently, and lived on happily enough, in

my splendid prison, for my first ten years in this world.

"Then came a change. My nurse died; and it became clear that I

must quit my solitary life, and see the sort of world I lived in.

So my father, seeing all this, sat down in the twilight one night

beside me, and told me the story of my own hideousness. I was

but a child then, and it is many and many years ago; but this

gray summer morning, I feel what I felt then, as vividly as I did

at the time. I had not learned the great lesson of life then -

endurance, I have scarcely learned it yet, or I should bear

life's burden longer; but that first night's despair has darkened

my whole after-life. For weeks I would not listen to my father's

proposal, to hide what would send all the world from me in

loathing behind a mask; but I came to my senses at last, and from

that day to the present - more days than either you or I would

care to count - it has not been one hour altogether off my face."

"I was the wonder and talk of Paris, when I did appear; and most

of the surmises were wild and wide of the mark - some even going

so far as to say it was all owing to my wonderful unheard-of

beauty that I was thus mysteriously concealed from view. I had a

soft voice, and a tolerable shape; and upon this, I presume, they

founded the affirmation. But my father and I kept our own

council, and let them say what they listed. I had never been

named, as other children are; but they called me La Masque now.

I had masters and professors without end, and studied astronomy

and astrology, and the mystic lore of the old Egyptians, and

became noted as a prodigy and a wonder, and a miracle of

learning, far and near.

"The arts used to discover the mystery and make me unmask were

innumerable and almost incredible; but I baffled them all, and

began, after a time, rather to enjoy the sensation I created than

otherwise.

"There was one, in particular, possessed of even more devouring

curiosity than the rest, a certain young countess of miraculous

beauty, whom I need not describe, since you have her very image

in Leoline. The Marquis de Montmorenci, of a somewhat

inflammable nature, loved her almost as much as he had done my

mother, and she accepted him, and they were married. She may

have loved him (I see no reason why she should not), but still to

this day I think it was more to discover the secret of La Masque

than from any other cause. I loved my beautiful new mother too

well to let her find it out; although from the day she entered

our house as a bride, until that on which she lay on her

deathbed, her whole aim, day and night, was its discovery. There

seemed to be a fatality about my father's wives; for the

beautiful Honorine lived scarcely longer than her predecessor,

and she died, leaving three children - all born at one time - you

know them well, and one of them you love. To my care she

intrusted them on her deathbed, and she could have scarcely

intrusted them to worse; for, though I liked her, I most

decidedly disliked them. They were lovely children - their

lovely mother's image; and they were named Hubert, Leoline, and

Honorine, or, as you knew her, Miranda. Even my father did not

seem to care for them much, not even as much as he cared for me;

and when he lay on his deathbed, one year later, I was left,

young as I was, their sole guardian, and trustee of all his

wealth. That wealth was not fairly divided - one-half being left

to me and the other half to be shared equally between them; but,

in my wicked ambition, I was not satisfied even with that. Some

of my father's fierce and cruel nature I inherited; and I

resolved to be clear of these three stumbling-blocks, and

recompense myself for my other misfortunes by every indulgence

boundless riches could bestow. So, secretly, and in the night, I

left my home, with an old and trusty servant, known to you as

Prudence, and my unfortunate, little brother and sisters.

Strange to say, Prudence was attached to one of them, and to

neither of the rest - that one was Leoline, whom she resolved to

keep and care for, and neither she nor I minded what became of

the other two."

"From Paris we went to Dijon, where we dropped Hubert into the

turn at the convent door, with his name attached, and left him

where he would be well taken care of, and no questions asked.

With the other two we started for Calais, en route for England;

and there Prudence got rid of Honorine in a singular manner. A

packet was about starting for the island of our destination, and

she saw a strange-looking little man carrying his luggage from

the wharf into a boat. She had the infant in her arms, having

carried it out for the identical purpose of getting rid of it;

and, without more ado, she laid it down, unseen, among boxes and

bundles, and, like Hagar, stood afar off to see what became of

it. That ugly little man was the dwarf; and his amazement on

finding it among his goods and chattels you may imagine; but he

kept it, notwithstanding, though why, is best known to himself.

A few weeks after that we, too, came over, and Prudence took up

her residence in a quiet village a long way from London. Thus

you see, Sir Norman, how it comes about that we are so related,

and the wrong I have done them all."

"You have, indeed!" said Sir Norman, gravely, having listened,

much shocked and displeased, at this open confession; "and to one

of them it is beyond our power to atone. Do you know the life of

misery to which she has been assigned?"

"I know it all, and have repented for it in my own heart, in dust

and ashes! Even I - unlike all other earthly creatures as I am -

have a conscience, and it has given me no rest night or day

since. From that hour I have never lost sight of them; every

sorrow they have undergone has been known to me, and added to my

own; and yet I could not, or would not, undo what I had done.

Leoline knows all now; and she will tell Hubert, since destiny

has brought them together; and whether they will forgive me I

know not. But yet they might; for they have long and happy lives

before them, and we can forgive everything to the dead."

"But you are not dead," said Sir Norman; "and there is repentance

and pardon for all. Much as you have wronged them, they will

forgive you; and Heaven is not less merciful than they!"

"They may; for I have striven to atone. In my house there are

proofs and papers that will put them in possession of all, and

more than all, they have lost. But life is a burden of torture

I will bear no longer. The death of him who died for me this

night is the crowning tragedy of my miserable life; and if my

hour were not at hand, I should not have told you this."

"But you have not told me the fearful cause of no much guilt and

suffering. What is behind that mask?"

"Would you, too, see?" she asked, in a terrible voice, "and die?"

"I have told you it is not in my nature to die easily, and it is

something far stronger than mere curiosity makes me ask."

"Be it so! The sky is growing red with day-dawn, and I shall

never see the sun rise more, for I am already plague-struck!"

That sweetest of all voices ceased. The white hands removed the

mask, and the floating coils of hair, and revealed, to Sir

Norman's horror-struck gaze, the grisly face and head, and the

hollow eye-sockets, the grinning mouth, and fleshless cheeks of a

skeleton!

He saw it but for one fearful instant - the next, she had thrown

up both arms, and leaped headlong into the loathly plague-pit.

He saw her for a second or two, heaving and writhing in the

putrid heap; and then the strong man reeled and fell with his

face on the ground, not feigning, but sick unto death. Of all

the dreadful things he had witnessed that night, there was

nothing so dreadful as this; of all the horror he had felt

before, there was none to equal what he felt now. In his

momentary delirium, it seemed to him she was reaching her arms of

bone up to drag him in, and that the skeleton-face was grinning

at him on the edge of the awful pit. And, covering his eyes with

his hands, he sprang up, and fled away.

CHAPTER XXII.

DAY-DAWN.

All this time, the attendant, George, had been sitting, very much

at his ease, on horseback, looking after Sir Norman's charger and

admiring the beauties of sunrise. He had seen Sir Norman in

conversation with a strange female, and not much liking his near

proximity to the plague-pit, was rather impatient for it to come

to an end; but when he saw the tragic manner in which it did end,

his consternation was beyond all bounds. Sir Norman, in his

horrified flight, would have fairly passed him unnoticed, had not

George arrested him by a loud shout.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Norman," he exclaimed, as that gentleman

turned his distracted face; "but, it seems to me, you are running

away. Here is your horse; and allow me to say, unless we hurry

we will scarcely reach the count by sunrise."

Sir Norman leaned against his horse, and shaded his eyes with his

hand, shuddering like one in an ague.

"Why did that woman leap into the plague-pit?" inquired George,

looking at him curiously. "Was it not the sorceress, La Masque?"

"Yes, yes. Do not ask me any questions now," replied Sir Norman,

in a smothered voice, and with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Whatever you please, sir," said George, with the flippancy of

his class; "but still I must repeat, if you do not mount

instantly, we will be late; and my master, the count, is not one

who brooks delay."

The young knight vaulted into the saddle without a word, and

started off at a break-neck pace into the city. George, almost

unable to keep up with him, followed instead of leading, rather

skeptical in his own mind whether he were not riding after a

moon-struck lunatic. Once or twice he shouted out a sharp-toned

inquiry as to whether he knew where he was going, and that they

were taking the wrong way altogether; to all of which Sir Norman

deigned not the slightest reply, but rode more and more

recklessly on. There were but few people abroad at that hour;

indeed, for that matter, the streets of London, in the dismal

summer of 1665, were, comparatively speaking, always deserted;

and the few now wending their way homeward were tired physicians

and plague-nurses from the hospitals, and several hardy country

folks, with more love of lucre than fear of death bending their

steps with produce to the market-place. These people, sleepy and

pallid in the gray haze of daylight, stared in astonishment after

the two furious riders; and windows were thrown open, and heads

thrust out to see what the unusual thunder of horses' hoofs at

that early hour meant. George followed dauntlessly on,

determined to do it or die in the attempt; and if he had ever

heard of the Flying Dutchman, would undoubtedly have come to the

conclusion that he was just then following his track on dry land.

But, unlike the hapless Vanderdecken, Sir Norman came to a halt

at last, and that so suddenly that his horse stood on his beam

ends, and flourished his two fore limbs in the atmosphere. It

was before La Masque's door; and Sir Norman was out of the saddle

in a flash, and knocking like a postman with the handle of his

whip on the door. The thundering reveille rang through the

house, making it shake to its centre, and hurriedly brought to

the door, the anatomy who acted as guardian-angel of the

establishment.

"La Masque is not at home, and I cannot admit you," was his sharp

salute.

"Then I shall just take the trouble of admitting myself," said

Sir Norman, shortly.

And without further ceremony, he pushed aside the skeleton and

entered. But that outraged servitor sprang in his path,

indignant and amazed.

"No, sir; I cannot permit it. I do not know you; and it is

against all orders to admit strangers in La Masque's absence."

"Bah! you old simpleton!" remarked Sir Norman, losing his

customary respect for old age in his impatience, "I have La

Masque's order for what I am about to do. Get along with you

directly, will you? Show me to her private room, and no

nonsense!"

He tapped his sword-hilt significantly as he spoke, and that

argument proved irresistible. Grumbling, in low tones, the

anatomy stalked up-stairs; and the other followed, with very

different feelings from those with which he had mounted that

staircase last. His guide paused in the hall above, with his

hand on the latch of a door.

"This is her private room, is it!" demanded Sir Norman.

"Yes."

"Just stand aside, then, and let me pass."

The room he entered was small, simply furnished, and seemed to

answer as bed-chamber and study, all in one. There was a

writing-table under a window, covered with books, and he glanced

at them with some curiosity. They were classics, Greek and

Latin, and other little known tongues - perhaps Sanscrit and

Chaldaic, French belles lettres, novels, and poetry, and a few

rare old English books. There were no papers, however, and those

were what he was in search of; so spying a drawer in the table,

he pulled it hastily open. The eight that met his eyes fairly

dazzled him. It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and

value, strewn as carelessly about as if they were valueless. The

blaze of gems at the midnight court seemed to him as nothing

compared with the Golconda, the Valley of Diamonds shooting forth

sparks of rainbow-fire before him now. Around one magnificent

diamond necklace was entwined a scrap of paper, on which was

written:

"The family jewels of the Montmorencis. To be given to my

sisters when I am dead."

That settled their destiny. All this blaze of diamonds, rubies,

and opals were Leoline's; and with the energetic rapidity

characteristic of our young friend that morning, he swept them

out on the table, and resumed his search for papers. No document

was there to reward his search, but the brief one twined round

the necklace; and he was about giving up in despair, when a small

brass slide in one corner caught his eye. Instantly he was at

it, trying it every way, shoving it out and in, and up and down,

until at last it yielded to his touch, disclosing an inner

drawer, full of papers and parchments. One glance showed them to

be what he was in search of - proofs of Leoline and Hubert's

identity, with the will of the marquis, their father, and

numerous other documents relative to his wealth and estates.

These precious manuscripts he rolled together in a bundle, and

placed carefully in his doublet, and then seizing a

beautifully-wrought brass casket, that stood beneath the table,

he swept the jewels in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt.

This brisk and important little affair being over, he arose to

go, and in turning, saw the skeleton porter standing in the

door-way, looking on in speechless dismay.

"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely.

"These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their

proper owner."

"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La

Masque. Thief-robber-housebreaker - stop!"

"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl

like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they

are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things

that were!"

"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and

anger. "Help! help! help!"

"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I

will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as

this. I tell you La Masque is dead!"

At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and

became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.

"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy

sternness,"and there will be somebody else coming to take

possession shortly. How many more servants are there here beside

yourself?"

"Only one, sir - my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not

turn us out in the streets at this dreadful time!"

"Not I! You and your wife Joanna may stagnate here till you

blue-mold, for me. But keep the door fast, my good old friend,

and admit no strangers, but those who can tell you La Masque is

dead!"

With which parting piece of advice Sir Norman left the house, and

joined George, who sat like an effigy before the door, in a state

of great mental wrath, and who accosted him rather suddenly the

moment be made his appearance.

"I tell you what, Sir Norman Kingsley, if you have many more

morning calls to make, I shall beg leave to take my departure.

As it is, I know we are behind time, and his ma - the count, I

mean, is not one who it accustomed or inclined to be kept

waiting."

"I am quite at your service now," said Sir Norman, springing on

horseback; "so away with you, quick as you like."

George wanted no second order. Before the words were well out of

his companion's mouth, he was dashing away like a bolt from a

bow, as furiously as if on a steeple-chase, with Sir Norman close

at his heels; and they rode, flushed and breathless, with their

steeds all a foaming, into the court-yard of the royal palace at

Whitehall, just as the early rising sun was showing his florid

and burning visage above the horizon.

                   _______________

The court-yard, unlike the city streets, swarmed with busy life.

Pages, and attendants, and soldiers, moving hither and thither,

or lounging about, preparing for the morning's journey to Oxford.

Among the rest Sir Norman observed Hubert, lying very much at his

ease wrapped in his cloak, on the ground, and chatting languidly

with a pert and pretty attendant of the fair Mistress Stuart. He

cut short his flirtation, however, abruptly enough, and sprang to

his feet as he saw Sir Norman, while George immediately darted

off and disappeared from the palace.

"Am I late Hubert?" said his hurried questioner, as he drew the

lad's arm within his own, and led him off out of hearing.

"I think not. The count," said Hubert, with laughing emphasis,

"has not been visible since he entered yonder doorway, and there

has been no message that I have heard of. Doubtless, now that

George has arrived, the message will soon be here, for the royal

procession starts within half an hour."

"Are you sure there is no trick, Hubert? Even now he may be with

Leoline!"

Hubert shrugged his shoulders.

"He maybe; we must take our chance for that; but we have his

royal word to the contrary. Not that I have much faith in that!"

said Hubert.

"If he were king of the world instead of only England," cried Sir

Norman, with flashing eyes, "he shall not have Leoline while I

wear a sword to defend her!"

"Regicide!" exclaimed Hubert, holding up both hands in affected

horror. "Do my ears deceive me Is this the loyal and

chivalrous Sir Norman Kingsley, ready to die for king and country

• "

"Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted Sir Norman, impatiently. "I

tell you any one, be he whom he may, that attempts to take

Leoline from me, must reach her over my dead body!"

"Bravo! You ought to be a Frenchman, Sir Norman! And what if

the lady herself, finding her dazzling suitor drop his barnyard

feathers, and soar over her head in his own eagle plumes, may not

give you your dismissal, and usurp the place of pretty Madame

Stuart."

"You cold-blooded young villain! if you insinuate such a thing

again, I'll throttle you! Leoline loves me, and me alone!"

"Doubtless she thinks so; but she has yet to learn she has a king

for a suitor!"

"Bah! You are nothing but a heartless cynic," said Sir Norman,

yet with an anxious and irritated flush on his face, too: "What

do you know of love?"

"More than you think, as pretty Mariette yonder could depose, if

put upon oath. But seriously, Sir Norman, I am afraid your case

is of the most desperate; royal rivals are dangerous things!"

"Yet Charles has kind impulses, and has been known to do generous

acts."

"Has he? You expect him, beyond doubt, to do precisely as he

said; and if Leoline, different from all the rest of her sex,

prefers the knight to the king, he will yield her unresistingly

to you."

"I have nothing but his word for it!" said Sir Norman, in a

distracted tone, "and, at present, can do nothing but bide my

time."

"I have been thinking of that, too! I promised, you know, when I

left her, last night, that we would return before day-dawn, and

rescue her. The unhappy little beauty will doubtless think I

have fallen into the tiger's jaws myself, and has half wept her

bright eyes out by this time!"

"My poor Leoline! And O Hubert, if you only knew what she is to

you!"

"I do know! She told me she was my sister!"

Sir Norman looked at him in amazement.

"She told you, and you take it like this?"

"Certainly, I take it like this. How would you have me take it?

It is nothing to go into hysterics about, after all!"

"Of all the cold-blooded young reptiles I ever saw," exclaimed

Sir Norman, with infinite disgust, "you are the worst! If you

were told you were to receive the crown of France to-morrow, you

would probably open your eyes a trifle, and take it as you would

a new cap!"

"Of course I would. I haven't lived in courts half my life to

get up a scene for a small matter! Besides, I had an idea from

the first moment I saw Leoline that she must be my sister, or

something of that sort."

"And so you felt no emotion whatever on hearing it?"

"I don't know as I properly understand what you mean by emotion,"

said Herbert, reflectively. "But ye-e-s, I did feel somewhat

pleased - she is so like me, and so uncommonly handsome!"

"Humph! there's a reason! Did she tell you how she discovered it

herself?"

"Let me see -no - I think not - she simply mentioned the fact."

"She did not tell you either, I suppose, that you had more

sisters than herself?"

"More than herself! No. That would be a little too much of a

good thing! One sister is quite enough for any reasonable

mortal."

"But there were two more, my good young friend!"

"Is it possible?" said Hubert, in a tone that betrayed not the

slightest symptom of emotion. "Who are they?"

Sir Norman paused one instant, combating a strong temptation to

seize the phlegmatic page by the collar, and give him such

another shaking as he would not get over for a week to come; but

suddenly recollecting he was Leoline's brother, and by the same

token a marquis or thereabouts, he merely paused to cast a

withering look upon him, and walked on.

"Well," said Hubert, "I am waiting to be told."

"You may wait, then!" said Sir Norman, with a smothered growl;

"and I give you joy when I tell you. Such extra

communicativeness to one so stolid could do no good!"

"But I am not stolid! I am in a perfect agony of anxiety," said

Hubert.

"You young jackanapes!" said Sir Norman, half-laughing, half-

incensed. "It were a wise deed and a godly one to take you by

the hind-leg and nape of the neck, and pitch you over yonder

wall; but for your mister's sake I will desist."

"Which of them?" inquired Hubert, with provoking gravity.

"It would be more to the point if you asked me who the others

were, I think."

"So I have, and you merely abused me for it. But I think I know

one of them without being told. It is that other fac-simile of

Leoline and myself who died in the robber's ruin!"

"Exactly. You and she, and Leoline, were triplets!"

"And who is the other?"

"Her name is La Masque. Have you ever heard it?"

"La Masque! Nonsense!" exclaimed Hubert, with some energy in his

voice at last. "You but jest, Sir Norman Kingsley!"

"No such thing! It is a positive fact! She told me the whole

story herself!"

"And what is the whole story; and why did she not tell it to me

instead of you."

"She told it to Leoline, thinking, probably, she had the most

sense; and she told it to me, as Leoline's future husband. It is

somewhat long to relate, but it will help to beguile the time

while we are waiting for the royal summons."

And hereupon Sir Norman, without farther preface, launched into a

rapid resume of La Masque's story, feeling the cold chill with

which he had witnessed it creep over him as he narrated her

fearful end.

"It struck me," concluded Sir Norman, "that it would be better to

procure any papers she might possess at once, lest, by accident,

they should fall into other hands; so I rode there directly, and,

in spite of the cantankerous old porter, searched diligently,

until I found them. Here they are," said Sir Norman, drawing

forth the roll.

"And what do you intend doing with them?" inquired Hubert,

glancing at the papers with an unmoved countenance.

"Show them to the king, and, though his mediation with Louis,

obtain for you the restoration of your rights."

"And do you think his majesty will give himself so much trouble

for the Earl of Rochester's page?"

"I think he will take the trouble to see justice done, or at

least he ought to. If he declines, we will take the matter in

our own hands, my Hubert; and you and I will seek Louis

ourselves. Please God, the Earl of Rochester's page will yet

wear the coronet of the De Montmorencis!"

"And the sister of a marquis will be no unworthy mate even for a

Kingsley," said Hubert. "Has La Masque left nothing for her?"

"Do you see this casket?" tapping the one of cared brass dangling

from his belt; "well, it is full of jewels worth a king's ransom.

I found them in a drawer of La Masque's house, with directions

that they were to be given to her sisters at her death. Miranda

being dead, I presume they are all Leoline's now."

"This is a queer business altogether!" said Hubert, musingly;

"and I am greatly mistaken if King Louie will not regard it as a

very pretty little work of fiction."

"But I have proofs, lad! The authenticity of these papers cannot

be doubted."

"With all my heart. I have no objections to be made a marquis

of, and go back to la belle France, out of this land of plague

and fog. Won't some of my friends here be astonished when they

hear it, particularly the Earl of Rochester, when he finds out

that he has had a marquis for a page? Ah, here comes George, and

bearing a summons from Count L'Estrange at last."

George approached, and intimated that Sir Norman was to follow

him to the presence of his master.

"Au revoir, then," said Hubert. "You will find me here when you

come back."

Sir Norman, with a slight tremor of the nerves at what was to

come, followed the king's page through halls and anterooms, full

of loiterers, courtiers, and their attendants. Once a hand was

laid on his shoulder, a laughing voice met his ear, and the Earl

of Rochester stood beside him!

"Good-morning, Sir Norman; you are abroad betimes. How have you

left your friend, the Count L'Estrange?"

"Your lordship has probably seen him since I have, and should be

able to answer that question best."

"And how does his suit progress with the pretty Leoline?" went on

the gay earl. "In faith, Kingsley, I never saw such a charming

little beauty; and I shall do combat with you yet - with both the

count and yourself, and outwit the pair of you!"

"Permit me to differ from your lordship. Leoline would not touch

you with a pair of tongs!"

"Ah! she has better taste than you give her credit for; but if I

should fail, I know what to do to console myself."

"May I ask what?"

"Yes! there is Hubert, as like her an two peas in a pod. I shall

dress him up in lace and silks, and gewgaws, and have a Leoline

of my own already made its order."

"Permit me to doubt that, too! Hubert is as much lost to you as

Leoline!"

Leaving the volatile earl to put what construction pleased him

best on this last sententious remark, he resumed his march after

George, and was ushered, at last, into an ante-room near the

audience-chamber. Count L'Estrange, still attired as Count

L'Estrange, stood near a window overlooking the court-yard, and

as the page salaamed and withdrew, he turned round, and greeted

Sir Norman with his suavest air.

"The appointed hour is passed, Sir Norman Kingsley, but that is

partly your own fault. Your guide hither tells me that you

stopped for some time at the house of a fortune-teller, known as

La Masque. Why was this!"

"I was forced to stop on most important business," answered the

knight, still resolved to treat him as the count, until it should

please him to doff his incognito, "of which you shall hear anon.

Just now, our business is with Leoline."

"True! And as in a short time I start with yonder cavalcade,

there is but little time to lose. Apropos, Kingsley, who is that

mysterious woman, La Masque?"

"She is, or was (for she is dead sow) a French lady, of noble

birth, and the sister of Leoline!"

"Her sister! And have you discovered Leoline's history?"

"I have."

"And her name!"

"And her name. She is Leoline De Montmorenci! And with the

proudest blood of France in her veins, living obscure and unknown

• a stranger in a strange land since childhood; but, with God's

grace and your help, I hope to see her restored to all she has

lost, before long."

"you know me, then?" said his companion, half-smiling.

"Yes, your majesty," answered Sir Norman, bowing low before the

king.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FINIS

As the last glimpse of moonlight and of Hubert's bright face

vanished, Leoline took to pacing up and down the room in a most

conflicting and excited state of mind. So many things had

happened during the past night; so rapid and unprecedented had

been the course of events; so changed had her whole life become

within the last twelve hours, that when she came to think it all

over, it fairly made her giddy. Dressing for her bridal; the

terrible announcement of Prudence; the death-like swoon; the

awakening at the plague-pit; the maniac flight through the

streets; the cold plunge in the river; her rescue; her interview

with Sir Norman, and her promise; the visit of La Masque; the

appearance of the count; her abduction; her journey here; the

coming of Hubert, and their suddenly-discovered relationship. It

was enough to stun any one; and the end was not yet. Would

Hubert effect his escape? Would they be able to free her? What

place was this, and who was Count L'Estrange? It was a great

deal easier to propound this catechism to herself than to find

answers to her own questions; and so she walked up and down,

worrying her pretty little head with all sorts of anxieties,

until it was a perfect miracle that softening of the brain did

not ensue.

Her feet gave out sooner than her brain, though; and she got so

tired before long, that she dropped into a seat, with a

long-drawn, anxious sigh; and, worn out with fatigue and

watching, she, at last, fell asleep.

And sleeping, she dreamed. It seemed to her that the count and

Sir Norman were before her, in her chamber in the old house on

London Bridge, tossing her heart between them like a sort of

shuttlecock. By-and-by, with two things like two drumsticks,

they began hammering away at the poor, little, fluttering heart,

as if it were an anvil and they were a pair of blacksmiths, while

the loud knocks upon it resounded through the room. For a time,

she was so bewildered that she could not comprehend what it

meant; but, at last, she became conscious that some one was

rapping at the door. Pressing one hand over her startled heart,

she called "Come in!" and the door opened and George entered.

"Count L'Estrange commands me to inform you, fair lady, that he

will do himself the pleasure of visiting you immediately, with

Sir Norman Kingsley, if you are prepared to receive them."

"With Sir Norman Kingsley!" repeated Leoline, faintly. "I-I am

afraid I do not quite understand."

"Then you will not be much longer in that deplorable state," said

George, backing out, "for here they are."

"Pardon this intrusion, fairest Leoline," began the count, "but

Sir Norman and I are about to start on a journey, and before we

go, there is a little difference of opinion between us that you

are to settle."

Leoline looked first at one, and then at the other, utterly

bewildered.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A simple matter enough. Last evening, if you recollect, you

were my promised bride."

"It was against my will," said Leoline, boldly, though her voice

shook, "You and Prudence made me."

"Nay, Leoline, you wrong me. I, at least, need no compulsion."

"You know better. You haunted me continually; you gave me no

peace at all; and I world just have married you to get rid of

you."

"And you never loved me?"

"I never did."

"A frank confession! Did you, then, love any one else?"

The dark eyes fell, and the roseate glow again tinged the pearly

face.

"Mute!" said the count, with an almost imperceptible smile.

"Look up, Leoline, and speak."

But Leoline would do neither. With all her momentary daring

gone, she stood startled as a wild gazelle.

"Shall I answer for her, Sir Count?" exclaimed Sir Norman, his

own cheek dashed. "Leoline! Leoline! you love me!"

Leoline was silent;

"You are to decide between us, Leoline. Though the count

forcibly brought you here, he has been generous enough to grant

this. Say, then, which of as you love best."

"I do not love him at all," aid Leoline, with s little disdain,

"and he knows it."

"Then it is I!" said Sir Norman, him whole lace beaming with

delight.

"It is you!"

Leoline held out both hands to the loved one, and nestled close

to his side, like a child would to its protector.

"Fairly rejected!" said the count, with a pacing shade of

mortification on his brow; "and, my word being pledged, I most

submit. But, beautiful Leoline, you have yet to learn whom you

have discarded."

Clinging to her lover's arm, the girl grew white with undefined

apprehension. Leisurely, the count removed false wig, false

eyebrows, false heard; and a face well known to Leoline, from

pictures and description, turned full upon her.

"Sire!" she cried, in terror, calling on her knees with clasped

hands.

"Nay; rise, fair Leoline," said the king, holding out his hand to

assist her. "It is my place to kneel to one so lovely instead of

having her kneel to me. Think again. Will you reject the king

as you did the count?"

"Pardon, your majesty!", said Leoline, scarcely daring to look

up; "but I must!"

"So be it! You are a perfect miracle of troth and constancy, and

I think I can afford to be generous for once. In fifteen

minutes, we start for Oxford, and you must accompany us as Lady

Kingsley. A tiring woman will wait upon you to robe you for your

bridal. We will leave you now, and let me enjoin expedition."

And while she still stood too much astonished by the sudden

proposal to answer, both were gone, and in their place stood a

smiling lady's maid, with a cloud of gossamer white in her arms.

"Are those for me?" inquired Leoline, looking at them, and trying

to comprehend that it was all real.

"They are for you - sent by Mistress Stuart, herself. Please sit

down, and all will be ready in a trice."

And in a trice all was ready. The shining, jetty curls were

smoothed, and fell in a glossy shower, trained with jewels - the

pearls Leoline herself still wore. The rose satin was discarded

for another of bridal white, perfect of fit, and splendid of

feature. A great gossamer veil like a cloud of silver mist over

all, from head to foot; and Leoline was shown herself in a

mirror, and in the sudden transformation, could have exclaimed,

with the unfortunate lady in bother Goose, shorn of her tresses

when in balmy slumber: "As sure as I'm a little woman, this is

none of it!" But she it was, nevertheless, who stood listening

like one in a trance, to the enthusiastic praises of her

waiting-maid.

Again there was a tap at the door. This time the attendant

opened it, and George reappeared. Even he stood for a moment

looking at the silver-shining vision, and so lost in admiration,

that he almost forgot his message. But when Leoline turned the

light of her beautiful eyes inquiringly upon him, he managed to

remember it, and announced that he had been sent by the king to

usher her to the royal presence.

With a feet-throbbing heart, flushed cheeks, and brilliant eyes,

the dazzling bride followed him, unconscious that she had never

looked so incomparably before in her life. It was but a few

hours since she had dressed for another bridal; and what

wonderful things had occurred since then - her whole destiny had

changed in a night. Not quite sure yet but that she was still

dreaming, she followed on - saw George throw open the great doors

of the audience-chamber, and found herself suddenly in what

seemed to her a vast concourse of people. At the upper end of

the apartment was s brilliant group of ladies, with the king's

beautiful favorite in their midst, gossiping with knots of

gentlemen. The king himself stood in the recess of a window,

with his brother, the Duke of York, the Earl of Rochester, and

Sir Norman Kingsley, and was laughing and relating animatedly to

the two peers the whole story. Leoline noticed this, and

noticed, too, that all wore traveling dresses - most of the

ladies, indeed, being attired in riding-habits.

The king himself advanced to her rescue, and drawing her arm

within his, he led her up and presented her to the fair Mistress

Stuart, who received her with smiling graciousness though

Leoline, all unused to court ways, and aware of the lovely lady's

questionable position, returned it almost with cold hauteur.

Charles being in an unusually gracious mood, only smiled as he

noticed it, and introduced her next to his brother of York, and

her former short acquaintance, Rochester.

"There's no need, I presume, to make you acquainted with this

other gentleman, sand Charles, with s laughing glance at Sir

Norman. "Kingsley, stand forward and receive your bride. My

Lord of Canterbury, we await your good offices."

The bland bishop, in surplice and stole, and book in hand,

stepped from a distant group, and advanced. Sir Norman, with a

flush on his cheek, and an exultant light in his eyes, took the

hand of his beautiful bride who stood lovely, and blushing, and

downcast, the envy and admiration of all. And

           "Before the bishop now they stand,

              The bridegroom and the bride;

            And who shall paint what lovers feel

              In this, their hour of pride?"

Who indeed? Like many other pleasant things is this world, it

requires to be felt to be appreciated; and, for that reason, it

is a subject on which the unworthy chronicler is altogether

incompetent to speak. The first words of the ceremony dropped

from the prelate's urbane lips, and Sir Norman's heart danced a

tarantella within him. "Wilt thou?" inquired the bishop,

blandly, and slipped a plain gold ring on one pretty finger of

Leoline's hand and all heard the old, old formula: "What God

hath joined together, let no man put asunder!" And the whole

mystic rite was over.

Leoline gave one earnest glance at the ring on her finger. Long

ago, slaves wore rings as the sign of their bondage - is it for

the same reason married women wear them now? While she yet

looked half-doubtfully at it, she was surrounded, congratulated,

and stunned with a sadden clamor of voices; and then, through it

all, she heard the well-remembered voice of Count L'Estrange,

saying:

"My lords and ladies, time is on the wing, and the sun is already

half an hour high! Off with you all to the courtyard, and mount,

while Lady Kingsley changes her wedding-gear for robes more

befitting travel, and joins us there."

With a low obeisance to the king, the lovely bride hastened away

after one of the favorite's attendants, to do as he directed, and

don a riding-suit. In ten minutes after, when the royal

cavalcade started, she turned from the pest-stricken city, too

and fairest, where all was fair, by Sir Norman's side rode

Leoline.

                    ________________

Sitting one winter night by a glorious winter fire, while the

snow and hail lashed the windows, and the wind without roared

like Bottom, the weaver, a pleasant voice whispered the foregoing

tale. Here, as it paused abruptly, and seemed to have done with

the whole thing, I naturally began to ask questions. What

happened the dwarf and his companions? What became of Hubert?

Did Sir Norman and Lady Kingsley go to Devonshire, and did either

of them die of the plague? I felt, myself, when I said it, that

the last suggestion was beneath contempt, and so a withering look

from the face opposite proved; but the voice was obliging enough

to answer the rest of my queries. The dwarf and his cronies

being put into his majesty's jail of Newgate, where the plague

was raging fearfully, they all died in a week, and so managed to

cheat the executioner. Hubert went to France, and laid his

claims before the royal Louis, who, not being able to do

otherwise, was graciously pleased to acknowledge them; and Hubert

became the Marquis de Montmorenci, and in the fullness of time

took unto himself a wife, even of the daughters of the land, and

lived happy for ever after.

And Sir Norman and Lady Kingsley did go to the old manor in

Devonshire, where - with tradition and my informant - there is to

be seen to this day, an old family-picture, painted some twelve

years after, representing the knight and his lady sitting

serenely in their "ain ingle nook" with their family around them.

Sir Norman,- a little portlier, a little graver, in the serious

dignity of pater familias; and Leoline, with the dark, beautiful

eyes, the falling, shining hair, the sweet smiling lips, and

lovely, placid face of old. Between them, on three hassocks, sit

three little boys; while the fourth, and youngest, a miniature

little Sir Norman, leans against his mother's shoulder, and looks

thoughtfully in her sweet, calm face. Of the fate of those four,

the same ancient lore affirms: "That the eldest afterward bore

the title of Earl of Kingsley; that the second became a lord high

admiral, or chancellor, or something equally highfalutin; and

that the third became an archbishop. But the highest honor of

all was reserved for the fourth, and youngest," continued the

narrating voice, "who, after many days, sailed for America, and,

in the course of time, became President of the United States ."

Determined to be fully satisfied on this point, at least, the

author invested all her spare change in a catalogue of all the

said Presidents, from George Washington to Chester A. Arthur,

and, after a diligent and absorbing perusal of that piece of

literature, could find no such name as Kingsley whatever; and has

been forced to come to the conclusion that he most have applied

to Congress to change his name on arriving in the New World, or

else that her informant was laboring reader a falsehood when she

told her so. As for the rest,

            "I know not how the truth may be;

             I say it as 'twas said to me."

End