 CHAPTER 22 DAY DAWN All this time the attendant George had been sitting very much at his ease on horseback looking up to Sonoma's charger and admiring the beauties of sunrise. He had seen Sonoma in conversation with a strange female, and not much like in 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. Sonoma, in his horrified flight, would have fairly passed him unnoticed, had not George arrested him by a loud shout. I beg your pardon, Sonoma, 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 are scarcely reached account by sunrise. Sonoma leaned against his horse, and shaded his eyes with his hand, shattering like winding a nail. Why did that woman leap into the pig pit? Looking quite George, looking at him curiously, was there not a sorceress like Musk? Yes, yes, do not ask me any questions now, replied Sonoma, in his mothered voice, and with an impatient wave of his hand. Whatever you please, sir, said George, with the flippancy of his glass, but still I must repeat, if you do not mount instantly, we will be late, and my mustard account is not one who brooks delay. The young knight voted into the saddle without word, and started off at a breakneck 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 moon-struck lunatic. Once or twice he shouted out a sharp-toed inquiry as to whether he knew where he was going, and that they were taken the wrong way altogether, to all of which Sonoma gained not a slightest reply, but wrote more and more recklessly on. There were but few people abroad at that hour. Indeed, for that matter the streets of London in a 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 looker than fear of death, bending their steps with produce to the marketplace. These people sleepy and pallid in the gray haze of daylight, stared in astonishment after the two fearless riders, and winners were thrown open, and his thrust out to sea were the unusual thunder of horses hooves at that early hour mate. George followed dauntlessly on, determined to do it, or died 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 Vendor Deccan, Sonoma came to a halt at last, and that so suddenly that his horse stood on his beam-end, and flourished his two furlimbs in the atmosphere. It was before La Masque's door, and Sonoma was out of the saddle in the flesh, and knocking like a postman with the handle of his whip on the door. The thundery rebellion ran through the house, making it shake to its center and heritally 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 with his sharpsolute. Then I shall just take the trouble of admitting myself, said Sonoma shortly. And without further ceremony he pushed aside his skeleton and entered. For 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. But you old simpleton remarked Sonoma, losing his customary respect for old age in his impatience. I have La Masque's order for what I'm about to do. Get along with you directly, will you? He showed me to her private room and no nonsense. He tapped his sword-heeled significantly as he spoke, and that argument proved irresistible. Grumbling in low tones, the anatomist stalked upstairs, and the other followed, with very different feelings from those with which he had mounted at staircase last. His guide passed in the hall above, with his hand on a latch of a door. This is her private room, is it? demanded Sonoma. Yes. Just stay 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 on the window, covered with books, and he glanced at them with some curiosity. They were classics, Greek and Latin, and other little towns, perhaps Sanskrit and Chaldeic, French ballerletters, 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 a table, he pulled it hastily open. The aid that met his eyes fairly dazzled him. It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and value, strewn as careless as if they were valueless. The blaze of germs at a 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 Momohonsi, to be given to my sisters when I'm dead, that settled their destiny. All these blaze of diamonds, rubies and opus valuelines, and with the energetic rapidity characteristic of a young friend that morning, he swept them out on a table and resumed his search for papers. No document was there to reward his search, but the brief one twined round a necklace, and he was about given up in despair when a small brass light in one corner caught his eye. Suddenly he was at it, trying it every way, shoving it out and in and up and down, until at last it yelled it to his touch, disclosing an inner drawer full of papers and portraits. One glance showed them to be what he was in search of, proofs of Leolian 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 wrought 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 drawers in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt. This brisk and important little affair been over, he arose to go, and in turning saw the skeleton porters standing in the doorway looking on in speechless dismay. It's all right, my ancient friend, observed so nominally. These papers must go before the cane, and these drawers to their proper owner. Their proper owner, repeated the old man, shrilly, there is La Masque. Thief! Robber! Housebreaker! Stop! My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bow like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they are so no longer, since La Masque herself is one of 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 the sonomen, losing all patience. I will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clam 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 wound. Dead and buried, repeated the sonomen, with gloomy stoneness, 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 bloom out 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, sonomen 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 he made his appearance. I tell you what, sonomen Kingsley, if you have many more morning calls to make, I shall bet 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 eat accustomed or inclined to be kept waiting. I am quite at your service now, said sonomen, spraining on horseback. So I wait with you quick as you like. George wanted no second order. Before the words were welled out of his companion's mouth, he was dashin' away like a boat from a bow as furiously as if on a steeple-chase, with sonomen close at his heels, and he rode, flushed and breathless, with his stays all foaming, into the courtyard of the Royal Palace at Whitehall, just as the early rising son was showing his floored and burning visage above the horizon. The courtyard, unlike the city streets, swarmed with busy life, pages and attendants and soldiers, moving hither and thither, or loungin' about, preparing for the morning's journey to Oxford. Among the rest, Sonoma observed Hubert, lying very much at his ease, black in his cloak, on the ground, and checking languidly with a purred and a pretty attendant of the fair Mistress Stuart. He cut short his flotation, however, abruptly enough, and sprang to his feet, as he saw Sonomen, while George immediately darted off and had disappeared from the palace. "'Am I late, Hubert?' said his hurried questioner, as he drew the lad's arm within his own and let 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 Leo Leen.' Hubert shrugged his shoulders. "'He may be. We must take our chance for that. But we have his royal word to the contrary. Now that I have much faith in that,' said Hubert. "'If he were king of the world instead of only England,' cried Sonomen, with flashing eyes, he shall not have Leo Leen while I wear a sword to defend her.' "'Regicide,' exclaimed Hubert, holding up both hands in effected horror. "'Do my ears deceive me? Is this the loyal and chivalrous Sonomen Kingsley, ready to die for king and country?' "'Stuff and nonsense,' interrupted Sonomen impatiently. "'I tell you any one be he whom he may, that attempts to take Leo Leen from me must reach her over my dead body.' "'Bravo! You ought to be a Frenchman, Sonomen. And what if the lady herself, finding her dazzling suitor, dropped his barnyard feathers, and the sole of her head in his own eagle-plumes may not give you your dismissal, and usurp the place of pretty Madame Stewart?' "'You cold-blooded young villain! If you insinuate such a thing again, I'll throttle you. Leo Leen loves me, and me alone.' "'Doubtless,' she thinks so, but she has yet to learn she has a cane for a suitor. "'But you are nothing but a heartless cynic,' said Sonomen, yet with an anxious and irritated flesh on his face, too. What do you know love love? More than you think, as pretty Married Yonder could dispose, if put upon oaths. But seriously, Sonomen, I'm 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 you said, and if Leo Leen, different from all the rest of her sex, prefers the knight to the cane, he will yell to her unresistingly to you. "'I have nothing but his word for it,' said Sonomen, in a distracted tone, and at present can do nothing but bite my time. I have been thinking of that, too, I promised. You know, when I left her last night that we would return before daydown and rescue her, the unhappy little beauty would doubt this thing that I have fallen into the tiger's jaws myself, and has half-wept her bright eyes out by his time. My poor Leo Leen, and, oh Hubert, if you only knew what she is to you, I don't know. She told me she was my sister." Sonomen looked at him in amazement. She told you. And you take it like this. "'Certainly I take it like this. How would you help me take it? It is nothing to go into hysterics about, after all. Of all the cold-blooded young reptiles I ever saw, exclaimed Sonomen, with infinite disgust, you are the worst. If you were told you would receive the crown of frost tomorrow, 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 cause half my life to get up a scene for a small matter. Besides, I had an idea from the first moment I saw Leo Leen, that she must be my sister or something of that sort. And so you felt no emotion or whatever on hearing it. I don't know as I properly understand what you mean by emotion," said Hubert, reflectively. "'But, yes, I did feel somewhat pleased. She is so like me, and so uncommonly handsome.' Umph! There is 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? Sonomen passed one instant, combating a strong temptation to seize the phlegmatic page by the caller, and give him such another shakiness he would not get over for a week to come. But suddenly, recollecting he was Leo Leen's brother, and by the same token a mark with or dare abouts, he merely passed to cast a withering look upon him, and walked on. Well, said Hubert, I'm waiting to be told. You may wait, then, said Sonomen, with a smothered growl, and I give you joy when I tell you. Such extra communicativeness to one so starlit could do no good. But I am not starlit. I am in a perfect agony of anxiety, said Hubert. You young dachnips, said Sonomen, half laughing, half incensed. It were a wise deed, and a godly one to take you by the hind leg and the nape of the neck, and a picture of a younger war. But for your mistress' sake, I would 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 facsimile of Leonelina myself who died in a robber's ruin. Exactly. You and she and Leonelina 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 budge as Sonomen 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 Leonelina, thinking probably she had the most sense. And she told it to me, as Leonelina's future husband. It is somewhat long to relate, but it will help to be a guy at a time while we are waiting for the royal summons. And hereupon, Sonomen, without further 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 Sonomen, that it would be better to procure any papers she might assess at once, lest by accident they should fall into other hands. So I wrote there directly, and in spite of the contactless old porter, searched diligently, and I found them. Here they are, said Sonomen, joined forth the royal. And what do you intend doing with them? In quite here, but 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'll take the matter in our old 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 Momohansi. And a sister for Marquess will be no unworthy maid, even for a kingsley, said Hubert. Has La Masque left nothing for her? Do you see this casket, tapping the one-off-caired brass dangling from his belt? Well it is full of drawers with a king's ransom. I found them in a drawer of La Masque's house, with directions that they would be given to her sisters at her death. Miranda being dead, I presume they are all lianlings now. This is a queer business altogether, said Hubert musingly. And I am greatly mistaken if King Louis were not regarded as a very pretty little worker of fiction. But I have proved that the authenticity of these papers cannot be doubted, with all my heart. I have no objections to be made a Marquess of, and go back to La Belle France, out of this land of plague and fog. Wont 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 Marquess for a page? Ah, here comes George, and bearing a summon from Count des Tronges 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 ante rooms, full of loiterers, courtiers, and the attendants. A hand was led on his shoulder, a laughing voice met his ear, and the Earl of Rochester stood beside him. Good morning, Sir Norman. You are broad be times. How have you left your friend the Count des Tronges? Your lordship has probably seen him since I have, and should be able to answer that question best. And how does his sealed progress with the pretty Léoline, went on a gay Earl? In faith, Kingsley, I never saw such a charming little beauty, and I shall do combat with you yet, with both to Countet yourself, and out with a pair of you. Permit me to differ from your lordship. Léoline will not touch you with a pair of tones. 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. He is like a end-to-peace in a port. I should dress him up in lace and silks and gurgles, and have a Léoline of my own already made his order. Permit me to doubt that, too. Hubert is as much lost to you as Léoline. Leaving the volatile Earl to put what construction please him best on this last sententious remark, he resumed his march after George, and was ushered at last into a ninty room near the audience chamber. Count Leitronch stood a-tired as Count Leitronch stood near a window overlooking the courtyard, and as the page salomed and withdrew, he turned around and greeted Sir Norman with his swarvest air. The appointed Earl is passed, Sir Norman Kingsley, but that is partly your own fault. Your guard heather 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 a most important business, answer the night, still resolve to treat him as the Count, until he should please him to doff his incognito, of which you shall hear a note, just now our business is with Léoline. Jew! And as in a short time I start with your new cover-cade, there is but little time to lose. Apropos, Kingsley, who is that mysterious woman, La Masque? She is, or worse, for she is dead sir, a French lady of noble birth and her sister of Léoline. Her sister? And have you discovered Léoline's history? I have. And her name? And her name she is Léoline de Montmorency, 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 23 As the last glimpse of moonlight and of the light of the night. 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. Looking for her bridle, the terrible announcement of prudence, the deathlike swoon, the awakening at the plague pit, the maniac flight through the streets, the coal plunge in the river, her rescue, her interview with Sir Norman and her promise, the visit of La Mosque, the appearance of the Count, her abduction, her journey here, coming of Hubert in their suddenly discovered relationship, it was enough to stun anyone, and the end was not yet. Could Hubert affect his escape? Would he be able to free her? What place was this? And who was countless strong? 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, wearing 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. In 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 short 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 someone was wrapping the door. Pressing one hand over her startled heart, she called, come in. And the door opened, and George entered. Count LaTange 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 Leolene faintly, I am afraid I do not quite understand. Then you will be not much longer in that deplorable state, said George, backing out, for here they are. Pardon this intrusion, Ferris Leolene began the count, but Sir Norman and I are about to start on a journey, and before we go, there's a little difference of opinion between us that you are to settle. Leolene 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 are my promised bride. It was against my will, said Leolene boldly, though her voice shook. You and Prudence made me. Nay, Leolene, you wronged me. I, at least, need no compulsion. You know better, you haunted me continually, you gave me no peace at all, and I would have just married you to get rid of you. And you never loved me? I never did. A frank confession. Did you then love anyone else? The dark eyes fell, and the rosy at glow again tinged the pearly face. Mute said to count with an almost imperceptible smile, look up, Leolene, and speak. But Leolene would do neither. For momentary daring gone, she stood startled as a wild gazelle. Shall I answer for her, sir count? exclaimed Sir Norman, his own cheek dashed. Leolene, Leolene, you love me. Leolene was silent. You were to decide between us, Leolene, though the count forcibly brought you here. He has been generous enough to grant this. Say then, which of us you love best? I do not love him at all, said Leolene, with a little disdain, and he knows it. Then it is I, said Sir Norman, his whole face beaming with delight. It is you. But when Leolene turned the light of her beautiful eyes inquiringly upon him, he managed to remember it and announced. But when Leolene 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 present. Scarred it. Clicking to her lover's arm, the girl grew white with undefined apprehension. Leisurely, the count removed false wig, false eyebrows, false beard, and a face well known to Leolene from pictures and description turned full upon her. Sire, she cried in terror, crawling on her knees with clasped hands. Nay, rise for Leolene, said the king, holding out his hand to his sister. 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 Leolene, scarcely daring to look up. But I must. So be it. You are a perfect miracle of trough and constancy. And I think I can afford to be generous for once. In 15 minutes, we start for Oxford. And you must accompany us as Lady Kingsley. Haring woman will wait upon you to robe you for your bridal. We will leave you now, and let me enjoy an expedition. And while she 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 Leolene, looking at them and trying to comprehend that it was real? They are for you. Sent by Mistress Stewart herself. Please sit down, and all will be ready in a trice. And in a trice, all was ready. The shining jetty curls were smooth and fell in a glossy shower, trained with jewels. The pearls, Leolene herself, still wore. The rose satin was discarded for another, a bridal white, perfect to fit and splendid a feature. A great gossamer veil like a cloud of silver mist overall from head to foot. And Leolene was shown herself in a mirror and in the sudden transformation could have exclaimed to the unfortunate lady and brother 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 crazes 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, so lost in admiration that he almost forgot his message. But when Leolene turned the light of her beautiful eyes inquiringly upon him, he managed to remember and announced that he had been sent by the king to usher her to the royal presence. With a fleet 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 bridle 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 it would seem to be to her a vast concourse of people. At the upper end of the apartment was a 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 two peers the whole story. Leolene noticed this and noticed too that all wore traveling dresses, most of the ladies indeed being attired in writing habits. The king himself advanced to her rescue and drawing her arm within his, he led her up and presented her to the fair Mr. Stewart who received her with smiling graciousness. The Leolene, all unused to courtways and aware of the lovely ladies questionable position, returned it almost with cold houture. 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 said Charles with a laughing glance at Sir Norman. Kingsley stand forward and receive your bride. My Lord of Canterbury, we await your good offices. The bland bishop and surplus and stole and book in hand stepped from a distant group in advance. Sir Norman with a flush on his cheek and an exultant light in his eyes took the hand of this beautiful bride who stood lovely and blushing and downcast the envy and admiration of all. Before the bishop, now they stand, the bridegroom and the bride, and who shall paint what lovers feel in this their hour of pride? And who indeed? Like many other pleasant things in this world, it requires to be felt to be appreciated. For reason, it is a subject on which the unworthy chronicler is altogether incompetent to speak. The first words of the ceremony dropped from the prelates urbane lips and Sir Norman's heart danced a tarantella within him. Will thou inquire the bishop blandly and slipped a plain gold ring on one pretty finger of Leolene'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. Leolene 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 had looked half doubtfully at it, she was surrounded, congratulated, and stunned with a sudden clamor of voices. And then, through it all, she heard the well-remembered voice of Count LaTorne 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 lower basins to the king, the lovely bride hastened away after one of the favorites attendants to do as he directed and don a riding suit. In 10 minutes after, when the royal cavalcade started, she turned from the pest-stricken city, true and fairest, were always fair by Sir Norman's side, rode laily. 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 to 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 crew. 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 that. And Hubert became the Marquis de Montmorecy and in the fullness of time, took unto himself a wife, even of the daughters of the land and lived happily forever 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 12 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, little graver in the serious dignity of Pater Familius and Leolene with the dark, beautiful eyes, the falling, shining hair, the sweet, smiling lips and lovely, placid face of old. Between them, on three hasks, 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 catalog 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 must have applied to Congress to change his name on arriving in the New World or else that her informant was laboring a falsehood when she told her so. As for the rest, I know not how the truth may be. I say it as it was said to me. End of chapter 23, recording by Larry Kaplan. End of the Midnight Queen by Mae Agnes Fleming.