 CHAPTER XVIII. 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 honour to hold forth, as at the present time, but I am inclined to think not, from the simple fact that Leolene, 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 born 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 shaw and never passed beyond it. Most assuredly Leolene 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 countless strong 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 shaw, 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 an 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 Leolene to gasp out a faint, I promise. As she spoke it it was lifted off altogether and she caught one bright fleeting glimpse of the river, sparkling in silvery in the moonlight, of the bright blue sky, jammed 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 commended to treat you with every respect, but not to let you see where you are born to. But what right does Count Lestron have to commit this outrage? began Leolene, 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 carried 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 as safe and secure as in your own home. Secure enough, no doubt, said Leolene bitterly. I never did like Count Lestron, 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 in dignit silence on Leolene'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, hotly demanded Leolene? 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 Lestron? I cannot tell. Where am I to see him? I cannot say. Huh! said Leolene, 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 the most distinct among all was, what would Sir Norman say? Of course, with all the lovers impatience he would be at his post by sunrise would come to look for his bride, and would find himself cold. By that time she would be far enough away, perhaps a melancholy corpse, and at this dreary passage in her meditations Leolene 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 Lestron, what did he intend to do with her? He would ask Osofars to make her marry him and imprison her with the rest of his wives, for Leolene was prepared to think the very worst of the Count, and had not the slightest doubt that he had already 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 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. Leolene 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 that 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 Leolene, 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 most peculiar sensation, which none but those who have experienced it 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. Leolene'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 Leolene had something of Miranda's courage as well as her looks and temper, so she tried to feel as brave as possible and not to 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, pendant 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 arc of a thing, like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and spectral as that on the walls, and in which she no more could 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 odd chill. There was but one door, a huge structure, with shining panels, securely locked, and to 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. All together 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 on a tomb. What would Sir Norman say? 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 Le Strong was a good deal stronger than her grief, and earned 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 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 Amastron, to her poor nurse Prudence, and to her mysterious visitor La Masque. La Masque. Ah, that name awoke a new quart 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 be-you 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 reeds of water lilies, and in the bottom, neatly folded, lay a sheet of fool's cap. She opened it with nervous haste. It was a common sheet enough, stamped with a 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, Laolene's History. Laolene's hand trembled so with eagerness that 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 alternatively 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. Someone 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 fool's gap, 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 countless strong, 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 about 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 specter her imagination could conjure up than that tall, graceful, rich-robed form. Still the noises perseveringly continued. There was a sound of withdrawing bolts, and then a pale ray of moonlight shot between the part of curtains, showing 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 live and agile as a cat sprang lightly into the room, and standing with his back to her, reclosed the shutters, reshut the window, and redrew the curtains before taking the trouble to turn round. This discreet little maneuver, which showed her visitor was human, and gifted with human prudence, reassured 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, and made her 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 eyes, the same clear, colorless complexion, the same delicate, perfect features. Nothing was different but the costume and the expression. The latter was essentially different, for the young ladies betrayed amazement, terror, doubt, and delight all at once, while the young gentlemen'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. the keyhole, so I had to make my appearance the best way I could. 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-used opinion, for giving way to any feeling 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 Dionne recently? went on Léolène, rather inoppositely, as it struck her here. Certainly I come from Dionne, had I the honour of being known to you there. How strange, how wonderful, said Léolène, with a paling cheek and quickened breathing. How mysterious these things turn out. I thank heaven that I have found someone 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 a bit afterward, positively shocked him. The two great, wondering dark eyes transfixing her with so much amazement, brought Léolène 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 discards her 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, fares Léolène. I know you are the most beautiful lady in England, and tomorrow will be called Lady Kingsley. I am something more, said Léolène, holding his hand between 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 their 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. Léolène 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 daresay I am, for they all say we look as much alike as two peas. I'm 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 Léolène 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 half-pout. You insensible mortal, how can you stand there and hear that you have found a sister with so much indifference? Indifference, 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, Léolène? 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, Léolène. 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 le Strong. Now I had a hazy idea who Count le Strong 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 Leolene, in a fright, and in the power of Count le Strong. Oh, no, no, you must take me with you, Hubert. My dear Leolene, 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, oh Hubert, where am I? What dreadful place is 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 le Strong? Hubert laughed. Cannot. Really, Leolene, at least not until tomorrow, and you are Lady Kingsley. But what if he should come here tonight? I do not think there is much danger of that. But whether he does or not, rest assured, you shall be free tomorrow. And 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, Leolene, and trust a providence, and your brother Hubert. I must, I suppose, said Leolene, 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 Leolene, with spirit, and most decidedly, too, I shall wear nothing of the kind, surpage. Everyone 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 Leolene, for brief time, adieu, and au revoir. You will not fail me, exclaimed Leolene, earnestly clasping her hands. If I do, it shall be the last thing I will fail on earth. For if I am alive by tomorrow morning, Leolene shall be free. And you will be careful. You will both be careful. Excessively careful. Now then. The last two words were dressed to the window, which he noiselessly opened as he spoke. Leolene 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 19 Hubert's Whisper Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the dead body of his friend was only equaled by his amazement as to how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all. The livid face, upturned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a dead man. It was no swoon, no deception like Leolene's, for the blue ghastly pale-ness that marks the flight of the soul from the body was stamped on every rigid feature. Yet Sir Norman could not realise it. We all know how hard it is to realise the death of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health and life, and Orchmiston's death was so sudden. Why, it was not quite two hours since they had parted in Leolene's house, and even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this. Orchmiston, Orchmiston he called between grief and dismay as he raised him in his arms with his hand over the stilled heart. But Orchmiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath his fingers. He tore open the 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, and the hands were clenched till the nails sank into the flesh, and that was the only outward sign or token that had suffered in expiring. So Norman was completely at a lose, and half beside himself, with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment and mystification. The rapid and exciting advance of the night had turned his head into a mental chaos, as there were very well might. But he still had common sense and enough left to know that something must be done about this immediately. He knew the best place to take Orchmiston was the nearest apothecary shop, which establishments were generally open, and filled the whole live-long night by the sick and their friends. As he was meditating whether 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 post-grape-form guest at once what was the master, 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 on a cart, so bear a hand, friend, and let us have him out of this. You are mistaken, said Sir Norman sharply. There's not died of the plague. I'm not even certain whether he's dead at all. The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched Orchmiston's icy face, and listened to him breathe. He stood up after a moment with something like a small laugh. If he's alive, he said, turning to go, then I never saw anyone dead. Good night, Sir. I wish you joy when you're bringing him to. Stay, exclaimed the young man. I wish you to assist me in bringing him to yonder apothecary shop, and you may have this for your pains. This proved to be a talisman of velacruity, for the man pocketed it and briskly laid hold of Orchmiston 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 corp 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 head, 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 and a four-set 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 sat down the kindle with his surgeon. The man is dead, Sir, was his criticism. Dead as a doornail, all the medicine and 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 dullfully. It is no use, Sir, but if it will please you, you can try. The right arm was bared, the lancet inserted. One or two black drops, sluggishly followed, and nothing more. It's all the 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 well. There is no plague spell or visible wound or bruise to the person, so he must have died of some internal complaint, probably disease of the heart. Nothing new in to have such a thing, said Sir Norman sigh. 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 the 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 Nums 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 had so changed the expression of the 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 heart shorn, 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 least in despair, and folding his arms looked down at what lay on the table, and tried to convince himself that it was Ormiston. So absurd was he in the endeavour that he did not the passing moments until it struck him with a shot that Ubert might even now be waiting for him in the triest stinging place, with news of Lyolin. Love is stronger than friendship, stronger than grief, stronger than death, stronger than any other feeling in the world. So he suddenly seized his hat, turned his bag on Ormiston, and the apothecary shot up, and strode off to the place he had quitted. No Ubert was there, but two figures were passing slowly along in the moonlight, and one of them he recognised, with an impulse to spring at him like a tiger and strangle him. They 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 a reproach, even than anger in his voice, as he went over Lady's hand on the shoulder of one of them. Stay, he said, one word with you, qu'en l'estrange. What have you done with Lyolin? Ah, Sir Norman, as I live, cried the count, weaning round and lifting, he said, Give me good evening, or rather, good morning, Kingsley, for St. Paul's has long gone the midnight hour. Sir Norman, with his hand still in his shoulder, returned not the courtesy, and regarding the gallant count with the stern eye, whereas Lyolin, he frigidly replied. 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. Whereas Lyolin, he shouted the exasperated young knight, releasing his shoulder and clutching him by the throat. Tell me all by heaven, I'll pitch you neck and heels to the Thames. Instantly the sword of the count's companion flashed in the moonlight, and in two seconds more its blue blade, what have ended the earthly career of Sir Norman's Kingsley, had not the count quickly sprung back and made a motion for his companion to hold. Wait! he cried commandingly, with his arm outstretched each. Keep off! George, sheath 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 the aggravated young gentleman fiercely. Until you tell me what has become of Lyolin. All in good time. We have a listen, and does it not strike you our conference should be private? Public or private, it matters a jot, so that you tell me what you've done with Lyolin, 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 and run you through, as sure as your name is Calistre Orange, 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 should 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 mean of a sulky Lyolin, and a moment after both were facing each other in the archway. Well, grudging knight, impatiently. I'm 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 there how you speak. What have you done with Lyolin? 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 a now, and laid his hand on his sword, but the count's hand lightly into powers before it came out. Not yet, Sir Norman. Be calm. Talk questionally. What do you accuse me of dealing with Lyolin? Do you dare, didn't I, having carried her off? Deny it? No. I'm never afraid to father my own deeds. Ah, said Sir Norman, grinding the 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, and he 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. Fairly, yes, said the count laughing. I seldom take the trouble to deny my act. What next? There's 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, and now she was forced into consenting by yourself and her nurse. Still, she consented, and the bond is a bond and a promise is a promise all the world over. Not with a woman, said Sir Norman, with a stern dogma to them. It is their privilege to break their promise and change their mind sixty times an hour if they choose. Leolene has seemed fit to do both, and has accepted me in your stead. Therefore, I command you instantly give her up. Softly, my friends, 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 has 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 the prior claim. A forced one, Leolene does not care a snap for you, and she loves me. What an extraordinary bad taste, said the Count thoughtfully. Does 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 own no you wouldn't, said the Count teasingly. So as matters stand in this slide, I'll tell you what I'll do. I acknowledge that I carried off Leolene, 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 honour. 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 unreasonable hour. When the morning comes, we will both go to her, 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 stern on with his usual penetration and acuteness looked further than the surface and found a flaw. And how am I to know, he said doubtingly, that you will not go to her tonight, and spur it to 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, holding out the 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, even though there are 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 tonight. Sir Norman stirred, and who told you this fact, Sir Count? Never mind, I have heard it. Would you object with 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 near to Leonine. And nothing was to be gained by killing the Count beyond the mere transitory pleasure of the thing. On the other hand, he has an intense and ardent desire to revisit the ruin, and learn what had become of Miranda. The only drawback being that if they were found, they would both be matched assuredly beheaded. Then again, there was you Bech. 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 part this life until I promise, that promised interview with Leonine. I have the thought of that, said the Count. We have provided for it. We may venture into the lion's den without the slightest danger. All that is required being your promise to guide us further. Do you give it? I do, but I expect French here shortly, and I cannot start until he comes. If you mean me by that, I am here, said a voice that is out there. And the Q-Roundies saw Ubert himself, standing there, a quiet listener and spectator of the scene. Gaulistrange looked at him with interest, and Ubert, reflecting not to notice this survey, watched Sir Norman. Well, was that individual's eager to address. Were you successful? The Count was still watching the boy so intently that that most discreet ear was suddenly seized with a violent fit of coughing, which precludes all possibility of reply for at least five minutes, and Sir Norman, at the same own, felt his amnesty of a sharp and warning pinch. Is this your friend? said the Count. Is a very small one, seen as in a bad state of health. Sir Norman, still under the influence of the pinch, replied by an audible murmur, and looked with a deeply mystified expression at Ubert. He bears a strong resemblance to the lady who we're talking of a moment ago, continued the Count. Is sufficiently like her, in fact, to be her brother, and I see wares of delivery of the Earl of Rochester. Could spare you your eyesight? 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 say in the Count walked away, and Ubert followed with him, a music curious look. Now, cried Sir Norman eagerly. What news? Good, said the boy. Leolene 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 Ubert, 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 the non-bus hopeless task. Where did you meet Count Listwange? Here, and he told me that he had abducted her, and held her prisoner in his own house. He owned to that, did he? I wonder if you were not fit to kill him. So I was at first, when you talked to the matter over somehow. And here, upon Sonomon briefly, and quickly rehearsed the substance of their conversation. Ubert listened to it attentively, and laughed as he concluded. Well, I do not see that you can do otherwise, Sonomon, and I think it would be wise to oblade the Count for tonight, at least. Then tomorrow, if things do not go unwell, we can take the law in our own hands. Can we? said Sonomon doubly. I do wish you would tell me who this infernal Count is, Ubert. But I am certain you know. Not until tomorrow. You shall know him then. Tomorrow? Tomorrow! exclaimed Sonomon, disconsolently. Everything is postponed until tomorrow. Oh, here comes the Count's 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 easy, as you say, Mr. Kingsley. My friend can do as he pleases. What do you say, Ubert? I should like to go, of all things, if neither of you 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 this orange 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. Ubert's usual flow of pertinent chat seemed to have forsaken him, and Sir Norman had so many other things to think of. Lyolin, Orniston, Miranda, and the mysterious Count himself, that he felt in no mood for talking. Soon they had left the city behind them. The succeeding two miles were quickly passed over, and the golden crown, all dark and forsaken, now over in sight. As they reached this, and curtered up the road leading to the ruin, Sir Norman drew rain and said, I think our best plan would be to dismount and lead our horses to the rest of the way, and not in coernion necessary 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, sir, the Count lifting his finger with a listening look. Listen to that! It was a regular trump of horses' hooves, sounding the silence like a charge of cavalry. While they looked, a troop of horsemen came gulping 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 uber, betrayed, not the least surprised. The Count glanced at his companions with a significant smile, and riding back had a brief colloquy with him, who seemed the leader of the horsemen. He rode up to them, smiling 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, this Tornish? The Count looked at him, but did not answer. A warning hand that of uber grasps Sir Norman's arm, and uber's voice whispered hurriedly in his ear. Hush, for God's sake! It is the King! End of Chapter 19, Recording by Grace Dobson Chapter 20 of The Midnight Queen This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information nor to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander The Midnight Queen by Mary Agnes Fleming Chapter 20 At the Plague Pit The effect of the whisper was magical. Everything that had been dark before became clear as noonday. And Sir Norman's had 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 tomes. It struck him all at once, and with it the fact of Leoline's increased danger. Count Leetranche 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 Ubert had uttered a last word of his whisper. He turned his eyes with the very new and singular sensation upon the quantum count, and found that gentleman looking very hard at him, with a prenaturally grave expression of a 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 Leetranche until he should choose to sail under his own proper colors. Well, said the count with unruffled eagerness, and so you declined to go any further, Sir Norman? Ubert's eyes 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 refused 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 cutthroats. 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 him? 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 bodyguard. 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 here, exclaimed Ubert, suddenly pointing to a corner of the rain. Someone has seen us, and is going 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. Oh, 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 Lytrange. See, 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 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. Hear 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. Oh, 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 desserts, as there is no doubt you will from the gracious hand of our sovereign lord the king, the strongest rope and high scallops 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 you but given him a probe in the ribs with the point of his stagger, that sent him on again with a distracted howl. Why this is 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 grouped 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 are not. Where are you taking us to, your black-looking bandit? I give you my word of honour, gentlemen, said an imploring voice in the darkness, that I am 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 you with giving him another pope with his stagger, 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 staircase, 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 wild 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 surely I deserved this trifling boon. Trifling, do you call it? Interpost, 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 two old birds to be caught with such chaff. And though the informer always get off scot-free, your service deserve no such boon. For we could have found our way without your help. On with you, Sir Robert, and if your companions to 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 hold, and positively refused to go a step farther. It was death anyway, and he resisted with a 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 Stagger 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, King Slim, let us just have a glimpse of what is going on within. Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and he 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 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 tanks 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 neighbours. One universal centre of union alone seemed to exist, and that was the green judicial table near the throne, upon which, while all tanks 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 Guest, 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, whining both hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots, and a known 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 end 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'm afraid there is something worse now. Could ever any mortal conceive of such a scene? observed the count himself. Look at that little picture of ugliness, how he hops about like a dropsicle bullfrog. 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've ever heard of. I wonder what they've got that 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 special benefit. The action gave the count an opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. The object of attraction was now plainly visible. Sir Norman's hermises 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 extemporary couch, and half buried in their downy depths lay Miranda the Queen. The sweeping robe of royal purple trimmed with Irmin, the circuits of jewels on arms, bosom, and head, she still wore, and the beautiful face was whiter than fallen snow. Yet she was not dead as Sir Norman had reeded, for the dark eyes were open, and were fixed with an unutterable depth of melancholy or 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. God heavens, Kingsley, he cried, it's you lying herself! In his excitement he had spoken so loud that in the momentary silence that followed the physician's direction, his voice had rang through the room and drew every eye upon them. We are seen, we are seen, shouted Eubart, 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 Leo-Line? Leo-Line? No, how could it be Leo-Line? 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 nest 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. Sheath 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 hours come now. Allow me to differ from you, said Sir Norman politely, as he evaded the blindly frantic lung 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 is rapidly drawing to a close. At these planned remarks and at the sharp thrust that accompanied them, the dwarf's previous war dance of anxiety was nothing to the hornpipe of exasperation he went through when Sir Norman ceased. The blood was raining from his side, and from the point of his adversaries' 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 that 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 abstrack 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, enter and seize your prisoners. Quickest 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 a fury of desperation, and the short wild and terrible conflict ensued. Foremost in the melee was Sir Norman and the count, while Ubert who had taken possession of the dwarf 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 the heroism worthy a better course. 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 placed brighter and brighter with a lurid fire of vengeful joy at every robber that fell. Oh, that I were strong enough to wield a sword, was her fierce aspiration at 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 deed. 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 bloodstained weapon, and 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 Ubert, taking it upon himself to answer. Through John the Archway, when the fight commenced, I will go in search of them if you like. I'm 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 them here to take care of themselves, or let them go free. They would be a great addition to the court at Whitehall, suggested Ubert, in his pretty stone, and a thousand times handsomer than half the damsels therein. There, for instance, is one a dozen-timer more beautiful than Mr. Stewart herself. Leaning in his nonchalant way on the hilt of his sword, he pointed to Miranda, whose fiercely joyful eyes were fixed 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 Leo-Line? Do you know anything about her, Kingsley? I know she is the wife of that unlovely little man whose house 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 fiercise before in a female head. One would think she fell exalted in this whole sailed 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 Eubart in parenthesis, if she were a real queen she could not act more naturally. So Norman smiled and the Count glanced at the auditious page suspiciously, but Eubart's face was touching to whiteness 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 it 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. Madam, 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 don't, 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 are great heaven? what is that? In looking round she had met you but 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 Ubert 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 daydorn. 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 wherever 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 Asur and Silver Saloon, where the crowd of duchesses and countesses were weeping and ringing their hands, and as wide 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 exceeded 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 a hazy gray of coming morn. I told your daydorn 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. Liuline waits to decide between us. Sir Norman shrugged his shoulders. True, but I have little doubt what the 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 opportunities 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 someone to guide you to the place of Rang-de-Vu, 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 their conversation had been carried on while riding at Breckneck 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 Apotheker's shop where he had left Ormiston, and the Count's leading, he best knew where. George, the attendant referred to, joined the night, 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 Apotheker 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 someone 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, he laid his hand on her shoulder, and exclaimed, La Masque! End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of The Midnight Queen This is a LibriWox recording. All LibriWox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriWox.org. Recording by Chessie, The Midnight Queen by May Agnes Fleming, Chapter 21. What was behind the mask? The cowering form rose up, but seeing who it was, sank down again with its face grovelling in the dust, and with another prolonged moaning cry. Madam 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! Touch me not! Hate me! Kill me! I have murdered your friend! Sir Norman recoiled as if from a deadly serpent. Murdered him? Madam! 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. Madam! 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 wipe her, rather than I should have lived through all this life of misery and guilt to end it by this last, worst crime of all! So 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. Madam! Compose yourself, I beseech you, and tell me what you mean. It is to my friend, or Mr. 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. Madam! exclaimed the 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 tonight? 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 a riot? 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 sat her down now as being mad as a marcher, and accordingly answered in that soothing tone people used 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 anyone much less than 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 a note 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 sat in an altered tone. You have lost Leolin? And found her again. She is in the power of one countly tranche. 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 countly tranche 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 discount? He confessed it himself. Voluntarily? No, I text 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 Lamar as if to herself. Whimsically as he is, I scarcely expected he would give her up so 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 you, Bert, the Earl of Rochester's page, who told me who he was. Ah, the page, said Lamar's quickly. You have then been speaking to him. What do you think of his resemblance to Leolin? I think it is the most astonishing resemblance I ever saw, but he is not the only one who bears Leolin'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. Leolin knows already, for with the presentiment that my aunt was near, I visited her when you left, and gave her her whole history in writing. The explanation is simple enough. Leolin, Miranda, and you, Bert, are sisters and brother. Some misty idea that such was the case had been struggling through so norm and 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, you, Bert, 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 the 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 Leolin that I could not help thinking so. He is Leolin's twin brother that accounts for it. When does she become your wife? This very morning, God willing, said the Norman fervently, Amen, and may her life and yours be long and happy. What becomes of the rest? Since you, Bert, 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 to-night. True, she died of a wound. A wound? Surely not given by the Dwarf's 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 Le Torche, followed by such a body of man, visited the ruin. Well, his career has been long and dark enough, and even the plague seems 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 Saint Norman aghast. You do not mean to say that Leolin is going to die? Oh no, I hope Leolin has a long and happy life before her. But the wretched, guilty sister, I mean, is myself. For I too, Saint Norman, am her sister. At this new disclosure Saint Norman stood perfectly petrified, and La Masque, looking down at the dreadful place at her feet, went rapidly on. A less and a less 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 Leolin knows this? She never knew it until this night, or anyone 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 charred on Saint 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 once a Norman Kingsley before which your own ancient title pales. Via Montmorency, and in our veins, runs the proudest blood in France. Then Leolin is French and of noble birth, sets a 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 rejoiced to hear this nevertheless. Her father then bore a title? Her father was the Marquis de Montmorency, but Leolin'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 Leolin'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 Montmorency is fierce and hot, and broke 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 wow he kept. The young fisherman was found one morning at his lady-loved store 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 lovers. In his cruel exaltation 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 damp 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 occurs, 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 afterlife. 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 of 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 you. 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 counsel, 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 Leolin. The Marquis de Momor or sea 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 seems to be a fatality about my father's wives, for the beautiful Honorin lived scarcely longer than her predecessor, and she died leaving three children, or born at one time. You know them well and one of them you love. To my care she entrusted them on her deathbed, and she could have scarcely entrusted 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 Ubert, Leolin and Honorin, 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 utter misfortunes, by every indulgence boundless riches could bestow. So secretly and in the night I left my home with an old and trustee 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 Leolin, 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 Ubert 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 Honorin 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 to 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. Leolyn knows all now, and she will tell you, Bert, 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 so 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 daydorn, and I shall never see the sunrise 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 horrors 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 lovely 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. End of Chapter 21